Swimming to Catalina (33 page)
“Okay, I’ll trust you.”
“See you in an hour.” Stone hung up, walked down to the manager’s office, and borrowed a computer. They were happy to help.
“By the way, Mr. Barrington, there have been a couple of calls for you, but I denied all knowledge, as you requested,” the desk woman said.
“Any body leave a name?”
“No, sir.”
“I didn’t think so.” Stone sat down at the computer, quickly wrote a document and printed out several copies, then went back to his suite. Vance was up now.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I’ve got some people coming here for lunch, and I’d like you to stay out of sight until I need you. Why don’t you order some lunch and have it in your suite?”
“Okay.”
“And don’t go out. Somebody has been calling hotel looking for me, and I think we can both guess who it might be.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll stay put.”
“Vance, if I call you into this meeting, that will mean that it’s time for you to tell everything to these people, do you understand?”
“Yes, I suppose so; I’ll depend on you to protect me.”
“I’ll explain the circumstances before I ask you to say anything.”
“All right, but remember, no testifying, and no public knowledge of my involvement.”
“I’ll aim for that,” Stone said.
Hank Cable showed up with his IRS friend on time;
the man didn’t look at all the way he had imagined. He was tall, fiftyish, gray at the temples, and looked more like the stereotype of a judge.
“Stone, this is John Rubens,” Cable said. “He heads the investigations division of the IRS in Southern California.”
The two men shook hands, then Rick Grant arrived and was introduced. Shortly a waiter showed up with the lobster salad lunch Stone had ordered for them all, and with two bottles of a very good California chardonnay. Lunch was served on Stone’s private terrace. They ate, they drank the wine, then coffee was served.
“Well, gentlemen, it’s time to tell you why I’m buying you such a good lunch,” Stone said.
“Please do,” Rubens replied. “And thank you for the lunch.”
“I have as a client a person who may be a very important witness in a very big prosecution,” Stone said.
“For what crime?” Rubens asked.
“Tax evasion, for a start, to the tune of maybe hundreds of millions of dollars.”
“I like the sound of that,” the IRS man said.
Cable spoke up. “I can only assume we’re talking about the people we’ve been talking about all along.”
Rubens broke in. “You’ve been talking all along? How long?”
“Only a few days,” Cable replied.
“And tax evasion came into it only this morning.”
“All right, proceed,” Rubens said.
“My client can’t conclusively make your cases for you, but I believe he can be invaluable.”
“And what does your client want in all this?” Rubens asked.
“A number of things, of course, and all in the gift of you gentlemen.”
“Go on.”
“Immunity, for a start; complete and total.”
“Immunity for what?”
“My client has been naive; he has been sucked into an investment scheme by prominent businessmen which has turned out to be, shall we say, extra-legal?”
“And how much has your client lost?” Rubens asked.
“Nothing, as of the moment; in fact, he has made large profits, which he allowed these businessmen to reinvest for him.”
“Would this involve offshore bank accounts, tax evasion, and the like?” Rubens asked.
“On a monumental scale.”
“And is your client’s involvement monumental?”
“His total investment is one and a half million dollars.”
“Well, from my point of view, this doesn’t sound insurmountable,” Rubens said. “Hank, how about you?”
“We haven’t heard what else Stone’s client wants,” Cable said.
“Well, immunity, as I said, from all federal prosecution—and Rick, I’ll expect the same for local and state officials. But just as important, my client’s identity must never be revealed to anyone outside your offices.”
“I take that to mean your client doesn’t want to testify,” Cable said.
“His greatest value will be not in his testimony, but in his ability to steer your investigations in the right direction.”
“Does your client have a criminal record?” Cable asked.
“He does not. He is an upstanding citizen, a taxpayer on a grand scale, and of unimpeachable reputation.”
“Except for this little indiscretion you mentioned,” Rubens said.
“His only lapse, and believe me, he was snookered into it.” Stone knew that was a half-truth, but he had to win this negotiation now, if he was going to protect Vance.
“Well, let’s hear what he has to say, and I’ll discuss this with my superiors,” Cable said.
