by Stuart Woods
Peter got up and followed the gurney. He found himself looking through a window in a pair of double doors at a row of treatment tables, some of them occupied by patients. Behind the treatment tables was a row of cubicles, most with patients on tables, some with curtains drawn. As he watched, a man on an examining table sat up, and an orderly brought over a wheelchair. The patient got into the chair, and the orderly took his chart from the foot of the table and put it in the man’s lap. Peter stood back to let them pass through the double doors. Apparently, the man was being discharged.
He pushed open the door and walked briskly into the room, wanting to appear as if he knew where he was going. He walked along the row of cubicles and, four or five down, found Hattie, lying on a table, half sitting up. She looked relieved when she saw him.
He went and stood next to her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I was bleeding, but it stopped over an hour ago.
The doctor said he would discharge me in a few minutes, and that was half an hour ago.”
Peter pulled up a chair. “I was scared,” he said. “I came back from the movie, and they said you were in the emergency room.”
“I wanted to call you, but they took my bag away when they put me in the ambulance, and when I got here they wouldn’t let me use my cell phone.”
A very young man in scrubs and a white coat walked into the cubicle. “How are you feeling?” he asked Hattie.
“Just fine, thank you. I’d like to go home.”
He picked up her chart, made some notations, and signed it. “I’ll find an orderly and have you wheeled out.”
“I can do that,” Peter said.
“Okay.” He left and came back with a wheelchair. Hattie got into it, and the doctor handed Peter her chart. “Stop at the discharge window and check out with them, then take her all the way to the street in the chair. You can leave it there. You, young lady, are to go home and rest. If there’s any recurrence of the bleeding, you’re to call an ambulance and return here. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“You should be okay to go to school tomorrow,” he said. “Good night.”
Peter pushed the chair into the waiting room and got her checked out. Hattie wrote a check for her bill. “I didn’t want to use my parents’ insurance card,” she said, as Peter pushed her toward the exit.
The rain had let up a lot. “I’ll get us a cab,” Peter said.
“I don’t want to go home yet,” Hattie said. “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, standing up and taking his hand. “And I’m not pregnant anymore.”
60
D avid Rutledge looked at the first copy of his magazine’s new issue and thought the Virginia shoot had turned out very well. As he scanned the piece he felt a pang of conscience. He had not done the right thing, and he regretted it. What had he been thinking?
He picked up the phone and dialed 411. A minute or so later he was talking to the sheriff of Albemarle County.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Rutledge? Are you related to Tim Rutledge?”
“Yes, I am,” David replied. “He’s my cousin.”
“Is there anything you can tell me about his whereabouts?”
“Yes. He’s in New York.”
“How do you know that?”
“He called me from a bar near my home in the city, and I met him for a drink.”
“And when was this?”
“The night before last.”
“And why didn’t you call me immediately?”
“I don’t think I was seeing the situation clearly; I reacted as a family member, and not as a citizen. I’m sorry for that.”
“Do you have any idea where he is now?”
“From our conversation I believe he might have moved into a hotel somewhere uptown.”
“I don’t know your geography there,” the sheriff said. “What do you mean by ‘uptown’?”
“Uptown from where I live. I live downtown.”
“That doesn’t help me a lot. Do you have an address?”
“No. He asked to stay at my place, but I declined to have him do that. He asked me to recommend a hotel, and I declined to do that, too. My impression was that he wanted to be uptown somewhere.”
“Perhaps near where Mr. Stone Barrington lives?”
“Perhaps; that name didn’t come up. He did say he had something to do in the city, though.”
“And what might that be?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Our theory of this case is that he shot Mrs. Barrington because he was jealous, a jilted lover. Apparently, Mr. Rutledge and Mrs. Barrington had some sort of relationship before she was married, while he was working on her house.”
“I see. I didn’t know anything about that relationship. Before the housewarming I hadn’t seen Tim since last summer.”
“Do you know how Mr. Rutledge traveled to New York?”
“No, I don’t.”
“He didn’t say anything about having a car?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“All right, Mr. Rutledge, thank you for your help in this matter. Will you please call me immediately if you see or hear from your cousin again? You might be saving a life.”
“Yes, I will.”
“And if you do speak to him, try to find out where he’s staying.”
“All right.” The sheriff hung up, and so did David.
Stone was at his desk when Dino called. “How you doing?” he asked.
“I’m okay, I guess.”
“I just got some news you need to hear.”
“Tell me.”
“The sheriff down in Virginia called the chief’s office and told him he’d had a tip that Tim Rutledge, the suspect, is in New York. I just got the e-mail.”
Stone sat up straight. “What else?”
“Nothing else. He may be staying in a hotel. That’s all the informant had.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” Stone said.
“I think you should go armed for a while.”
“I think you’re right,” Stone said.
“What time does Peter get out of school?”
