6 Stone Barrington Novels (7 page)

 

 

 

A
RRINGTON STARED AT STONE AS HE SPOKE, HER EYES wide and unblinking. Gradually, tears rimmed her eyes, then spilled down her cheeks. She seemed unable to speak.

Stone stopped talking for a moment. “Do you remember any of this?” he asked.

She shook her head, spilling more tears.

“What's the last thing you remember before Saturday?” Dr. Judson asked.

She closed her eyes tightly. “Someone cutting the grass,” she said.

“And what day was that?”

“I'm not sure. I had a brief conversation with . . . Geraldo, his name is. I asked him not to cut the grass quite so closely. We agreed on two inches; I remember that.”

“Do you remember what plans you and Vance had for Saturday night?” Judson asked.

She shook her head. “I'd have to look at the book.”

“What book is that?”

“The book that Vance and I keep our schedules together in. I have my own book, too, for things I don't do with him, and he has his own book that Betty keeps.”

“And who is Betty?”

“Betty Southard, his personal assistant; she works in his office at the studio.”

“What were you doing immediately before you spoke to Geraldo?” the doctor asked.

“I was cutting flowers in the garden,” she said.

“And what did you do after you finished cutting the flowers and speaking to Geraldo?”

Her shoulders sagged. “I don't remember. I suppose I must have gone back into the house, but I can't remember doing it.”

“What jewelry had you planned to wear Saturday night?” Stone asked.

“Diamonds,” she replied. “It was black tie.”

“Who was the host?”

“What?”

“The host of the dinner party?”

“What dinner party?”

“The one on Saturday night.”

She looked lost. “I don't remember.”

“Did you take your jewelry out of the safe?”

“I don't know.”

“What is the last thing you remember Vance saying to you?” Judson asked.

“He said I should wear the diamonds. He was taking his jewelry box out of the safe; I remember that.”

“What else was in the safe?”

“I remember who was having the dinner party,” she said. “It was Lou Regenstein.”

“Did you enjoy the party?” Judson asked.

“I don't remember the party,” she said.

“Arrington,” Stone said, “does Vance own a gun?”

“I think so,” she replied. “At least, he said he did. I've never seen a gun in the house.”

“Do you know how to fire a gun?” Stone asked.

“My father taught me to fire a rifle, a twenty-two, when I was sixteen.”

“Did he teach you how to fire a pistol, too?”

She shook her head. “I don't think I've ever even held a pistol.”

“Well,” Dr. Judson said, “I think we've covered about enough for now.”

“Is Peter all right?” Arrington asked.

“Your mother wants to take him back to Virginia with her for a visit.”

“I think that's a good idea,” Arrington said, nodding. “I want to say good-bye to him.”

“Suppose you telephone him,” the doctor said.

“Yes, I could do that.” She turned to Stone. “Tell me the truth. I'm not crazy, and I want to know. Is Vance dead?”

“Yes,” Stone replied. “I'm afraid he is.”

She was silent, seeming to think hard. “Who's taking care of everything?” she asked finally.

“You mean the house? The servants are there.”

“No, I mean, there has to be a funeral; things have to be done; decisions made. I don't know if I can do this.”

“I'll help in any way I can,” Stone said. He had intended to bring this up, himself.

“Oh, would you handle things, Stone? There are legal matters, too, I'm sure.”

“Who is your lawyer?” Stone asked.

“You are, I guess; I don't have another one. Vance has one, but I can't think of his name.”

“Would you like me to represent you both legally and personally?” Stone asked.

“Oh, yes, please, Stone. I'd feel so much better, if I knew you were handling everything.”

“What about medical decisions?”

“I'll make those myself,” she said. “Unless I'm not able to, then I'd like you to make those decisions, too.”

Stone opened a hotel envelope and took out a sheaf of papers. “Dr. Judson, do you believe that Arrington is capable of making decisions about her affairs?”

“I don't see any reason why she shouldn't,” the doctor replied.

“Do you have a notary public here?”

“My secretary,” he said, picking up a phone.

The woman arrived shortly with her stamp.

Stone explained each of the documents to Arrington—a general power of attorney, a medical authorization, an agreement appointing him as her attorney, and a letter addressed, “To whom it may concern,” stating that Stone had authority to act on her behalf in all matters, business and personal. When everything had been signed, notarized, and witnessed by the doctor, Stone kissed Arrington good-bye.

“I'll be back to see you tomorrow and bring you up to date on events,” he said. “Why don't you call your mother now, and say good-bye to Peter?”

“All right. Stone, I'd like it very much if you would stay in our . . . my home; it would be comforting to know you are there. Manolo and the staff will make you comfortable in the guesthouse, and use the phones, the cars, anything you need.”

“Thank you, I may do that,” Stone said. “I'm going to go over there now and drive your mother and Peter to the airport. Will you tell her I'm on my way?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Is there another way to the house besides through the front gate?”

“Yes, there's a service entrance about a hundred yards down the road, and there's a utility service road into the back of the property; you enter it from the street behind. I'll tell Manolo to open it for you.”

“Thanks, that would be good.” He kissed her again and left with the doctor. “What did you think, Jim?” Stone asked as they walked down the corridor.

“My diagnosis hasn't changed. She seems to remember something about that night, the thing about the jewelry; I'd like to know exactly when the conversation with the lawn man took place.”

“So would I,” Stone said. He thanked the doctor, then drove to Vance's house, entering through the utility road, where a servant stood waiting to close the gate behind him. He parked in a graveled area near the back door and went inside, where he was greeted by Manolo, the Filipino butler.

“It's good to see you again,” Mr. Barrington.

