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Joan came in. “What did they want?”
“They didn’t seem to know,” Stone replied. “I had to explain it to them.”
“Lance Cabot is on one.”
Stone picked up the phone. “Lance,” he said, “what a surprise!”
“Have you heard from the FBI about our mutual acquaintance?”
“They just left, knowing little more than when they arrived,” Stone replied. “And I think ‘acquaintance’ is a bit of a stretch, when one of the two parties got dead early in the game, a fact of which the two FBI gentlemen had not been apprised by their superiors.”
“They never cease to surprise me,” Lance said.
“Before you go, Lance, I would be grateful if you would explain why John Collins was in Maine on your instructions and why you don’t want anybody to know that.”
“I compartmentalize,” Lance replied, “and Mr. Collins and everybody else were in different compartments.”
“Is there any other information about the man that you would like me to disseminate the next time I’m asked about him?”
Lance seemed to think for a moment. “I believe not,” he said, then hung up.
Stone buzzed Joan.
“Yes, sir?”
“Joan, if you should receive any calls from people seeking information about one John Collins, please deny all knowledge of him and hang up.”
“Got it,” she said.
8
The next morning,Stone had a coffee at his desk and read theTimes. On a back page, a death notice caught his eye. These were paid advertisements announcing the deaths of people who were not famous or notorious enough to warrant a full-blown obituary by the newspaper. Their purpose, apparently, was to tell people who might have known them that they were deceased. John Collins’s announcement appeared without a photograph, and after the recitation of his dates of birth and death, he was described as a graduate of the City College of New York and of NYU School of Law and a civil servant.
Joan buzzed him. “Bill Eggers on one.”
Stone picked up the receiver to speak to the managingpartner of his law firm, Woodman & Weld. “Good morning, Bill.”
“Morning. Did you see theTimesthis morning?”
“My dog brings it to me in bed every morning.”
“I mean the thing about what’s-his-name.”
“It’s a big newspaper, Bill,” Stone replied. “Can you give me a hint? News, sports, business, crossword?”
“Dead people.”
“Ah, the obituaries.”
“No, at the bottom of the page.”
“Death announcements?”
“That’s it, in the little, tiny newsprint.”
“I check it most days to find out who I’ve outlived.”
“You knew him, of course.”
