by Stuart Woods
“Of course, I want to know; wouldn’t you?”
“I’m not sure,” Dino replied. “Under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
Dino shrugged. “The present circumstances.”
Stone thought about that. Arrington might still go to prison. In that case, he’d want to raise the boy—if he was the father. But if she were freed, then what? He and Arrington and their son would live happily ever after? That is, if the boy was, indeed, his son and not Vance’s.
“If you’ve got to know, then here’s what you have to do,” Dino said. “You and Arrington and the boy have to go together to have blood drawn, two samples of both yours and the boy’s. She sends one set to a lab, and you send them to another. Then you compare results, and you’ll know.”
“Yes, I suppose we would.”
“But if the news of the test should get out, well, you’d have a tabloid shitstorm on your hands.”
“Yes, we would.”
“I think you need to do some more thinking.”
“I think you’re right.
Fifty-nine
MANOLO DROVE STONE, ARRINGTON, AND ISABEL TO the courthouse, while Dino and Mary Ann followed in the station wagon. This time, they could not avoid the press, since the hearing had been placed on the court calendar, which was public. Even the underground garage was covered by the TV cameras, and it took both Stone and Manolo to keep them from following the group into the elevator.
There was another gauntlet to run, between the elevator and the courtroom, but Stone was relieved to see Felipe Cordova sitting outside the courtroom, with Brandy Garcia at his side. Brandy winked at him as they passed. Stone told Isabel to wait to be called, then he took Arrington into the courtroom, where Marc Blumberg met them at the defense table. Dino and Mary Ann found seats. Stone set down his briefcase and a shopping bag he had been carrying.
“Okay, we’ve been over this,” Marc said to Arrington. “You’ll testify as before, unless . . .”
“Unless what?” Arrington asked.
“Unless you’ve regained your memory.”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything after that Friday night, until I woke up in the clinic.”
“Just checking,” Marc said.
The judge entered, and the bailiff called the court to order.
“I’m hearing a motion to dismiss this morning, I believe,” the judge said.
Marc Blumberg rose. “Yes, Your Honor. I would ask that the District Attorney’s office present its witnesses, followed by defense witnesses.”
The judge turned to the prosecution table. “Ms. Chu?”
The young woman rose. “The District Attorney calls Detective Sam Durkee.”
Durkee took the stand, and under questioning, established that the murder had taken place.
When it was Marc Blumberg’s turn, he rose. “Detective, you’ve testified that Mr. Calder was shot with a nine-millimeter semiautomatic pistol.”
“Yes.”
“Did you find the weapon?”
“No.”
“Did you search the Calder house and grounds thoroughly?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Three, over two days.”
“And no weapon?”
“No.”
“Did you search any other house for the weapon?”
“Yes, we searched the home of Felipe Cordova, the Calders’ gardener.”
“Oh? When?”
“Yesterday.”
“I’m glad you got around to it. Did you find the weapon?”
“No.”
“Did you search the house or grounds of Beverly Walters?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s not a suspect.”
“I see. You say you searched the Calder house thoroughly. In your search, did you find a white terrycloth robe?”
“No, but I wasn’t looking for one.”
“When you arrived at the Calder house and first saw Mrs. Calder, what was she wearing?”
“A bathrobe, or a dressing gown, I guess you could call it.”
“What was it made of?”
“I’m not sure; some sort of smooth fabric.”
“Could it have been either cotton or silk?”
“Yes, I suppose it could have been.”
“Could it have been terrycloth?”
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“What color was it?”
“It was some sort of floral pattern, brightly colored.”
“No further questions.”
The D.A. called the medical examiner and elicited testimony on the autopsy results, then, “Your Honor, the District Attorney calls Beverly Walters.”
Beverly Walters appeared through a side door and was sworn. Chu began by taking her through her previous story of having heard Arrington threaten to kill her husband, then she continued. “Ms. Walters, where were you on the afternoon of the evening Vance Calder was murdered?”
“I was at the home of a friend, at a swimming party.”
“And after you left the party, where did you go?”
“I went to Vance Calder’s home.”
“And how did you enter the grounds?”
“Through a rear entrance.”
“Did you ring the doorbell?”
“No, I entered through the door to the pool and sneaked into Mr. Calder’s dressing room.”
“Was Mr. Calder present?”
“Yes.”
“Where was Mrs. Calder?”
“She was taking a bath, I believe. That was what Mr. Calder told me when I spoke with him earlier.”
“Having reached the dressing room, what did you do?”
“Mr. Calder and I made love.”
“In his dressing room?”
“On a sofa in his dressing room.”
“Was this the first time you and Mr. Calder had made love?”
“No, we had done so on a number of occasions.”
“And where did these trysts take place?”
“In his trailer at Centurion Studios, in his bungalow there, and at his home, always in his dressing room.”
“On the earlier occasions, when you made love in the dressing room, was Mrs. Calder present in the house?”
