Stone Barrington 36 - Scandalous Behavior (21 page)

“Oh?”

“The brigadier was Type B Negative, as well.”

“Interesting, but how would that give the brigadier a motive for murder?”

“Guilt, perhaps.”

“Guilt? Guilt over what?”

Stone heard a chiming noise, and the inspector withdrew a watch on a chain from his waistcoat and stared at it, apparently appalled at what he saw. “Good heavens,” he said, rising, “I’m afraid I am late for a very important appointment. Please excuse me.”

He left the room abruptly, closing the door behind him, leaving Stone baffled.

39

D
r. Don Beverly Calhoun sat in a holding cell in Katonah, New York. His companions were not what Calhoun would consider felicitous company, and at least one of them smelled very bad. Calhoun had been there for the better part of two hours, and his discomfort had made it seem twice that.

His attention was drawn to the door by the rattling of a key in the lock. “Which one of you is Calhoun?” the jailer asked.

Calhoun’s hand shot up. “I am.”

“No,” said another prisoner, raising his hand, “I am Calhoun.”

Calhoun stood up, terrified that the other man, not he, would be set free. “
I
am Calhoun! Check my wallet—it’s in an envelope at the front desk.”

“Okay, Calhoun, come with me,” the jailer said. He pointed to the interloper. “You, siddown and shaddup.”

Calhoun followed the jailer down a hall and to the front desk, where his attorney waited, clutching a brown envelope.

“Okay,” the lawyer said, “you’re sprung.” He handed Calhoun the envelope. “Your personal effects.”

Calhoun followed him to the car, where his wife waited in the backseat, and settled himself in the front passenger seat before retrieving his watch, ring, wallet, and other effects from the envelope.

“Do you know how long I’ve been sitting in this car?” his wife demanded to know.

“Just about as long as I have been sitting in a cell, I expect.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” the attorney said, starting the car. “The wheels of justice grind slowly.”

“I’m hungry,” Cheree said.

“I’m afraid it’s a forty-minute drive to Litchfield, and our hearing is in half an hour,” the attorney said.

“Swell.”

—

F
orty-five minutes later they entered a small courtroom, glared at by judge and prosecutor.

“I apologize for our tardiness, Your Honor,” the attorney said, “but we were in another hearing.”

“Let’s get on with it,” the judge said. “Mr. Prosecutor?”

The hearing was a near duplicate of the one in Katonah, and once again Calhoun found himself in another cell, this time, mercifully, alone. Less than an hour passed before he was released on bail.

—

C
alhoun watched as his wife greedily consumed a good lunch at a local restaurant. It had always annoyed him that she could eat for an hour with both hands and not gain an ounce. He ate just enough to keep his blood sugar up, afraid that he might throw up on the table if he ate more.

—

B
ack in the car, Calhoun rounded on his attorney. “How long am I going to be subjected to this kind of punishment?” he demanded.

“I expect for as long as you keep behaving stupidly, Don,” the attorney replied, disrespectfully using his first name.

“So you think I myself am to blame for all this?”

“Of course I do.”

“That is outrageous.”

“I hope you’re referring to your conduct,” the attorney said. “And while we’re on the subject, did you send your minions to paint the facade of Stone Barrington’s house?”

Calhoun made sputtering noises.

“I’ll take that as confirmation. Have you not yet realized,
after three hearings in two countries, that you are trying to intimidate someone who will not be intimidated? Have you behaved in this manner in the other cities in which you live?”

“Certainly not,” Calhoun spat.

“Well, let’s see: you’ve been run out of Atlanta, New Orleans, Albuquerque, and Britain so far, and maybe Los Angeles, too.”

“I have not been run out of anywhere!” Calhoun shouted. “I simply enjoy experiencing different cities and countries!”

“Have you ever Googled yourself?”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“I recommend it for getting a clear picture of your past,” the attorney said. “Your bio on Wikipedia makes you sound like a megalomaniacal lunatic.”

“Then I’ll sue . . . whoever you said that was.”

“Then that makes you a hyper-litigious, megalomaniacal lunatic.”

“You, sir, are fired as my attorney!” Calhoun screamed.

“And that, sir, is a great relief!” The attorney whipped into a rest stop on the Connecticut–New York border and screeched to a halt. “Get out!”

“What?”

“Get out of my car! You are no longer my client, and I will not devote another minute to chauffeuring you from hearing to hearing! And take that woman with you!” he yelled, jerking a thumb at Cheree.

“Let’s go, Don,” Cheree said, opening her own door.

The two of them got out, and the attorney drove away, leaving them standing in front of the public restrooms.

Calhoun was slapping his pockets. “Where is my phone?”

She handed it to him. “You gave it to me when they locked you up the first time. Now you get on it and get us a car out of here. I have to pee.” She stormed away, leaving him looking for a car service.

