Brougham took a deep breath, rose on his toes, and raised his voice. “Is it not a fact…”

“It is a fact,” Stone said, interrupting Brougham, “that I was informed just a few minutes ago in a telephone conversation with Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti, who heads the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct, that there is a new prime suspect in the murder of Ms. Bean, and that he is now being sought by the police.”

Brougham expelled a lungful of air in a strangled grunt. “What did…?”

“Lieutenant Bacchetti tells me that the prime suspect is one Thomas Deacon, who heads the investigative division of the District Attorney’s Office.”

Now Brougham was speechless. He stood facing the grand jury, his mouth open, his face drained of color. He took another deep breath. “You are excused, Mr. Barrington.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know about the evidence against Deacon, Mr. Brougham?” Stone asked.

“You are excused!” Brougham all but shouted.

Stone got up and left the grand-jury room. Bill Eggers stood up and approached him.

“That was quick,” he said. “How did it go?”

Stone was about to answer him when he looked past Eggers and saw Tom Deacon and Michael Kelly coming down the hallway toward them. “Excuse me a minute, Bill.” He turned to Tim Ryan, who was standing nearby “Tim,” he said, “can I borrow your cuffs?”

Without a word, Ryan reached behind him and produced a pair of handcuffs.

“I’m about to make an arrest,” Stone said to the cop. “You want to assist me?”

“Sure, Stone,” Ryan replied.

“You know Deacon and Kelly there?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take Deacon; you make sure Kelly doesn’t shoot me.”

“Okay.”

Stone, the handcuffs in his left hand, headed straight for Deacon, his right hand out. “Hello, Tom,” he said.

Deacon looked puzzled, but reacted by reaching for Stone’s hand.

Stone took hold of Deacon’s hand and held it while he snapped a cuff onto his wrist. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Susan Bean,” he said, and, before Deacon could react, Stone twisted Deacon’s arm behind his back, pushed him against the wall and cuffed his hands behind him. Then he spun Deacon around, ripped the pistol from his shoulder holster and removed his police identification from his inside pocket. “You’re not going to be needing this anymore,” he said.

There was a thud behind Stone, and he turned to see Mick Kelly, spread-eagled on the marble floor with Tim Ryan’s knee in his back, being handcuffed. “Take his gun and his badge, Tim,” he said, “and read them both their rights. I’ll call it in.”

He shoved Deacon onto a bench, reached for his cell phone, and called Dino.

“Hello?”

“It’s Stone. I’ve just made a citizen’s arrest.”

60