by Stuart Woods
"You don't happen to know an Italian divorce lawyer, do you?"
"Nope, and can you imagine what will happen if you get one, and then he finds out who you're trying to divorce?"
"What?"
"Come on, Stone, Eduardo is probably better known to Italian lawyers than to American ones."
"You really know how to make a guy's day, Dino."
"Always happy to spread a little cheer."
"See you around." Bye.
Stone hung up, looked at his watch, then called Marc Blumberg's office.
"Yeah, Stone?"
"Marc, I'm glad you're back from Palm Springs. Can I come and see you? I need some legal advice, on a subject not connected to our present case."
"Sure, come on over; I'll make time."
Stone was surprised to find Vanessa Pike in Marc's office, and relieved to see her fully dressed. "Hi, Vanessa," he said.
"I was going to run Vanessa home, as soon as I made a couple of calls," Marc said. "What can I do for you?" He looked at Stone, then at Vanessa. "Honey, can you go powder your nose?"
Vanessa got up, opened a door in the corner of Blumberg's large office and closed it behind her.
"What's up?" Marc asked.
"You do divorce work, don't you?"
"Who are we talking about, getting divorced?"
"Me."
"Sure, I do divorce work, but first the client has to be married."
Stone placed the letter from Bellini and the marriage certificate on Marc's desk.
Marc read the letter. "Wow," he said. "You're pals with Cardinal Bellini?"
"He was supposed to officiate at my wedding, in Venice. We had a civil ceremony on a Saturday and it was my understanding that it wasn't valid until we had the religious ceremony. The call came about Vance's death before that could take place, and the next thing I knew, I was on a plane for LA."
"This Bellini is a real heavyweight, you know," Marc said, and there was awe in his voice.
"Marc, focus, please! This is a marriage in name only; it wasn't even consummated-at least, after the ceremony."
"And who is…" he looked at the marriage certificate. "… Rosaria Bianchi?" His face fell. "She's not… she couldn't be…"
Stone nodded dumbly.
"Eduardo Bianchi's daughter?" His eyebrows went up. "Stone, I'm looking at you in a whole new light, here."
"I want out of this so-called marriage, Marc. How do I go about that?"
"Before we go into that, Stone, let me ask you something, something serious."
"What?"
"Are you looking to piss off Eduardo Bianchi? I assume you know exactly who he is."
"I know who he is, and I like him. He likes me, I think, or he did when he thought I was going to be his son-in-law."
"Have you told him about this?"
"He was at the ceremony, Marc."
"I mean, have you told him you want a divorce from his daughter?"
"I don't think he even knows the marriage is valid, but he knows that Dolce and I are no longer together. He was pretty understanding about it."
"Well, for your sake, I hope to hell he's going to be understanding about it. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, if he decides not to be understanding."
"Marc, what am I going to do? How do I get out of this?"
"Well, assuming that you can find a way to stay alive, the situation shouldn't be all that bad. I once worked with an attorney in Milan on a divorce case." He looked at his watch. "It's too late there to call him now, but I'll call him in the morning, and we can see where we stand. I'm assuming Ms. Bianchi wants out, too."
"Don't assume that," Stone said.
"What should I assume?"
"Assume the worst."
Vanessa came out of the powder room. "May I reappear now?"
"Sure, honey," Marc said, "we're done, for the moment."
Stone got up to leave.
"Oh, Stone," Marc said, "would you mind giving Vanessa a lift home? I've still got some work here."
"Sure."
"If it's not out of your way," Vanessa said.
Stone shrugged. "I don't know where I'm going, anyway."
Chapter 40
Stone followed Vanessa's instructions to a quiet street up in the Hollywood Hills, above Sunset Boulevard, where they turned into the driveway of a pretty, New England-style, shingled cottage. They had been quiet all the way.
"You all right?" she asked, when they had stopped.
"Yes, sure," Stone said.
"Tell you what: "Why don't you come in, and I'll fix you some dinner?"
"I don't want to put you to any trouble, Vanessa."
"I gotta eat, you gotta eat," she replied.
"Okay." He got out of the car, followed her to the front door and waited while she unlocked it and entered the security system code. The house was larger than it had seemed from the outside, and prettily decorated and furnished.
"There's a wet bar over there," she said, pointing to a cabinet. "Fix us a drink; I'll have a Johnny Walker Black on the rocks."
Stone opened the cabinet, found the scotch, and found a bottle of Wild Turkey, too. He poured the drinks and followed her into the kitchen. There was a counter separating the cooking area from a sitting room, and he took a stool there. He wondered if she would now strip to the waist and walk around as she had in Palm Springs.
Vanessa turned out to be something of a mind reader. "Don't worry," she said, "I'm not going to take any clothes off. That was Marc's idea, in Palm Springs."
"Marc's idea? Why would he ask you to do that?"
"Oh, I was already fairly naked; he just asked me not to get dressed. Marc is concerned about you."
"Concerned how?"
"He thinks you need… companionship." She began rummaging in the refrigerator.