40

S
tone drove Dino and Viv down to the airstrip, and on the way he told them of his conversation with Deputy Chief Inspector Holmes. “Does that make any sense to you?” he asked them.

“Guilt over what?” Dino asked.

“Before he could answer that question his pocket watch alarm went off, and he fled the premises.”

“Well, let me know when you find out,” Dino said. They pulled up to the waiting Strategic Services G450, and the crew took their bags from the Bentley and stowed them on the airplane.

“How’s the weather for our flight?” Dino asked the pilot.

“Looks very good,” the man said. “We’ll be in Teterboro by early afternoon.”

Stone hugged them both, put them aboard the airplane, watched it take off, then drove back to the main house. He went downstairs to his little office and sat down at his desk. Peter came in.

“How’s it going, Dad?”

“Pretty well. I just put Dino and Viv on their plane to New York.”

“Good news—we got script and budget approval for our film. The production company is coming down today with a truckload of lights, cameras, and editing equipment. We should start shooting the first of the week in the rooms that Susan is finishing up now.”

“Wonderful news.” Peter turned to go, and Stone checked his e-mail and called him back. “You might want to see this. It’s from Arthur Steele, head of the Steele Group of insurance companies.” He turned the monitor so Peter could see it.

Dear Stone, I saw Peter’s movie,
Hell’s Bells,
last night, and I thought it was wonderful.

“That’s nice,” Peter said.

“There’s more,” Stone replied.

I saw the mention of some sort of real estate fraud that the character had going, and coincidentally, a report landed on my desk, calling my attention to the fact that among our household insurance accounts, it was noticed that we have more than 800 units, mostly in the L.A. area but scattered widely beyond that, all with the loss-payee of D.B. Calhoun, Inc. We did some checking and we found that it’s a Delaware corporation, the only stockholder of which is one Don Beverly Calhoun. I thought Peter might find this interesting.

“Holy shit,” Peter said. “That’s bigger than what I had read about. What he’s doing is getting his followers to sign over their homes to him.”

Stone replied to Arthur’s e-mail.

Dear Arthur, Peter thanks you for your warm praise; he is also stunned by the size of Dr. Don’s real estate holdings. In fact, I think the FBI would like very much to know about this. It smells of scam, and scam is what Dr. Don does best. May I suggest that you print out the list and send it to the director?

Come see us in England, if you have the chance. Best, Stone.

Peter left, and Stone continued going through his e-mails. He was delighted to see one of them, from the head of the Italian police department that investigated organized crime.

Dear Stone, I am pleased to let you know that, this morning, I had a call from our director of public prosecutions to tell me that Leo Casselli has agreed to a guilty plea of one count of kidnapping and accepted a prison sentence of twenty years. He will likely be out in half that time, but by then he will be passé in the business of crime. I know you will be delighted to hear this, because, since he was not tried, the five million euro reward that you and Marcel duBois posted for information leading to his trial and conviction will not have to be paid. I will give you the pleasure of notifying Mr. duBois of this turn of events. I will notify Baron Klaucke, who had hoped to claim the reward. Warm regards, Guido.

Casselli was a Mafia don who, in an attempt to extort money from the Arrington Hotels group, had kidnapped a girlfriend of Stone’s. This was the best news Stone had heard for a long time, and he immediately forwarded the e-mail to Marcel and to Arthur Steele, who had agreed to reimburse them for the reward. He got immediate replies from both, and he went to lunch feeling richer, by at least two and a half million euros.

—

T
hat night, in bed with Susan, he told her about the e-mails he had received.

“It sounds as though things are going well for you,” she said, snuggling up, “and I am glad for that.”

Stone was not quite as glad. He fell asleep with the feeling that things were going too well, and that that state of affairs could not continue.

41

T
he director of the FBI received a Federal Express package from Arthur Steele, whom he knew slightly, with a list of 834 real estate properties, apparently controlled by Dr. Don Beverly Calhoun. He immediately sent for Douglas Tate, his deputy director in charge of criminal investigations.

“Doug, this Calhoun creature has raised his ugly head again. I’ve had reports that he and two of his minions have been arraigned on illegal weapons charges in New York and Connecticut, and now I’m hearing from the head of the Steele Insurance Group that Calhoun appears to be foxing his followers out of ownership of their own homes.”

“I wouldn’t put him above anything,” Tate replied. “I’ll open a new investigation.”

“You do that—and get ahold of one of the contracts he has signed with these people. I think that’s where we’re most likely to find illegal activity.”

“Yes, sir.” Tate returned to his office and checked his list of investigators who were not overburdened with work. He summoned two women, June Craven and Donna Madison, and sat them down. “What do you know about Dr. Don Beverly Calhoun?” he asked them.