Authors: Stuart Woods

6 Stone Barrington Novels (71 page)

BOOK: 6 Stone Barrington Novels

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“Yes.”

“Well, if he's wonky, he wouldn't have any trouble picking up a driver's license that would get him a rental car.”

“Good point, but do the search anyway.”

“Whatever you say, Stone.”

“Does he own a car?”

“Yes, a six-year-old BMW 320i, registered at the P Street address.”

“Strange that he has a car and a passport with that address, but no driver's license.”

“Maybe he doesn't want his picture taken any more than necessary. Does he know you're looking at him?”

“Probably not, but he might guess.”

“Maybe, if he's wonky, he figured that someday, somebody would be looking for a photograph of him.”

“He has a passport, and you need a photograph for that.”

“Yeah, but the State Department is a lot harder to get a photograph out of than a state driver's license office.”

“Once again, you have a point.”

“Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of at the moment. Let me know about the license.”

“Will do,” Berman said.

“And, Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“Put your mind to other ways to find a photograph.”

“I already did.” Berman hung up.

S
TONE SAT ON THE AFTERDECK AND NURSED A GIN AND tonic. “Dino,” he said finally, “when you arrested Manning that time in New York, you fingerprinted him, didn't you?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because that gives us a possible way to find out what Manning has been doing for the past four years to earn a living. I can't see him doing it honestly.”

“What do you need?”

“I need for you to run his prints against unsolved crimes with no suspects.”

“Stone, you're about to be rid of the guy. Why do you want to press this?”

“Because I have the awful feeling I'm
never
going to be rid of him. If he's committed a crime somewhere in this country, and I can prove it, then I'd have something on him, something that would either keep him in line or put him in jail.”

Dino picked up a phone, called his office and asked them to run the Manning prints against unsolved crimes. “Shouldn't take long,” he said. “Why do you think he might have committed a crime?”

“Because he's apparently been earning less than a hundred thousand dollars a year, and I don't think that's enough to keep Paul Manning in the style to which he long ago became accustomed.”

The phone rang, and Stone picked it up.

“Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Fred Williamson. Somebody in Bill Eggers's office at Woodman and Weld in New York asked me to call you about some divorce work.”

“Yes, of course. How do you do, Fred?”

“Very well, thanks, and divorce is a specialty of mine.”

“Glad to hear it. What I've got here is a petition from a Mrs. Allison Manning against Paul Manning. Mr. Manning has already waived a response, and we have a signed property settlement.”

“Where do the Mannings live?”

“In Palm Beach.” Stone gave him Liz's West Indies Drive address.

“Shouldn't be a problem, then. It'll probably take a month to get it heard.”

“Do the Mannings have to appear?”

“Not necessary, as long as they're in agreement on the terms and they're both represented by counsel. Who's his lawyer?”

“Edward Ginsky, of New York, but he's licensed to practice in Florida.” Stone gave him Ginsky's address and phone number.

“I'll call him and get us on the court calendar.”

“Fred, is there any way to get this heard right away? And in chambers, if possible? I don't want it to make the papers, even in the legal notices.”

“I know a judge who might hear it in chambers sooner, rather than later,” Williamson said.

“I'd appreciate it if you could handle it that way. Ginsky has his own jet. I'm sure he could appear on short notice, or appoint someone local to do it.”

“Who's got the paperwork?”

“I have. Can you send a messenger for it?”

“Sure. Where?”

Stone gave him the address.

“I'll have somebody there inside an hour.”

“Thanks, Fred. Call me if you need any further information.” Stone hung up. He went to his briefcase, extracted the documents, stuffed them into a manila envelope, wrote Williamson's name on it and gave it to Juanito to leave with the security man guarding the front door.

“Maybe I can get them divorced before Sunday,” Stone said.

“Would that make you feel better?” Dino asked.

“Yes, indeed. I'm uncomfortable about witnessing a clientâtwo clients, in this caseâcommitting bigamy in front of the crumbs of Palm Beach's upper crust.”

“When they get to that part about âif anybody can show just cause why these two people shouldn't get married, ' shouldn't you, as an officer of the court, stand up and yell, âIt's bigamy!'?”

“Probably, but this lawyer says he might be able to get it heard quickly.”

The phone rang again, and this time it was for Dino.

“Hello? Yeah, this is Bacchetti. Hang on, let me get something to write with.” He motioned to Stone for a pen.

Stone handed him one, and a pad.

“Yeah, yeah. Where? How many? And there's no other clue? Why the hell didn't this match pop up before? Oh, yeah, I see. Thanks. I don't know yet. Sit on it until I get back to you.” He hung up.

“What?” Stone asked.

“You were right, pal. Our Mr. Manning knocked over a branch bank in Arlington, Virginia, four years ago.”

“I knew it!” Stone said.

“He left a thumbprint on a note that he handed a teller.”

“Why didn't the match turn up at the time?”

“I asked about that. It seems that when we printed the guy at the Nineteenth, whoever did it didn't put the prints into the system because he figured, what the hell, the guy's being prosecuted in another country. It was stupid, but it happens.”

“This is wonderful,” Stone said, meaning it.

“It gets better. A man answering the descriptionâat least height and weightâknocked over three other branches within fifty miles of D.C. Two in Maryland and one more in Virginia. He was smart enough not to leave any prints on those jobs.”

“What sort of money did he get?”

