Bel-Air Dead (15 page)

“Ah, you’re getting her out of harm’s way, then?”

“Of course.”

“Stone, you might watch your own back, too.”

“Dino’s doing that for me,” Stone said. They hung up.

“Is Bill all right?” Arrington asked.

“Never better,” Stone said. He told her about the substance of the conversation with Eggers.

“All good news.”

“Let’s have a farewell dinner tonight; I’ll take you out.”

“I’d love that,” she said.

30

Stone started to book a table at Spago Beverly Hills, but then thought better of it. He’s already had dinner there once this trip, and with Carolyn Blaine, Prince’s assistant. Instead, he booked a table at Vincenzo, an Italian restaurant he’d heard good things about.

As he pulled out of the Calder driveway, he noticed a car parked up the street—unusual, because people didn’t usually park on the street in Bel-Air; they had plenty of room inside their gates. As he drove away he saw the car move out, too, staying well behind him, headlights off in the dusk. He noticed that his own headlights, on the auto setting, had come on of their own volition.

They chatted idly as they drove, with Stone keeping an eye on the car in the rearview mirror, and a few minutes later Stone pulled up in front of the restaurant. The parking valet opened his door for him, and Stone came up with a fifty-dollar bill. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my car parked on the street, right under that lamp ahead. There are some valuable items aboard, and I’d hate to have the car broken into.”

“Of course, sir,” the young man said, and from inside the restaurant, Stone watched as the car was pulled forward a few yards and parked under the street lamp.

They were given a good table, in spite of not being regulars, and Stone was able to see his car.

“What’s so valuable in your rental car?” Arrington asked.

“Nothing, really. I just don’t want to make it easy for anyone to tamper with it.”

“You’re still concerned about my safety?” she asked.

“You’re perfectly safe,” he said, then slapped his forehead. “A car followed us here, and I was concerned about it. I forgot that Mike Freeman still has his security people watching you. That’s who’s in the car.”

She laughed. “Spooked by your own people?”

“I’m afraid so.”

They had a drink and ordered dinner. “You know, Stone,” Arrington said, “when I last saw you, in Maine, I pretty much said that we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

“I remember.”

“I was hasty, I’m afraid. Of course, you’re not going to come and live in Virginia, and I’m not going to live in New York anymore, but there’s no reason why we can’t get together now and then.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he replied.

“I was serious when I said that I want you to get to know Peter. If something happened to me and you became his guardian, I’d like him to already know you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“Now, be realistic. I can get sick and die just like anybody else, or I could walk in front of a passing car. I’m not ill, and I’m careful, but you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” he replied. “Why don’t you bring Peter to New York for a few days, when he’s on his holidays? You can both stay with me.”

“Then I’d have to sneak into your bedroom every night, wouldn’t I?”

“One of us would have to do the same thing in Virginia, but it would be good if he knew that we had more than a passing friendship.”

“I’ll give that some thought,” she said.

They dined well and returned to the house, the car still tailing them. They were greeted inside the house by Mike’s inside man, who took Stone aside when Arrington had gone to her room.

“I don’t want to trouble you, Mr. Barrington,” the man said, “but we had a little incident after you left for dinner.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure; we had an alert from the security system, which showed a possible breach of the perimeter fence. We checked it out and found nothing.”

“Why don’t we take a walk around the perimeter?” Stone said.

The man spoke into a microphone dangling from his sleeve into the palm of his hand, and another man appeared. “All right, let’s go,” he said, producing a small flashlight and borrowing another from his colleague for Stone.

They walked down the driveway to the front gate, where another operative stepped from the shadows and checked them out.

“By the way,” Stone said, “thanks for the following car when we went to dinner. At first I thought someone was up to no good.”

The man stopped in the driveway. “Following car? We don’t have anyone in a car, just inside the fence, as Mr. Freeman directed.”

“Follow me,” Stone said, “and don’t wave your flashlight around.” He made his way along the wrought-iron fence to a point opposite where the car had been parked earlier, then peeked through the shrubbery. “There’s the car,” he said, “but we can’t get at him through this fence, and I don’t have a way to open the front gate. Let’s just give him a scare, and maybe we can get his license plate number. Get ready with your flashlight.”