“Yes. We timed the meetings for when Arrington was in the tub. When they went out in the evenings, she was as regular as clockwork; she’d spend half an hour in the bath.”
“Why did you take these risks?”
“Vance found it exciting, knowing that Arrington was in the house. He loved taking chances.”
“After you had made love that evening, what did you do?”
“When we had finished, Vance began getting dressed and said I should leave, that Arrington—Mrs. Calder—would be getting out of her bath soon.”
“And did you leave?”
“Yes, I left through the same door I had entered by.”
“And after leaving, did you have occasion to return to the house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I heard a gunshot.”
“How did you know it was a gunshot?”
“I didn’t, at first, but when I peeked back through the glass doors, I saw Mr. Calder lying on the floor of the hallway. Mrs. Calder was standing next to him, holding a gun in her hand.”
“She was just standing there? Was she doing anything else?”
“She was screaming at him.”
“What was she saying?”
“I don’t know exactly; it was pretty garbled. I did hear her say ‘son of a bitch.’”
“Was Mrs. Calder directing this abuse at Mr. Calder?”
“Yes. There was no one else there.”
“What did you do then?”
“I ran back to the car. I didn’t want Arrington to shoot me, too.”
Stone glanced at Arrington. Her face had reddened.
Sixty
CHU TURN
ED TO THE DEFENSE TABLE. “YOUR WITNESS, Mr. Blumberg.”
Marc stood. “Mrs. Walters—it is Mrs. Walters, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she replied, her mouth turning down.
“What were you wearing on this occasion?”
“I wasn’t wearing anything,” Walters replied. There was a titter among the reporters present.
“I mean when you arrived at the Calder residence. What were you wearing then?”
“I was wearing a robe. I had removed my swimsuit in the car.”
“What sort of a robe?”
“A terrycloth robe.”
“What color?”
“White.”
“Did the robe have a hood?”
“Yes.”
“When you left Mr. Calder’s dressing room, you were wearing the white terrycloth robe with the hood?”
“Yes.”
“Was the hood up?”
“Yes, my hair was still wet.”
“You and Vance Calder argued on that occasion, didn’t you?”
She looked startled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“He was all finished with you, wasn’t he? And he told you so?”
“No, I told him we were finished.”
“And he didn’t like that?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“So you did argue.”
Walters flushed. “If you could call it that.”
“No further questions,” Marc said. “I ask that the witness be instructed to remain available; I may wish to recall her.”
“The witness will remain available,” the judge said.
Chu stood again. “The District Attorney calls Felipe Cordova.”
The bailiff brought Cordova into the courtroom; he was sworn and took the stand.
“Mr. Cordova,” Chu said, “you were gardener to the Calders?”
“I cut the grass every week.”
“Were you present at the Calder residence on the evening Mr. Calder was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“For what reason?”
“I was looking to steal something, if I could.” He didn’t appear to be embarrassed by this answer.
“Did you have occasion to approach the rear door of the house and look inside?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I heard a noise, like a gun.”
“When you looked inside, what did you see?”
“I saw Mr. Calder, lying on the floor bleeding, and Mrs. Calder standing there, and a gun was on the floor.”
“And what did you do?”
“I ran. I didn’t want to be caught there.”
“Your witness,” Chu said to Blumberg.
Marc stood. “Mr. Cordova, you say you saw Mrs. Calder standing next to Mr. Calder’s body?”
“Yes.”
“How was she dressed?”
“In a bathrobe.”
“What kind of bathrobe?”
“You know, the terry kind.”
“Terrycloth?”
“Yes.”
“What color?”
“White.”
“Did the robe have a hood?”
“Yes, she was wearing the hood.”
“Did you see her face?”
“Not exactly.”
“Was she facing you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, if you didn’t see her face, how do you know it was Mrs. Calder?”
“I seen her before, you know, and I recognized her shape.” He made a female shape with his hands, and the courtroom tittered again.
“Since you never saw her face, is it possible that the woman you saw was not Mrs. Calder, but another woman?”
Cordova shrugged. “Maybe.”
Marc turned to the judge. “Your Honor, could we have Mrs. Walters back for a moment to try something?”
The judge waved both lawyers forward. “Just what do you want to try, Mr. Blumberg?”
“I’d like for Mrs. Walters to try on a robe for Mr. Cordova.”
“I’ve no objection, Your Honor,” Ms. Chu said.
“Go ahead. Bailiff, bring Mrs. Walters back to the courtroom.”
Beverly Walters returned, looking wary.
“Mrs. Walters,” the judge said, “I’d like you to put on a bathrobe for the court.”
Walters nodded, and Stone handed Marc a white terrycloth robe. He held it for the woman, and she put it on.
“Please put up the hood, step out of your shoes, and face the rear of the courtroom, Mrs. Walters,” Marc said. She followed his instructions, and he turned to Cordova. “What about it, Mr. Cordova? Could this be the woman you saw?” He made the woman shape with his hands.
“Yeah, she could be,” Cordova said.
