Swimming to Catalina

by Stuart Woods

  This book is for

  Carolyn and David Klemm,

  who have done so much

  to make us at home in Litchfield County

  Mendy Menenzez:

  “You got told, you better stay told.”

  Philip Marlowe:

  “0h, sure. I do something you don’t like and I’m swimming to Catalina with a streetcar on my back.”

  —Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye

  Contents

  E-book Extra “We Are Very Different People”:

  Stuart Woods on Stone Barrington

  Prologue

  Chapters:

  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Stone Barrington: The First Five

  About the Author

  Praise for Stuart Woods

  Books by Stuart Woods

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  The night was warm and lovely. To Stone Barrington’s right, the bloom of smog over greater Los Angeles was lit from within like a dirty lampshade; to his left, the lights of Santa Catalina Island twinkled like the eyes of a merry whore. Only a couple of hundred yards from where he stood, the anchor lights of dozens of small craft winked as the wake from the sports fisherman on which Stone rode caught them and made them rock. Stone took a deep breath, which was difficult, since one nostril was clogged by an allergy to L.A. air, and his mouth was sealed shut with duct tape.

  “Christ, Vinnie,” the other one, whose name was Manny, said. “They’re right there in the tool box.”

  “I’m looking, Manny,” Vinnie replied.

  “Any kind of pliers will do—short-nosed, long-nosed—anything.”

  “I said, I’m looking.” There was the noise of metal against metal as Vinnie rummaged through the tool chest.

  “Jesus,” Manny said. “I’d like to get at a steak before the night is over.”

  “I’m looking, Manny,” Vinnie said. Triumphantly, he held up the pliers. “I got them.”

  “Give them to me,” Manny said. He accepted the pliers from Vinnie with one hand, while he held onto the length of three-eighths anchor chain with the other. The chain was wrapped twice around Stone’s waist. “Now hand me the shackle,” Manny said.

  “This one?” Vinnie asked, holding up a large stainless steel shackle.

  “Isn’t there a galvanized one in there?” Manny asked. “Stainless is real expensive; Oney will give us hell.”

  “Like this?” Vinnie asked, holding up another shackle.

  “That will do nicely,” Manny replied, accepting the shackle. “Come hold the chain for a minute.”

  Vinnie came and held the chain while Manny unscrewed the pin and slipped the shackle through two of the chain links. Then he inserted the pin, screwed it finger-tight, and tightened it further with the pliers. “There,” he said, tossing the pliers at the toolbox and missing.

  “Stone,” Manny said, “I’m going to have to ask you to hop a few steps toward the transom thing.”

  Stone turned and looked at Manny as if he were an oversized, semiliterate troll, which he was. His ankles were taped together, and he had no intention of assisting Manny and Vinnie in their endeavor.

  “Okay, okay,” Manny said. “Vinnie, grab an arm. Stone, it really would help if you would hop just a little.”

  Stone sighed as well as he could through one nostril, then gave a hop and collapsed over the tool box, scattering its contents over the deck.

  “Thanks a lot,” Manny said acidly. “You were a big help. Vinnie, hold him here for a minute.” He moved to the port side of the boat and dragged a seventy-five-pound Danforth anchor over to Stone’s feet. He rummaged among the tools scattered on the deck and came up with another shackle. “Where the hell did the pliers go?” he asked nobody in particular.

  “There they are,” Vinnie said, pointing.

  “Hand them to me,” Manny said. He took the pliers, shackled the anchor to the end of Stone’s chain, and tightened the pin. “I think that’ll do it,” he said, picking up the anchor and handing it to Stone.

  Stone cradled the anchor in his arms like an overgrown puppy.

  “Any last words, Stone?” Manny asked, then he and Vinnie burst out laughing.

  “Any last words.” Vinnie chuckled. “That’s a good one.”

  The two men muscled Stone over to the transom, which came up to his knees.

