Swimming to Catalina (23 page)
The floodlights revealed a tall wrought—iron fence at the rear of the house, and he thought it might be electrified, so the front gate seemed his only chance. He sprinted past the garage and across the lawn, not bothering with the driveway, and as he did, the front lawn sprinklers came on, too. He charged across the grass, grabbed the rake, and started waving it at the gates. Nothing.
Stone looked desperately around for a sensor and saw a small box on a foot—high steel pole. He waved the rake at it and, finally, the front gates started to open; he threw away the rake and ran into the street, legs pumping. The police were going to arrive any second, he reckoned, so it was no time for a stroll. He made the corner, turned it and ran up the block, looking for the car. It was gone. Through some trees to his right he saw a car wearing flashing lights turning a corner. He crossed the road and dived through a hedge, hitting the ground on all fours, then flattened himself on the grass as the car sped past. He caught sight of a car door that proclaimed the vehicle to be from the Bel—Air Security Patrol. The car turned the corner
toward Vance’s house, and Stone broke back through the hedge. Somewhere behind him a dog–a
very
large dog, from the sound of him—had begun to bark. He stood in the street, soaking wet, grass-stained, and completely exposed, and tried to think what to do next.
As he thought, another car turned the corner to his right, and Stone was about to plunge through the hedge again when he realized the approaching headlights were a familiar oval shape. He ran at the car, hoping to God it was not somebody else’s E-class Mercedes, and waved it down. Shielding his eyes from the headlights, he could see Barbara behind the wheel. He flung himself into the passenger side.
“Get out of here!” he said. “Take a left at the corner!”
“Stone, what happened?” she asked. “You’re dripping wet.”
The car had not moved.
“Barbara,” Stone said as quietly and as slowly as he could, “Please drive away and make a left. Do it
right now.
”
“Oh, all right,” she said, and she drove slowly away.
“Faster,” he said.
“How fast?”
“
Faster than this!
” he hissed.
“Maybe you’d better drive,” she said.
“Stop the car.” He got out, ran around the car, and, when she had settled herself in the passenger seat, smoothed her skirt, fastened her seatbelt, and closed the door, roared off into the Bel-Air night.
“Stone,” she said.
“What?”
“I didn’t get to see Vance’s house.”
S
tone paced up and down the living room of his suite, trying to think. It was mid-morning, and the California sun streamed through the sliding glass doors to the terrace. Barbara was sitting up in bed, picking at her breakfast and watching Regis and Kathie Lee. The doorbell rang; Stone opened it and found the valet standing there, holding his cleaned clothes.
“Morning, Mr. Barrington,” the man said. “I think we did pretty good with these things.”
“Thanks very much,” Stone said, tipping the man and taking the clothing.
“You sure are hard on your clothes,” the man said. “But at least the second one was fresh water instead of salt.”
Stone hung up the clothes, closed the doors to the bedroom, picked up the phone, and dialed Rick Grant’s number.
“Lieutenant Grant.”
“Rick, it’s Stone.”
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“I was worried when I didn’t hear from you yesterday.”
“Anything new?”
“Nothing; Mancuso is out on bail, and we haven’t found Manny yet. Oh, somebody spotted Mrs. Calder’s car on Sunset in Beverly Hills last night about ten, but I didn’t hear about it until this morning.”
“That was me; I was returning the car to Calder.”
“What did he have to say?”
“I didn’t get to talk to him,” Stone said. “I just left the car in the garage.”
“It must be driving him nuts, wondering how it got there.”
“I hope so. Anyway, you can take the car off the patrol list.”
“Okay. What else can I do for you?”
“Listen, Rick, I’ve got a big favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve got to get rid of a girl.”
Rick was instantly wary. “What do you mean, ‘get rid of’?”
“I mean find her a safe place to stay. She’s Martin Barone’s girlfriend; I got her packed up and off his boat, and she stayed the night with me at the Beverly Hills, but I’ve got to get her out of here; she’s driving me nuts. Do you maybe know some nice police-woman who could take her off my hands for a few days?”
“What does she look like?”
