by Stuart Woods
Stone sat down heavily, feeling enormously relieved.
“You look kind of funny, Stone,” Marc commented. “Was it something I said?”
“Yes, it was,” Stone replied. “I had never connected Beverly with Vanessa’s death, but what you’re saying makes perfectly good sense. I’m afraid that I thought someone else . . .” He stopped himself.
“That someone else murdered Vanessa?”
Stone nodded.
“Who?”
“I’d rather not say. If you’re right, then it doesn’t make any difference.”
“I guess not.” Marc picked up the phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“The D.A. I want him to see this diary. If we’re lucky, maybe we won’t need the motion hearing.”
“Marc,” Stone said? “we don’t have anything we didn’t before. Beverly has obviously already told the D.A. that she was at Vance’s that night; otherwise, how else could she be a witness?”
“You’re right, but I have to turn this over to either the D.A. or the police, anyway, and it at least independently establishes that Beverly was there. She won’t know what’s in the diary, so maybe I can use it to rattle her at the hearing.”
“Call the D.A.,” Stone said.
Fifty-five
THE CAB CRAWLED UP THE STREET. FROM THE REAR seat Stone checked the house numbers, but most of them were missing, like a lot of other things in this neighborhood. Stone had taken a taxi, because he did not want to park a Mercedes SL600 on this block.
As it turned out, the house number was unnecessary, because Felipe Cordova was sitting on his sister’s front porch, drinking from a large beer bottle, while two small children played on the patchy front lawn.
“Wait for me,” Stone said to the driver.
“How long you going to be?” the driver asked. “I don’t like it around here.”
“A couple of minutes; I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Okay, mister, but hurry, okay?”
Stone got out of the cab, let himself through the chain-link front gate, and approached the house.
Cordova watched him come, curious at first, until he recognized Stone. “Hey, Mr. Lawyer,” he said, raising the quart in salute. “You back to see me again?”
Stone pulled up a rickety porch chair and sat down. “Yes, Felipe, and I’ve brought good news.”
“I always like good news,” Felipe replied happily.
“The police are no longer looking for you,” Stone said.
“Hey, that is good news.”
“But you and I have a little official business.”
Cordova’s eyes narrowed. “Official?”
“Nothing to worry about,” Stone said, taking the subpoena from his pocket and handing it to the man. “I just need you to testify in court.”
Cordova examined the document. “The day after tomorrow?”
“That’s right. Ten A.M.; the address is there.” He pointed.
“What’s this about?”
“I just want you to answer the same questions I asked you in Mexico. And I want the same answers.”
“How much do I get paid?”
“That’s the bad news, Felipe; I can’t pay a witness. That could get us both put in jail.”
Cordova frowned. “I’m going to have expenses, man.”
“You can send a bill for your expenses, your reasonable expenses, like cab fare and lunch, to this lawyer.” He handed Cordova Marc Blumberg’s card. “See that it doesn’t come to more than a hundred bucks.”
“Suppose I don’t want to testify?”
“Then the police will be looking for you, and if you leave the country, you won’t be able to come back. The border patrol will have you in their computer, and you don’t want that, do you?”
Cordova shook his head.
“Relax, Felipe; there’s nothing to this. When you get to the courthouse, you sit on a bench outside the courtroom until you’re called, and then you take the stand, swear the oath on the Bible, and you answer questions.”
“Just like on Perry Mason?”
“Just like that, except on Perry Mason, the witness is always the murderer. We know you’re not the murderer; we just want you to tell about the woman you saw in the house, the one in the terrycloth bathrobe.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Stone stood up. “Be sure you remember that word, Felipe: terrycloth. I’ll see you there at ten A.M. the day after tomorrow, and remember, that document means you have to testify or be arrested. You understand?”
Cordova nodded.
Stone patted him on the back and went back to his cab. “Okay,” he said, “back to Centurion Studios.” He took out his cell phone and called Marc Blumberg. “He’s been served.”
“You think he’ll show, or should I send somebody out there?”
“He’ll show.”
When Stone arrived at the studio bungalow, Dino and Mary Ann were waiting for him.
“So this was Vance’s cottage?” Mary Ann asked while being shown around.
“This was his office and dressing room,” Stone replied. “Of course, he had an RV that served as a dressing room, too. All the stars seem to have them.”
A young man pulled a golf cart to the front door and got out.
“Here’s your tour guide,” Stone said.
“Dino, don’t you want to go?”
“I’ve already seen enough; I’ll hang out with Stone,” Dino replied.
“Then we’ll get some dinner,” Stone said. The phone rang, and Louise answered it.
“Stone, it’s for you; the lady sounds upset.”
Stone went into the study and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Stone, it’s Charlene,” she whispered.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Somebody just took a shot at me.”
“Where are you?”
“At home. Somebody fired right through the sliding doors to the pool.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Call nine-one-one. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“Hurry.”
