Swimming to Catalina (17 page)
T
he hour was near eleven when Stone, drained of any sexual desire and close to exhaustion, drove Barbara Tierney back to Marina Del Rey. As they pulled into the parking lot, she gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, shit,” she said.
“What?”
“My friend is back; there’s his Porsche. What am I going to do? I can’t show up on the boat having been out all night.”
“Um,” Stone said, helpfully. Then he had an idea. “Why don’t you run into the chandlery and buy some shorts or something. Change, and you can say you’ve been for a walk.” He peeled off a couple of hundreds and handed them to her.
“You have a devious mind,” she said. “Thank God. Listen, you’d better beat it out of here before someone sees us together.” She leaned over and kissed him, then dug in her handbag, found a slip of paper, and wrote down a number. “You can call me here,” she
said, handing it to him, “but only daytimes and…”
“If a man answers, hang up.”
“Right.”
“Before you go,” he said, “satisfy my curiosity.”
“About what?”
“I was in the chandlery the other day, and I thought I saw you drive away in a Mercedes roadster. Whose car was that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Bye.” She hopped out of the car and ran toward the chandlery.
Stone drove away, but not before he had made a note of the Porsche’s vanity plate, which read
BIGBUKS.
He got out his portable phone and called Rick Grant.
“Lieutenant Grant.”
“Rick, it’s Stone.”
“Hi. I was promised something on the boat registration before lunch.”
“Something else; can you run a plate and a phone number for me?”
“Sure.”
“The plate is a vanity, BIGBUKS.” He dictated the phone number.
“These won’t take long.”
“How about lunch?”
“Sure. See you at the Grange on Melrose in an hour?” He gave Stone directions.
“Good.”
“I should have something on the boat by then.”
“See you then.” Stone hung up and turned in the general direction of Beverly Hills.
They were seated in a garden again. Stone liked L.A.’s alfresco dining, which was a rarity in New York.
“Okay,” Rick said, taking out his notebook, “the
plate you gave me is registered to a Martin Barone, of a Beverly Drive address in Beverly Hills; he’s CEO of something called Barone Financial Services. The phone number you gave me, however, is not in Barone’s name; it’s just an extension off the Marina Del Rey’s number, which means it’s on a boat.”
“What about
Paloma
?”
“The boat is more interesting; it’s registered to Abalone Fisheries, which is a processor of canned seafood.”
“Why is that interesting?” Stone asked.
“I pulled up some stuff about Abalone out of our financial database. It’s a cannery, all right, but it’s also a holding company; it owns, among other businesses, twenty-two percent of the stock of the Safe Harbor Bank. It also owns seventy-five percent of Barone Financial Services. Martin Barone owns the other twenty-five percent.”
“A cannery owns a bank and a finance company?”
“You don’t understand. You’ve heard of Warren Buffet?”
“The richest man in America? Sure.”
“His principal holding is Berkshire Hathaway, a textile mill. Years ago he bought the company, and he used it to invest in a lot of other companies, like Coca-Cola, and it’s now worth billions.”
“Yeah? Who owns Abalone Fisheries?”
“Onofrio Ippolito and David Sturmack. It’s their version of Berkshire Hathaway.”
“Ahhhhh.”
“I thought you’d like that.”
“Seems like every time I turn over a rock, Ippolito is under it.”
“What’s your interest in the boat?”
“When your guys spotted Arrington’s car at the marina, a girl drove it away, and the same girl, I think, is living on the boat. She’s a thing on the side for this Martin Barone, who’s married. Will you see what you can dig up on Barone?”
“I can find out if he has a sheet.”
“Thanks.” Stone took some prefolded hundreds from his pocket and slipped them into Grant’s jacket pocket. “Something on account.”
“I thank you.”
“By the way, I dropped by Vincent Mancuso’s deli on the Strip yesterday; I’d give you odds he’s running a book out of there.”
“I’ll mention it to the relevant squad,” Grant said. “Stone, something’s been bothering me.”
“What’s that?”
“This business of Mancuso being in your hotel room.”
