Family Jewels

by Stuart Woods

  “An estimable firm.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Was your law school friend Bill Eggers?”

  “He was and is.”

  “I knew him as a Yale undergrad. May I call you next week? I’m not entirely satisfied with my representation.”

  “Of course.” Stone handed him a card. “I visit the office from time to time, but I mostly work out of my home. Come and see me there.”

  Nicky pocketed the card. “I’ll do that.”

  Rupert materialized. “Dinner is served, madam.”

  And they went in.

  When they came out, Sergeant D’Orio was waiting for Stone. They went out onto the deck and took a seat. It was a balmy night, with a moon rising.

  “You’ve been a cop,” D’Orio said, “so you’ll understand the reason for these questions.”

  “Of course.”

  “When did you arrive out here?”

  “About one-thirty this afternoon, in time for a Bloody Mary and lunch. Our meal was interrupted when the wind changed.”

  “When were you last in the Hamptons?”

  “The summer before last, in June, I believe.”

  “Account for your movements for the past three months.”

  “I spent about three weeks in Rome in the early spring, then flew to England, where I bought a house and some property. I remained there until last weekend, when I flew back.”

  “What airline did you take?”

  “I took Alitalia to Rome, then my airplane was ferried over. I flew to England and then to Teterboro, New Jersey, in that aircraft.”

  “Who flew with you?”

  “I was alone, but the people at the hangar at Jet Aviation belonging to Strategic Services can confirm when I landed. You can also search the aviation databases for my flight plans.”

  “Have you ever met Darla Henry?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “If the tags on the luggage in the room are to be believed, she was the lady on the bed.”

  “I’ve never met her and never heard that name. Incidentally, my hostess, who keeps her house open year-round, has not seen James Carlton since he spent the Christmas holiday at his house. I understand he’s in London, making a film.”

  “That coincides with what the real estate agency had to say.”

  “Have you spoken to Carlton?”

  “I’ve left two messages with his production company at Pinewood Studios, in England. I haven’t heard back.”

  “What did your ME have to say about the remains?”

  “He puts the time of death at ten to twelve weeks, but he doesn’t have a cause of death yet. He said there was no evidence of a gunshot, stabbing, or strangulation. That doesn’t mean that something might not turn up after further analysis.”

  “Drugs?”

  “We found a bottle containing a sleeping pill, Ambien, on the bedside table, with two remaining tablets. We’ll have to wait for a tox screen to know if she took any, and that will take weeks.”

  “What have you learned about Darla Henry?”

  “She has a Florida driver’s license with a West Palm Beach address—a rental apartment—and she moved out early in the year and left no forwarding address. A lot of her clothes had Bloomingdale’s labels, with a few from Palm Beach.” He handed Stone the license, showing a pretty blonde of thirty-three.

  “I’ve never seen her,” Stone said. “The clothing labels make it sound like she spent some time in New York.”

  “Can I speak to your dinner partners?”

  Stone shrugged. “Okay with me, but I think the four guests arrived earlier today, and my hostess, I think, would have told me more if she knew anything. I’m also her attorney.”

  “A long relationship?”

  “She hired me a couple of days ago. I’ll be drawing a will for her tomorrow. She’s recently divorced and needs to make some changes.”

  “Sounds like a dry hole for me,” D’Orio said.

  “Probably. Did you ask the realtor if anyone has rented the house since Christmas?”

  “Yes, and no one has.”

  “Perhaps Ms. Henry is a friend of James Carlton.”

  “That’s one of the things I’d like to ask him when he returns my calls.” The cop stood up and offered his hand. “Thanks for your cooperation. I’ll be in touch if I have any further questions.”

  “You’ve got my number.”

  9

  The following morning Stone handed Carrie her new will. “Please have a look at that and tell me if there’s anything you’d like changed.”

  She put the will in her handbag. “I’ll read it when I get back to the city, I promise.”

  “Well, I could have saved a trip to East Hampton, then.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “I’m glad, too. Except for the unpleasantness next door, I’m enjoying myself.”

  “At least the odor went away.”

  “It left with the remains and the bed.”

  “I expect that will make it easier to sell the house.”

  “Maybe not. The story will make the local papers, and a lot of people won’t want to buy a house that recently hosted a deteriorating corpse.”

  “I suppose not. Bob’s happier, though.”

  “Bob would make a good investigator.”

  “He’s certainly taken to you. He ignores everyone but Rupert, who feeds him, of course, but even they are not very good friends. Are you particularly good with dogs?”

  “I’ve never owned one, but I’ve always gotten along with them.”

  “Feel like some tennis?” she asked. “Nicky and Vanessa are very good, and I’m all right.”

  “I didn’t bring the gear.”

  “I think I can outfit you from the guest bin.”

  They played three sets, then showered before lunch.