  “Hold him right there, Vinnie,” Manny said, leaving Stone’s side and walking behind him. “I’ll handle this.” Manny grabbed a bolted-down fisherman’s chair for support and placed his foot in the small of Stone’s back. “Compliments of Onofrio Ippolito,” he said, then kicked Stone over the stem.

  Stone was not prepared for how cold the Pacific Ocean was, but then, he reflected, he hadn’t been prepared for a lot of things. He let go of the anchor, then followed it quickly toward the floor of the sea, trying desperately to hold onto his final breath.

  1

  Elaine’s, late. Stone Barrington sat at a very good table with his friend and former partner Dino Bacchetti, who ran the detective division at the NYPD’s 19th Precinct, and with Elaine, who was Elaine.

  The remnants of dinner were cleared away by Jack, the headwaiter, and brandy was brought for Stone and Dino. It was very special brandy; Dino had the bottle of his own stuff stashed behind the bar, and it annoyed Elaine no end, because she couldn’t charge him for it, not that she didn’t find other ways to charge him for it.

  “Okay, I want to know about Arrington,” Elaine said.

  “Elaine,” Dino interrupted, “don’t you know that Stone is still suffering a great deal of emotional pain over Arrington’s dumping him?”

  “Who gives a fuck?” Elaine asked, quite reasonably. “I want to know how he let her get away. She was something, that girl.”

  “There’s a large body of opinion,” Dino said, “that holds that she didn’t want to be known as Arrington Barrington.”

  “And who could blame her?” Elaine asked. “Come on, Stone, spill it.”

  Stone took a deep breath and sighed. “I have to take a lot of shit from you two, you know?”

  “I think you better cough it up,” Dino said, “or we’re going to start getting tables in Siberia.”

  “You bet your ass,” Elaine confirmed.

  Stone sighed again. “It was like this,” he said, then stopped.

  “Yeah?” Elaine encouraged.

  “We were supposed to have ten days sailing in St. Marks in February.”

  “I never heard of St. Marks,” Elaine said. “Where is that?”

  “It’s a nice little island, tucked between Antigua and Guadeloupe. Anyway, we were supposed to meet at Kennedy for our flight down, but she got tied up, and she was supposed to be on the next plane, but then the blizzard hit.”

  “I know about the blizzard,” Elaine said, exasperated. “Tell me about the girl.”

  “While the blizzard was going on she got the New Yorker assignment to do a profile of Vance Calder.”

  “The new Cary Grant,” Dino explained, as if Elaine had no idea who a major movie star was.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Elaine said.

  “Apparently he hadn’t given an in-depth interview for twenty years,” Stone continued, “so it was quite a coup. Arrington had known Calder for a while—in fact, she was with him at the dinner party where we met.”

  “So much for social history,” Elaine said.

  “All right, I’m in St. Mar
ks, sitting on the chartered boat, waiting for Arrington to show up, when this blonde sails in on a big beautiful boat, all by herself. But she had left the Canary Islands with a husband, who was no longer present. So she gets charged with his murder, and I end up defending her.”

  “Like I don’t read a newspaper?” Elaine interjected. “Like the western hemisphere didn’t read about this trial?”

  “All right, all right; I keep getting faxes from Arrington, saying she’s all tied up with Calder, then I get a fax saying that she’s going to L.A. with him for more research.”

  “‘Research’; I like that.” Elaine smirked.

  “So I write her a letter, pouring out my heart, practically asking her to marry me…”

  “‘Practically’? What is that?” Elaine demanded.

  “All right, not in so many words, but I think she would have gotten the idea.”

  “She didn’t get the idea?”

  “She didn’t get the letter. I gave it to a lady headed for Florida to FedEx for me, and her plane crashed on takeoff.”

  “Wow, that’s the best excuse I ever heard for not writing,” Elaine said. “You sure your dog didn’t eat it?”

