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“He doesn’t appear to be breathing, and his eyes are open.”
“Someone will be right there.”
“Thank you.” Joan hung up and called another number.
“Hello,” a sleepy voice said.
“It’s Joan. I’m at the East Hampton house, and I just shot a man. I think he’s dead.”
“Hang up, call 911, then call me back. I’m getting dressed.”
“I’ve already called 911. They’re on their way.”
“Are you hurt in any way?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m just scared.”
“Okay, I’m going to try to get a chopper out there. What’s the address?”
She gave it to him.
“Turn on all the lights, inside and out.”
“There’s a big lawn,” Joan said, “on the street side of the house.”
They both hung up, and Stone called Mike Freeman.
“Yes?”
“Mike, it’s Stone. Joan has shot an intruder in her house in East Hampton. Can you get a chopper to pick me up at the East Side Heliport and get me out there?”
“Sure I can. What’s the address?”
“It’s on Further Lane. All the lights, inside and out, will be on.”
“Get to the heliport,” Mike said. “I’ve got a pilot on duty.” He hung up.
Stone looked at his watch: 1:10am. He started dressing, then buzzed Fred.
“Yes, sir?”
“Fred, I need you to drive me to the East Side Heliport right now.”
“Five minutes, sir.”
Stone didn’t wait for the elevator. He ran down the stairs.
—
Joan sat on the living room sofa, trying to put events in order.
“Joan?” A voice from upstairs. Betty.
“I’m in the living room, Betty,” she called back. “Come on down, and don’t trip over the corpse on the stairs!”
Betty tiptoed into the living room, clutching her nightgown around her. “There’s a corpse on the stairs,” she said.
“I know. Don’t worry, he won’t bother you.” Joan glanced at Betty. “You might want to get a robe on,” she said. “You don’t want to inflame some young police officer. They’re on the way.”
