6 Stone Barrington Novels (62 page)

He pressed the send button on the phone as he turned a corner, out of sight of Bartlett. Griggs answered immediately.

“It's Stone. I've bought them an after-dinner drink, so they'll be a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“But listen. I think Bartlett is armed, and he's already seen Lundquist flash his badge. Why did you let him come in here?”

“I didn't. He just ignored me and walked in before I could stop him. I feel like arresting
him
.”

“I'm going back to my table. When they leave you'd better take Bartlett quickly, before he gets to his car, and you'd better be ready to disarm him. He's packing on the left side, at his belt.”

“Got it. Are you armed?”

“No, but Dino is. Don't worry, he won't do anything stupid.”

“Okay, just go back to your table, and we'll handle it.”

“I'm on my way.” Stone punched off the phone and put it away. He stepped back into the dining room, and as he did, he was horrified to see Lundquist moving toward Bartlett's table. He looked back at his own group, and Dino was suddenly on his feet, making his way across the room and unbuttoning his jacket. Then everything seemed to slow down.

Bartlett turned to see Lundquist coming toward him and began to rise. Lundquist, who didn't know Bartlett was armed, had his hands at his sides, empty. Bartlett unbuttoned his jacket as he rose, and his right hand went inside it to his belt.

Stone saw his hand close around the butt of the pistol. He turned toward Dino and yelled, “Gun!” Dino stopped in his tracks, perhaps a dozen feet from the Wilkeses' table.

Bartlett never saw Dino; his attention was riveted on Lundquist, who now began to understand what was happening and went for his own gun. Four shots came in rapid succession.

Lundquist left his feet, the gun flying from his hand and knocking over a wine bottle on a nearby table. A woman at that table screamed as Dino fired. Bartlett was hit in his left upper arm, then a second time in the side of his neck, falling backward and out of sight, knocking over his chair.

Dino began running toward the table, his gun out in front of him, yelling, “Police, Police!”

Stone began running, too.

P
ANDEMONIUM. A MASS OF DINERS ABANDONED THEIR tables and rushed for the main entrance, knocking over chairs and elaborate flower arrangements. Women were screaming, and men were shouting at them.

Stone was swept sideways toward the door. In front of him a woman fell, and Stone grabbed her and yanked her to her feet before she could be trampled in the rush. He could see Dino at the Wilkeses' table, standing over Bartlett, who was out of sight on the floor behind the table. Dino was still pointing the gun.

He looked toward the front door and saw three uniformed Palm Beach police officers, one of them Dan Griggs, vainly trying to fight their way through the onrushing crowd. Stone grabbed a post next to the bar and hung on for dear life. Finally, when most of the crowd had fled the restaurant, he was able to make his way through the stragglers to Dino, who was now bending over Bartlett, feeling at his throat for a pulse.

Frank and Margaret Wilkes stood huddled against the wall, Frank cradling his sobbing wife's head on his shoulder. Margaret was spattered with blood. Bartlett's date was nowhere in sight.

“He's dead,” Dino said, holstering his weapon.

Stone looked around the restaurant for Lundquist but did not see him. Thad and his party were standing against the opposite wall of the restaurant, having wisely not joined the panicked crowd. Thad waved and called out, “We're okay. Do what you have to do.”

Stone resumed his search for Lundquist and found him under an overturned table. Lundquist had taken a round in the chest, and he had been trampled by the crowd. His nose was badly broken where someone had stepped on it, and there was blood everywhere, but Stone found a pulse.

Griggs and his men finally got into the restaurant and rushed toward Stone.

“We need an ambulance,” Stone said as Griggs arrived. “Lundquist is still alive, but he's bad. Bartlett is dead. Dino shot him almost at the same time Bartlett shot Lundquist.”

“There's an ambulance outside,” Griggs said. He spoke into a handheld radio.

“There are probably some injured people in the crowd, too,” Stone said. “It got pretty ugly.”

