Bel_Air Dead

by Stuart Woods

  “Uh-oh,” Stone said.

  “Exactly. Now, about Carolyn Blaine: she doesn’t exist.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “She owns no property in Los Angeles, has no telephone listing, no registered vehicle, no credit record, and no one by that name has been divorced in L.A. County for the past five years.

  The educational institutions you named—Miss Porter’s School, Mount Holyoke, and Wharton have no record of attendance by anyone of that name.”

  “Well, well,” Stone said. “I wonder if Mr. Prince is aware that his trusted assistant doesn’t exist.”

  “If you like, I can have her followed by someone who might get her fingerprints at some point, and we can run them. That might give us something more to go on.”

  “Please do,” Stone said.

  “I’ll get back to you.” Both men hung up.

  “Dino?” Stone said.

  Dino looked up from the New York Times. “Yeah?”

  “Terrence Prince’s driver is now a suspect in the death of Jennifer Harris. Can you drop the dime on him with your friend Sergeant Rivera?”

  “Sure,” Dino replied. “What evidence can I give him to support a charge?”

  “No evidence, just an educated guess.”

  “You want me to tell Rivera that my friend Barrington has a hunch that the guy killed Harris?”

  “Is he looking at anyone else for the murder?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then he’ll have plenty of time on his hands. Name is Alexei Popov, thirty-one, a previous murder-for-hire charge, dismissed, dead witness. He’s a driver for Terrence Prince, who has a strong financial motive for wanting Miss Harris dead. Tell him about the Centurion thing.”

  “Okay,” Dino said, picking up the phone.

  Stone dug out Carolyn Blaine’s card and called her on his cell phone.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he replied. “I’m staying at a beautiful house in Bel-Air with a wonderful cook. Would you like to come here for dinner tonight?”

  “Just the two of us?”

  “There may be another couple; I’m not sure yet.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven?” He gave her the address.

  “See you then.”

  Stone hung up and waited for Dino to finish his conversation with Rivera. “Dino, do you think you might like to have dinner with your new friend Hetty again tonight?”

  “Why not?” Dino asked. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re dining in,” Stone said. He picked up the phone and buzzed Manolo.

  “Yes, Mr. Stone?”

  “We’d like to dine here this evening, Manolo. Will that be all right?”

  “I’ll tell Carmen,” he said. “How many people and at what time?”

  “Four; we’ll sit down at eight, if that’s convenient for her. She can cook whatever she likes.”

  “And at what time will your guests arrive?”

  “Seven—a Ms. Blaine and a Ms. Lang, arriving separately.”

  “It will be a warm evening; would you like to dine by the pool?”

  “That would be perfect,” Stone said.

  “I’ll see to everything.”

  “Thank you, Manolo.” Stone hung up.

  “Why don’t we kidnap Manolo and Carmen and spirit them back to New York?” Dino asked.

  “What a good idea! What did Rivera have to say?”

  “I passed everything on and he seemed very interested, until I brought up Prince’s name. Then he sort of shied away.”

  “Mr. Prince’s reputation apparently precedes him,” Stone said.

  “Oh, yeah. He promised he’d look into it, though.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I got the impression he’d be looking into it without telling his superiors,” Dino said.

  17

  Carolyn Blaine and Hetty Lang arrived nearly simultaneously, and Manolo brought them out to the pool, where Stone and Dino, freshly scrubbed, awaited them. Manolo took their drinks orders, then returned and served them.

  “Thank you, Manolo,” Stone said.

  “What a lovely place,” Carolyn said. “Whose house is it?”

  “Vance Calder’s,” Stone said.

  “Gosh, I was his complete fan,” Carolyn said. She looked around at the gardens. “There seems to be quite a lot of property.”

  “Fourteen acres,” Stone replied, “and an option to buy another four.” He turned to Hetty. “Are you working on a film now, Hetty?”

  “Yes, on a thriller that the studio seems to be very excited about. It should be good for my career.”

  “An option for four more acres?” Carolyn asked.

  Stone ignored her. “How long have you been under contract with Centurion, Hetty?”

  “A year and a half,” she replied.

  “Are you enjoying it?”

  “Oh, yes; the other kids say it’s just like Metro in the thirties. They teach us everything.”

  “Stone,” Carolyn said, “about this house . . .”

  “Ah,” Stone said, “it looks like dinner is about to be served.”

  Manolo was wheeling a cart to the poolside table. “In one minute, Mr. Stone,” he said.

  “What classes are you taking?” Stone asked, again ignoring Carolyn.

  “Acting, dancing, and fencing,” Hetty replied.

  Carolyn was starting to ask again, but Manolo interrupted her. “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served,” he said.

  They all rose and took seats at the table. Stone tasted the wine and nodded to Manolo to pour.

  Carolyn was looking antsy, and throughout dinner Stone did nothing to relieve that. When they were finished and afterdinner drinks had been served, Dino asked Hetty if she’d like to see the gardens, and the two of them left Stone and Carolyn alone.

  “Now,” Carolyn said, “about this property and the other four acres . . .”

