by Stuart Woods
Oh, you have both motive and opportunity, Stone said, but a good lawyer would make a conviction very difficult to obtain. It's like this: I'm his lawyer, and I stand up in front of the jury. Ladies and gentlemen, my client had no criminal intent when he changed his name. Bad people were after him, and he had to protect himself. Why, it was the government itself that changed his name first. There's no evidence that he put pressure on his wife to change her will. No, she did that out of love and affection for my client, who is a very loveable and affectionate fellow, crushed by the loss of his bride. My client doesn't have the technical expertise to tamper with a finely made piece of German engineering, and after all, he was in the same car; he could have been just as easily killed. And on and on like that.
This is very depressing, Lundquist said.
Dino spoke up. It might help in court if you proved he was Paul Manning, who had already murdered three other people in St. Marks, even if he got away with it.
I could get his past ruled out as evidence, Stone said, on the grounds that it was irrelevant and prejudicial, and if I couldn't, I'd say he was railroaded by a corrupt foreign government. No, Mr. Bartlett has crafted himself a very nice little box to live in. And, Dan, if you got him run out of Palm Beach, he'd just go to Palm Springs, or some other place with an inviting climate, and establish himself all over again under another identity. And now he's got the money to make himself credible in a place like that.
Everybody was quiet for a while.
Finally, Dino spoke up again. Unless we staked out Liz like a goat for a lion, then waited to see what happened.
The four of them got out of the two cars at the Breakers Golf Club and gave three bags of clubs to the attendant. The clubhouse was modest, in comparison to the grandeur of the hotel, Stone thought. The weather, as predicted, had cleared beautifully, and it was much cooler after the front had passed through.
But I don't play golf, Liz complained. What am I doing here?
Playing chauffeur, Stone said. You can drive a cart. Also, you're playing the goat.
I don't think I like the goat idea, she said. Not when Paul is the lion.
Dino's right, Stone said, as much as I hate to admit it. This is the only way to smoke him out. We're not having much luck any other way. If we see him, you can identify him; if not, then at least we'll be seen, and word may get back to him that you're still around.
All right, Liz said.
This is a pretty chilly paradise you got here, Dino said, zipping up his jacket to the neck.
In more ways than one, Callie said, as another group of golfers inspected them as they passed, staring hard.
They signed in at the clubhouse, then got into carts and drove to the first tee, where the starter cleared them to tee off.
The course was mostly flat and uninteresting. It's not the most attractive golf course I've ever seen, Stone said.
Don't worry, they're about to rip the whole thing up and completely rebuild it to new design, Callie said.
Ladies first, Dino said, motioning Callie to drive.
Callie took a few practice swings, displaying good form, teed up a ball and struck it solidly. It flew down the middle of the fairway.
About two hundred and twenty yards, Stone said. He teed up and sliced his drive into the next fairway.
Take a mulligan, Callie said.
Stone took the mulligan and got it in the fairway, a good twenty yards short of Callie's ball.
Dino teed up and hooked the ball into the rough. Mulligan, he said, teeing up another ball. He swung at that, and it landed no more than a yard from his first ball.
Your grip is too strong, Callie said, showing him how to turn his right hand to the left. That should cure your hook.
Don't count on it, Stone said.
They trundled off down the fairway in their carts, playing at a good pace, now and then crossing South County Road.
This is the most urban golf I've ever played, Stone said. Usually, on a golf course, you don't have to worry about being hit by a car.
The Breakers has another course west of here, Callie said. Maybe we'll play that one next time.
They played on, occasionally running into a foursome in which Callie knew someone. Two people knew Liz and chatted with her.
Word's getting out, Callie said. You shouldn't even try to keep a secret in this town, but we're advertising. Liz, you're the subject of much conversation since being seen with Thad at his party.
Grand, Liz said.
They finished their round, went back to the clubhouse, had a beer, stowed their clubs in the two cars and prepared to depart the Breakers. Stone opened his cell phone and tapped in a number. Okay, Dan, we've made our appearance at the Breakers, and we're ready to move on to part two of our plan.
My guys are parked just down the road, Griggs said.
Tell them not to crowd the girls. We don't want Bartlett picking up on cops.
Bartlett left the Colony half an hour ago, and he's having lunch on Worth Avenue.
They'll go shopping, then, Stone said. Dino and I will wait back at the yacht.
Right, Griggs said.
Stone ended the call. Okay, ladies, you are sentenced to Worth Avenue shopping for at least two hours. Liz, if you recognize Paul, don't let on, just tell Callie so she can confirm who he is. You've got my cell phone number if you need to reach me.
I'd feel better if you and Dino came along, Liz said.
He knows us both, so we can't do that. We'd just scare him off.
Oh, all right, Liz said, disconsolately. She got into the car with Callie, and they drove off.
There goes our goat, Dino said. But even if she makes him, Griggs isn't going to have any grounds for an arrest.
Lundquist does, though. He can always bust him for the driver's license, and that will at least get him out of our hair.
For the time being, Dino said. This guy ain't going to go away easy.
You have a point, Stone agreed.
