6 Stone Barrington Novels (36 page)

“I guess you just look like a Herbert, Marc.”

“Yeah.” He flipped back farther in the book. “There's mention here of a Hilda, quite often. Think that could be Beverly?”

“We need a context to figure this out,” Stone said, turning pages. “Here, the pages are dated; this is the day Vance was shot. There's mention of Hilda, Magda, and Jake.”

“Jake was Vance's character in one of his recent movies,” Marc said. “
Fear Everything
, I think.”

“She mentions lunch around the pool at Magda's. That must be Charlene Joiner. Here we go!” He began reading aloud. “‘When we left Magda's, Hilda insisted on going to Jake's house, which I thought was nuts. She knew about this service entrance at the rear of the property. I wouldn't get out of the car, but Hilda, bold as brass, walked to the house. Hilda has admitted screwing Jake, but, Jesus, I never thought she'd have the guts to go to his house. She must have been gone ten minutes, then there was a noise, and a minute later, she came running back, breathless, and told me to get the hell out of there. She wouldn't say what happened but I'd be willing to bet that she ran into Mrs. Jake. God, that must have been embarrassing! She was still breathing hard when I dropped her off at her house. I've never seen her so discombobulated. I know I'll eventually hear about this from somebody else, even though she won't discuss it. Hilda can never keep her mouth shut for long—she'll either brag about this, or try for sympathy. Jesus, I'm so glad I didn't go with her!'”

“Well,
that's
pretty clear,” Marc said, “but I'd feel a lot better if she had just said that she'd watched Beverly shoot Vance.”

“All we've really got here is what Vanessa told me.”

“Yeah, we've got to get Beverly to admit that she's Hilda, or get corroboration from Charlene on the stand that they were at her house that day.”

Stone was flipping forward through the pages, looking at the dates after Vance's murder. “Look at this,” he said. “‘Hilda keeps trying to tell me something, but she can't get it out. She seems very guilty about something. Having seen the papers, it's not hard to figure out that Jake was killed while we were at his house, but Hilda won't tell me what she saw there. I keep thinking maybe I should go to the police. I've got to ask Herbert about this, but how am I going to do that without betraying Hilda's confidence?'”

“I wish to God she had asked me,” Marc said. “Maybe I could have done something to prevent her death.”

“Wait a minute,” Stone said, “are you thinking that Beverly set the fire at Vanessa's, because she knew too much?”

“It wouldn't be the first murder that was committed to cover up another murder,” Marc said.

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.

 

 

 

T
HE 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.

 

 

 

S
TONE 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.”