Cold Paradise (23 page)

48

D
INO FINISHED HIS COFFEE. “HOW ARE WE DRESSING for this shindig on Sunday?” he asked.

“Black tie,” Callie replied.

“In the afternoon?”

“The wedding’s at six, with a small group of invited guests. Everybody else arrives at seven.”

“Oh, good, for a minute I thought we were going to be gauche and wear black tie in the afternoon.”

Callie laughed. “You gauche, Dino? Never!”

Dino gave her a sweet smile. “Stone, I gotta go shopping. You come with me.”

Stone looked at Callie.

“We’ll be all right,” she said. “I’ve already got two security men in the main house.”

“You anticipate me,” Stone said.

“I try.”

“Okay, Dino, let’s go shopping.” He led the way toward where the cars were parked. A man who was obviously a security guard paid a lot of attention to them.

“You’re one of the two men on duty?” Stone asked.

“That’s right.”

“My name is Barrington. This is Lieutenant Bacchetti, NYPD. You armed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Try not to shoot anybody, if you can help it.”

“I’ll try.”

They got into the car and drove away.

“What are you shopping for?” he asked Dino.

“A dinner jacket.”

“Why don’t you ask Mary Ann to ship yours down here? There’s time.”

“That’s a question only a lifelong bachelor could ask,” Dino said. “If you’re in Palm Beach, and she’s not, you don’t call home and say, ‘Honey, send my dinner jacket, will you?’ It would take too long to explain why to her, and in the end, she’d never believe you. Besides, I need a new one, anyway. Somebody threw up on the last one at a wedding last year, and the cleaners could never get it all out.”

“Where you want to shop?”

“They got an Armani here?”

“They do.”

“Giorgio always does my dinner jackets.”

Stone found a parking spot on Worth Avenue. He put the top up to keep the sun from overheating the black leather upholstery, and they walked to the shop.

Dino conferred with a salesman, and shortly, a fitter was marking up a white dinner jacket. “You like the white?” he asked Stone.

“I like. Very elegant.”

“I thought you would. I’m getting this just for you.”

“You’re sweet.”

The fitter looked at them oddly. “What about the lump, sir?” he said, nodding toward the pistol on Dino’s belt.

“Allow for that,” Dino said. “I’ll be wearing it to the party.”

“Well, this is a first for Palm Beach,” the man muttered, but he did his work.

When they returned to the car, the driver’s side window was a web of pieces, held together by the lamination.

“Looks like a golf ball hit it,” Dino said.

Stone looked up and down the street. “That’s not funny.”

“Sure it is,” Dino laughed.

“You see her anywhere?”

“No, but a silver Volvo sedan has been following us.”

“Why didn’t you mention it sooner?”

“What good would it have done? It would have just ruined your day.”

“You’re right about that,” Stone said, flicking small shards of glass out of the driver’s seat.

They drove back to the house and walked to the yacht.

“A message for you, Stone,” Callie said, handing him Bob Berman’s number.

Dino glanced at the piece of paper. “What have you got Berman on?”

Stone led him into the saloon and picked up a phone. “One William Charles Danforth of Washington, D.C.”

“Who’s that?”

“It’s the passport Paul Manning is using these days.”

“Oh.”

Stone called Berman. “It’s me. You got something?”

“I got a lot,” Berman said. “You want me to FedEx it to you, or you want to hear it now?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Okay. Mr. Danforth is all over the Internet, just like you’d expect a substantial person to be. He’s got a credit history going back only four years. It’s little stuff, credit cards, couple of department stores—Saks, Macy’s. There’s apparently no Mrs. Danforth, and there are no mortgages on the reports. He rents an apartment in the P Street house in Georgetown, has for four years.”

“So Mr. Danforth is only four years old.”

“Right.”

“What does he do?”

“He lists his occupation as business consultant.”

“Whatever that means.”

“Yeah. His credit card spending is consistent with a man making less than a hundred thousand dollars a year. I got one of the credit card statements for the past year, and he’s traveled to Europe and Florida.”

“Where in Florida?”

“Miami, twice; last time ten days ago. He rented a car there, too.”

“Okay, what else?”

“He seems pretty ordinary. His phone number is listed. Nothing jumps out at you.”

“Did you find a photograph?”

“Nope, wasn’t available from any of my sources.”

“What about a driver’s license photo?”

“I checked D.C., Virginia and Maryland. Nothing there.”