“Thank you, Manolo,” Stone replied. “I wish the circumstances were different. Mrs. Calder has suggested I move into the guesthouse.”

“Yes, Mrs. Calder's mother passed on that message,” Manolo said. “The guesthouse is all ready for you.”

“I'm going to take Arrington's mother and Peter to the airport now, and after that I'll go back to the Bel-Air, return my rental car, and take a cab back here. Mrs. Calder suggested I use one of her cars.”

“Of course, and I'll give you a remote that will open the back gate, too,” Manolo said. “I'm afraid the media have the front gate staked out—permanently, it seems.”

A man approached Stone. “Are you Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Wilson; I'm commanding the security detail here.”

“Good; what kind of vehicles do you have available?”

“I've got a Chrysler van with blacked-out windows, and two unmarked patrol cars.”

“I'd like you to drive Mrs. Carter and the boy to Supermarine, at Santa Monica Airport. The Centurion Studios jet is waiting there to fly them to Virginia.”

Mrs. Carter appeared in the hallway, a handsome little boy of two holding her hand. “Hello, Stone,” she said. “Have you met Peter?”

Stone knelt and took the boy's small hand. “Not since he was a baby,” he said. “Peter, you're getting to be a big boy.”

“Yes, I am,” the boy said gravely.

There was something familiar in the child's face, Stone thought—some characteristic of Vance or Arrington, he wasn't sure just what. “You're going to get to ride on a jet airplane this afternoon,” he said.

“I know,” Peter replied. “My bags are all packed.”

Two maids appeared, carrying the luggage, and everyone was bundled into the van.

“I'll lead the way out the back,” Stone said, “and I'd like a patrol car to follow us. If necessary, I'd like that car to block the road.”

“I understand,” Wilson replied. He spoke softly into a handheld radio. “My people are assembling out back, now. Shall we go?”

“Manolo,” Stone said, “I'd like to talk with you when I get back.”

“Of course, Mr. Barrington,” Manolo replied. “I thought you might wish to.” He handed Stone a small remote control for the rear gate.

“By the way,” Stone said, “on what days is the lawn mowed?”

“The man is here today,” the butler replied. “Ordinarily, it's on Fridays, but he was ill last Friday.”

“When was the last time he was here?”

“A week ago Friday.”

“Do you recall Mrs. Calder having a conversation with him on that day?”

“Yes, she asked him not to cut the lawn so closely. She asked me to see that it was done.”

“A week ago Friday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Manolo. And do you recall if Mr. and Mrs. Calder went out that evening?”

Manolo looked thoughtful. “Yes, they went to Mr. Regenstein's home for dinner. I drove them; the chauffeur was on vacation.”

“Was it a black-tie dinner?”

“Yes, sir; Mr. Calder was dressed in a dinner suit.”

“And do you remember what jewelry Mrs. Calder wore?”

“She wore diamonds,” he said. “She usually does, when it's a black-tie event.”

“Thank you, Manolo; I should be back in a couple of hours.”

“Will you be dining here, then?”

“Yes, I think I will,” Stone said.

“I'll tell the cook.”

“Something simple, please; a steak will be fine.”

“Of course.”

Stone helped Mrs. Carter and Peter into the van, then got into his own car. They made it out the back way undetected.

 

 

 

S
TONE SAW MRS. CARTER AND PETER OFF ON THE CENTURION jet, then returned to the Bel-Air, checked out, left his rent-a-car with the parking attendant, and took a cab back to the Calder residence. He had thought of returning through the rear entrance, but he didn't want a cabdriver to know about that, so he called Manolo and asked him to be ready to open the front gate. There was only a single television van at the gate when he arrived, and the occupants took an immediate interest in him, but before they could reach the cab with a camera, he was safely inside. Before he got out of the cab, he handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill. “That's for not talking to the TV people about who you delivered here,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” the man said, “but I don't know who you are, anyway.”

“Just don't stop when you go out the gate.”

Manolo and a maid took Stone's bags through the central hallway of the house, out the back, and around the pool to the guesthouse. Stone thought the little house was even nicer than the suite at the Bel-Air. While the maid unpacked for him and pressed his clothes, Stone walked back into the house with Manolo.

“You said you wished to speak with me, Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes, Manolo; it's important that I know everything that happened here on Saturday night. Please tell me what you saw and heard.”

“I was in my quarters, a little cottage out behind the kitchen entrance, when I heard a noise.”

“How would you characterize the noise?”

“A bang. I didn't react at first, but I was curious, so I left my quarters, entered the house through the kitchen door and walked into the central hall.” He led the way into the house.

“Which door did you come through?” Stone asked.

“That one,” Manolo replied, pointing to a door down the hall.

“And what did you see and hear?”

“I saw Mr. Calder lying right there,” he said. “He was lying. . . . He . . .”

“Can you show me?”

“Yessir.” Manolo walked to the spot and lay down on his side, then rolled partly onto his belly. “Like this,” he said. “Can I get up, now?”

“Yes, of course.”

Manolo stood up. “He had a hole in his head here,” he said, pointing to the right rear of his own head. “It was bleeding.”

“Did you think he was alive?”

“Yessir, he was. I felt his pulse in his neck.”

“What did you do then?”

“I went to the phone there,” he pointed to a table, “and called nine-one-one and asked for the police and an ambulance quick.”

“What next?”

“The maid, Isabel, came into the hall from the kitchen; I told her to go and see if Mrs. Calder was all right, and she went toward the master suite, there, through the living room, and through that door.”

“How much time elapsed between the time you heard the shot and the time you found Mr. Calder?”