"Oh."
"Marc is a very kind man; I owe him a lot."
"Why?"
"I was in the middle of an awful divorce, and my lawyer was intimidated by my ex's lawyer. I ran into Marc at a cocktail party and complained about it, and he said he'd fix it. He did. He renegotiated my setdement, got me the Bel-Air house and a lot of money. I sold that house, bought this place, and invested the difference. If not for Marc, I'd probably be working as a secretary somewhere. As it is, I'm well fixed."
"Good for him," Stone said.
"He thinks that if you're fucking Arrington, it could hurt his case.
"He has made that point," Stone said.
"You two were an item before she married Vance, weren't you?"
"Yes, we were."
"Will you be again, assuming she doesn't go to prison?"
"Hard to say," Stone replied.
"Is that what you want?"
"Sometimes I do; other times, I don't know," he admitted.
Vanessa smiled. "I think it's what you want." She switched on the gas grill of the restaurant-style stove and put the steaks on, then started to make a salad.
Stone watched her move expertly around the kitchen. She was beautiful, smart, and, he did not doubt, affectionate. But Arrington was on his mind, and he could not get that out of the way.
* * *
They had finished dinner and were sipping a brandy before the living room fireplace.
"I'm having a tough time making a decision," Vanessa said.
"Anything I can do to help?"
"I'm in something of an ethical quandary. I've promised a friend to keep something in confidence, but to do that might harm someone else."
"That's a tough one," Stone said.
"The person who might be harmed is not a particular friend, though I have nothing against this person."
"Then why are you having so much trouble keeping your promise to your friend?"
"Because it might help Marc-and you-if I told you about it."
"Is there some way you can give me a hint without breaking your word to your friend?"
"I'm not sure. Perhaps if I tell you a little about it without revealing the friend'
s identity?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Marc says that he's worried that the police might have more on Arrington than he knows about."
"I've been worried about that, too."
"Well, you're both right to be worried."
Stone sucked in a breath. "Can you tell me any more?"
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think I can." She sipped her brandy. "It's just that there may very well have been a witness to what happened that night."
"You mean the Mexican gardener?"
"No, someone else. That's all I can say."
"Have you told Marc about this?"
"No, he'd just browbeat it out of me, and I'd feel terrible. I don't think you would try to do that."
Funny, Stone thought, he had been thinking about doing just that.
"Well," Stone said, "if you can ever see your way clear to tell me more, I'd like to hear it."
"I think that's unlikely," she replied.
Stone looked at his watch. "I'd better go; it's getting late."
She walked him to the door, and he gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner," he said, "and for the good company. I needed it."
"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," she said.
"You've at least confirmed our suspicions," Stone said, "and that's a help." He waved and started toward his car. She waited until he had backed out of the drive before closing the door.
The street was dark, and there were a few cars parked along the curb. As Stone put the car into gear and drove away, he noticed headlights appear in his rearview mirror. Funny, he thought, he hadn't seen a car coming when he'd backed out. He watched the lights in the mirror until he reached Sunset, then lost them in the traffic.
Chapter 41
Stone was wakened by the sound of someone entering the bungalow. Since Betty was now in Hawaii, he wasn't expecting anybody, so he got into a robe and padded into the front room in his bare feet.
A young woman was seated at Betty's desk; she looked up, startled. "Oh," she said. "I didn't know you were here."
"I'm here," Stone said. "But why are you?"
"I'm Louise Bremen, from the secretarial pool; Betty wanted a temp while she's on vacation."
"Oh, of course; I'd forgotten. I'm Stone Barrington." He walked over and shook her hand.
"Anything special you want done?" she asked.
"Just sort the Calder mail and separate the bills. Betty uses a computer program to pay them."
"Quicken? I know that."
"Good; you can write the checks, and I'll sign them. I'm a signatory on the Calder accounts."
"Sure; can I make you some coffee?"
"I'll do it, as soon as I've had a shower," Stone said. He went back to his bedroom, showered, shaved, and returned to the kitchenette. He was having breakfast when the phone rang, and Louise called out, "Marc Blumberg for you."
Stone picked up the phone. "Marc?"
"Yes, I…"
"I'm glad you called. I had dinner with Vanessa last night, and she pretty much confirmed our suspicion that the police have something on Arrington they haven't disclosed. Seems there was another witness to what happened when Vance was shot."
"And who was that?"
"She wouldn't say; she said she had been told in confidence."
"And why didn't she tell me that? She certainly had plenty of opportunity."
"She said she was afraid you'd browbeat the name out of her. She seemed very serious about keeping the confidence. I think you ought to take her to lunch and press the point."
There was a long silence on the other end.
"Marc?"
"You haven't been watching television this morning, have you?"
"No; I guess I slept a little late. I'm having breakfast now."
"Vanessa is dead."
"What?"
"Her house burned to the ground last night. TV says the cops haven't ruled out arson."
"But I was with her; we had dinner."
"Must have been later than that. It's the husband, I know it is."
