Bel-Air Dead (8 page)

Dino came back late in the afternoon. “How was your day?”

“Both busy and idle,” Stone replied. “I got a call from Joan and Cantor; somebody broke into my offices last night.”

“Connected with what’s going on out here?” Dino asked.

“What else?”

“What did they get?”

“A look at whatever they wanted, I guess.”

The house phone rang, and Stone answered it. “Hello?”

“Hello, Stone,” Charlene Joiner purred. “Would you and Dino like to come to dinner at my house in Malibu this evening? I’m cooking, and I’ve got a cute date for Dino.”

“Hang on.” He covered the phone. “I don’t suppose you’d like to have dinner with a movie star in Malibu tonight, would you? She’s got you a date.”

“Who do I have to kill?” Dino asked.

Stone uncovered the phone. “I talked him into it; what time?”

“Seven?”

“Seven it is.”

“You remember the way?”

“I do.”

“I’ll let the guard at the gate know. Bye-bye.”

Stone hung up. “If I know Charlene, she’s planning to get you laid.”

“I can live with that.”

They drove out to Malibu in the early evening, missing rush hour, so the Pacific Coast Highway was fast. Stone pulled into a gated area and gave his name to a guard, then was waved through.

“What is this place?” Dino asked.

“This is the Malibu Colony,” Stone replied. “The most expensive real estate anywhere on the Pacific Coast, I should think.” He drove to Charlene’s house and parked out front.

She answered the bell on the intercom. “Come straight through the house and out to the pool,” she said, buzzing the door open.

They walked down the center hallway and emerged onto a large rear patio with a pool, overlooking the Pacific. Charlene and another woman were arrayed on chaises, facing the setting sun. They both got up.

“Hey, Stone,” Charlene said, giving him a wet kiss. “Hey, Dino. This is my friend Hetty Lang; she’s a contract player at Centurion.”

Everyone shook hands. Dino appeared to be trying not to salivate.

“Anybody feel like a plunge in the Pacific before the sun goes down?” Charlene asked.

“Sure,” Stone said.

“Swimsuits are in the dressing room, over there,” she said, pointing.

Stone and Dino found suits the right size.

“I hadn’t expected to get wet,” Dino said, hanging up his clothes.

They walked back to the pool, and followed as the girls ran off the patio and raced for the ocean. Stone hit the water running and was stunned at how cold it was. Everybody swam out a few yards, then bodysurfed the waves back to the beach.

“Cold, fellas?” Charlene asked.

Dino’s teeth were chattering. “A little,” he said.

“Well, we don’t want shrinkage, do we? You guys hit the showers and fix yourselves a drink. We’ll be down in half an hour.”

Stone and Dino went back to the dressing room.

“I’ve never been so cold in my life,” Dino said, turning on the hot water.

“It’s a cold ocean,” Stone said.

“Thanks for the warning.”

They showered and dressed, then went into the house.

“There’s a bar in here, as I recall,” Stone said, turning into the study. He poured Dino a Johnnie Walker Black and himself a Knob Creek, and they sat down in a pair of large chairs.

“Refresh my memory,” Dino said. “Wasn’t Charlene involved with a president?”

“It was Will Lee,” Stone said, “but before he was president and before he was married. They’re both from Georgia, and he was representing her fiancé, who was charged with murder. They had a brief fling; then, when the fiancé was convicted, he tried to get it overturned on the grounds that his attorney was sleeping with his girl. It didn’t work.”

“I’ve read about that,” Dino said. “Didn’t he get his death sentence commuted?”

“Yes, and the rumor was Charlene slept with the governor of Georgia to effect the commutation.”

“I’d have
pardoned
the bastard, in those circumstances,” Dino said.

They sipped their drinks until they heard the girls coming down the stairs, giggling.

“Hey, fellas,” Charlene said. “Let’s all go into the kitchen.”

“Dino, you and Hetty go ahead,” Stone said. “I need to talk with Charlene for a minute.”

She gave him another kiss. “What’s up, lover?”

“Cool down for a minute, sweetheart,” Stone said. “I have some news, and it’s not good.”

She backed up a step. “What is it?”

