by Stuart Woods
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.”
“Will do.”
Stone went back to the remains of his breakfast.
“So,” Dino said, “what’s next?”
“I think it’s time to take the game to Prince,” Stone said. “I’m tired of playing catch-up.”
32
Stone called Carolyn Blaine. “Are you available for lunch?”
“I don’t think we should be seen in public,” she said.
“Then come here.”
“One o’clock? I want to be sure Terry has left the office before I do.”
“That will be fine.”
Stone hung up.
“What do you want with that dame?” Dino asked.
“To get to Terry Prince; she’ll know how best to do it.”
Stone received Carolyn by the pool, and Manolo offered them a lobster salad for lunch.
“I hear Jim Long is in and out of consciousness,” she said. “What do you hear?”
“I haven’t heard,” Stone replied. “I’ll hear when there’s a change.”
“What did you think of your lunch with Terry?” she asked.
“He confirmed all my worst suspicions about him.”
“Which are?”
“Do I have to tell you?”
“I’m reluctant to say anything to you that might be quoted later.”
“Am I the only attorney from whom you’ve sought advice?”
“Yes, you are, but I’m very nervous. If your worst suspicions of Terry are valid, then it’s very dangerous for me to talk to you, let alone see you.”
“I trust you’ve erased me from your cell phone.”
“I have,” she said, “and I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same with your phone.”
“Are you worried that Terry might somehow gain access to my phone?”
“You never know,” she said, digging into her salad.
Stone poured them a glass of Sauvignon blanc. “Let me ask your advice,” he said. “Suppose you were in opposition to Terry; how would you vex him?”
“Vex him? That’s rather an archaic form, isn’t it?”
“How would you get under his skin? Upset him?”
“I’d outbid him for something he wanted.”
“That’s too expensive a way to vex him.”
“Then I’d find something else he wanted.”
Stone smiled. “That’s a nice thought.”
“Do you have something in mind?”
“Maybe it’s time to let him know what you know about this property.”
“All I know is that there’s some acreage.”
“There are eighteen acres,” Stone replied. “Arrington recently took up her option on two adjoining plots.”
“Eighteen of the most expensive residential acres in the United States? That might interest Terry,” she said, “but I don’t think he would enjoy subdividing it and selling the lots.”
“How about living in this house? Or building his own?”
“He’s well-stocked with houses,” Carolyn said. “He has five, scattered here and there, and two of them are in Beverly Hills and Malibu.”
“How about creating his own Bel-Air hotel on the property of America’s all-time biggest movie star?”
She put down her fork. “Now that would turn his head.”
“Would it turn his head away from the Centurion deal?”
“He can afford to do both.”
“But he can’t do both,” Stone said. “If he wants this property, he’d have to end his attempted takeover of Centurion and agree never to try again.”
Carolyn took a sip of her wine and looked thoughtful. “I think you’ve got it,” she said. “The one thing in Los Angeles, maybe in the world, that he would most like to have. He was very, very upset when his offer for the Bel-Air Hotel was rejected.”
“I suppose I could call and offer him the property,” Stone said, “but it might work better if you somehow learned of its availability-not through me-and let him know. I’m sure you could collect a very nice commission on that sale, especially since it wouldn’t involve a broker.”
Carolyn had stopped eating and drinking; she was just staring into the middle distance. “My God!” she said finally. “How would I have learned about it, except through you?”
“Arrington took up the option on the adjoining acreage just a few days ago,” Stone said. “Transactions of that sort are part of the public record, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are,” Carolyn said. “And I have a contact in that city office who could very well have let me know about this one.”
“Well,” Stone said. “There you are.”
Carolyn stood up, dropping her napkin on the patio. “I have to go,” she said, then practically ran from the house.
“I think that worked,” Stone said aloud to himself.
33
Dino returned to the house late in the afternoon. “I’ve got news,” he said.
“Tell me,” Stone replied.
“Terry Prince’s guy at Parker Center? The one who probably set up Jim Long’s shanking?”
“I remember.”
“He’s disappeared.”
“What a shock!” Stone replied, laughing. “What’s your best guess: was he paid off and sent away or does he now reside in the La Brea Tar Pits?”
“My friend Rivera would like to know,” Dino said.
“My money’s on La Brea, or some other equally suitable resting place.”
Manolo paged Stone on the house phone, and he picked it up. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Calder is on line one for you,” Manolo said.
Stone punched the button. “Hello, there; safe and sound in Charlottesville, I hope.”
“Safe and sound at home,” she replied.
/> “How was your flight?”
“Absolutely wonderful! And Mike Freeman was very good company. His company airplane met him in Charlottesville and flew him to New York, but not before he showed me my new hangar. It’s wonderful! I could almost live there myself.”
“I’ll get New York to wire the funds, then,” Stone said.
“The crew are living there, until we can find something more permanent for them in town.”
“When’s your auction?”
“Tomorrow morning. The auctioneers have been working here the whole time I’ve been away. It’s very odd to have a tag on every object in your house.”
“When do you move out?”
“Tomorrow morning, early. They’re packing my things now. I’ve taken a very nice furnished house down the road for eighteen months. Phone numbers will be the same.”
“How much do you hope to raise in the auction?”
“As much as I spent, I fervently hope!”
“Good luck with that.”
“Any news from James Long?”
“No, and frankly, that worries me.”
“What will you do if he doesn’t recover?”
“Regroup.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I have an idea for how to redirect Mr. Prince’s attention.”
“And how would you do that?”
“Get him interested in buying your Bel-Air property for a hotel.”
“But that’s my plan!”
“I didn’t say sell it to him, just get him interested. That should buy us some time to get the Centurion shares nailed down.”
“Well, I’m certainly not selling to him; you remember that.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I have to go now and finish packing.”
“Bye-bye.” He hung up. “Arrington is very happy now; she likes her new airplane.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Dino asked.
Stone’s cell phone vibrated. “Hello?”
“Hey, babe, it’s Charlene.”
Stone felt the usual stirring in his loins at the sound of her voice. “Hey, Charlene.”
“Would you and Dino like to go to a Malibu dinner party with Hetty and me this evening?”