“All right,” the man said, stepping forward.

The two of them parted the hedge, and on Stone’s signal, hit the car with both of their flashlights. A startled, wide-eyed man turned toward the light, then started his car and drove away at high speed. “Fortyish, graying hair, sideburns,” Stone said.

“Did you get the plate number?” the security man asked.

“No, the license plate light was out—deliberately, I’m sure.”

“Plain vanilla sedan,” the man said. “I didn’t even get a make.”

“Maybe we’ve scared him off for the night,” Stone said. “Come on, let’s walk the rest of the perimeter.”

They trudged on, lighting their way with the flashlights. As they were passing a point behind the guesthouse, the security man said, “Wait.” He pointed his flashlight at the top of the fence and spotlighted something hanging on one of the sharp spires that rose from the wrought iron barrier. “There.” He parted the hedge, pulled himself up on a crossbar, and retrieved the object. “Piece of blue cloth,” the man said, turning his light on it.

“Cotton,” Stone said. “Maybe from a shirttail.” Then, from behind them a shot fractured the silence. “Come on!” Stone said, drawing the pistol from his belt.

They both ran, flat out, toward the house. Stone opened the rear door and started to run down the central hallway. Then they saw a man crumpled on the floor. The other security man stepped from the living room into the hallway, weapon drawn.

“I hit him,” he said, keeping his gun on the inert figure. The first security man bent down, turned the man over, and kicked away a silenced, small-caliber pistol. He felt for a pulse at the neck. “Nothing,” he said. “He’s dead.”

The man was mid-thirties, dark hair, dressed in a tail-out dark shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The bullet had exited his chest near the heart.

Stone bent and found where his shirttail was torn, then went through the man’s pockets. “Nothing,” he said, “absolutely nothing—not a cent, not a wallet, nothing.”

“Get the fingerprint scanner from my car,” one security man said to the other. “We’ll get his prints before the cops get here. Then you can call nine-one-one.”

Arrington came out of a door across the hall and stopped.

“Oh, my God,” she said.

Stone led her back to her bedroom. “Everything’s all right,” he said. “You’re perfectly safe.”

“I wasn’t for a while, though, was I?” she asked.

Stone didn’t answer, just hugged her.

31

Stone was standing in the driveway when the police cars—three of them, one unmarked—pulled up and stopped. He flashed his badge: “NYPD, retired,” he said. “Please turn off the flashing lights; let’s not disturb the neighbors any more than necessary.”

Dino came walking up the driveway, followed by another man. He introduced Sergeant Rivera to Stone, and Stone introduced them to the lead detective.

“We’ve got a man down in the central hall of the house,” he said to the detective. “One gunshot wound to the back, exiting the chest, DOA. We have security people here to prevent such a thing, but we found where he came over the rear fence, leaving this.” He handed the scrap of blue cloth to the detective. “You’ll see where it came from his shirt. We kicked his gun to one side when we turned him over to see how badly he was hurt, but nobody has touched it since.”

“Motive?” the detective asked.

“Uncertain,” Stone said. “Maybe robbery, maybe something to do with a business deal. This is the home of the late Vance Calder; his widow is in the house, but she saw nothing.”

The detective nodded. “I’ll need to talk to her.”

Stone went and brought Arrington out and introduced them. Then he sat and listened as she was interviewed. When they were done, he took her to her room. “You get some sleep,” he said, kissing her.

Somebody from the medical examiner’s office showed up, followed by two EMTs in an ambulance. They began to do their work.

Eventually, the ME joined Stone and the detective. “Deceased, probably instantly; gunshot wound, through-and-through, fresh corpse, been dead less than an hour.”

“I’ll need the gun that fired the shot,” the detective said, and Mike’s security man handed it over, along with his gun permit and a business card. The detective made some notes, then returned the permit to him. “Remain available,” the detective said, and the man nodded.