  They had just sat down when a distant phone rang, and Rupert came into the kitchen. “Excuse me, madam, but there’s a Mr. James Carlton on the phone from London.”

  “Oh, dear,” Carrie said. “You lot start eating while I speak to the man.” She left the room. Five minutes later she came back. “Stone, Jim wants to speak with you.”

  Stone followed Rupert to a phone in the study. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Barrington, this is Jim Carlton.”

  “How do you do?”

  “Not so well, after what Carrie has just told me.”

  “Have you spoken to the East Hampton police?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to know what was going on before I called them. Carrie said you could bring me up to date.”

  Stone gave him an account of events.

  “Carrie says you’re an attorney with a good New York firm.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I’d like to retain you to handle this for me.”

  “My guess is there’s not a lot to handle, unless Ms. Henry was your guest.”

  “She was not, and I’ve never heard of her.”

  “Then I think you should call Sergeant D’Orio, listen to what he has to say, answer his questions, and if you’re uncomfortable, tell him to speak to me.”

  “I’d rather you did that,” Carlton said.

  “All right, I’ll represent you. I’ll need some phone numbers.” He noted the numbers. “Now, I have some questions.”

  “All right.”

  “When were you last at your East Hampton home?”

  “At Christmastime. I threw a party on New Year’s Eve and left for London on New Year’s Day, and I can supply a list of guests, if he wants it. I’ve been here ever since.”

  “When will your business in London be concluded?”

  “As soon as we have a rough cut, then I’ll go back to L.A. and finish up at the studio.”

 
“Which studio?”

  “Centurion.”

  “My son is based there—Peter Barrington.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve met him a couple of times, but I don’t know him well. I like his work, though.”

  “Have you rented out your house to anyone this year?”

  “No, as far as I know it’s been empty since I came to London.”

  “Do you think Ms. Henry might be a squatter?”

  “Not unless she has a key and the security code.”

  “The house was unlocked when I was there, and the security system had apparently not been set.”

  “Then I’m baffled.”

  “All right, Mr. Carlton—”

  “Jim.”

  “All right, Jim, I’ll speak to the police and get back to you.”

  “I’m at a country inn this weekend. Call me tomorrow at the Pinewood number.”

  “Right. Can you e-mail me the party list?” He gave him the address, said goodbye, hung up, then returned to lunch.

  “Are you representing Jim?” Carrie asked.

  “Yes. I’ve acquired more new business this weekend than I know what to do with.”

  “You’re welcome to stay on, if you need time to deal with this.”

  “Thank you. I think I’ll need tomorrow, at least.”

  10

  The following morning Stone got another call from James Carlton.

  “I’ve decided to come back to the States tomorrow, and I’ll spend the night at the house and speak to the police, if you want me to.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  “Is there any problem with cleaning the house before I get there? I have a service.”

  “I don’t think so, but have them speak to me before they clean the room in question. I’ll need to run that by the police first.”

  “Does the house stink?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Okay, I’ll get it done. I should be at the house by about four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I’ll call you then. By the way, the party list is on my computer there, and I’ll give it to you when I see you.”

  Both men said goodbye and hung up.

  —

  After lunch Rupert loaded the cars of the two visiting couples.

  “I’ll call you in New York later this week,” Nicky said to Stone.

  “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” The couples left in a Porsche and a Mercedes.

  —

  Carrie and Stone had a Bloody Mary before lunch, then Rupert served sandwiches. When he had cleared the table, Carrie gave him the rest of the day off, after he had supplied them with one more Bloody Mary.

  They sat on a sofa, looking out over Georgica Pond and the Atlantic beyond. Carrie looked him in the eye. “The air feels so good, why don’t we get out of these clothes?”

  “Is that the Bloody Mary talking?”

  “It’s the Bloody Mary loosening my tongue,” she said, then began to unbutton his shirt. He helped her out of her sweater and unfastened her bra, and in a moment they were sitting naked, staring at each other.

  Stone looked her up and down. “You’re beautiful.”

  “So are you,” she said, stretching out on the big sofa and pulling his head down into her lap. “I just know you’re going to be good at this.”

  Stone did the best he could, which by the sound of her was pretty good, then she reciprocated. They spent an hour exploring each other, then stretched out in each other’s arms.

  Stone was asleep when he heard a woman’s voice call out, “Hello? Anybody home?”

  Carrie poked her head above the back of the sofa and pushed Stone’s down. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s Julia, the realtor.”

  “I was having a nap, Julia. What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to have a look around next door, but there’s yellow tape across the gate.”

  “The one that says ‘Police Line Do Not Cross’?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I think it speaks for itself.”

  “Oh. Then I won’t disturb you further. Bye-bye.”

  “Bye-bye.” The woman left and Carrie rejoined Stone. “That was close,” she said.

  “I should have stood up and greeted her,” Stone said. “That’s what she deserved.”