“Jennifer Harris—the other stockholder Rick was counting on?”

“The one who died?”

“The one who was murdered,” Stone said.

Charlene’s face fell. “
Murdered
?”

“And by a professional.” Stone explained what the medical examiner had found. “I think you should be very careful for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because you hold shares committed to Rick, too. I don’t think you’re going to be safe until this whole thing with Centurion and Terrence Prince is resolved.”

“Excuse me a minute,” Charlene said. She went to a telephone and dialed a number. “Hello? This is Charlene Joiner; who’s this? Hello, Jerry, listen carefully: I want a team at my house,
right now
, and 24/7, until further notice, got that? Good. Yes, I anticipate a threat. Goodbye.” She hung up and took Stone’s hand. “Let’s go cook dinner,” she said.

Stone followed her into the kitchen, where Dino had mixed Hetty a drink from another bar, and Charlene turned on the grill. “How do you like your steaks?” she asked.

Stone marveled at how cool she was, given the circumstances.

15

Stone woke up the following morning, sprawled across Charlene’s bed, naked. The scent of bacon cooking wafted up from the kitchen. He showered and shaved and went downstairs.

Dino and Hetty were seated at the kitchen table, looking rested and fresh, while Charlene was dishing up scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. They all sat down, and Stone found a
Los Angeles Times
on the table. A story just above the fold caught his eye: DEATH OF MOVIE HEIRESS WAS MURDER.

Stone held up the paper for the others. “Did you see this?”

“We were talking about it when you were still asleep,” Dino said. “I wonder who let the press know?”

“I don’t think it was Prince,” Stone said. “Somebody who knows a reporter, I guess.”

“Maybe Rick Barron?” Dino offered.

“Could be,” Stone replied. “Charlene, I think this takes the heat off you, at least a little. The opposition can’t afford two murders in the papers.”

“I’ll stick with my security people for a while,” Charlene replied. “Better safe than dead.”

Stone’s cell phone hummed on his belt. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, getting up and walking out of the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“It’s Eggers.”

“Good morning, Bill.”

“It’s afternoon here.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I spoke to Rex Champion early this morning, offered him thirty-six million. He ranted for a while, then accepted. I’m sending him a deal memo; the price is contingent on our due diligence turning up nothing untoward and on his putting an immediate stop to selling blood stock.”

“That’s great news, Bill.”

“Closing is a week from today.”

“
What
?”

“I know, I know, but Rex is hard up and needs the cash immediately.”

“How are we going to raise the cash for Arrington that fast?”

“Look, Stone, I know you’re not accustomed to dealing with billionaires, but Woodman & Weld is. When one of our clients needs a loan, he doesn’t fill out an application and wait for word from the loan committee. Call Arrington, tell her to instruct Chase to deal with us, and we’ll have it wrapped up in a day or two. And send me her financial statement, so I’ll know what I’m dealing with.”

“You’re dealing with a billion two in investments with Chase; that’s all you need to know.”

“You’re right, it is. I need a letter from Arrington appointing us as her attorneys and authorizing us to act for her. Can you get that faxed to me right away?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing from her.” Eggers hung up.

Stone called Arrington. “Good morning,” he said.

“It’s afternoon.”

“Yes, it is. I have good things to report,” he said. “Rex Champion has accepted your offer of thirty-six million dollars for Virginia Champion Farms.”

“That’s wonderful! It’s less than I offered.”

“It’s what you offered,” Stone said. “We thought the extra million was too much.”

She laughed. “Thank you for ignoring my orders.”

“Improving on your orders. Now, we’re closing in a week, and I need some paperwork from you right away. Got a pen and paper?”

“Yes,” she said.

“First write a letter to Woodman & Weld saying as follows: ‘Dear Sirs: I herewith appoint your firm as my sole legal representatives, under the supervision of your partner, Stone Barrington.’ ”

“Partner?”

“We’ve been talking about that for months; your business sealed the deal.”

“Well, congratulations!”