They drove back to the yacht and waited. Dino got into a swimsuit and took up a strategic position on a chaise on the afterdeck, a rum and tonic at his elbow.
You got anything to read? he asked Stone.
Stone went into the saloon and came back with the novel Tumult that he had read a few days before. Try this, he said, handing it to Dino. It's very good.
Dino was soon rapt, and Stone dozed on a nearby chaise, protecting his fair skin from the sun under an awning.
Stone woke up with Callie shaking him. Huh? he said, sleepily.
We're back, Callie said.
Stone sat up. Anything happen?
We saw him.
You did?
Coming out of Verdura, the jewelry store.
Liz came up the gangplank.
Liz, you saw him?
She nodded. Yes.
And?
And I don't know.
You don't know what?
I don't know if it's Paul.
But you said you recognized him in Easthampton by the way he walked and his body language.
It was different this time, she said. Anyway, I only saw him for a minute.
Liz, Callie said, you had a very good look at him. I was there; I saw him, too.
Well, I'm sorry, Liz said crossly, but I just can't swear that he's Paul. He may be and he may not be.
Stone's cell phone vibrated, and he opened it. Hello?
It's Dan Griggs. The two ladies got a real good look at the guy. What does Mrs. Harding say?
Inconclusive, Stone said, walking away from the group.
How could it be inconclusive? She got a good look at him, and she used to be married to the guy.
All I can tell you is what she told me, Stone said. She seems pretty annoyed about our pressing her on it.
I don't get it, Griggs said.
Frankly, neither do I. I thought that if we just put Bartlett in front of her, she'd make him, and that would be that.
You think she's not playing this straight?<
br />
I honestly don't know, Dan. She's protected him in the past, after all.
But she's supposed to be scared of the guy. You'd think she'd want to be rid of him and would help us do it.
I don't know what to tell you, Dan.
Well, if Mrs. Harding can't identify the guy, and if Lundquist can't come up with enough evidence for a murder warrant, I'm not going to be able to keep men on this. We have other problems to deal with, you know.
I know you do, Dan, and I don't blame you. Has Lundquist not heard from his office?
He's called them twice, but the lab is still working on the car.
Okay. Ask him to call me when he gets word. If he's going to arrest Bartlett, I'd like to be there when he does it.
I'll tell him.
Stone ended the call and stood there thinking for a moment. He was getting tired of this, too. He punched 411 into the phone, asked for the number of the Colony Hotel and waited while the operator connected him.
The Colony, good afternoon, a woman's voice said.
Paul Bartlett, please.
She connected him, and the phone rang and rang. Finally she came back on the line. There's no answer. Would you like to leave a message?
Yes, please. Ask him to
One moment, I'll connect you with the front desk. She did so.
Reception, a man's voice said.
I'd like to leave a message for Paul Bartlett, Stone said. He'd just arrange to meet the man and put Liz's proposition to him.
I'm sorry, but Mr. Bartlett checked out just a few minutes ago, and I'm afraid he didn't leave a forwarding address.
Stone punched the end button. Shit, he said aloud.
Stone couldn't believe it. He and Dino got dressed and into a car and drove to the Colony Hotel; he wanted to question the desk man. As they pulled into the parking lot, he spotted Detective Riley and Lieutenant Lundquist sitting in an idling car thirty yards away. Stone walked over and rapped on the window, startling them both.
What are you doing here, Stone? Lundquist asked. You're going to spook the guy.
What guy? Stone asked.
Bartlett.
Bartlett has decamped.
What?
Come with me. Stone started for the hotel lobby.
Lundquist caught up and fell into step with Stone. What do you mean, 'decamped'?
I mean, Bartlett has checked out of the hotel, and he didn't leave a forwarding address.
How do you know that?
Because I telephoned him half an hour ago, and that's what the desk clerk told me. I want to find out if it's true, or if Bartlett simply bought the desk man, and I want you to flash your badge at him so he'll talk to me.
The desk clerk stared blankly at the badge. You're a police officer? Where? Your badge doesn't look familiar.
He's from Minneapolis, Stone said. I can have a Palm Beach badge here in thirty seconds, if that will refresh your memory.
My memory about what?
First of all, has Paul Bartlett really checked out?
Yes, I saw him go.
What forwarding address did he give?
I'll show you his registration card, the clerk said, riffling through a stack of them. Here. He held it up. The space for a forwarding address was blank.
Did you check him out of the hotel?
In a manner of speaking. He didn't even wait for his bill, said he had to catch a plane and I should mail it to him.
To where?
To the address on the card.
Lundquist checked the card. It's his Minneapolis address. The guy's gone home.
How much luggage did he have? Stone asked.
A lot; three or four bags.
And where did the bellman load his car?
Down on the street, the clerk said, pointing at the side door.
That's why he got past you, Stone said to Lundquist. I'd like to see his room, please.
The man pressed a few buttons on a machine, and a plastic card was spat out. It's suite four-oh-four. Help yourself, he said.
Stone led the way to the elevator and pressed four. A moment later they were standing outside the suite, and Stone got the door open.
Easy there, Lundquist said, pushing past Stone. I'd better go first.
It's not a crime scene, Stone said, following him. Unless there's a corpse stashed under the bed.