  Carrie laughed. “The sight of you naked is more than she deserved.” They made love again, then they walked out to the pool and had a swim, joined by Bob, who liked chasing a ball around the pool.

  They were lying on chaises later when the phone rang, and Carrie picked it up. “Hello? . . . Yes, he is.” She handed Stone the phone. “It’s your policeman.”

  Stone took the phone. “Hello?”

  “Afternoon. Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday, but I have some news.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Darla Henry was a high-class prostitute out of Palm Beach. She’s had two arrests in the past five years. Makes you wonder who she was selling her services to, doesn’t it?”

  “I have some news, too,” Stone said. “James Carlton has hired me to represent him.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Don’t think that way. He’s flying in from London tomorrow afternoon, and he’d be happy to meet with you.”

  “When?”

  “Say, six o’clock at his house?”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Other news—he gave a party last New Year’s Eve, before leaving for London the following day, and he can supply you with a guest list.”

  “I’d really like to have a look at that.”

  “You will. He wants to have the house cleaned before his arrival. Are you finished with the room that was furnished with a corpse?”

  “I guess so, we’ve been over it every which way twice. I don’t think he’ll want the mattress back.”

  “I don’t think so, either. His stay will be short, so you probably won’t get a second shot at him. You should plan accordingly.”

  “I’ll do that, and I don’t think it will take long.”

  “I’ll let him know. See you tomorrow at six.” He hung up. “Looks like you’ll have me as a guest until Tuesday morning,” he said to Carrie.

  “I can stand that,” she replied. “I just hope you’re up to it.”

  “I’ll steel myself,” he said.

  “Steel is good.”

  11

  A little after four the following afternoon, Stone’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “It’s Jim Carlton. We’re ten minutes out, so I’ll see you at the house at five-thirty?”

  “That’s fine. Sergeant D’Orio will visit at six, and he’s given the okay to clean the affected room, but you won’t get the mattress back.”

  “He’s welcome to it. See you soon.”

  Stone walked over to the Carlton house at five-thirty. The front door was open. “Hello?”

  “Come in!” a male voice shouted. “In the study!”

  Stone found a book-lined room off the living room, and Carlton rose from his desk to greet him. “Welcome,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Business first,” Stone said, taking a seat.

  “The cleaners have gone, and that guest room smells like limes,” he said, sinking back into his chair. “Do we know any more than the last time we spoke?”

  “The police did a background check on Darla Henry,” Stone replied. “She’s a high-end pro, working out of Palm Beach.”

  “I can usually pick those out in a crowd,” he said, “but nothing comes back to me from New Year’s Eve.” He handed Stone a sheet of paper. “Here’s the party list.”

  Stone ran a quick eye down it, spotting some celebrity names, then his eye stopped. “Harvey Biggers?” he said.

  “Yeah, he was there.”

>   “It says, ‘Harvey Biggers and guest.’ Who was that, his wife?”

  “No, they split. I chose sides. I remember a pretty girl, a blonde, with Harvey, but not her name.”

  Stone took a copy of the deceased’s driver’s license photo from his pocket and showed it to Carlton.

  “That’s the girl with Harvey,” he said.

  “Was Harvey staying overnight?”

  “Nobody was booked in for the night, but some of them didn’t want to drive and left the following morning, I guess. I left around eight AM, myself, and nobody was stirring. I gave instructions to the staff to give breakfast to anybody who turned up.”

  “Did you actually see Harvey that morning?”

  “Nope. I don’t even know if he stayed.”

  “Well, we know he didn’t take his date with him.”

  “That’s clear.”

  “Did you fly private?”

  “Yep. I have a Gulfstream 450.”

  “That’s a good way to travel.”

  “Do you have a Gulfstream?”

  “No, but I often travel on them, courtesy of a business associate. I fly a Citation CJ3 Plus.”

  “Fly it yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have my private and my instrument and multiengine ratings. I’m scheduled for jet training Flight Safety in Wichita next month.”

  “You’ll enjoy the town most from your hotel room, but that’s okay, because you’ll be too tired every night to go out.”

  Carlton laughed. “I’ve heard that. Do we need to talk any more about the body in the bedroom before the cops get here?”

  “No, just tell him what you told me.”

  A voice came from the front door. “Hello?”

  “I’ll get him.” Stone walked to the door. “In here, Sergeant.”

  D’Orio joined them, along with another man dressed in a suit. “This is my chief, Don Ferris.”

  Everybody shook hands and sat down. Carlton handed D’Orio his party guest list.

  D’Orio took Carlton through his list of questions, then turned to Ferris. “You got anything, Chief?”

  The chief handed D’Orio a sheet of paper, and D’Orio handed it to Carlton. “Do you recognize that photograph?”

  “I do. She was with a guest of mine named Harvey Biggers. Apparently they stayed overnight, but as I said, I left for London before anybody was up.”