A pair of EMTs made their way into the ruined room, toting a stretcher and equipment, and immediately began working on Lundquist. Stone stepped away to let them do their work. He followed Griggs over to where Dino stood.

Dino handed Griggs his gun. “You're going to want this.”

Griggs nodded and examined Bartlett closely, picking up his weapon by its trigger guard and handing both guns to one of his officers.

Stone went to the Wilkeses, picking up a stray napkin along the way. He dabbed at the blood on Margaret's face, and she barely seemed to notice.

“I want to get her home,” Wilkes said.

Stone turned to Griggs, who had heard, and nodded.

“Chief Griggs will want to talk to you in the morning,” Stone said.

“I saw it all,” Frank said. “Paul had a gun; it was all his fault.”

“Griggs and his men were waiting outside the restaurant to arrest him quietly, but the Minneapolis cop ruined it all.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, but he's pretty bad. His office had called to say that they have a witness who says Bartlett hired him to fix the seat belt on the car, so that Frances would be unprotected. It doesn't matter now, of course, but he would almost certainly have been convicted.”

“We'll go, then.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I can manage.”

Stone watched them leave, then he crossed the restaurant to where Thad, Liz and Callie waited. “Everybody all right?”

They all nodded.

“I'm sorry you had to see that.”

“See what?” Liz said. “I didn't see anything. I just heard a lot of noise.”

“Paul shot a Minneapolis policeman, and Dino shot Paul. The cop is alive, but Paul is dead.”

“Which Paul?” she asked.

“Aren't they the same?” Stone asked.

“I wish I knew,” Liz said.

“Thad, why don't you take Liz and Callie home. Dino and I will need to give statements to the Palm Beach police. We'll probably be quite late.”

“Sure,” Thad said. “I hope to God the guy is Manning.”

“We'll see,” Stone said.

Thad ushered the women out of the restaurant, and Stone rejoined Dino and Griggs.

Griggs righted a table and motioned for Dino and Stone to pull up a chair. “You two are the best witnesses I've got. We might as well do this right now, then you two can go home.” He pulled a small tape recorder from a pocket, turned it on and set it on the table.

“Okay, Stone, you first.”

Dino stood up. “I'm going to go to the john. It's better if you interview us separately.”

“Right,” Griggs said. “All right, Stone, tell me what happened, and don't leave anything out.”

Stone began at the beginning, and when he had finished, Dino came and took his place. Stone waited at the bar and discovered that one of Bartlett's rounds had hit some liquor bottles and the mirror behind the bar. A cop was digging it out of the wall behind the mirror.

When Griggs had Dino's statement, they stood up, and Stone joined them. “Frank Wilkes saw the whole thing,” he said. “He'll back us up on what happened.”

“I'm going to let my people finish here,” Griggs said. “I'm going to the hospital to see how Lundquist is doing. I've got to call his department and his family, if he has one.”

“Let's talk in the morning, then,” Stone said.

“By the way,” Griggs said, “I talked to the Minneapolis Police Department earlier this evening. The guy who rigged Bartlett's car says the name he knew Bartlett by was Douglas Barnacle. They shared a cell in the Chicago federal detention center when they were both awaiting trial. He says Barnacle was a stockbroker in Chicago who got mixed up in a mob-backed stock scam and turned state's evidence. That was a little over five years ago. I'm running a check on the Barnacle name now, and I'll let you know what I turn up.”

“Thanks,” Stone said. “I want to hear about it.” They shook hands and parted.

 

In the car on the way home Stone and Dino were both quiet for a while.

“You thinking what I'm thinking?” Dino asked.

“Yes. If Barnacle was in jail in Chicago five years ago, he couldn't be Paul Manning.”

“Right.”

They drove the rest of the way to the Shames house in silence.

O
NE BY ONE, THAD SHAMES'S GUESTS STRAGGLED IN for breakfast on the afterdeck at midmorning. Stone thought everybody looked tired, maybe a little shell-shocked. Not much was said, and he didn't feel ready to tell Thad and Liz what little he knew about Bartlett's background. He would wait for more information.