“Usually between three and five, depending on what he’s doing there.”
“You want me to send a car for him?” Dino asked.
“Thanks, Dino, I’d appreciate that.” He glanced at his watch; it was nearly four o’clock. “I’ll call him and let him know.” He gave Dino Peter’s cell number.
“Consider it done.”
“You’re a good friend.” They both hung up, and Stone called Peter’s cell and got voice mail. “Peter, it’s Dad. I’ve heard from the police that Tim Rutledge may be in New York, and I don’t want you on the street until that’s been dealt with. Dino is sending a police car to bring you home from school. They’ll call your cell when they’re outside. Don’t leave the building until then.” Stone hung up. He felt something he’d never felt before: worry about his child’s safety. He resisted the impulse to go to the school himself.
Joan came in with something for him to sign. “You look funny,” she said.
“Tim Rutledge is apparently in the city.”
“Jesus, I thought he’d be in Mexico, like you said.”
“I was wrong, apparently. Dino is sending a car to pick up Peter at school.”
“That’s good.”
Stone picked up the phone and called Mike Freeman at Strategic Services.
“Hi, Stone, how are you?”
“A little worried, Mike,” Stone said.
“What’s wrong?”
Stone explained. “I think I’d like someone armed to be with Peter for a few days.”
“Certainly. Do you want him picked up at school?”
“Dino’s sending a police car for him. Could you have someone here tomorrow morning at seven-thirty to drive him to school? He can use my car.”
“O
f course. There’ll be two men, and they’ll be our best.”
“Thank you, Mike.”
“Did Sean Patrick call you about Arrington’s G-III?”
“Yes, he did. We sent him copies of everything we had on the airplane, and he’s sending someone down to Virginia to look at it and interview the crew.”
“That would be Milt Kaplan. I recommended him, and he’ll see the worth of the airplane immediately. If Sean turns out not to want it, we could lease it from you until it sells.”
“That’s a nice thought, but as a board member, I wouldn’t want you to spend all that money when you already have two airplanes.”
Mike laughed. “All right, I’ll take your advice.” They chatted for a moment, then said good-bye.
Joan buzzed him. “Peter’s on line two,” she said.
“Peter?”
“Yes, Dad. I got your message. There’s a police car outside right now.”
“Good. Get in it and come home.”
“Can I drop Hattie off on the way?”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“I’ll be home in half an hour or so.”
Stone hung up feeling relieved.
61
A t half past four Peter came into Stone’s office, shucking off his coat. “Anything new about Rutledge?”
“No,” Stone replied. “Don’t be too worried about this.”
“Dad, if you’re not too worried, what am I doing traveling in a police car? I’ll never hear the end of this at school.”
“Well, from tomorrow, you’ll be traveling in the Bentley, and you’ll get still more guff about that, I’m sure. Two of Mike Freeman’s men will be riding with you. And yes, you can pick up Hattie on the way to school and take her home after that.”
“Thanks, Dad. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Stone walked over to the leather sofa and sat down. “Take a pew and tell me about it.”
Peter fished in his bag and came up with a bundle of DVDs, secured with a rubber band. “My movie is finished; the titles and Hattie’s score are in. It’s called Autumn Kill.”
“Intriguing title,” Stone said.
“That’s what I was going for. I’ve thought about this a lot, and I don’t want to wait a year or two to try and get it released. I want to do it now.”
Stone shook his head. “Peter, I’ve already explained why I think you should wait.”
“I know, and I’ve considered your points very carefully. The thing is, I’ll be at Yale by the time the film is in theaters, and that will give me some insulation. Also, I can just decline to talk about it. I’m concerned that if I wait, some other similar film might come along that could lessen its chances for success.”
“You mean with a similar plot?”
“I mean something as simple as another film that takes place at a prep school. I have something original, and I don’t want to have it look like a copycat because some other filmmaker does something that looks like it.”
Stone thought about it and thought that, chances were, Peter was as right as he. “All right, but I think you have to offer it to Centurion first.”
“That makes perfect sense to me.”
Stone thought a little more. “You’re going to need an agent to represent you in this. Since I’m on the Centurion board, I have a conflict of interest.”
“All right, but how do I find an agent?”
Stone picked up the phone on the coffee table. “Joan, please get me Morton Janklow.”
“Who’s Morton Janklow?” Peter asked.
“The best agent I know.”
There was a click on the line. “Stone, how are you?”
“Very well, Mort.”
“I was very sorry to hear of Arrington’s death.”
“Thank you.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I have a new client for you, if you want him.”
“Who would that be?”
“His name is Peter Barrington; he’s my son.”
“Hang on, did you say ‘son’?”
“I’ll explain that part on another occasion,” Stone said. “Let me explain what he needs, and you can tell me if you’re interested.”
“All right, go ahead.”