“Tall, brunette, gorgeous.”
“I know a nice police
man
who could, maybe, take
her off your hands for a few days. My boy’s away at college, so there’s a room at my place.”
“What about your wife?”
“Divorced eight years ago.”
“Where can we meet?”
They met at Rick’s house in Santa Monica.
“But I don’t understand,” Barbara said as they pulled up. “Why can’t I stay at the Beverly Hills with you?”
“Because it’s too dangerous,” Stone said, getting her luggage from the trunk. “I’m moving out, too, remember.”
“Where are you moving to?”
“I don’t know yet,” he lied. “I’ve got to find a place.”
“Why don’t we just move to another hotel, then?”
“I have too much to do, Barbara; I can’t take care of you.”
“So how’s your friend going to take care of me?”
“You’ll be safe with him; he’s a cop.”
“A
cop
?” she said, as if she were being asked to move in with a criminal.
“A very important detective, high up in the LAPD. Nobody will touch you if you’re staying at his house.”
“Oh,” she said.
Stone rang the bell, and Rick appeared at the door.
“Come on in, both of you.”
“Barbara, this is Lieutenant Richard Grant.”
“Call me Rick,” he said, shaking her hand and looking her up and down in a distinctly approving manner.
“Hi, Rick,” she said, smiling brilliantly. “I’m Barbara Tierney.”
“What a lovely name,” he said.
“Look, I’ve got to get moving, so I’ll leave you two alone,” Stone said.
Rick followed him out the door. “She’s amazing,” he said.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Where will you be?”
“I’m moving back to the Bel-Air. They’ve got a suite for me that’s at the top end of the hotel, so I can park outside and stay away from the bar and restaurant, where I might run into somebody I don’t want to see.”
“Mancuso’s lawyer called me, wondering about this murder charge I threatened his client with. I told him I intended to charge him, but in my own good time.”
“Good.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he ran.”
“Neither would I; Ippolito will want to get him out of town.”
“Sorry this hasn’t been more productive.”
“You get any more on Martin Barone?”
“Not yet.”
“Barbara knows him well,” Stone said. “You might want to question her closely.”
“My pleasure.” Rick grinned.
“I’ll talk to you later; you two have a good time.”
“We’ll try.”
Stone moved back into the Bel-Air Hotel, into a small suite at the north end of the property, with a car park nearby. He ordered some lunch from room service, then called his secretary in New York.
“Hi,” she said. “Vance Calder called.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Just wanted you to call him back, said he’d be at home all day. Say, I never got that cashier’s check you said you were mailing.”
“I’ve still got it, but it’s a little worse for the wear. I’d better hang onto it; I’m getting low on money.”
“Whatever. I’ve paid all the bills, and everything seems to be in pretty good shape here.”
“Glad to hear it; I’m not ready to leave L.A. yet. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He hung up and dialed Vance’s home number.
“Hello?”
“Vance, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Oh, Stone, thank you for calling.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I hardly know how to answer that, Stone; I wish I could talk to you face to face and try and explain what’s been going on.”
“We can arrange that, if you like.”
“You mean you’ll come back out here?”
“I never left.”
“What? You’re still in L.A.?”
“Yes, but you can’t tell anyone that—not a soul, do you understand?”
“Of course, whatever you say.”
“I mean it, Vance; if you tell
anyone
I’m in L.A., it could be very dangerous for me.”
“I promise, I’ll say nothing to anyone.”
“Not even Betty.”
“If you say so.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, it’s the servants’ day off; I’m at home, reading scripts.”
“All right, I’ll be there in ten minutes; open the front gate.”
“Thank you, Stone; I appreciate this.”
“Don’t appreciate it until we’ve talked. You have a lot to tell me, and this time I’m going to have to have the truth.”
“I understand.”
“See you in an hour.”
Stone had lunch on his tiny garden terrace, changed clothes, and started out for Vance’s house.
S
tone was sitting at a stop sign, waiting to turn into Vance Calder’s street, when a Rolls-Royce convertible drove past. The driver was David Sturmack. Stone turned right, then turned right again, into Vance’s drive. The gates were closed. Stone rang the buzzer.