  “I swear, I wrote her the letter. Then, before I could write it again, I get a fax from Arrington saying that she and Calder were married in Needles, Arizona, the day before. What am I supposed to do?”

  “You were supposed to do it a long time ago,” Elaine said. “Why should this gorgeous girl wait around for you to get your ass in gear?”

  “Maybe, but there was nothing I could do at this point, Elaine. I was going to trial in a couple of days; the woman’s life depended on me.”

  “The woman might have been better off if you’d gone after Arrington,” Dino said, “considering how the trial went.”

  “Thanks, Dino, I needed that.”

  “Any time.”

  “So now Arrington is married to the guy People says is the sexiest man in America, and I’m…” His voice trailed off.

  “How long they been married?” Elaine asked.

  “I don’t know-two and a half, three months.”

  “It’s probably too late,” Elaine mused. “Unless it’s going really badly.”

  “I’ve had a couple of letters from her telling me how gloriously it’s going,” Stone said glumly.

  “Oh,” Elaine said.

  There followed a long silence.

  Jack came over to the table. “Phone call for you, Stone,” he said, pointing at one of the two pay phones n the wall nearby.

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack replied, “but he’s got a beautiful speaking voice on the telephone.”

  “Must be Vance Calder,” Dino deadpanned.

  Elaine burst out laughing.

  Stone got up and trudged over to the phone. “Hello?” he said, sticking a finger in the other ear to blot out some of the noise.

  “Stone?”

  “Yeah? Who’s this?”

  “Stone, this is Vance Calder.”

  “Yeah, sure; Dino put you up to this?”

  “What?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Vance, Stone.”

  Stone hung up the phone and went back to the table. “Nice,” he said to Dino.

  “Huh?”

  “Guy on the phone says he’s Vance Calder. Thanks a lot.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Dino said. “I never met the guy.”

  “You put whoever that was up to it, didn’t you? It was a setup.” He looked at Elaine. “You were probably in on it, too.”

  Elaine placed a hand on her ample bosom. “Stone, I swear.”

  Jack came back. “Same guy on the phone again; says you hung up on him. You know who it sounds like?”

  “Vance Calder?” Dino suggested.

  “Yeah!” Jack said. “Sounds just like him!”

  After a glare at Dino and Elaine, Stone went back to the phone. “Hello?”

  “Stone, we’ve met; don’t you know my voice?”

  “Vance?”

  “Yes,” Calder replied, sounding relieved.

  “I’m sorry, I thought someone…”

  “It’s all right; it happens a lot.”

  “Hello, Vance; how’d you find me here?”

  “There was no answer at your house, and I remembered that Arrington said you were at Elaine’s a lot. I took a chance.”

  “How is Arrington, Vance?”

  “That’s what I’m calling about, Stone. Arrington has disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?”

  “Just that; she’s vanished.”

  “When?”

  “The day before yesterday.”

  “Have you been to the police?”

  “I can’t do that; the tabloids would be all over me. I need your help, Stone.”

  “Vance, you’d really be a lot better off going to the police; there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Have you heard from her?”

  “I had a letter about a month ago; she sounded very happy.”

  “She has been very happy, but all of a sudden she’s gone, with no explanation.”

  “Vance, I don’t know what I can do to help.”

  “You can find her, Stone; if anybody can, you can. I want you to come out here.”

  “Vance, really…”

  “The Centurion Studios jet is at Teterboro Airport right now, at Atlantic Aviation, waiting for you. You can be here by morning.”

  “Vance, I appreciate your confidence in me, but…”

  “Stone, Arrington is pregnant.”

  Stone felt as if he’d been struck in the chest. He could count.

  “Stone?”

  “I’ll be at Teterboro in an hour, Vance.” “There’ll be a car waiting for you at Santa Monica Airport.”

  “Write down everything you can think of, Vance; we’ll have a lot to talk about.”