Stone shook his head. “He says nothing until we are in complete agreement, and I must tell you that this offer will be short-lived. My client is aware that if he says nothing, he will probably escape your attentions.”
“That’s blackmail,” Rubens said.
“Actually, it’s extortion,” Stone replied, “a technique not unknown to the IRS.”
Rubens, to his credit, laughed.
“Suppose we just pursue this on our own and arrest your client later? I’m sure he’d be willing to testify then,” Cable said.
“Hank,” Stone said, “you’ve already told me that you’re coming up dry so far, and without my help and that of my client, your whole investigation is likely to just grind to a halt.”
The two men looked at each other, and Stone knew what they were thinking.
“Gentlemen, I’m sure you’d feel more comfortable if you ran this by your superiors and the U.S. Attorney. There’s a phone in the living room and one in the bedroom, and I promise you privacy.” He handed them
each a copy of the document he had prepared. “You might read this to them.”
They each read the document.
“You don’t want a hell of a lot, do you?” Cable asked sarcastically.
“My client is asking for a lot less than he is willing to give,” Stone replied.
The two men, without another word, got up and went to find the phones.
“You’re some piece of work,” Rick said. “Do you really think they’re going to buy this, sight unseen?”
“I think they very well might,” Stone said, handing a copy of the document to him. “Aren’t you?”
“Well…”
“You had better start convincing the DA, if you want your department to participate.”
Rick went to look for a phone.
T
hey were all gathered around the dining table in Stone’s suite now, and he was anxiously awaiting their decision. John Rubens, without a word, signed Stone’s document and passed it to him. After a moment’s hesitation, so did Hank Cable.
“How about you, Rick?” Stone asked.
Rick Grant signed the document, and Stone gave them each a copy for their records.
“When do we meet your witness?” Rubens asked.
Stone got up, went into the adjoining suite, and came back with Vance Calder. The IRS man and the FBI agent suddenly became movie fans. They were both on their feet, almost to attention, shaking hands with the famous man, and Rick Grant’s reception was almost as welcoming. They all sat down.
“Vance,” Stone said, handing him a copy of the agreement, “the IRS, the FBI, and the LAPD have all agreed to offer you immunity from prosecution and complete confidentiality in return for your account of
recent events; in addition, you will not have to testify in court, and the kidnapping will be kept out of it. In return, you are expected to be completely frank with them and to answer their questions truthfully. I have to warn you that should you not tell the truth, you can be charged with lying to a federal agent. Do you understand the terms of the agreement?”
“Yes,” Vance said.
“I think it would be best, gentlemen, if you let Mr. Calder start at the beginning and tell his whole story without interruption. When he is finished, you can ask all the questions you like. I’d like to remind you that I consider Mr. Calder still to be in danger, and I expect you to keep his location confidential. Vance?”
Vance Calder proceeded to give a performance that, had Stone seen it in a theater, he would have stood up and applauded. The federal agents and the L.A. policeman listened, rapt, as the story unfolded. When he was finished, the questioning began, and Vance’s answers were as impressive as his monologue had been. Stone began to believe that the actor should write his own scripts.
When it was over, Vance retired to his suite, and Stone faced the feds again.
“That was very impressive, but it wasn’t enough,” Hank Cable said.
“I told you that it wouldn’t be,” Stone replied, “but now you have a direction. I suggest that you begin by arresting Martin Barone on charges of tax evasion, money laundering, and whatever else you can come up with from the wiretap of his offices. You can at least threaten him with Vance’s testimony. Even though that won’t happen, Barone doesn’t know. You could throw in the kidnapping charge, too; I can give you a witness
who’ll testify that Barone was in possession of Mrs. Calder’s car for several days.”
The meeting broke up, and Stone asked Rick Grant to stay behind.
“You were right,” Rick said. “There’s not going to be much left for the LAPD.”
“Oh, there might be,” Stone said. “How about murder?”
“You’re still alive.”
“Vinnie Mancuso and his partner, Manny, aren’t.”
“You’ll never tie that to Ippolito.”
“There’s a new way in,” Stone said. “Let me make a couple of phone calls.” He called Betty Southard and made a request and had a longer conversation with Lou Regenstein; then he invited Rick to join him in the car.
