Kelli knew of Strategic Services as some giant security company that supplied bodyguards and armored cars to companies all over the world, and if the company was a major stockholder in Centurion, it made sense that Freeman might become a director. But Stone Barrington? He was a fixer for Woodman & Weld, who had been a partner for only a year. What was he doing on Centurion’s board?

27

Stone and Arrington were having breakfast in bed when Peter appeared, wearing a parka over a sweater and jeans, and carrying a leather tote bag. “Good morning,” he said, “I’m off to school.”

“Sweetheart,” Arrington said, “are you sure you don’t want us to drive you?”

“Oh, come on, Mom, I’m way beyond that. I’ll get the bus and walk a couple of blocks. I can’t be seen arriving at the front door in a Bentley.”

“He’s right, you know,” Stone said. “Did Joan give you your Metrocard, Peter?”

“Yep, I’m all set.”

“You need lunch money?”

“You gave me a hundred bucks a few days ago. I haven’t eaten my way through that, yet.”

“Okay, sport, go get ’em.”

Peter gave them a little wave and left.

“God,” Stone said, “I never thought I’d be sending a kid off to school.”

Arrington laughed. “Thank your lucky stars that you never had to change his diapers.”

“I thank my lucky stars.”

“What are we doing for dinner?”

“Meeting Dino and Ben at Elaine’s, what else?”

“You’re right, what else?” she said.

Kelli Keane and her friend from the mayor’s office, Bruce Sirowitz, arrived at Elaine’s at eight-thirty, and were given a decent table along the main wall, but near the back of the restaurant.

“Good work,” she said.

“It’s not my first time here,” Bruce replied.

They ordered drinks, and Kelli leaned out into the aisle and looked again at the tables up front. “They’re not here yet,” she said.

“Who’s not here?”

“Dino Bacchetti and Stone Barrington.”

“Bacchetti from the Nineteenth Precinct? He’s one of the mayor’s favorite cops.”

“He was at that wedding at what’s-his-name’s house on Christmas Day, wasn’t he?”

“Kelli, don’t start that again.”

“It was Barrington who got married that day.”

“You don’t know that. You know only that he got a license earlier.”

“It makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is who his wife is.”

“It was on the marriage license, wasn’t it?”

“Yes: Christine A. Carter. She’s a blank on Google for fifteen years. Wrote magazine pieces, did a profile of Vance Calder for the New Yorker. I think she may have married him.” She grabbed his wrist and squeezed. “I was right; here they come.”

Barrington, Bacchetti, a beautiful blonde, and two late-teen boys came into the restaurant together. The adults were seated up front, but the boys were given their own table farther back, a couple of tables from where Kelli and Bruce were seated.

“I think Mrs. Barrington was married to Vance Calder,” Kelli said.

“That’s quite a leap, given what you’ve got,” Bruce replied. “Anyway, she’s too young to have been married to Calder. He was in his seventies when he died, and that was years ago. I mean, look at her.”