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“Nope. He didn’t show up yesterday, either.”
“Is this unusual?”
“Well, he’s come in late and hungover before, but at least he always showed up.”
“Thank you,” Stone said. He buzzed Joan. “Try his home number.”
Joan buzzed back a moment later. “His mother answered the phone. I’ve got her on the line.”
Stone pressed the button. “Mrs. Fisher?”
“Mrs. Bernstein,” she replied curtly. “Mr. Fisher took a hike a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Bernstein, this is Stone Barrington. I’m Herbie’s lawyer, and it’s important that I speak to him. Where can I reach him?”
“You’re who? I thought his lawyer was Mr. Levy.”
“Mr. Levy works for me on Herbie’s case. It really is very important that I reach him.”
“You’re a cop, aren’t you?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not. You can look me up in the phone book, if you want to be sure.”
“Hang on.” She put the phone down.
Stone waited, drumming his fingers on the desktop. Why was she taking so long?
She came back on the line. “Yeah, all right, I got you in the book.”
“Where’s Herbie, Mrs. Bernstein?”
“He’s on a boat somewhere or other.”
“A boat? Where would somewhere or other be?”
“Down in some islands, you know? His uncle Bobby is down there, too.”
Stone was having trouble breathing. “In Saint Thomas?”
“Saint something or other,” she said.
“And did he say when he’d be back?”
“He said when things cooled down, and the judge forgot about him.”
Stone was having trouble speaking now. “And did he say when he thought that would be?”
“A year, maybe. He took a lot of clothes.”
“Mrs. Bernstein, did he leave a phone number or the name of his hotel?”
“He said he’d send me a postcard,” the woman said, then she hung up.
Stone was left listening to a dead phone. He wondered, in passing, what his blood pressure might be at this moment. When he recovered himself enough to speak, he buzzed Joan.
“Any joy?” she asked.
“Anything but,” Stone replied. “Get me Bob Cantor on his cell phone.”