  Stone turned and looked at her. “Who are you?” he asked. She froze for a moment. “Didn’t I give you my card?” she asked.

  “Your card and a brief bio,” Stone replied. “Why do I have the very strong feeling that, if I investigated, I’d find that everything you told me was a lie?”

  Carolyn tried not to look flustered. She took a sip of her brandy and a deep breath.

  “That’s a very odd thing to say to a dinner guest,” she said.

  “Forgive my rudeness. Again, who are you?”

  “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable if I left,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t be more comfortable,” he said, “but you might.

  If you wish to leave, then, by all means, do so. But if we should meet again, my first question would still be, who are you?”

  She stared into her brandy glass. “All right,” she said, “I fudged my résumé to get my job. Is that so terrible?”

  “You did a great deal more than fudge your résumé,” Stone said. “Everything you told me—and, no doubt, Terrence Prince—was a bald-faced lie. You made yourself up out of whole cloth.”

  “Sometimes in life,” she said, “there is a need to just start over from scratch.”

  “I suppose,” Stone replied. “But usually people who start over begin with the same name and credentials, then try to improve on those credentials as time passes.”

  “All right,” she said, “I’m not proud of my past.”

  “Are you a fugitive from justice?” Stone asked.

  “No,” she replied. “No one is looking for me.”

  “So you got away clean?” Stone asked, taking a leap.

  “I’m not a criminal,” she said with some heat.

  “Not in your own eyes, anyway,” Stone said. He was flying, now, making it up as he went along.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you know what a sociopath is?” Stone asked. This just might push her over the edge, he thought.

  But she sat perfectly still. “A pers
on with no conscience,” she replied.

  “Correct. A person who thinks only of herself and no one else. A person who could never admit wrongdoing, because she figures that, if she did it, it couldn’t be wrong.”

  “That’s a very harsh judgment of someone you hardly know,” she said.

  “Don’t know at all,” he responded. “Why don’t we start over. Who are you?”

  “My name doesn’t matter,” she said.

  “It matters in that was your first opportunity to tell the truth, and you passed on that.”

  “All right, my name—at birth—was Olga Chernik. I was born in Chicago of Polish parents, I attended the public schools through the eighth grade, and then I ran away from home.”

  “Where did you go?” Stone asked.

  “Eventually, to Las Vegas.”

  Stone thought he knew where the rest of this was going. “And you came under the aegis of a pimp, who got you hooked on heroin, and thereafter you led a life of degradation. Come on, Carolyn, you can do worse than that.”

  “Worse?” she asked, incredulous.

  “That’s a standard con; you get caught in a lie, so you make up something so much worse that the mark figures it must be true.”

  She looked defeated. “Are you going to tell Terrence Prince about this?” she asked.

  “I doubt if the occasion will arise for me to speak to him again.”

  “Aren’t you going to close the Centurion deal?”

  “If I do, it won’t require a personal visit from Mr. Prince; I’ll just vote the Calder shares at the stockholders’ meeting.”

  “What does the Virginia Champion Farms deal have to do with your position on Centurion?” she asked.

  “Is that what Prince sent you here to find out? All right, I’ll tell you: it has nothing whatever to do with Centurion.” That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t entirely the truth, either.

  “I’m confused,” she replied.

  “It’s not my job to start you thinking clearly,” Stone said. “But when you do, give me a call, and maybe we can do some business. In the meantime, it would behoove you not to speak to Prince about this house and property. There will come a time when it will be more to your advantage.” He took a sip of his brandy, then stood up. “Good night,” he said.

  She stood up, flustered. “Thank you for dinner.” She got out as fast as she could.

  Stone was very satisfied with the way that went. Of course, he still didn’t know who she was, but her fingerprints on her brandy glass might help with that.

  Stone sat sipping his brandy for a few quiet moments. Then his cell phone went off. “Hello?”

  “It’s Mike Freeman.”

  “Good evening, Mike; you’re up late.”

  “I got a call from my operative who’s tracking Carolyn Blaine; he’s having trouble getting her fingerprints.”

  “I have them,” Stone said. “Tell him to drive to the house and ring the bell.”

  “Perfect,” Mike replied. “I’m coming out there tomorrow. Perhaps we can get together?”

  “I’d like that. Where will you stay?”

  “At the Bel-Air Hotel.”

  “Has it reopened?” The Bel-Air had been closed for more than a year, undergoing a complete renovation.

  “The Grand Reopening is tomorrow night; would you like to go?”

  “Sure. Come here for a drink first; we’re just around the corner.”

  “Six o’clock all right?”

  “That’s fine.” They both hung up.

  18

  The following morning Stone joined Dino at poolside for breakfast. “Where’s Hetty?” he asked.

  “She had an early call at the studio,” Dino replied. “How did you and Carolyn get on?”

  “Not very well,” Stone replied. “She left early.”

  “It’s unlike you to send a lady home early, Stone.”

  “She’s no lady,” Stone replied. “Mike Freeman is coming out here today. He’s invited us to a reopening party at the Bel-Air Hotel.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Dino said. “Should I ask Hetty?”