Stone was finishing his coffee when Juanito arrived with a fax of a dozen or so pages. Stone flipped through them, with Dino looking over his shoulder, occasionally pointing out something.

“What is that?” Thad finally asked.

“It's a copy of the criminal record of Paul Bartlett, aka Douglas Barnacle, William Wilfred, Edgar Chase and Terence Keane.”

“He was all those people?” Liz asked.

“Those and maybe more. I'll summarize for you: He was born Robert Trent Smith, in Providence, Rhode Island, where he attended the public schools and the Rhode Island School of Design, which, incidentally, is very highly thought of. He was kicked out of school a month before graduation for running some kind of swindle that bilked nearly a hundred thousand dollars out of other students and faculty. After that, he chalked up half a dozen arrests for various confidence games. He was, apparently, a real bunco artist, and not averse to the use of violence, when he was caught. Five years ago, he got involved in a mob-backed boiler-room operation, selling worthless stocks at high prices. He ended up in jail and traded his testimony against his cohorts for his freedom and the federal witness protection program. While he was there, he shared a cell with a car thief and insurance scam artist. After that, he apparently left the program and took up a new identity as Paul Bartlett, in Minneapolis, where he eventually married a wealthy widow. Then he got his former cell mate to tamper with the seat belt on his car, and he wrecked it, killing her, but only after she changed her will in his favor.”

“Then he's not Paul Manning?” Thad asked.

“No. Five years ago, Paul Manning and his wife were sailing in Europe, right, Liz?”

“That's right.”

“And Bartlett was in jail at the time.”

“So Bartlett was just a waste of your time?” Callie asked.

“Not entirely,” Stone said. “At least you and I managed to get him caught for murdering his wife.”

Dino spoke up. “And I managed to save the State of Minnesota the cost of a trial.”

“I don't want you to feel you've wasted
my
time, Stone,” Thad said. “You were perfectly right to follow that lead, and I'm glad that it came to some good.”

“But now we're right back where we started,” Stone said. “Liz, let's talk about this sighting of Paul Manning in Easthampton.”

“All right,” she said.

“Tell me exactly the circumstances under which you saw him.”

“I was in a shop on Main Street, pointing to something in the window for the saleslady to get for me, and I saw him outside the window.”

“Did you see his face?”

“Not entirely, just partly. I caught a glimpse of his nose, which was straight, and that threw me off for a moment. Then, as he was walking away, he did this thing with his shoulders that he used to do.” She demonstrated with a sort of shrug. “As if his jacket weren't resting comfortably on his shoulders.”

“I remember his doing that in St. Marks,” Stone said. “What else?”

“That was it. I waited until he had gone on down the street, then I got into my car, made a U-turn and got out of there. You're looking at me as though it were my imagination.”

“No, no,” Stone said. “I believe you. I just wanted the details.”

“And,” Thad said, “there is the matter of the vandalizing of Liz's house.”

“Of course,” Stone said. “I know the threat is real, and I think Paul Manning is just as dangerous as Paul Bartlett was.”

“So,” Thad said, “where do we go from here?”

“I'll have to give that some thought,” Stone said. “I'd feel better if we had some bit of information that would give us a basis for a search.”

“What sort of information?” Thad asked.

“Well, for instance, a man made several phone calls to my office and wouldn't give his name, making my secretary suspicious. Caller ID told us the calls came from a Manhattan hotel.” He pointed to the stack of computer paper that rested on a deck chair nearby. “A friend of mine managed to print out the guest list, and Liz and I went through it carefully. I was hoping a name might ring some sort of bell. One name seemed plausible, but it didn't work out, and neither of us saw another familiar name on the list.”

“I did,” Callie said.

“You did what?” Stone asked.

“I saw a familiar name on the list.” She got up, went to the stack of paper, riffled through it and ripped off a page. “Here,” she said, handing it to Stone.