“Yes?” Vance’s voice said over the intercom.
“It’s Stone, Vance.”
“Oh, Stone; something’s come up; can I call you later?”
“No, I want to see you now.”
“Stone, I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
“Vance, open the gate and talk to me, or I’ll go straight to the tabloids and the police with what I have.”
After a moment’s silence the gates swung open. By the time he had parked and walked to the front door, Vance was waiting, and he looked grim.
“Stone, I’m sorry you came; I just can’t tell you anything,” he said, standing in the doorway.
Stone brushed past him. “Let’s go into your study, shall we?”
Vance followed him through the living room. “I really can’t talk; I just wish you’d take my word for it.”
Stone went into the study and settled into a comfortable chair, pointing at one for Vance.
Vance sat down on the edge of the chair and looked at the floor.
“You’ve got to let me help you, Vance.”
The actor shook his head. “I can’t; I’m sorry.”
“Are they threatening to harm Arrington?”
Vance looked up. “I’m talking to her every day; she’s fine.”
“And what does she say, Vance? ‘Get me out of here? Take me home? Protect me?’”
Vance winced. “It’s just awful,” he said. “I’ve agreed to what they want, but it’s going to take a few days to set it up, before Arrington can come home.”
“What do they want?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Who are ‘they’?”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“David Sturmack was just here; he must be deeply involved.”
“I didn’t say that, you did,” Vance said, looking alarmed.
“And Lou Regenstein.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He wanted to ask who the red-haired man was who had been in his study the night before. “And Ippolito.”
“Stone, please stop it; I can’t tell you any more. You just can’t imagine what’s at stake.”
“I think I can; Arrington’s life and that of her baby are at stake.”
“Is that what this is about? The baby?”
“Certainly, that’s part of it; that’s what you used as bait to get me out here.”
“Stone, I’m terribly sorry I asked you to come. When…the situation changed, I tried to make it profitable for you to have made the trip.”
“I cannot describe the trip as profitable,” Stone said.
“What is it you want, personally?”
“I want Arrington to be free to…come home or do whatever she wants to do.”
“Like go back to you?”
“Do you think that’s what she wants?”
“I don’t know what she wants; we can’t talk about that in our phone conversations.”
“Vance, I am not going to walk away from this, and you’d better get used to the idea.” There had been no mention of Arrington’s car; perhaps Vance hadn’t been in the garage yet.
“Stone, if they find out that you’re not back in New York, they’ll…there’s no telling what they’ll do.”
“They know I’m not in New York.”
“What?” Vance asked, alarmed.
“They think I’m dead.”
“Dead?” he asked weakly.
“Did you go to a dinner party on Ippolito’s yacht at Catalina a few nights ago?”
“I was invited but I didn’t go.”
“I was invited and didn’t go, either. On the way to the party, I got dumped into the Pacific with my hands and feet bound and an anchor shackled to me.”
Vance’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “They wouldn’t do something like that to…”
“They’ve been threatening to do it to Arrington, haven’t they? Why wouldn’t they do it to me?”
Vance buried his face in his hands. “Oh, shit, shit, shit. I’m so sorry, Stone; I never meant for something like that to happen to you, and it’s my fault.”
“How so?”
“I told them you were at the Bel-Air.”
“And how did you know?” Stone asked, knowing the answer.
“Betty told me.”
“She told you not them?”
“Yes. She doesn’t know who’s involved; she doesn’t know anything about this, except what she might imagine. She told me because she would never hide anything from me.”
“I’m glad to hear she didn’t tell Ippolito,” Stone said, and he was. He felt better about Betty now.
“Betty would never do anything to harm you,” Vance said. “I think she’s half in love with you.”
“You’re very lucky to have her,” Stone said, reflecting that Vance seemed to have the women he wanted.
“I certainly am.”
“Vance, if you will trust me enough to tell me what’s going on, I can help, I’m sure I can.”
Vance looked at him, his jaw set. “Stone, if I could, I would; but I can’t do
anything
that might have even the slightest chance of harming Arrington.”