“Bothers me, too.”
“You moved there from the girl’s house, right? Calder’s secretary?”
“Right.”
“Who else knew you moved in there?”
“My secretary, Dino, and a lawyer friend in New York.”
“And neither Dino or your lawyer friend would have mentioned it to somebody who knows Mancuso, would they?”
“Unlikely in the extreme.”
“That leaves the girl.”
Stone shook his head. “I’ve thought about this. I think I was followed to the hotel by Mancuso and his buddy.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Grant said, reaching into a pocket, “here’s Mancuso’s mug shot.”
Stone looked at the photograph. “He’s older and heavier now, but that’s the guy who was driving the Lincoln that followed me the other night.”
“And you think he followed you to the hotel?”
“Yeah, that’s what makes the most sense.”
“No, it’s not.”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me you changed cars at the rental agency and told the guy there to say he’d driven you to the airport if anybody asked.”
“Yeah,” Stone said. He didn’t like where this was leading.
“Assuming he did as you asked, that should have broken the tail, shouldn’t it?”
“Unless Mancuso followed me to the rental agency and saw me drive away in the sedan.”
“Were you followed?”
Stone shook his head. “If I was, then Mancuso dramatically improved his tailing technique overnight.”
“So that leaves the girl.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You think the girl might be screwing Calder?”
“She used to, she told me.”
“Okay, so she’s Calder’s former squeeze, and she works for him; he’s her sole means of support?”
“As far as I know.”
“How long you known her?”
“A few days.”
“So where do you think her loyalties lie?”
“She’s made it clear that they lie with Calder, but she knows I’m not doing anything to threaten him; I’m trying to find his wife, for Christ’s sake.”
“Calder sees that as a threat, doesn’t he?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, he tried to hustle you out of town, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“So he must think your presence in L.A. is not in his best interests.”
“I guess not.”
“So, if he feels that way, why wouldn’t Betty feel that way, too?”
“You could have a point,” Stone said, but he didn’t really want to admit that to himself.
“Let me ask you something else: where were you when Mancuso was in your hotel room?”
“I was at a resort out in the desert.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Who were you with?”
“Betty Southard,” Stone said.
“Whose idea was it to go out there?”
“Betty’s.”
“Stone, I think you’re letting your cock do your thinking,” he said, “and remember, a cock doesn’t have a brain.”
S
tone met Betty Southard at an Italian place called Valentino. He had intended to pick her up at her home, but she had insisted on meeting him at the restaurant. She gave him a big kiss, and they were shown to their table. They ordered drinks.
“How’re things going?” she asked.
“Not well,” Stone said. “I’m getting nowhere, and I’m thinking of packing it in and going back to New York.”
“I would be desolated,” she said, sipping her martini.
“I’m grateful for your desolation, but all I’m doing is chasing my tail and not getting any of my own work done.”
“Arrington’s home,” she said.
Stone blinked. “When?”
“Yesterday, apparently. Vance came into the office this morning whistling a merry tune and had me order some flowers for him.”
“Funny, I thought I caught a glimpse of Vance last night,” he said, “and he was alone.”
“Where?”
“I was having dinner with my cop friend, Rick Grant, at a Greek restaurant, and I could have sworn I saw him drive by in the Bentley.”
She shook her head. “Nope. Vance and Arrington bad dinner last night at the Bel-Air Hotel with some Centurion stockholders; I made the reservation.”
The lie wilted Stone inside. “Must have been my imagination.”
“Not really; there are two other green Bentleys just like Vance’s around town. You saw one of them.”
“Oh, well; I’m glad she’s back.”
“Vance thinks you’re in New York,” she said. “He dictated a thank you note to you this afternoon.”
“I wanted him to think that, after being followed from the restaurant last week. I wanted everybody but you to think I was back in New York.”
“I understand,” she said. “Shall we order?”
They both ordered a Caesar salad and the osso bucco, and Stone ordered a bottle of the Masi Amerone ’91. “It’s a big wine,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.”
“You seem a little depressed, baby,” she said, rubbing the inside of his thigh with her toe.