“Peter is in his last year of prep school, and he’s been accepted at the Yale School of Drama, where he plans to study directing. He’s made a film called Autumn Kill and I’m going to messenger it over to you right now.”
“Okay. What’s it about?”
“It’s better if you see it cold, I think. If, after ten minutes, you can switch it off, I’ll be very surprised. Leo Goldman at Centurion saw an incomplete version and immediately wanted to buy it.”
“Is Centurion who you want to sell it to?”
“I think we owe them the first refusal. I’m on their board, so I don’t want to deal directly with Leo.”
“Do you have any idea what you want for the film?”
“I’ll tell you what I think would be ideal: We sell the rights to the film for a limited period and take some cash, plus a percentage of the gross.”
“A limited rights deal is not what a studio wants,” Janklow said.
“I understand, but let’s start there.”
“I’ll be at home tonight, so I’ll watch the film and call you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Mort. It’s on its way.”
Both men hung up, and Stone buzzed Joan. “I want to messenger something to Janklow amp; Nesbit, a rush.” She came in and he gave her two discs.
“You’re sure Mr. Janklow is better than someone on the coast?” Peter asked.
“He has a deal with Creative Artists Agency. If he feels they can help, he’ll go through them, but I thought I’d leave that up to him.”
“Okay,” Peter said. “Now I’m starting to get nervous.”
“Don’t be. You already know that Leo wants your film. The rest is haggling.”
Peter laughed. “Oh, something I forgot. If the film is released, I think we’ll have to come to some arrangement with the various unions and pay the actors and others at least union scale. I paid each actor a hundred dollars and got a release from everybody.”
“Smart move,” Stone said. “The studio will know how to handle that.”
Peter stood up. “I’ve got some reading to do,” he said. “I’ll see you at supper.”
At half past five Joan buzzed him. “Mr. Janklow on one.”
“Hello, Mort?”
“Stone, I’ve watched the first twenty minutes of the film, and I’m rapt. And, guess who just called me about another matter? Leo Goldman. I mentioned that I have a new client, and when he heard who, Leo went quietly nuts.”
Stone laughed.
“I’m overnighting the DVD to him, but he’s already made an offer, which I did not accept.”
“What’s the offer?”
“Ten million dollars for all the rights, plus five percent of the gross. Don’t worry, when he sees what I’m seeing, with titles and a score, we’ll do better.”
“What did he say about a limited license?”
“Exactly what I thought he’d say, but wait until tomorrow. I’ll hear from him by noon his time, maybe sooner, if he’s really excited.”
“When you talk to him again, tell him he has to make the various unions happy about the release, at his expense, and he has to pay Hattie Patrick, who wrote the score.”
“Good point.”
“Thank you, Mort. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
“How old is your boy?”
“Eighteen.”
“I want to meet him.”
“Of course; we’ll arrange that.”
“He must be very smart, if he got into Yale.”
“You have no idea,” Stone said.
62
S hortly after noon the following day, Stone got a call from Morton Janklow.
“Leo got back to me,” Janklow said. “We’re at twenty million and ten po
ints.”
“Wonderful. How about the rights issue?”
“Seven years. I think that’s good. Peter will end up owning his film outright.”
“That’s perfect, Mort.”
“Leo is okay with dealing with the unions, and he likes the score, so he’ll pay Hattie Patrick a hundred grand. If Peter wants to give her or anybody else points, it has to come out of his end.”
“You’ve done a great job, Mort.”
“I’ll send Peter our representation contract to sign, and make sure he understands our commission is fifteen percent.”
“I’ll explain the facts of life to him.”
“If I know Leo, we’ll have contracts in a couple of weeks, and after we iron out the fine print, we should have a check in a month or so.”
“Thank you again, Mort.”
“When the contract is finalized, bring Peter to my office to sign, and he can meet some of our people.”
“I’ll do that.” Stone said good-bye and hung up.
Joan came in holding a letter. “This came from Bill Eggers,” she said, handing it to Stone.
“This is an outline of Arrington’s estate,” Stone said.
“That number,” Joan said. “Is that now yours?”
“Yes, except Peter gets it when I die.”
“Then I never have to worry about paying your bills again?”
Stone chuckled. “I’m sorry, but you do. I’m not touching this money.”
“I always thought you were nuts,” Joan said, “but now I know it.”
Stone laughed. “I want these numbers kept strictly between you and me,” he said. “I don’t want anyone else to see them.”
“Sure thing,” Joan said, then returned to her office.
Stone called Bill Eggers. “Thanks for your letter, Bill,” he said.
“It’s just a summary of what I talked about with you and Peter.”
“I don’t want the money,” Stone said.
Eggers was quiet for a moment. “Stone, listen to me: I understand that your feelings are still raw about Arrington’s death and that you feel you shouldn’t profit from her passing.”
“That’s very understanding of you, Bill. It’s exactly how I feel.”