“If he rented a car, he must have a license; if he has a license, there should be a photograph on file somewhere.”

“You want me to check all the states?”

“The contiguous forty-eight will do.”

“Okay, but it’s going to take a few days. There’s no federal registry of driver’s licenses; it’s purely a state thing.”

Stone had a thought. “How about a pilot’s license? He knows something about airplanes.”

“There’s no photograph on pilots’ licenses; you ought to know that.”

“Oh, right,” Stone said, thinking of the license in his own pocket.

“You suspect this guy of being wonky in any way?” Berman asked. “There’s no criminal record.”

“Yes.”

“Well, if he’s wonky, he wouldn’t have any trouble picking up a driver’s license that would get him a rental car.”

“Good point, but do the search anyway.”

“Whatever you say, Stone.”

“Does he own a car?”

“Yes, a six-year-old BMW 320i, registered at the P Street address.”

“Strange that he has a car and a passport with that address, but no driver’s license.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want his picture taken any more than necessary. Does he know you’re looking at him?”

“Probably not, but he might guess.”

“Maybe, if he’s wonky, he figured that someday, somebody would be looking for a photograph of him.”

“He has a passport, and you need a photograph for that.”

“Yeah, but the State Department is a lot harder to get a photograph out of than a state driver’s license office.”

“Once again, you have a point.”

“Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of at the moment. Let me know about the license.”

“Will do,” Berman said.

“And, Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“Put your mind to other ways to find a photograph.”

“I already did.” Berman hung up.

49

S
TONE SAT ON THE AFTERDECK AND NURSED A GIN AND tonic. “Dino,” he said finally, “when you arrested Manning that time in New York, you fingerprinted him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because that gives us a possible way to find out what Manning has been doing for the past four years to earn a living. I can’t see him doing it honestly.”

“What do you need?”

“I need for you to run his prints against unsolved crimes with no suspects.”

“Stone, you’re about to be rid of the guy. Why do you want to press this?”

“Because I have the awful feeling I’m
never
going to be rid of him. If he’s committed a crime somewhere in this country, and I can prove it, then I’d have something on him, something that would either keep him in line or put him in jail.”

Dino picked up a phone, called his office and asked them to run the Manning prints against unsolved crimes. “Shouldn’t take long,” he said. “Why do you think he might have committed a crime?”

“Because he’s apparently been earning less than a hundred thousand dollars a year, and I don’t think that’s enough to keep Paul Manning in the style to which he long ago became accustomed.”

The phone rang, and Stone picked it up.

“Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Fred Williamson. Somebody in Bill Eggers’s office at Woodman and Weld in New York asked me to call you about some divorce work.”

“Yes, of course. How do you do, Fred?”

“Very well, thanks, and divorce is a specialty of mine.”

“Glad to hear it. What I’ve got here is a petition from a Mrs. Allison Manning against Paul Manning. Mr. Manning has already waived a response, and we have a signed property settlement.”

“Where do the Mannings live?”

“In Palm Beach.” Stone gave him Liz’s West Indies Drive address.

“Shouldn’t be a problem, then. It’ll probably take a month to get it heard.”

“Do the Mannings have to appear?”

“Not necessary, as long as they’re in agreement on the terms and they’re both represented by counsel. Who’s his lawyer?”

“Edward Ginsky, of New York, but he’s licensed to practice in Florida.” Stone gave him Ginsky’s address and phone number.

“I’ll call him and get us on the court calendar.”

“Fred, is there any way to get this heard right away? And in chambers, if possible? I don’t want it to make the papers, even in the legal notices.”

“I know a judge who might hear it in chambers sooner, rather than later,” Williamson said.

“I’d appreciate it if you could handle it that way. Ginsky has his own jet. I’m sure he could appear on short notice, or appoint someone local to do it.”

“Who’s got the paperwork?”

“I have. Can you send a messenger for it?”

“Sure. Where?”

Stone gave him the address.

“I’ll have somebody there inside an hour.”

“Thanks, Fred. Call me if you need any further information.” Stone hung up. He went to his briefcase, extracted the documents, stuffed them into a manila envelope, wrote Williamson’s name on it and gave it to Juanito to leave with the security man guarding the front door.

“Maybe I can get them divorced before Sunday,” Stone said.

“Would that make you feel better?” Dino asked.

“Yes, indeed. I’m uncomfortable about witnessing a client—two clients, in this case—committing bigamy in front of the crumbs of Palm Beach’s upper crust.”