“It always depresses me when I’ve wasted a lot of time,” he said.
“I hope it wasn’t
all
a waste of time.” She pushed her toe into his crotch.
He smiled. “Certainly not. In some ways, this has been an extremely lovely trip.”
“Well, if this is going to be our last night together, I’ll have to make it a special one,” she said.
“They’ve all been special,” he replied. “Especially the weekend at Tiptop.”
“I’d give you their unlisted number,” she said, “but I wouldn’t want you going there with anyone but me.”
Their food arrived, and Betty returned her toe to her shoe.
“I left a couple of messages for you at Le Parc,” she said. “Why didn’t you call me back?”
“I’m sorry; I haven’t been by the desk, I guess. I tend to go straight from the garage to my room. Was it something important?”
“I just wanted to tell you about Arrington.”
“Why didn’t you call my portable number?”
“I always feel as though I’m interrupting something when I do that.”
“Oh.”
“Stone, something’s really wrong, I can tell. Why won’t you talk to me?”
Because I might as well whisper it into Vance’s or Ippolito’s or somebody’s ear, he thought. “There’s nothing, really.”
“It’s Arrington; you’d hoped to see her again, hadn’t you?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
They finished their dinner in silence. He paid the check, and she took his hand on the way out.
“I’m going to make you forget her,” she said.
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll meet you at Le Parc in fifteen minutes.” “No,” he said, “meet me at the Bel-Air Hotel. I’ve moved.”
“See you in the parking lot there,” she said.
He followed her all the way, checking his rearview mirror to see if anyone were following him. As far as
he could tell, there was no one behind him.
She walked ahead of him into the suite, shedding clothing as she went. Stone allowed himself to be undressed, then she went into the bathroom and came back with a bottle of body lotion.
“Where does it hurt?” she asked, kneeling over him on the bed.
“All over,” he said.
She warmed the lotion between her palms and began rubbing his chest. “I watched you having your massage at Tiptop,” she said. “There was a peephole for that very purpose. I saw the effect Lisa had on you.”
“And what effect did watching have on you?” he asked.
“It made me want you both,” she replied, pouring more oil into her hand.
“Then why didn’t you have us both?”
“I didn’t think I should tamper with the staff.”
“My impression was that Lisa would have enjoyed being tampered with,” he said.
“Would you have enjoyed it?”
“What’s not to enjoy?”
She laughed. “I like your attitude. Maybe the next time you come out here I can arrange something like that.”
“What an exciting idea.”
She had his genitals in both hands now, and they were both unbearably excited. She lay down beside him and took him into her, throwing a leg over his body. From that time until morning they did not speak again.
“So, you’re leaving today?” Betty asked over breakfast.
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll stick around a little longer.”
“What for? Last night you sounded determined to leave.”
Tired of cat-and-mouse, he decided to go for broke. “Ippolito interests me,” he said.
“The banker? Why?”
“I think he’s behind all this.”
“Behind what?”
“Affington’s disappearance.”
“That doesn’t make any sense at all, Stone,” she said, sounding worried.
“I’m beginning to think it does. I think the two men who followed us the other night work for Ippolito.”
She stopped eating. “Stone, I think it’s better that you stay away from Mr. Ippolito.”
“Why? It’s a free country. I’ve been a cop and an investigator long enough to know that you can find out anything about anybody, and I’m going to find out more about Ippolito.”
“That could be dangerous,” she said quietly.
“I thought you didn’t know anything about the man,” he said, “and here you are telling me he’s dangerous.”
“It’s just an impression.”
“And how did you get that impression?”
“Just from things I’ve heard.” She looked at her watch. “God, I’ve got to get to the office; Vance is coming in early this morning for a meeting about a new film.”
Stone walked her to the door. “I want to thank you,” he said. “You’ve been wonderful.”
She put her arms around his neck. “If you want to thank me, go back to New York today.”
“I don’t think so,” Stone said.
She looked frightened but said nothing. She kissed him and ran out the door.
Stone watched her go, wondering how long it would take to pass on their conversation.