Mike Freeman turned up shortly. “I’m sorry I was so long; I was having dinner in Malibu,” he said.

Stone silently wondered where in Malibu.

“With Charlene,” Mike said.

Stone nodded and brought him up to date. “Your people did well,” he said, “but I didn’t. I took Arrington to dinner, and a car followed us, but I thought it was your people. Turned out, I was wrong.”

Photographs of the corpse and the scene were taken. Then the police cleared the scene and took down the yellow tape. Manolo turned up with a mop and a pail and cleaned up the blood, as if he did the same every night.

“It’s time everybody went to bed,” Stone said, shooing everybody out of the house but the security people and Dino. Then he went to Arrington’s room and knocked softly on the door.

“Come in,” she said, and when he had stepped inside, “close the door and come to bed; I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Stone undressed and climbed in next to her. “I told Manolo breakfast at seven; Mike’s people will deliver you to Burbank airport whenever you want to leave.”

She snuggled close to him. “That’s the nice thing about a private jet,” she said. “Departure time is whenever you feel like it.”

She reached down and fondled him, and they had an active halfhour before falling asleep.

She woke Stone at six-thirty, already half-dressed. “I’ll finish packing and join you for breakfast,” she said.

Stone went back to the guesthouse, showered, and changed, then joined Dino at the poolside table.

“You two sleep okay?” Dino asked.

“Yes, considering.”

“Are you still rattled? You were last night.”

“I’m still angry,” Stone said.

“It was Prince, you think? He wants Arrington dead?”

“No, he wants
me
dead,” Stone replied. “I’ve purposely made myself the main impediment to his deal, so he wants me out of the way. Me dead wouldn’t cause much of a fuss; Arrington dead would make world-wide headlines.”

“I buy that,” Dino said. “Still, it seems reckless.”

“I think he’s beyond caring about that, just obsessed with the deal. What’s the news from your pal Rivera?”

“He pulled in this guy Carter, at Parker Center, and scared the shit out of him. No arrest, but the department fired him.”

“I’m sure that Prince will see that he receives a nice pension contribution,” Stone said.

“Or just kill him, like Alexei,” Dino pointed out.

Arrington joined them, looking fresh and rested, and Manolo served them breakfast.

“Didn’t take you long to pack,” Stone said.

“There isn’t much to pack when you’re traveling from your house to your house,” she said.

“True.”

“How long will it take me to get to Virginia?” she asked. Stone thought about it. “Not more than four hours,” he said. “Something you should think about when you get home is buying a hangar.”

“Good idea,” she said. “Why rent?”

“I’ll research it for you, if you like, see what the market is like, what’s available.”

“Thank you, I’d like that.”

They finished breakfast, and Stone walked her to the Bentley. Manolo would drive her, accompanied by two unmarked security cars. “Have a good flight,” he said.

“I’m sure I will,” she replied. “I’m looking forward to it.” She kissed him, got into the Bentley, and was driven away.

Stone was back at the table when Mike Freeman called.

“Hello?”

“Hi, did she get away?”

“She just left.”

“I’m on my way to Burbank; I’ll fly to Virginia with Arrington, and have our CJ4 meet me there and take me to New York. I had my aviation department check out the hangar situation at Charlottesville,” he said.

“I was going to do that myself,” Stone replied.

“There’s a nice corporate hangar available—office, crew quarters, etc. They want half a million.”

“I’ll recommend it to her,” Stone said.

“I’ll call the crew and tell them to take the airplane there when they land. I’ll do the deal, if you like, subject to Arrington’s approval, and your people can send the check.”

“Go ahead.” Stone hung up, and Mike called back in ten minutes.

“I got it for four-fifty,” he said. “I told them to send the paperwork to Bill Eggers. I’ll show it to her when we land and get her approval.”

“You make life so easy, Mike.”

“It’s what I do. Talk to you later.” He hung up.

Stone called Arrington in the car and explained the deal to her.

“I approve,” she said.

“Just what I always like to hear a client say. Call me when you’ve actually seen it. Mike’s going to fly to Virginia with you and show you the hangar when you land. Let me know what you think.”