“Where are we going?” Rick asked.
“To Centurion Studios,” Stone replied.
“For what?”
“To see Billy O’Hara. He’s up to his ass in this.” As they drove, Stone explained what he had in mind.
“The guy was a cop,” Rick said. “You really think he’ll go for it?”
“One way to find out. If he doesn’t, you and I have a lot more work ahead of us.”
At Centurion they picked up the visitor’s passes that Betty had left for them and asked directions to the security director’s office. They hadn’t made an appointment. O’Hara’s secretary disappeared into his office, then came out. “He’ll see you,” she said.
“Please call Mr. Regenstein’s office and tell him we’re with Mr. O’Hara,” Stone said. He and Rick went into the private office and closed the door behind him.
“Rick!” O’Hara said rising to greet him with a handshake. “How are you?”
“Very well, Billy,” Grant said. “I’d like you to meet someone; this is Stone Barrington.”
O’Hara’s handshake stopped before it got started; he was clearly nonplussed. That was enough to convince Stone.
Stone and Rick sat down.
“What can I do for you?” O’Hara asked. He was making an effort to regain his poise.
“You’d better deal with the phone call first,” Rick said. Immediately, the phone rang.
The secretary’s voice came over the intercom. “Mr. Regenstein for you,” she said.
“Tell your secretary to go to lunch,” Rick said.
“She’s already been to lunch,” O’Hara replied, his hand on the phone.
“Tell her to go again.”
“Robin,” O’Hara said into the intercom, “go over to Office Supplies and stock up on everything. Give me an hour here.” He picked up the phone. “Lou? How are you?”
Stone and Rick could hear Regenstein’s voice blaring over the instrument; he was clearly very angry.
“Wait a minute, Lou,” O’Hara was saying, “let’s talk about this.”
Regenstein went on at some length, and O’Hara wasn’t getting a word in edgewise. “All right,” he said finally, then hung up.
“Billy,” Rick said, “even though you no longer work for Centurion Studios, we have Mr. Regenstein’s permission to use this office for as long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?” O’Hara said shakily.
Most of the color had drained from his face.
“Billy, you were a good cop, maybe even an outstanding one, but that’s not going to help you now, unless I have your complete cooperation.”
“About what?” O’Hara asked.
“Here’s how it is: you’re under arrest for kidnapping and murder one; there’ll be other charges later. You know your rights, but consider that I just read them to you.”
“Kidnapping? Murder? What are you talking about, Rick?”
“Shut up and listen to me. I’m going to give you an opportunity you’ll never have again after this meeting. I’m going to go out on a limb and offer you complete immunity from prosecution, if you tell me
everything
right now. You’ll have to testify against Ippolito, Sturmack, and Barone, and anybody else involved, but after they’re convicted, you’re off the hook.
“You certainly have the right to remain silent, but if you do, I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, that you will have spent your last day on this earth as a free man. You know there won’t be any bail. In addition to that, I promise you the roughest ride in the joint that I can muster, and that’s pretty rough. I’ll personally see to it that you do the hardest possible time in the worst prison this state has to offer, and that’s pretty bad; I’ll see that you’re put on the same cell block with some of the people you sent up when you were a cop.” He paused for effect. “That’s my offer, and time is running out. What’s it going to be?”
Stone tensed as O’Hara’s hand went inside his jacket, but he came back with a handkerchief and mopped his face. “You said
complete
immunity?”
“I did.”
“From
everything
? I’ll walk?”
“That’s right. I don’t give a shit what you did.”
“Can I have it in writing?”
“I’m the only friend you’ve got, Billy; don’t abuse my friendship.”
O’Hara opened his desk drawer, causing Stone concern again, but he came up with a bottle of pills. He poured himself a glass of water and took one, then he sat back in his chair, a beaten man. “Okay, Rick: I’ll play it your way. Ippolito can go fuck himself.”
R
ick placed a hand-held tape recorder on the desk between himself and Billy O’Hara and switched it on. He counted to ten aloud, played back the sound to be sure he had a level, then rewound it and pressed the RECORD button.