“Between a hundred and a hundred and fifty thousand at each bank; never more than that. Still, he had to do some planning or have some inside information to get that much out of a walk-in-and-hand-the-teller-a-note job. Usually those bring more like twenty-five or thirty grand a pop, and the banks don't even bother to prosecute if there was no violence involved.” Dino stopped and looked at Stone.

“Why the smug little smile?”

“Gee, I don't know. I just have this warm fuzzy feeling inside.”

“You've got the guy by the balls.”

“You bet your sweet ass I have,” Stone said with satisfaction.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I'm going to get Liz and Manning divorced and see her and Thad married, then I'm going to call the FBI and sic them on Paul Manning, and I'm going to take the greatest pleasure in doing it.”

“I hope it's that easy, pal,” Dino replied.

S
TONE WAS WOKEN FROM A SOUND SLEEP BY THE PHONE next to his bed. He picked it up. “Hello,” he said, sleepily. He looked at the bedside clock. It was shortly after ten A.M.

“Stone? It's Fred Williamson. Can you have Mrs. Manning at the courthouse at three o'clock this afternoon?”

“Why?”

“We've got a hearing before Judge Coronado in his chambers at that time.”

“Why does Mrs. Manning have to be there?”

“This is an unusual situation, and the judge wants to talk to the couple face-to-face.”

“But why? I thought we could do it with just their attorneys.”

“He wants to know what the big rush is, I guess; whether these people are for real.”

For real?
Stone thought.
They are definitely not for real.
“Have you spoken to Ed Ginsky?”

“Yes. He says he can have his client there.”

“Well, okay,” Stone said. “We'll be there.”

“The judge is going to ask some questions, like how long have the Mannings lived in Florida. You know the answer to that one?”

“I'll have to ask Mrs. Manning.”

“This whole petition is based on the fact that they're Florida residents. Be sure you tell her that.”

“All right. Have you told Ginsky about this?”

“Yes. He says his client will bring proof of Florida residency. The judge is going to ask these people why they want a divorce, and there shouldn't be any disagreement between them about that.”

“You told Ginsky that, too?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“I'll see you at three o'clock in Judge Coronado's chambers, which are behind courtroom A.”

“Good, see you then.”

Stone got dressed and found Liz and Thad having breakfast on deck. “Good news,” he said.

“I'm always up for good news,” Thad said.

“Liz, you're getting divorced this afternoon.”

“Wonderful!” she nearly shouted.

“You and I have to appear in the chambers of a Judge Coronado this afternoon at three. Paul and his attorney will be there, too.”

“I don't want to do that,” she said.

“I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter,” Stone said.

“I won't be in the same room with him.”

“Look, this is not the first divorce this judge has heard. He's accustomed to people who aren't speaking to each other.”

“Liz,” Thad said, “Stone has gone to a lot of trouble to get this thing resolved this week. This is only going to take a few minutes, right, Stone?”

“That's right. I shouldn't think it would take more than half an hour, at the most.”

“Oh, all right,” Liz said. “I don't have to talk to him, do I?”

“No, but you'll have to talk. The judge will ask you both some questions, and be warned, he's not going to like it if you argue about the answers. Just don't disagree with Paul.”

“That may be difficult,” she said.

“Liz, this is the quickest, quietest way possible to get you out of this marriage. Just do what you have to do,” Thad said.

“All right, darling,” she said, and put her hand on his.

“Can I be there?” Thad asked. “Liz might feel better.”

“Absolutely not,” Stone said. “You're a very recognizable figure in Palm Beach, and I don't want you anywhere near that courthouse.”

“Oh, all right,” Thad said. “Sit down and have some breakfast.”

Juanito appeared, and Stone ordered. “Now, Liz, tell me: How long have you been a Florida resident?”

“Since I married Winston, I guess. Three years. He was a Florida resident well before that, for tax reasons.”

“The judge will ask you that.”

“What about Paul? He's not a Florida resident. At least, I don't think he is.”

“His lawyer says he can show proof of residency. The judge will ask you things like how long you've been married, and he's going to ask you why you want a divorce. What are you going to tell him?”

“That my husband led me into a life of crime and that, when he murdered three people, I didn't want to live with him anymore.”

“No, no, no,” Stone said. “You want to be general, not specific.”

“You mean like, we just grew apart over the years?”

“That's better. And if he asks Paul first, just go along with whatever he says. Don't worry, he has a very good lawyer, and he will have been well briefed.”

“Whatever you say,” she said.

“That's the right answer, too. Now, another thing. Your agreement with Paul requires you to wire-transfer the money into his lawyer's trust account as soon as the divorce is final. What I'd like is for you to transfer the money to my trust account today, and I'll take it from there.”

“The two million dollars?” she asked.

“That's right.”

“God, but I hate to give that son of a bitch any money.”

“Liz, get a grip. You've already signed an agreement to that effect. Yesterday, you were delighted to get off so cheaply.”

“Liz, honey,” Thad said, “two million dollars is small change to me. Let me take care of that.”

“I couldn't let you do that,” Liz replied.

“No, really. I'd consider it a great favor if you'd let me do that.”

“Oh, Thad,” she said, putting her hand on his cheek. “You're so sweet.”

Thad turned to Stone. “I'll move the money this morning.”

“You're sure that's the way you want to do this?”

“Yes, I am.”

Stone watched, amazed, as they kissed.