The Stone Barrington Collection vol 2

The Stone Barrington Collection vol 2 by Stuart Woods Page A

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Authors: Stuart Woods
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
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of them—and the atmosphere on Islesboro is not the sort to engender grudges that end in multiple homicides. Two: Dick Stone was not the kind of guy that anybody could hold a grudge against. And three: I’m just guessing, of course, but I’d be willing to bet that there wasn’t a trace of any kind of evidence in the house. Am I right?”
    “On all three points,” Stone said.
    “And the weapon was silenced, right? This was a pro hit,” Rawls said, sitting back in his chair. “No doubt about it.”
    “The weapon was Dick’s own,” Stone said.
    “Well,” Rawls said, sitting back again, “if you were a pro staging a murder-suicide, you’d use the victim’s own gun, wouldn’t you? Lends plausibility.”
    “That brings us to who sent the pro,” Stone said. “Any ideas, Ed?”
    Rawls sipped his coffee contemplatively. “You make enemies in that line of work.”
    “Which ones did Dick make?”
    “Irish? Russian mafia? Islamics? Take your pick.”
    “So you have no idea?”
    “Not specifically.”
    “Who would want to kill you, then?”
    “Ah,” Rawls chuckled. “The field broadens. With me, you have to consider domestic sources.”
    “Domestic? The Agency deals only in foreign matters, doesn’t it?”
    “Well, not anymore…not since 9/11, anyway. It did in my day, though, at least mostly.”
    “You fear your own countrymen, then?”
    “More than anybody else.”
    “Why?”
    “Let’s just say that my countrymen were not always happy with the way I did my work.”
    “I’ve heard your name before, haven’t I?” He knew he had, but he couldn’t place it.
    Rawls shrugged. “Possibly.”
    “Why would I have heard it, Ed?”
    Rawls shrugged again but said nothing.
    “Come on, Ed. I can run a check on you half a dozen ways. Hell, I can probably get most of it by Googling you.”
    “I suppose you could,” Rawls said. “I was running the Scandinavian station out of Stockholm some years back, looking forward to retirement. I got involved with a lovely Swedish creature who turned out to be a lovely Russian creature. This was before the fuckers all became democrats. They blackmailed me, and I gave them some fairly useless information, but a meet went south, and a couple of my people bought it. I was blamed, and they hung me out to dry.”
    “I remember now,” Stone said. “You’re supposed to be in prison, aren’t you?”
    “I was, until a few months ago, but a couple of nice things happened. One: The former KGB station chief in Stockholm told the Brits that I had nothing to do with the two deaths, that it was an accident not related to me, and the Brits told our people. Two: Even in the Atlanta pen I was able to do my country a valuable service, and a combination of the two things got me a presidential pardon. And a very nice cash reward, I might add.”
    “I didn’t hear about the pardon.”
    “Almost nobody did. I think they announced it in the middle of the night. It probably won’t be out until Will Lee isn’t president anymore.”
    “And how’d you end up on Islesboro?”
    “Oh, I’m a fourth-generation islander; my great-grandfather built this house, and I’ve owned it for more than twenty years.”
    “How did the islanders react to your, ah, problems?”
    “Pretty well. I actually got some encouraging mail in prison, and when I came back, it was like I’d never left. During the whole business I was never asked to resign from the yacht club or the golf club. You play golf?”
    “In a manner of speaking.”
    “Let’s do that soon. I’ll introduce you to some islanders.”
    “Ed, are you convinced that nobody who lives here had anything to do with the murders of Dick and his family?”
    Rawls nodded. “I am. Nobody knows this place and these people better than I do, and, believe me, it’s just not in the cards.”
    “But you can’t suggest exactly who might have been involved?”
    “Not yet, but I’ve got some feelers out. You’ll have to be patient; these things

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