L.A. Dead (7 page)

“Oh, yes, please, Stone. I’d feel so much better, if I knew you were handling everything.”

“What about medical decisions?”

“I’ll make those myself,” she said. “Unless I’m not able to, then I’d like you to make those decisions, too.”

Stone opened a hotel envelope and took out a sheaf of papers. “Dr. Judson, do you believe that Arrington is capable of making decisions about her affairs?”

“I don’t see any reason why she shouldn’t,” the doctor replied.

“Do you have a notary public here?”

“My secretary,” he said, picking up a phone.

The woman arrived shortly with her stamp.

Stone explained each of the documents to Arrington—a general power of attorney, a medical authorization, an agreement appointing him as her attorney, and a letter addressed, “To whom it may concern,” stating that Stone had authority to act on her behalf in all matters, business and personal. When everything had been signed, notarized, and witnessed by the doctor, Stone kissed Arrington good-bye.

“I’ll be back to see you tomorrow and bring you up to date on events,” he said. “Why don’t you call your mother now, and say good-bye to Peter?”

“All right. Stone, I’d like it very much if you would stay in our … my home; it would be comforting to know you are there. Manolo and the staff will make you comfortable in the guesthouse, and use the phones, the cars, anything you need.”

“Thank you, I may do that,” Stone said. “I’m going to go over there now and drive your mother and Peter to the airport. Will you tell her I’m on my way?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Is there another way to the house besides through the front gate?”

“Yes, there’s a service entrance about a hundred yards down the road, and there’s a utility service road into the back of the property; you enter it from the street behind. I’ll tell Manolo to open it for you.”

“Thanks, that would be good.” He kissed her again and left with the doctor. “What did you think, Jim?” Stone asked as they walked down the corridor.

“My diagnosis hasn’t changed. She seems to remember something about that night, the thing about the jewelry; I’d like to know exactly when the conversation with the lawn man took place.”

“So would I,” Stone said. He thanked the doctor, then drove to Vance’s house, entering through the utility road, where a servant stood waiting to close the gate behind him. He parked in a graveled area near the back door and went inside, where he was greeted by Manolo, the Filipino butler.

“It’s good to see you again,” Mr. Barrington.

“Thank you, Manolo,” Stone replied. “I wish the circumstances were different. Mrs. Calder has suggested I move into the guesthouse.”

“Yes, Mrs. Calder’s mother passed on that message,” Manolo said. “The guesthouse is all ready for you.”

“I’m going to take Arrington’s mother and Peter to the airport now, and after that I’ll go back to the Bel-Air, return my rental car, and take a cab back here. Mrs. Calder suggested I use one of her cars.”

“Of course, and I’ll give you a remote that will open the back gate, too,” Manolo said. “I’m afraid the media have the front gate staked out—permanently, it seems.”

A man approached Stone. “Are you Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Wilson; I’m commanding the security detail here.”

“Good; what kind of vehicles do you have available?”

“I’ve got a Chrysler van with blacked-out windows, and two unmarked patrol cars.”

“I’d like you to drive Mrs. Carter and the boy to Supermarine, at Santa Monica Airport. The Centurion Studios jet is waiting there to fly them to Virginia.”

Mrs. Carter appeared in the hallway, a handsome little boy of two holding her hand. “Hello, Stone,” she said. “Have you met Peter?”

Stone knelt and took the boy’s small hand. “Not since he was a baby,” he said. “Peter, you’re getting to be a big boy.”

“Yes, I am,” the boy said gravely.

There was something familiar in the child’s face, Stone thought—some characteristic of Vance or Arrington, he wasn’t sure just what. “You’re going to get to ride on a jet airplane this afternoon,” he said.

“I know,” Peter replied. “My bags are all packed.”

Two maids appeared, carrying the luggage, and everyone was bundled into the van.

“I’ll lead the way out the back,” Stone said, “and I’d like a patrol car to follow us. If necessary, I’d like that car to block the road.”

“I understand,” Wilson replied. He spoke softly into a handheld radio. “My people are assembling out back, now. Shall we go?”

“Manolo,” Stone said, “I’d like to talk with you when I get back.”