"She told me about the divorce; was he that angry?"
"As angry as I've seen a husband in thirty years of practice. I got her a terrific settlement, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd taken a shot at me."
Stone found a kitchen stool and sat down. "I can't believe it," he said.
"Was she all right when you left her?"
"She was fine; she cooked dinner, and…"
"How late were you there?"
"I guess I left a little before eleven."
"You'd better talk to the cops, I guess."
"I suppose so, though I can't really tell them much."
"Did Vanessa give any hint at all about who her friend, the witness, might be?"
"No; in fact, she went to the trouble of avoiding mention of even the gender."
"It's bound to be a woman; Vanessa doesn't… didn't have men friends, except for me."
"Do you know who her female friends were?"
"She ran around with a group that hung around with Charlene Joiner. I don't know who the others were. You think you could look into that?"
"Sure, I'll be glad to."
"I've got to go; what with Vanessa's affairs to handle, I've got a lot on my desk this morning."
"Thanks, Marc; I'll get back to you if I find out anything." Stone hung up and wolfed down the rest of his muffin, while dialing Rick Grant.
"Captain Grant."
"Rick, it's Stone Barrington."
"Morning, Stone; what's up?"
"I've just heard from Marc Blumberg that a woman I was with last evening died in a fire last night."
"That thing in the Hollywood Hills?"
"Yes; Vanessa Pike was her name."
"Looks like a murder, from what I hear."
"I thought I should talk to the investigating officers."
"Yes, you should. Hang on a minute."
Stone waited on hold while he finished his coffee.
Rick came back on the line. "You know where the house is?"
"Yes."
"Meet me there in, say, forty-five minutes."
"All right."
They hung up, and Stone went to his desk and signed the checks Louise had printed out, then he got into his car and drove to Vanessa's house.
* * *
He smelled it before he saw it, the odor of burning wood, not at all unpleasant. He saw Rick Grant getting out of a car ahead of him and parked behind him.
The two men shook hands, and Rick lead Stone through the police tape. The house was nothing more than a smoking ruin. Rick went to two men in suits who were standing on the front lawn, talking to a fire department captain in uniform.
"Morning, Al, Bruce," Rick said. "Stone, these are detectives Alvino Rivera and Bruce Goldman. This is a former NYPD detective, Stone Barrington."
Stone shook hands and he and Rick were introduced to the fireman, whose name was Hinson.
"Stone, tell Al and Rick about last night."
Stone gave a brief account of his evening with Vanessa.
"Did she say anything about her husband?" Goldman asked, when Stone had finished.
"She told me about the divorce and her settlement. I gathered it wasn't an amiable thing. Her lawyer, Marc Blumberg, who introduced me to her, said the man was very angry about what he had to give her."
"She show any signs of stress or nervousness when talking about her husband?" Rivera asked.
"No, it seemed to be in the past, at least, to her."
"Does the husband look good for this?" Rick asked.
"Maybe. We questioned him this morning at his house. We still have to check out his alibi, but it sounds tight. If he's responsible, then he probably hired a pro."
The fireman spoke up. "The fire was started with gasoline near the master bedroom windows," he said. "We found a can, apparently from the victim's own garage. The perp had wheeled over a gas grill next to the house, and when the fire got going, the propane tank exploded. It
must have been full, or nearly so, because it did a lot of damage. The explosion probably killed the woman."
"We haven't heard from the M.E. yet," Goldman said, "but that sounds right."
"You're a lawyer, right?" Rivera said to Stone.
"Right."
"You're in town about the Calder thing?"
"Right."
"When you left last night, did you notice anybody hanging around the street?"
"When I backed out of the driveway, there were no moving cars visible on the street, just parked ones, but as I drove down the block toward Sunset, I saw some headlights in my rearview mirror. My guess is, somebody was waiting in the street, then started up and followed me to Sunset. I lost the car after I turned."
"Any idea of what kind of car?"
"No, all I saw was headlights."
"So the guy was hanging around, waiting for you to leave and for her to go to sleep."
"Could be. I didn't notice anybody following when we drove to the house, but I wasn't watching my mirror especially."
"What was your relationship to Mrs. Pike?" Goldman asked.
"I met her the day before yesterday in Palm Springs, at Marc Blumberg's house. Late yesterday afternoon, I had a meeting with Blumberg in his office, right after he returned from the Springs, and she was there. He asked me to give her a lift home, and she invited me to stay for dinner. That was it."
"Did you have sex with her?" Rivera asked.
"No.
"Ever met the husband?"
"No; I don't even know his name."
"Daniel Pike; big-time producer/director."
"I've heard of him."
"You know any of her friends?"
"Blumberg says she's friendly with a group that hangs around with Charlene Joiner."
"Joiner, the movie star?"
"One and the same."
"We'll talk to her."
Rick spoke up. "Anything else you fellows require of Stone?"
"Not at the moment."
"You can reach me through the switchboard at Centurion Studios," Stone said. "I've got a temporary office there, and here's my New York number." He handed them his card.