“Thank you, ma’am. Please get that typed up on your letterhead, sign it, and fax it.” He gave her the number. “Then mail Bill Eggers the original. Then, as soon as you’ve done that, send the following letter to the person who supervises your accounts at Chase Private Bank. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“ ‘I have appointed the firm of Woodman & Weld as my sole legal representatives. You may deal with either Mr. Stone Barrington, the supervising partner on my account, or Mr. William Eggers, the firm’s managing partner, on my behalf.’ ”

“Got it.”

“Fax that to both your Chase banker and Bill Eggers and mail Chase the original.”

“Will do.”

“Time is of the essence,” Stone said. “We have to arrange a bridging loan from Chase right away to close the sale of Champion Farms, so that you won’t have to sell stocks at a loss.”

“I understand.”

“As soon as Eggers and Chase receive your faxes, we’re in business. I’ll have Eggers fax you the deal memo on the sale, which will protect you from undiscovered liabilities.”

“Thank you, Stone, I appreciate your getting this done with such dispatch. What’s happening with the sale of Centurion?”

“There’s been a bad turn of events,” Stone said. He told her about the murder of Jennifer Harris.

“Am I in any danger?”

“No. Just don’t tell Howard Sharp what we’re doing with Champion and don’t talk to him about anything else, either. Write him a letter discharging him and instructing him to overnight all your files to me in New York.”

“I’ll get it done today,” she said. “Bye-bye.”

Stone returned to breakfast.

“Everything okay?” Dino asked.

“Better than okay,” Stone said.

“Did you save Centurion?” Charlene asked.

“Not yet, but that’s next on my to-do list.”

When Stone and Dino left Charlene’s house, there were two men in the front garden and an unmarked van parked out front.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” one of the men said. “May I see some ID?”

They both complied.

“Charlene doesn’t waste any time, does she?” Dino said as they got into the car.

“Never, on any occasion, about anything,” Stone replied.

16

They arrived back at the Bel-Air house. Stone was having a second cup of coffee by the pool when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Mike Freeman, Stone.”

“Hello, Mike.”

“I have some preliminary results on the two background checks you asked us to do, on Prince’s chauffeur and executive assistant.”

“Shoot.”

“The chauffeur’s name is Alexei Popov, thirty-one years of age, born Ukraine, emigrated to this country with his parents at age thirteen. He has a juvenile record, now sealed, with charges of vandalism, auto theft and—always a bad sign—cruelty to animals. We couldn’t get the details. He was also charged with a murder-for-hire three years ago, before he went to work for Terrence Prince, but the case against him was dismissed in mid-trial when the main witness against him vanished.”

“Uh-oh,” Stone said.

“Exactly. Now, about Carolyn Blaine: she doesn’t exist.”

“Beg pardon?”

“She owns no property in Los Angeles, has no telephone listing, no registered vehicle, no credit record, and no one by that name has been divorced in L.A. County for the past five years.

The educational institutions you named—Miss Porter’s School, Mount Holyoke, and Wharton have no record of attendance by anyone of that name.”

“Well, well,” Stone said. “I wonder if Mr. Prince is aware that his trusted assistant doesn’t exist.”

“If you like, I can have her followed by someone who might get her fingerprints at some point, and we can run them. That might give us something more to go on.”

“Please do,” Stone said.

“I’ll get back to you.” Both men hung up.

“Dino?” Stone said.

Dino looked up from the
New York Times
. “Yeah?”

“Terrence Prince’s driver is now a suspect in the death of Jennifer Harris. Can you drop the dime on him with your friend Sergeant Rivera?”

“Sure,” Dino replied. “What evidence can I give him to support a charge?”

“No evidence, just an educated guess.”

“You want me to tell Rivera that my friend Barrington has a
hunch
that the guy killed Harris?”

“Is he looking at anyone else for the murder?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then he’ll have plenty of time on his hands. Name is Alexei Popov, thirty-one, a previous murder-for-hire charge, dismissed, dead witness. He’s a driver for Terrence Prince, who has a strong financial motive for wanting Miss Harris dead. Tell him about the Centurion thing.”

“Okay,” Dino said, picking up the phone.

Stone dug out Carolyn Blaine’s card and called her on his cell phone.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he replied. “I’m staying at a beautiful house in Bel-Air with a wonderful cook. Would you like to come here for dinner tonight?”