  “If you like. You might do better at the party, though.”

  “That’s a thought.”

  Manolo brought them breakfast. “Will you be wanting lunch, Mr. Stone?”

  “Probably so, Manolo; I have no plans until six, when a friend is coming for drinks. We’ll be out for dinner. How about you, Dino?”

  “I may wander the town for a while,” Dino replied. “No lunch for me, Manolo.”

  The man returned to the house.

  Stone spent the morning reading the newspapers and doing the crossword; then he swam for a while. He had just finished lunch when his cell rang. “Hello?”

  “It’s Eggers.”

  “Good afternoon, Bill.”

  “I’ve obtained a one-hundred-million-dollar line of credit for Arrington,” he said. “At prime.”

  “Well done.”

  “I’m faxing you the paperwork to look over. If you think it’s okay, I’ll messenger it to Arrington for her signature.”

  “Thanks, Bill.”

  “I have other news,” Eggers said. “The board of management met this morning and unanimously elected you partner.”

  “That’s very good news indeed, Bill,” Stone said with feeling. “Thank you for your support with the board.”

  “I’ll fax you the partnership agreement in a few minutes. Everybody signs the basic agreement; then we can talk about compensation and other things.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll find you some decent office space on our floors in the building.”

  Stone thought fast; for some reason it hadn’t occurred to him that he would be expected to move into the Seagram Building offices of the firm. “Bill, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to continue working out of my office in Turtle Bay.”

  “I guess that would be all right. What about your secretary?”

  “I’ll stick with Joan. If I need more help, I’ll let you know.”

  “We’ll give you an allowance for office space and staff, then, just to even things out with the other partners. I’ll base it on the square foot cost for the average partner’s space.”

  “That will be fine.”

  “There’ll be a generous expense account, of course, and I propose a draw against earnings of a hundred thousand a month, adjusted annually.”

  “That will be satisfactory.”

  “You can use your own airplane for travel whenever you wish. Let me know what the hourly operating costs are. For other travel, we have an in-house department that will make any necessary arrangements for you.”

  “What other perks should I be asking for?” Stone asked.

  Eggers chuckled. “Well, you already have a car.”

  “Not really,” Stone replied. “I totaled it a month ago, remember?”

  “I had forgotten. What would you like to drive?”

  “Let me get back to you on that,” Stone said. He was currently driving an armored Bentley Flying Spur that Strategic Services had lent him.

  “How about club memberships?”

  “I don’t belong to a club.”

  “Is there one you’d like? The Metropolitan? The Century? The Racquet Club? We have partners who could propose you for almost anything.”

  “Let me think about that.” Stone had never thought of himself as a clubman.

  “We can help with most of the golf clubs in the area, too.”

  “That’s a thought.”

  “You really ought to get yourself a place in the Hamptons, Stone. The firm has a very favorable mortgage program.”

  “Thanks, but I’m all right with my place in Connecticut. Maybe at some later time.”

  “As you wish. I’ll get these papers off to you right away.”

  “Thanks, Bill, and thank you again for your support.”

  Stone hung up feeling lighter than air. A partnership at Woodman & Weld! He had never thought it possi
ble until recently, and now it had actually happened.

  Manolo came and took his dishes away, then came back and presented him with an envelope. “A fax for you, Mr. Stone.”

  Stone opened the envelope and found the partnership agreement. He read it through quickly, then signed it and set it aside for FedEx pickup. Then he read the note for Arrington’s line of credit, which was well drawn and required no changes. As he returned the papers to the envelope, a movement caught his eye. He looked up.

  “Arrington!” he said. She was standing there looking gorgeous, as usual. He got up and met her halfway. “I wasn’t expecting you; why didn’t you let me know?” They hugged and kissed.

  “I remembered last night that the Bel-Air is reopening tonight,” she said, “so I thought what the hell, good excuse to come out. We left early this morning.”

  He held a chair for her. “Would you like lunch?”

  “I had something on the airplane, which was a charter. There wasn’t time to send for the Centurion jet. You know, Stone. Maybe it’s time I got my own airplane. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

  “You’ll have to advise me on what to get.”

  “I’ll be glad to do that and to get you more expert advice than I’m able to offer.”

  “Can I afford it?”

  “Arrington, you can afford anything your heart desires,” Stone replied. “By the way, I have the papers for your line of credit.” He opened the envelope and handed them to her.

  “I think this is yours,” she said, handing back his partnership agreement. “And congratulations again.”

  “Thank you; you helped make it possible.”

  She glanced at the first page of the agreement. “A hundred million dollars!”

  “You don’t have to borrow it all, just enough for the Champion deal and whatever else you want, like the airplane.”

  “Do you have a pen?” She accepted one and signed the papers where Stone indicated.

  Manolo came out with iced tea for both of them, and Stone handed him the partnership and line of credit agreements in the envelope, first writing the address on the outside. “Will you fax these, then FedEx the originals to New York, please, Manolo?”