Stone hung up the phone. “Come on,” he said to Dino. “I’ll explain on the way. Louise, when Mrs. Bacchetti gets back, tell her we’ll be back soon, all right?”
“Sure.”
Stone grabbed the Walther automatic and its shoulder holster from a desk drawer, then ran for the car with Dino right behind him.
“What’s this about?” Dino asked as they cleared the front gate and turned into the boulevard.
“You’re about to meet a movie star,” Stone said.
When they pulled up in front of the Malibu Colony house, there were no police cars in sight. Stone wondered about that, but he was relieved that there was no ambulance, either.
The front door was ajar, and Stone walked in cautiously, stopping to listen. He heard nothing. It was getting dark outside, and there were no lights on in the house. “Charlene?” he called out.
“Stone?” her voice came from somewhere at the back of the house.
Stone walked quickly down the hallway, followed by Dino. “In here,” Charlene’s voice said from somewhere to the right.
They turned into the sitting room of the master suite. Charlene was crouched behind the little bar, and she had a nine-millimeter automatic pistol in her hand. She rushed to Stone and threw an arm around him. She was naked. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, the gun at her side.
“This is my friend Dino Bacchetti,” Stone said.
“Nice to meet you,” Dino said, looking her up and down. He reached out and took the pistol from her, removed the clip, and ejected a cartridge from the chamber.
“Why don’t you get into some clothes?” Stone said.
She ran into the bedroom.
Stone looked around. The big glass door to the pool side patio had shattered, and glass was everywhere.
Charlene returned, tying the sash on a dressing gown and wearing shoes.
>
“Where are the police?” Stone asked. “Surely they’ve had time to get here.”
“I didn’t call the police,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I called you, instead.”
“Start at the beginning, and tell me what happened.”
“I was lying on the sofa there, reading a script, when I heard two shots. The glass door shattered, and I rolled off the sofa onto the floor and crawled over to the bar as fast as I could. My gun was in a drawer there.”
“Dino, will you take a look around out back?”
“Sure.”
“Wait a minute,” Charlene said. She went to a wall switch and turned on the lights around the pool. “That’ll help.”
Dino slapped the clip back into Charlene’s gun, worked the action, then went outside, the pistol hanging at his side.
“Do you think this was a serious attempt on your life?” Stone asked.
“Come here,” Charlene replied, leading him around the sofa and pointing.
Stone looked at the two neat holes halfway down the back cushion.
“My head was right under the holes,” Charlene said.
“You should have called the police immediately; they should be trying to find out who did this.”
“I know who did it,” Charlene said. “I saw her.”
Stone’s innards froze. “Her?”
“I believe these days she calls herself Mrs. Stone Barrington.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Stone said.
Fifty-six
STONE FOUND A PARING KNIFE BEHIND THE BAR AND cut into the sofa, just as Dino returned from the pool area.
“It’s clear out there,” he said. “The guy must have come up from the beach, since no traffic passed us on the way in here.” He looked at what Stone was doing. “Whatcha got there?”
“Two slugs,” Stone said, holding them up. “And it wasn’t a guy.”
Dino took the two lumps and looked closely at them. “Holy shit,” he said.
“What?”
“These are mine.” He held one up and pointed. “See? I made a mark there on each one, so if I ever got involved in a shootout, I’d know which slugs came from my weapon. These came from the thirty-two automatic I loaned you, Stone. How’d that happen?”
“It seems that Dolce took the gun from my house.”
Dino groaned. “Are the cops coming?”
“I didn’t call them,” Charlene said.
“Why not?” Stone asked. “I told you to call nine-one-one.”
“Two reasons: First, the tabloids would make my life hell if they found out that somebody shot up my house; second, I know who her father is.”
Stone nodded. “All right.”
“Also, once I had the Beretta in my hand, I figured I could handle her.”
“Yeah, I thought I could handle her, too,” Stone said. He turned to Dino. “Is Eduardo still in L.A.?”
Dino nodded. “At the Bel-Air.”
Stone turned back to Charlene. “You want to come with us? Maybe you shouldn’t stay here tonight.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said. “I’ll sleep at the studio in my RV; let me get some things.” She disappeared into the bedroom again.
Stone picked up the phone, dialed the Bel-Air, and asked for Eduardo.
“Yes?”
“Eduardo, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Good evening, Stone.”
“It’s important that I come and see you right away.”
“Of course; I’ll be here.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No.”
“I’ll order something.”
“Thank you.” He hung up as Charlene emerged from her bedroom, wearing jeans and a sweater and carrying a small duffel.
They drove into town, not talking much, Charlene wedged into the space behind the two front seats. Stone dropped Dino at the bungalow. “Tell Mary Ann I’m sorry I can’t have dinner, but don’t tell her what’s happened.”
“I’ll send her back to Arrington’s with the car,” Dino said. “I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to, Dino.”
“I’m coming.”
“I’ll be right back.” He drove Charlene to her RV and got her settled there. “Will you be all right here?”
“Sure, I will. The fridge is full; I’ll eat something and watch TV. Will you come back later?”
