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“And did they tell you when they’d be finished with it?”
“Yes, they said by the end of the week.”
“I suggest that you call them at the end of the week.”
“Well, yes, but I need it before then to make a presentation to our chief.”
“Sergeant, I’m curious as to why you called me instead of the NYPD.”
“Ms. Robertson tells me you are close to the commissioner, and that you might speak to him on my behalf.”
“As it happens, I’m dining with him this evening, but once again, I don’t understand your proprietary attitude toward the pistol. Did it ever occur to you that the NYPD might have a prior claim?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, Sergeant Powell, if you had thoroughly examined the pistol, you would have learned that the cylinder contained three empty shell casings.”
“How could you know that?”
“Because a machine at the NYPD let it be known that the weapon had been used in the commission of a prior crime—to wit, a murder—in the jurisdiction of Manhattan. So the NYPD is unlikely to surrender the pistol to you. The only crime thepistol committed in East Hampton was to fire a round into the woodwork of the Further Lane house.” Stone thought he heard a gulp at the other end of the line.
“Then what should I do?”
“I would, if I were you, put the ballistics report into the case file, and if you make a presentation to your chief, tell him that the only crime committed in Further Lane was breaking and entering, that the perpetrator is dead, and that the NYPD has, quite properly, retained possession of the pistol. You might also tell him why.”
There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line. “I don’t think I can do that,” he said finally.
“I don’t think you have another choice,” Stone said. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“You could speak to the commissioner on my behalf.”
“If I did that, the only thing I would get from him would be a lecture on the facts of the case, the very one I have just given you.”
“I’m sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Barrington,” he said.
“Apology accepted. Good day.” Stone hung up.
—
Stone arrived at P. J. Clarke’s just as Dino’s official SUV pulled up. They walked into the bar together, where their drinks were already being poured.
Dino downed half of his in a gulp.
“Long day?” Stone asked.
“No longer than usual, but just as annoying,” Dino replied.
“Why don’t you just retire to a beach somewhere?”
“And give up my car with the whooper and flashing lights? How would I get anywhere?”
“Well, there is that, I suppose.”
“I’m not trading that for a beach and a drink with an umbrella in it.”
“Your point is well taken.”
“There’s more on your mystery pistol,” Dino said.
