“I may have said something like that, jokingly.”
“In fact, Mr. Farina, at your prep school in New Hampshire you were a member of the climbing club for four years and captain for two, were you not?”
“Um . . .”
“So it says in your school yearbook.”
“Then that must be the case.”
“Tell me, what do members of the climbing club climb? Stairs? Trees?”
“Mountains and rocks,” Pio replied.
? ? ?
“MS. KUSCH,” Masi said, “did you spend that particular day with your boyfriend, Pio Farina?”
“I may have, I’m not sure.”
“Do you recall watching a football game together on TV? Georgia versus Alabama?”
“Oh, yes, I believe I did watch that game with him.”
“Who won?”
“Ah, I’m not sure. Georgia, I think.”
“Alabama won by three points.”
“If you say so. I’m not very interested in football. In fact, I was probably reading a book while the game was on.”
“What book?”
“I don’t remember. I’m usually reading a book, and it was more than a year ago.”
? ? ?
“MR. FARINA, where were you on the date of the death of Mark Tillman?”
“I was at home, watching a football game.”
“Were you alone?”
“Yes.”
? ? ?
THE DOOR OPENED and Halstead walked in, handed Masi a note, and left.
Masi unfolded the note. “Ah, Mr. Farina has said that you were not present when he watched the Georgia–Alabama game, that you were out of town.”
“Well, he’s wrong.”
“Just as you were wrong about being in Connecticut?”
“I believe we had lunch at my mother’s house, since the restaurant was fully booked.”
“What did you have for lunch?”
“Tuna fish sandwiches.”
? ? ?
“I WAS WRONG,” Pio said. “I remember now that Ann was there.”
“Watching the football game?”
“Yes.”
“Is Ann very interested in football?”
“Yes, very. She enjoys it.”
Art Masi entered the room, handed Halstead a note, and left.
Halstead read the note. “Ann Kusch says that she doesn’t like football and read a book during the game. I’m sorry, didn’t she say she was in Connecticut?”
“She was somewhere,” Pio replied. “I just assumed it was Connecticut.”
“So you were alone?”
“Yes.”
“Entirely? Did anyone else visit you?” Halstead asked.
“No.”
“So no one can corroborate your contention that you watched a football game on that date?”
“My father may have dropped in for a drink. He does that sometimes, unannounced.”
Halstead wrote something on a pad. “Your father’s phone number?”
“Why do you want it?”
“To ask him his whereabouts on that day.”
“He doesn’t have a very good memory, he’s getting on in years.”
Halstead consulted her notes. “I see that your father is sixty years old and in excellent health,” she said.
“I think I’d like to speak to an attorney,” Pio said.
? ? ?
“MS. KUSCH,” Masi said, “it seems that since your mother is now deceased, there is no one who can confirm your whereabouts on the day Mark Tillman died.”
“I’d like a lawyer,” she said.
“Of course you would,” Masi replied, closing his notebook.
23
STONE WAITED WHILE Farina and Kusch vacated their interrogation rooms, then Art Masi came for him. “Did you hear everything?”
“Yes. I’m glad I’m not representing them.”
“If you were, they’d have done better,” Art said.
“If I were, I would have been there, and they would have declined to answer questions.”
Art laughed. “Typical lawyer.”
“I suppose so,” Stone said, looking at his watch. “I’d better get back to my office. I have an appointment.” They shook hands, and Stone departed.
? ? ?
STONE HAD BEEN BACK in his office for, perhaps, half an hour when Joan buzzed him. “An Ann Kusch on one. She says you know her.”
“I do,” Stone said, picking up the phone. “Ann?”
“Yes, Stone, thank you for remembering me.”
“How could I forget? I own your ax.”
“That’s right, you do.”
“How can I help you?”
“Pio and I are outside in the car. May we come and see you?”
“Of course, come right in.” He hung up and buzzed Joan. “Two people are arriving. Please show them in.”
A moment later, the two walked into Stone’s office. He directed them to the sofa, where he thought they might feel more comfortable. They declined refreshments.
“Now, how can I help?”
Ann did the talking: “The police seem to have somehow gotten the idea that we had something to do with the death of Mark Tillman and/or the theft of his van Gogh.”
Stone held up a hand. “Before we continue, I’m obliged to declare an interest in that case. I represent the Steele Group, who insured the van Gogh and whose desire is to recover the painting. Does that trouble you in any way?”
“I don’t see why it should,” Ann replied. Pio shook his head.
“As long as you know. Please continue.”
“Anyway, a Lieutenant Masi of the art squad questioned us at the gallery during our opening.”
“Were you troubled by that?”
“No, his questions were straightforward, and we answered them. Then we got a phone call from him demanding that we come to his office for further questioning.”
“Demanding?”
“He said that if we didn’t come voluntarily, he’d send a police car for us, and we’d be handcuffed.”
“It sounds like the lieutenant got a little too enthusiastic about his work. What did he ask you?”
“He seemed most concerned about where we were on the day that Mark Tillman died.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I’m afraid that we got a little confused about where we were and what we were doing—after all, it’s been more than a year.”
“Did you give him truthful answers?”
“We tried to, but he and another detective did their best to trip us up and make us contradict each other.”
“And where were the two of you on that day?”
“I went to Washington, Connecticut, to see my mother,” Ann said. “We had lunch at her house, but at the first questioning, I thought we had gone to the Mayflower Inn, which turned out to be my mistake.”
“And, Pio, where were you?”
“Watching the Georgia–Alabama football game at home.”
“Alone?”
“Ann came back late in the afternoon, while the game was still on.”
“Ann, what route did you take going home?”
“I drove down to Bridgeport and took the ferry to Long Island. It saves a lot of time to avoid the city.”
“So can anyone prove that you didn’t visit your mother, or in Pio’s case, stay home and watch the game?”
“No,” they both said.
“Was there anything else of note they asked you?”
“They wanted to know if I had done any mountain or rock climbing,” Ann said, “and I told them I had. Masi also asked me my height and weight.”
“Which is?”
“Five-ten, a hundred and forty.”
“Masi asked me the same thing,” Pio said, “but I told him, jokingly, that I was afraid of heights.”
“Are you afraid of heights?” Stone asked.
“Not in the least,” Pio said. “I was captain of my climbing team at prep school.”
“Did you later tell them that?”
“Before I could, they looked up my school yearbook and found out for themselves.”
“Are we in any trouble?” Ann asked.
“Did either of you have anything to do with Mark Tillman’s death or the theft of the painting?”
Neither of them answered.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me about that day?” Stone asked.
They looked at each other and Pio nodded, then Ann spoke up. “Mark knew that we would be in the city that day, and he invited us for a drink.”
“What time of day?”
“At two-thirty,” she replied.
“And what ensued?”
“Not much. We had a drink, chatted, then excused ourselves, saying that we had to drive back to East Hampton. Then, on the way out, Mark asked us if we’d drop off a package at a FedEx store on Second Avenue. It was on our way, so I said sure.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. There’s a drop box outside the store.”
“How big a package was it?”
“It was a standard-size FedEx box, about yea big,” she said, showing how big with her hands.