Lundquist looked under the bed. Nothing.
No kidding? Stone looked around. The room had already been cleaned that morning, and the bed had not been used since. He went around the room, looking in closets and opening drawers.
What are you looking for? Lundquist asked.
I don't know, Stone replied.
Whatever he can find, Dino said.
Lundquist started opening drawers, too.
Stone went back into the sitting room and looked around. The place was neat as a pin, the wastebaskets were empty, and there was not so much as a trace of Paul Bartlett, or whoever he was.
What now? Lundquist asked.
The airport, Stone replied. He told the clerk he had to catch a plane.
The three men left the hotel, and Lundquist got into the rear seat of Stone's convertible.
I should be wearing sunscreen, Lundquist said as they pulled out of the parking lot.
Yeah, that pale Scandinavian skin will fry every time, Dino said, half to himself, chuckling. World's whitest white men.
That's what you call me, Stone said.
You, too.
At the airport, they went to the nearest ticket counter, and Lundquist flashed his badge and asked about flights to Minneapolis.
None of the airlines flies directly to Minneapolis from Palm Beach, the woman behind the counter said. You'd have to change, probably in Atlanta.
Will you check reservations for a Paul Bartlett? Lundquist asked.
The woman turned to her computer terminal, tapped a few keys and looked at the screen. I'll do a search for the name, she said, tapping more keys. Nope, nobody by that name.
Try Paul Manning, Stone said, because he couldn't think of anything else to do.
She tapped the keys again. Nope, no Manning.
Do you recall, in the past hour or so, a tall man, six-three or -four, mid-to-late forties, dark hair going gray, fairly good-looking?
No, and I think I'd have noticed, the woman said, smiling.
Thanks for your help, Stone said. He turned to Lundquist and Dino. Let's hit the charter services.
How do we find those? Lundquist asked.
There's a big sign outside, pointing to them all, Stone replied.
They went outside and checked the sign; there were half a dozen.
Ebbe, you go in the car with Riley and check the north side of the field; Dino and I will check the south side.
Okay. Lundquist jumped into the car with Riley.
Well, Dino said as they got into the Mercedes. Lundquist isn't the brightest tulip in the garden, is he?
Tulips are Dutch, not Scandinavian, and remember, he's a lieutenant, like you.
Well, he can't be all bad, Dino said.
They checked all four companies on the south side of the field and came up with nothing. As they left the last one, Lundquist and Riley drove up.
Nothing on the north side, Riley said.
Nothing over here, either, Stone said. Where's the chief?
Probably in his office, Riley replied.
Stone punched the number into his cell phone and asked for Griggs.
Chief, Bartlett has checked out of the Colony.
Well, shit, Griggs said. You think he's left town?
He told the desk clerk he had a plane to catch, but we're at the airport now, and he didn't fly out of here.
I guess he could have driven to Miami, Griggs said. It's only an hour and a half to the airport.
Can you check the flights out of there for a Bartlett or Manning?
I'll put somebody on it. Where do you think he went?
The only address we hav
e is Minneapolis, but I don't think he's there.
Where do you think he is?
I think he's still in Palm Beach. Remember, he checked out of the Chesterfield, too, without leaving a forwarding address, and he went directly to the Colony. Maybe, before you check the Miami flights, you should alert the other hotels in town to call you if he checks in.
Okay, Stone, I'll do that.
It seems that every time we start to get a line on the guy, he changes hotels.
I'll get back to you.
Stone hung up.
You think he's in another hotel? Dino asked.
That's my guess, Stone said. Then he thought for a moment. Unless
Unless what?
Come on, Stone said, let's get back to the yacht, quick.
Stone drove as quickly as he could, without getting arrested, through West Palm and across the bridge. Traffic was heavy and frustrating, and it took them nearly half an hour to reach the Shames residence. The front door stood open, and he ran quickly through the central hall and out the open back door, with Dino close on his heels.
As he came up the gangplank he was presented with an uncharacteristic sight on Toscana: a mess. Towels and books were scattered indiscriminately across the afterdeck. Normally, Juanito made a mess disappear as soon as it presented itself.
Stone turned around and was not surprised to see a gun in Dino's hand. He put a finger to his lips, then motioned for Dino to follow him. He walked through the saloon and down the corridor toward his cabin. His cabin door was open, and so was every other door in the passageway. He went into his cabin to retrieve the 9mm automatic from under his pillow. It was gone. He went back into the passage and climbed a few steps to the bridge, and as he approached it, he could hear music. He stepped onto the bridge, ready for anything. A portable radio rested on the dash above the wheel, softly playing rock music.
Stone crossed the bridge and left it on the other side, returning along the port corridor. Again, every cabin door was open.
He heard a footstep from somewhere aft and tiptoed toward it. Dino brushed past him, the gun out in front. He was armed, and he would lead the way; there was no talk about it. Stone followed him into the saloon.
What the hell! a man's voice shouted. Who are you?
Stone stepped around Dino to find Thad Shames standing in the saloon. Thad, he said. It's all right, Dino.
What's going on here, Stone? Shames demanded, clearly startled. Who is this?