“Probably not,” Stone said. “I have to take care of this.”
“I understand.”
“And thanks for not calling the police.”
She gave him a little kiss. “Go safely.” She held up the Beretta. “You want this?”
“Thanks, I have my own.” He left her and drove back to the bungalow for Dino. Mary Ann was about to leave in Arrington’s station wagon, and Stone traded cars with her.
“Don’t hurt her, Stone,” Mary Ann said.
“I don’t intend to,” Stone replied.
Stone drove to the upper end of the Bel-Air Hotel complex and parked the station wagon. Followed by Dino, he found the upstairs suite and rang the bell. Eduardo, wearing a cashmere dressing gown, opened the door and ushered them in.
“Good evening, Stone, Dino,” he said.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Eduardo,” Stone replied.
“Not at all. Come and have an aperitif; dinner will be here soon.” He pointed at the bar in the living room. “Please help yourselves; I’ll have a Strega.” He picked up the phone and told room service there would be three for dinner, then he joined Stone and Dino.
Stone poured three Stregas and handed two of them to Eduardo and Dino. They raised their glasses and sipped.
“Come, sit,” Eduardo said, motioning them to a sofa. “Why have you come to see me?” he asked when they were settled.
“Eduardo,” Stone said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but about two hours ago, Dolce attempted to kill Charlene Joiner, the actress you met the other evening at the Regensteins’.”
Eduardo winced, and his hand went to his forehead. His face showed no incredulity, simply painful resignation. “How did this occur?”
“Dolce apparently drove out to Malibu, parked her car, and approached Charlene’s house from the beach. She fired two bullets through a sliding-glass door at Charlene, who was lying on a sofa, reading.”
“Was Miss Joiner harmed?”
“No, only frightened.”
“Do you think Dolce seriously tried to kill her?”
“I’m afraid I do, and she came very close.”
“Where would Dolce have gotten a gun out here?” Eduardo asked. He seemed to be thinking quickly.
“Apparently, she took it from my house in New York without my knowledge. The gun belonged to Dino; he had loaned it to me.”
“Does she still have the gun?”
Dino spoke up. “I saw no sign of it outside Miss Joiner’s house, so I assume she does.”
“Are the police involved?”
“No,” Stone replied. “Charlene called me, instead of the police, and she has no intention of involving them.”
“Thank God for that,” Eduardo said. “This would have been so much more difficult.”
“It’s difficult enough,” Stone said. “I feel responsible.”
Eduardo shook his head. “No, no, Stone; something like this has been coming for a long time. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else.”
“Why do you say that, Eduardo?” Dino asked. “Has she ever done anything like this before?”
Eduardo shrugged. “Since she was a little girl she always reacted violently if denied something she wanted.”
The doorbell rang, and Dino jumped up. “I’ll get it,” he said.
“Dolce is all right most of the time,” Eduardo said to Stone. “But she occasionally has these . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence. “I had hoped that if she were happily married, she might be all right.” He stopped talking
while the waiter set the dining table, then he motioned for his guests to take seats.
He poured them some wine and waited until they had begun to eat their pasta before continuing. “She’s seen a psychiatrist from time to time, but she always discontinued treatment after a few sessions. Her doctor advised me at one point to have her hospitalized for a while, but instead I took her to Sicily, and after some time there, she seemed better.”
“What can I do to help?” Stone asked.
“I’ll have to ask her doctor to recommend some place out here where she can be treated,” Eduardo replied.
“I believe I know a good place,” Stone said. He told Eduardo about the Judson Clinic and Arrington’s stay there. “Would you like me to call Dr. Judson?”
“I would be very grateful if you would do so,” Eduardo replied.
Stone left the table, called the clinic, and asked them to get in touch with Judson and have him telephone him at the Bel-Air. “I’m sure they’ll be able to find him,” he said when he had returned. “I was very impressed with Judson,” he told Eduardo.
“Good,” Eduardo said. “I’ll get in touch with her own doctor and ask him to come out here and consult.”
“I expect that, after treatment, she’ll be all right,” Stone said.
“I hope so,” Eduardo replied, but he did not sound hopeful.
The phone rang and Stone answered it. “Hello?”
“May I speak with Stone Barrington, please?”
“Speaking.”
“Stone, this is Jim Judson, returning your call.”
Stone briefly explained the circumstances. “Do you think you could admit her to your clinic? Her father will be in touch with her doctor in New York and ask him to come out here.”
“Of course,” Judson replied. “When can you bring her to the clinic?”
“I’m not sure,” Stone said. “We have to find her.”
“Is she likely to be violent?”
“That’s a possibility, but I don’t really know.”
“I’ll have my people prepare, then. When you’re ready to bring her here, just call the main number. I’ll alert the front desk. If you need an ambulance or restraints, just let them know.”
“Thank you, Jim; I’ll be in touch.” Stone hung up and returned to the table. “Dr. Judson will admit her,” he said.