“Of course, Mr. Barrington,” Manolo replied. “I thought you might wish to.” He handed Stone a small remote control for the rear gate.

“By the way,” Stone said, “on what days is the lawn mowed?”

“The man is here today,” the butler replied. “Ordinarily, it’s on Fridays, but he was ill last Friday.”

“When was the last time he was here?”

“A week ago Friday.”

“Do you recall Mrs. Calder having a conversation with him on that day?”

“Yes, she asked him not to cut the lawn so closely. She asked me to see that it was done.”

“A week ago Friday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Manolo. And do you recall if Mr. and Mrs. Calder went out that evening?”

Manolo looked thoughtful. “Yes, they went to Mr. Regenstein’s home for dinner. I drove them; the chauffeur was on vacation.”

“Was it a black-tie dinner?”

“Yes, sir; Mr. Calder was dressed in a dinner suit.”

“And do you remember what jewelry Mrs. Calder wore?”

“She wore diamonds,” he said. “She usually does, when it’s a black-tie event.”

“Thank you, Manolo; I should be back in a couple of hours.”

“Will you be dining here, then?”

“Yes, I think I will,” Stone said.

“I’ll tell the cook.”

“Something simple, please; a steak will be fine.”

“Of course.”

Stone helped Mrs. Carter and Peter into the van, then got into his own car. They made it out the back way undetected.

Ten

S
TONE SAW MRS. CARTER AND PETER OFF ON THE CENTURION jet, then returned to the Bel-Air, checked out, left his rent-a-car with the parking attendant, and took a cab back to the Calder residence. He had thought of returning through the rear entrance, but he didn’t want a cabdriver to know about that, so he called Manolo and asked him to be ready to open the front gate. There was only a single television van at the gate when he arrived, and the occupants took an immediate interest in him, but before they could reach the cab with a camera, he was safely inside. Before he got out of the cab, he handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill. “That’s for not talking to the TV people about who you delivered here,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” the man said, “but I don’t know who you are, anyway.”

“Just don’t stop when you go out the gate.”

Manolo and a maid took Stone’s bags through the central hallway of the house, out the back, and around the pool to the guesthouse. Stone thought the little house was even nicer than the suite at the Bel-Air. While the maid unpacked for him and pressed his clothes, Stone walked back into the house with Manolo.

“You said you wished to speak with me, Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes, Manolo; it’s important that I know everything that happened here on Saturday night. Please tell me what you saw and heard.”

“I was in my quarters, a little cottage out behind the kitchen entrance, when I heard a noise.”

“How would you characterize the noise?”

“A bang. I didn’t react at first, but I was curious, so I left my quarters, entered the house through the kitchen door and walked into the central hall.” He led the way into the house.

“Which door did you come through?” Stone asked.

“That one,” Manolo replied, pointing to a door down the hall.

“And what did you see and hear?”

“I saw Mr. Calder lying right there,” he said. “He was lying… . He …”

“Can you show me?”

“Yessir.” Manolo walked to the spot and lay down on his side, then rolled partly onto his belly. “Like this,” he said. “Can I get up, now?”

“Yes, of course.”

Manolo stood up. “He had a hole in his head here,” he said, pointing to the right rear of his own head. “It was bleeding.”

“Did you think he was alive?”

“Yessir, he was. I felt his pulse in his neck.”

“What did you do then?”

“I went to the phone there,” he pointed to a table, “and called nine-one-one and asked for the police and an ambulance quick.”

“What next?”

“The maid, Isabel, came into the hall from the kitchen; I told her to go and see if Mrs. Calder was all right, and she went toward the master suite, there, through the living room, and through that door.”

“How much time elapsed between the time you heard the shot and the time you found Mr. Calder?”

“I didn’t go right away; I kept listening and wondering if I had heard what I heard. I expect it may have been two or three minutes.”

“Which—two or three?”

“Closer to three, I guess. I wasn’t running.”

“Were those doors open?” Stone asked, pointing to the French doors that led to the pool, guesthouse, and gardens.

“One of them was,” Manolo said. “It was wide open, in a way it wouldn’t ordinarily be. Normally, it would either be closed, or both doors would be latched open.”