“When they get to that part about ‘if anybody can show just cause why these two people shouldn’t get married, ’ shouldn’t you, as an officer of the court, stand up and yell, ‘It’s bigamy!’?”

“Probably, but this lawyer says he might be able to get it heard quickly.”

The phone rang again, and this time it was for Dino.

“Hello? Yeah, this is Bacchetti. Hang on, let me get something to write with.” He motioned to Stone for a pen.

Stone handed him one, and a pad.

“Yeah, yeah. Where? How many? And there’s no other clue? Why the hell didn’t this match pop up before? Oh, yeah, I see. Thanks. I don’t know yet. Sit on it until I get back to you.” He hung up.

“What?” Stone asked.

“You were right, pal. Our Mr. Manning knocked over a branch bank in Arlington, Virginia, four years ago.”

“I knew it!” Stone said.

“He left a thumbprint on a note that he handed a teller.”

“Why didn’t the match turn up at the time?”

“I asked about that. It seems that when we printed the guy at the Nineteenth, whoever did it didn’t put the prints into the system because he figured, what the hell, the guy’s being prosecuted in another country. It was stupid, but it happens.”

“This is wonderful,” Stone said, meaning it.

“It gets better. A man answering the description—at least height and weight—knocked over three other branches within fifty miles of D.C. Two in Maryland and one more in Virginia. He was smart enough not to leave any prints on those jobs.”

“What sort of money did he get?”

“Between a hundred and a hundred and fifty thousand at each bank; never more than that. Still, he had to do some planning or have some inside information to get that much out of a walk-in-and-hand-the-teller-a-note job. Usually those bring more like twenty-five or thirty grand a pop, and the banks don’t even bother to prosecute if there was no violence involved.” Dino stopped and looked at Stone.

“Why the smug little smile?”

“Gee, I don’t know. I just have this warm fuzzy feeling inside.”

“You’ve got the guy by the balls.”

“You bet your sweet ass I have,” Stone said with satisfaction.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get Liz and Manning divorced and see her and Thad married, then I’m going to call the FBI and sic them on Paul Manning, and I’m going to take the greatest pleasure in doing it.”

“I hope it’s that easy, pal,” Dino replied.

50

S
TONE WAS WOKEN FROM A SOUND SLEEP BY THE PHONE next to his bed. He picked it up. “Hello,” he said, sleepily. He looked at the bedside clock. It was shortly after ten A.M.

“Stone? It’s Fred Williamson. Can you have Mrs. Manning at the courthouse at three o’clock this afternoon?”

“Why?”

“We’ve got a hearing before Judge Coronado in his chambers at that time.”

“Why does Mrs. Manning have to be there?”

“This is an unusual situation, and the judge wants to talk to the couple face-to-face.”

“But why? I thought we could do it with just their attorneys.”

“He wants to know what the big rush is, I guess; whether these people are for real.”

For real?
Stone thought.
They are definitely not for real.
“Have you spoken to Ed Ginsky?”

“Yes. He says he can have his client there.”

“Well, okay,” Stone said. “We’ll be there.”

“The judge is going to ask some questions, like how long have the Mannings lived in Florida. You know the answer to that one?”

“I’ll have to ask Mrs. Manning.”

“This whole petition is based on the fact that they’re Florida residents. Be sure you tell her that.”

“All right. Have you told Ginsky about this?”

“Yes. He says his client will bring proof of Florida residency. The judge is going to ask these people why they want a divorce, and there shouldn’t be any disagreement between them about that.”

“You told Ginsky that, too?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“I’ll see you at three o’clock in Judge Coronado’s chambers, which are behind courtroom A.”

“Good, see you then.”

Stone got dressed and found Liz and Thad having breakfast on deck. “Good news,” he said.

“I’m always up for good news,” Thad said.

“Liz, you’re getting divorced this afternoon.”

“Wonderful!” she nearly shouted.

“You and I have to appear in the chambers of a Judge Coronado this afternoon at three. Paul and his attorney will be there, too.”

“I don’t want to do that,” she said.

“I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter,” Stone said.

“I won’t be in the same room with him.”

“Look, this is not the first divorce this judge has heard. He’s accustomed to people who aren’t speaking to each other.”

“Liz,” Thad said, “Stone has gone to a lot of trouble to get this thing resolved this week. This is only going to take a few minutes, right, Stone?”