  “I will. And thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Stone said, then hung up. He returned to the table. “You’re buying dinner, Dino,” he said. “I’m off to La-La Land.”

  “About what?” Dino asked.

  “I’ll tell you later.” Stone said.

  “Say hello to Arrington for me,” Elaine said, looking at him over her glasses.

  “You bet, Elaine.” He pecked her on the cheek, walked out of the restaurant, and started looking for a cab.

  2

  Stone’s taxi driver, a former resident of the Indian subcontinent who had recently arrived in the United States, well ahead of his English, got lost in New Jersey, and by the time Stone had redirected him to Teterboro Airport, using sign language, it had begun to rain hard. Finally at Atlantic Aviation, Stone paid the man, grabbed his luggage, and ran into the deserted terminal, waking up a young woman behind the service counter. “I’m looking for the Centurion Studios airplane,” he said to her.

  “It’s the only one on the ramp,” she replied, yawning and pointing at the rear doors.

  Stone stopped at the doors, looked out onto the tarmac, and smiled. “A G-IV,” he said aloud to himself. It was the biggest and best of the corporate jets, and he had never been aboard one. Its engines were already running. He ran through the rain to the airplane and clambered up the steps, hauling his luggage into the cabin.

  A young woman in a pale Armani suit materialized before him. “Mr. Barrington?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me take your bags, and please have a seat; we’re ready for takeoff.” She disappeared aft with his two bags; he kept his briefcase and took the first available seat. In the rear of the airplane a distinguished-looking man was sitting on a sofa, talking on a small cellular phone. Stone buckled in as the airplane started to roll. He wanted to go forward and watch the takeoff, but the cockpit door was closed. Instead, he sat and watched the rain stream along his window.

  The airplane never stopped rolling, but turned onto the runway and accelerated. Shortly they were airborne and climbing
steeply. The attendant came forward again and hovered over his seat. She was pretty in a characterless sort of way, and she displayed some very expensive dental work. “Would you like something to drink?” she cooed.

  Stone’s heart was still pumping hard from his dash to the airport. “Yes, a brandy, please.”

  “We have some vintage cognac, a Hine ’55, and some very old Armagnac.”

  “I’ll try the Armagnac,” he said. A moment later he was warming a tissue-thin crystal snifter between both hands.

  “Mr. Regenstein would be pleased if you would join him aft when the seatbelt sign goes off” the woman said.

  “Thank you,” Stone replied. Regenstein: the name had a familiar ring, but he couldn’t place it. He sipped his Armagnac, and presently the airplane leveled off and the seatbelt sign went out. He unbuckled and walked down the aisle toward where the other man sat.

  As he approached, the man stood and offered his hand. “I’m Lou Regenstein,” he said.

  Stone shook his hand. “I’m Stone Barrington.” The man was much older than he had looked from a distance; Stone reckoned he was in his mid- to late sixties.

  “Oh, yes, Vance’s friend. Please sit down, and thank you for joining me. It’s nice to have some company on one of these flights.”

  Stone took a comfortable armchair facing the sofa. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting; my cab driver got lost.”

  “Of course,” Regenstein replied. “They always do. The trick is to order a car from Atlantic Aviation; that way you’ll have a Jersey driver.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Stone said.

  Regenstein wrinkled his nose. “You’re drinking the Armagnac?” He extended his hand. “May I?”

  Stone handed him the snifter, and Regenstein stuck his nose into it and inhaled deeply.

  “Ahhhhhh,” he sighed, handing back the glass. “I haven’t had a drink in more than thirty years, but I still love the bouquet of something like that. It’s just wonderful.”

  “It certainly is,” Stone agreed.

  “I believe I’ve come across your name recently,” Regenstein said. “Something in the Caribbean?”

  “St. Marks.”

  “Ah, yes; you defended that young woman accused of murdering her husband.” He became conspiratorial. “Tell me, did she do it? Or would answering breach a confidence? I wouldn’t want to do that.”