“What happened next?”

“Mrs. Calder came running into the hall with the maid; she was wearing a robe and dripping water.”

“What did she do or say?”

“She yelled out, ‘Vance!’ and then she got closer and saw the wound, and she backed away from him. She was making this noise, sort of like a scream, but not as loud, and she said, ‘No, no!’ a couple of times. I told Isabel to take her into the bedroom, that I would see to Mr. Calder and that an ambulance was on the way.”

“Manolo, when Mrs. Calder came in, did you smell anything?”

“Well, yessir, I guess she smelled real sweet, having just got out of the tub.”

Stone looked at the Saltillo tiles that formed the floor and saw a dark stain on the grout between the tiles.

“I couldn’t get that out,” Manolo said. “I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“What happened next, Manolo?”

“Two uniformed police officers arrived—they rang the bell, and I let them in the gate. They looked at Mr. Calder and felt his pulse, but they didn’t move him. One of them talked to somebody on a walkie-talkie. Not long after that, another police car arrived, this time, plainclothesmen. They went and talked to Mrs. Calder, and I followed them, but she wasn’t making any sense; she was hysterical and didn’t seem to know where she was or what had happened.”

“Show me where the master suite is, please.”

Manolo led him through the living room and through a set of double doors, then through a small foyer and into a large bedroom, which contained a king-size bed, a fireplace, and a sofa and chairs in front of a hearth. “Mrs. Calder’s dressing room and bath are through here,” he said, leading the way through a door to one side of the bed. There was another foyer, and to the left, a very large room, filled with hanging clothes, cubicles for sweaters and blouses, shoe racks, and a three-way mirror. To the right was a large bathroom with a big tub and a dressing table. On top of the dressing table was a large perfume bottle, emblazoned with the name “Chanel,” and next to that a bottle of bath oil with the same brand name. Stone smelled them both.

“Now, can I see Mr. Calder’s dressing room?” Stone asked.

“Right this way, sir.”

They walked back into the bedroom, around the bed, and through another door. The arrangement was the same but both the dressing room and bath were smaller and decorated in a more masculine style.

“Where is Mr. Calder’s safe?” Stone asked.

Manolo went to a mirror over a chest of drawers, pressed it, and it swung open to reveal a steel safe door, approximately fifteen by twenty inches, a size that would fit between the structural studs. An electronic keypad, not a combination lock, was imbedded in the door.

“Do you know the combination?” Stone asked.

“Yessir, it’s one-five-three-eight. You press the star key first, then the numbers, then the pound key, then turn that knob.”

Stone opened the safe, which was empty. “What did Mr. Calder keep in here?” he asked.

“He kept his jewelry box and a gun,” Manolo said.

“Do you know what kind of gun it was?”

“I don’t know the brand of it, but it was an automatic pistol. There was a box of ammunition, too, that said nine millimeter, but the police took that.”

“What was in the jewelry box?”

“Watches and other jewelry. Mr. Calder liked watches, and he had six or seven. There were some cuff links and studs, too; a nice selection.”

“What did the box look like?”

“It was about a foot long by, I guess, eight inches wide, and maybe three or four inches deep. Deep enough to have the watches on mounts that displayed them when you opened the box. It was made out of brown alligator skin.”

“The safe is pretty shallow,” Stone said.

“The box would just fit into it, lying flat on the shelf, there. The pistol was at the bottom, along with the box of bullets.”

Stone took one more look around. “Thank you, Manolo, that’s all I need. Where is Mr. Calder’s study? I’d like to make some phone calls.”

“The main door is off the living room,” Manolo said, “but you can get there this way, too.” He walked to a double rack of suits, took hold of the wooden frame, and pulled. The rack swung outward. Then he pressed on the wall, and a door swung open, offering entry to the study.

Stone followed the butler into the study, then watched as he swung the door shut. Closed, it was a bookcase like the others in the room.

“Mr. Calder liked little secret things like that,” Manolo said, smiling. “What time would you like dinner, Mr. Barrington?”

“Seven o’clock would be fine.”

“And how do you like your beef cooked?”