“That’s right. I shouldn’t think it would take more than half an hour, at the most.”

“Oh, all right,” Liz said. “I don’t have to talk to him, do I?”

“No, but you’ll have to talk. The judge will ask you both some questions, and be warned, he’s not going to like it if you argue about the answers. Just don’t disagree with Paul.”

“That may be difficult,” she said.

“Liz, this is the quickest, quietest way possible to get you out of this marriage. Just do what you have to do,” Thad said.

“All right, darling,” she said, and put her hand on his.

“Can I be there?” Thad asked. “Liz might feel better.”

“Absolutely not,” Stone said. “You’re a very recognizable figure in Palm Beach, and I don’t want you anywhere near that courthouse.”

“Oh, all right,” Thad said. “Sit down and have some breakfast.”

Juanito appeared, and Stone ordered. “Now, Liz, tell me: How long have you been a Florida resident?”

“Since I married Winston, I guess. Three years. He was a Florida resident well before that, for tax reasons.”

“The judge will ask you that.”

“What about Paul? He’s not a Florida resident. At least, I don’t think he is.”

“His lawyer says he can show proof of residency. The judge will ask you things like how long you’ve been married, and he’s going to ask you why you want a divorce. What are you going to tell him?”

“That my husband led me into a life of crime and that, when he murdered three people, I didn’t want to live with him anymore.”

“No, no, no,” Stone said. “You want to be general, not specific.”

“You mean like, we just grew apart over the years?”

“That’s better. And if he asks Paul first, just go along with whatever he says. Don’t worry, he has a very good lawyer, and he will have been well briefed.”

“Whatever you say,” she said.

“That’s the right answer, too. Now, another thing. Your agreement with Paul requires you to wire-transfer the money into his lawyer’s trust account as soon as the divorce is final. What I’d like is for you to transfer the money to my trust account today, and I’ll take it from there.”

“The two million dollars?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“God, but I hate to give that son of a bitch any money.”

“Liz, get a grip. You’ve already signed an agreement to that effect. Yesterday, you were delighted to get off so cheaply.”

“Liz, honey,” Thad said, “two million dollars is small change to me. Let me take care of that.”

“I couldn’t let you do that,” Liz replied.

“No, really. I’d consider it a great favor if you’d let me do that.”

“Oh, Thad,” she said, putting her hand on his cheek. “You’re so sweet.”

Thad turned to Stone. “I’ll move the money this morning.”

“You’re sure that’s the way you want to do this?”

“Yes, I am.”

Stone watched, amazed, as they kissed.

Later, when they were driving to the golf course, Stone brought Dino up to date.

Dino’s mouth fell open. “He’s giving her two million bucks?”

“Like Thad says, it’s small change to him.”

“Holy mother! She’s good, isn’t she? She meets this guy, what, three weeks ago, and now he’s paying her ex-husband two million bucks to go away?”

“You’ve got it.”

“Well, Thad is either the sweetest guy in the world or the dumbest, or both,” Dino said.

“Don’t talk about my client that way,” Stone said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know; he pays his legal bills.”

“That’s very important,” Stone said.

“And you don’t even know if he’s really going to go away.”

“Oh, I know that,” Stone said. “When the FBI takes him away, he’ll be gone.”

“How do you know they can get a conviction?” Dino asked. “After all, when he gets Thad’s two million, he’s going to be able to afford a
very
good lawyer.”

“I thought you said they have his fingerprint on a note he handed a teller.”

“Sure they do,” Dino said. “Gee, I hope the FBI hasn’t misplaced it during the years that have passed since the robbery. They would never do that, would they?”

“They’ll have the tellers’ identification of Manning,” Stone said.

“How do you know? Maybe he dressed up like Ronald McDonald. And it’s been four years since the last robbery. I’d be willing to bet you that at least one of the four tellers is dead, and a couple more are retired and living in Costa Rica or someplace, and that the remaining one has come down with Alzheimer’s. And even if one of them is still around and can identify Manning, Ginsky is going to turn him inside out on the witness stand. ‘But, sir, it’s been four years since you say you saw the robber, and you also say he was wearing a red wig, a big nose and floppy shoes. How could you possibly say that man is my client?’”

“You’re starting to annoy me, Dino.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re not nearly as annoyed as you’re going to be when Manning gets off scot-free and hires somebody to put his ex-wife at the bottom of Lake Worth in a concrete bikini.”

Stone ran a red light, thinking about that.