DINO CALLED THE following morning the moment Stone sat down at his desk. “Did you see the Times coverage of Holly’s speech this morning?”
“I did—overwhelmingly positive, I’d say.”
“Me, too. Did you see Gloria Parsons’s op-ed piece?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet. What the hell is Gloria doing on the Times op-ed page?”
“Her boyfriend the ex-governor’s influence, I expect. Also, the woman is a good writer.”
“What did she have to say?”
“Read it for yourself. By the way, your guess was inspired,” Dino said.
“Guess?”
“About the sledgehammers. A woman visited a hardware store on Third Avenue, in the Twenties, and bought three sledgehammers.”
“They had to get them somewhere.”
“She was about five-eight, a hundred and forty pounds, fairly short, dark hair, age thirty to forty, wearing a trench coat over black pants.”
“Did she pay by credit card?”
“That would be too easy. She paid cash.”
“Did the store deliver them?”
“No, she bought a canvas carryall and took them away in that.”
“So you’re stuck.”
“Every cop on the East Side, upper and lower, is looking for people dressed in black, carrying a sledgehammer.”
“Brilliant police work.”
“It will be, if they spot somebody matching the description. Did you see any of these people before they started banging on your car?”
“Yes, come to think of it. As I left the Carlyle I saw somebody dressed in black—I assumed it was some sort of rainwear—and carrying something, though I couldn’t tell what, it was raining so hard.”
“Headed toward Park?”
“Yes, on the downtown side of the street. Does that matter?”
“I have no idea, I’m just being thorough.”
“Have you had any reports of further Bentley abuse today?”
“Not yet, but I’ve had a hot call from the Bentley distributor, demanding action. Nothing from the Rolls people.”
Stone laughed.
“Did you get your car fixed?” Dino asked.
“Yes, it took a couple of hours, but Strategic Services came up with a window and installed it. The other two windows were unmarked. The workman said they should have used a pickax.”
“Why?”
“Because a pickax is pointed, and it would have had a better chance of penetrating the armored glass because it would have concentrated the force into a smaller area than a sledgehammer.”
“Shall I put out an APB on people buying pickaxes?”
“Why not? Anything at all on the woman who bought the sledgehammers?”
“No, the store said she wasn’t a regular customer.”
“After all, how many sledgehammers does a girl need?”
“Only three, apparently. I guess they last awhile. Is there anything else your police department can do for you today?”
“Nope. Keep up the good work.”
Dino hung up.
Joan came in with the New York Post and put it on his desk. “Your incident of yesterday made the Post,” she said.
LUXURY CARS ATTACKED WITH SLEDGEHAMMERS!, the headline screamed. The article was short, though, and there was no theory on why.
“I guess the Times ignored it,” Stone said. “At least, I didn’t see anything about it.”
“Not shocking enough,” she said, then went back to her desk.
A little farther inside the Post was an editorial on Holly’s appearance at the UN. WOUNDED MADAM SECRETARY KNOCKS ONE OUT OF THE PARK, read the headline, and all two paragraphs were entirely favorable. “Have we got a President-in-the-making here?” it finished. Stone reflected that Dino thought the bullet was meant for him, not Holly. The ex-con gunman, shot by Fred, had not been found to have a motive to shoot either Stone or Holly, and the case had petered out.
Stone picked up the Times and turned to the op-ed page. There was Gloria’s piece. “Barker throws her shoulder into the ring?” read the lead. Stone read on:
“Secretary of State Holly Barker, substituting at the UN for the President, brought the General Assembly to its collective feet when she appeared with her arm in a sling, albeit a silken one from Hermès. This is surely the first time a wounded Cabinet member has risen from a hospital bed after an assassination attempt to address the world. It must be something like the reception Abraham Lincoln would have received in Congress had his wound been to the shoulder, instead of to the head.
“President Katharine Lee, who of late has been somewhat unpopular in certain quarters of the international community, thus won a victory for her policies by the simple device of not showing up, and instead dispatching her glamorous secretary of state to stand in for her.
Secretary Barker has recently been seen with her president in half a dozen appearances where one might not expect a Cabinet member to be seen in such high company, which indicates both her high standing in her boss’s opinion and maybe even a hint as to whom the President might like to see succeed her in office. There seems to be a widespread view in both houses of Congress that the President could do a lot worse than Holly Barker.”
• • •
IT WENT ON like that for another six paragraphs. Stone found a pair of scissors in his desk drawer and clipped both the Times op-ed piece and the Post editorial. He buzzed Joan.
“Yes, boss?”
“Didn’t somebody give me a nice leather scrapbook for Christmas a couple of years ago?”
“Yes, boss, I’ve been keeping it in the hope that you might do something that would engender some favorable press clippings.”
“Forget about that, but bring me the scrapbook, please.”
Joan hustled into his office and removed the album from its box.
Stone handed her the clippings. “You are now the official archivist for our secretary of state,” he said.
“Soon to be our next President?”
“You didn’t hear that from me,” Stone said. She took the clippings and the album and returned to her office.