“No further questions,” Marc said.
Ms. Chu was on her feet. “Your Honor, now I’d like for Mrs. Calder to try on the robe for Mr. Cordova.”
“Any objection, Mr. Blumberg?” the judge asked.
“None whatsoever, Your Honor.”
The courtroom watched as Arrington slipped into the white robe and turned her back on Cordova.
“Mr. Cordova,” Chu said, “could this be the woman you saw?”
Cordova nodded. “Yeah. I guess it could be either one of them; they look pretty much the same.”
“No further questions, Your Honor. That concludes the District Attorney’s presentation.”
“Mr. Blumberg,” the judge said, “do you have any witnesses?”
“Your Honor, we call Isabel Sanchez.”
Isabel came into the courtroom, was sworn, and took the stand.
“Your Honor, my colleague, Mr. Stone Barrington of the New York Bar, will question this witness.”
The judge nodded assent.
“Mrs. Sanchez,” Stone began, “are you and your husband employed by Mrs. Arrington Calder?”
“Yes, we are,” Isabel replied.
“How long have you worked for her?”
“Since she married Mr. Calder. We worked for fifteen years for him before they married.”
“Do you, personally, perform the duties of a maid in the household?”
“Yes.”
“Do your duties require you to deal with Mrs. Calder’s wardrobe?”
“Yes, I do her laundry—her underthings and washables—and I gather things to be sent to the dry cleaners and an outside laundry.”
“Would you say that you are familiar with Mrs. Calder’s wardrobe?”
“Oh, yes, very familiar. I know her clothes as well as I know my own.”
“Tell me, does Mrs. Calder own a terrycloth robe?”
“Yes, she does. She has terrycloth robes for the guesthouse, four of them, for the two bedrooms.”
“What color are the guesthouse robes?”
“They are bright yellow.”
Stone held up the white robe. “Is this Mrs. Calder’s robe?”
“No.”
“Of course not, since it was bought yesterday at the gift shop of the Beverly Hills Hotel. Does she own one like it?”
“No, she doesn’t.”
Stone went to the shopping bag and pulled out a bright yellow robe. “Is this the color of the guesthouse robes?”
“Yes.”
He handed her the robe. “Take a look at it. Is this one of the guesthouse robes?”
Isabel examined the robe and its label. “Yes, it is.”
He held up the two robes together. “These robes are very different colors, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Could you mistake one of these robes for the other?”
“No, they’re different colors.”
Stone held up the white robe. “Does Mrs. Calder own a robe this color?”
“No, she does not. And Mrs. Calder never wears terrycloth, even around the pool.”
“Do you know why?”
“She doesn’t like it; she likes Sea Island cotton or silk. I’ve never once seen her wear a terrycloth robe.”
“No further questions, Your Honor,” Stone said. “And that concludes our presentation of witnesses.”
“Ms. Chu, closing?”
Chu stood, looking chastened. “We have nothing further, Judge.”
“Mr. Blumberg?”
“I believe the evidence speaks for itself, Your Honor. The District Attorney’s own witnesses have exonerated my client.”
“Mr. Blumberg, I believe you are correct. Your motion for dismissal of charges is granted, with prejudice.” He turned to the D.A.’s table. “Ms. Chu, I believe you and the police may wish to speak further with Mrs. Walters.” He rapped his gavel. “Mrs. Calder, you are free to go, with the court’s apologies. Court is adjourned.”
Arrington stood and turned to Marc and Stone. “What does ‘with prejudice’ mean?”
“It means the D.A. can’t bring these charges against you again. You’re a free woman.”
“If it’s all right,” she said, “I’d like to leave by the front door.”
“I’ll tell Manolo to bring the car around front,” Stone said.
She grabbed Stone’s hand, and they made their way through the crowd of press. He passed Dino. “Follow Manolo in your car,” he said. Dino nodded and, with Mary Ann, made his way from the courtroom.
“Mrs. Calder will have a statement on the front steps of the courthouse,” Marc shouted over the din, and the press dutifully followed them outside. Microphones were set up on the steps, and Marc shouted for silence.
He faced the reporters, apparently relishing the moment. “Justice has been done,” he said. “Arrington Calder is a free woman, and I only wish the police and the District Attorney’s office had done their work earlier, instead of waiting for us to do it for them. Now Mrs. Calder would like to say a few words.”
Arrington stepped up to the microphones. “I want to thank my attorneys, Marc Blumberg and Stone Barrington,” she said. “But I have no thanks whatsoever for the media, who have made my life a living hell these past weeks. These are the last words I will ever speak to a camera or a reporter. Good-bye!” She stepped back.
Suddenly, a reporter in the front of the group held up a tabloid newspaper. “Mr. Barrington!” he shouted.
Stone, who had been about to lead Arrington away, turned and looked at the paper. What he saw was himself and Betty Southard quite naked, covering half the page. Both were looking at the camera, and black bars covered strategic areas of their bodies.