L.A. Dead (10 page)

“I don’t remember the night my husband was shot.”

“Would you use perfume before taking a bath?”

Arrington looked at him as if he were mad. “No.”

“Then why would you reek of perfume on getting out of a bath?”

“I use bath oil, Detective, of the same scent as my perfume, but generally speaking, I never reek.”

Stone supressed a smile. He sensed that the two detectives were running out of questions, but he didn’t rush them.

“Mrs. Calder,” Durkee said, “I have to tell you that, after investigating your husband’s murder very thoroughly, we have concluded that the two of you were alone in the house when he was shot.”

“That hardly seems possible,” Arrington replied. “Otherwise, where are the jewelry box and the gun?”

“We believe you hid them after shooting your husband.”

“Where? Have you searched our house?”

“We haven’t found them—yet,” Bryant said.

“Let me know when you do,” Arrington said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to file an insurance claim.”

Durkee stood up. “I believe that’s all for now,” he said, turning to Stone. “I want to be notified when she leaves the hospital, and I want to know where she goes.”

“I’ll give you a call,” Stone said, walking both men toward the door.

When they were outside, Bryant turned to Stone. “She killed him,” he said.

“Nonsense,” Stone said. “It’s obvious that someone got into the house. Haven’t you found any evidence of anyone else?”

The two detectives exchanged a glance.

“I want disclosure,” Stone said.

“Are you licensed to practice law in the state of California?” Bryant asked.

“No.”

“My advice is to get her a lawyer who is. I’m sure the D.A. will disclose to him.”

Stone watched as the two detectives walked to their car. He didn’t like the way this was going.

Fourteen

S
TONE ARRIVED BACK AT VANCE’S STUDIO BUNGALOW to find a message from Lou Regenstein, whom he’d been meaning to call anyway. He got the studio head on the phone.

“How is Arrington?” Lou asked.

“Much better. Her doctor says she can go home tomorrow.”

“Have you given any thought to funeral arrangements?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. I’m sure the studio can do a much better job of this than I can.”

“I have a suggestion,” Lou said.

“Go ahead.”

“We have a cathedral set on our biggest sound stage right now. I’d like to hold a memorial service for Vance there and, in addition to his friends, invite many of the studio employees who have worked with Vance over the years.”

“That sounds good to me,” Stone said.

“I’d like to invite a small media pool and allow them to tape the service. I think that will go a long way toward keeping them off Arrington’s back right now.”

“Why don’t you give Arrington a call at the Judson Clinic and discuss it with her? I think she’s up to it now; she saw the police this afternoon.”

“Is Arrington facing any legal difficulties?” Lou asked.

“It’s too soon to tell, Lou; the police, not having a suspect, quite naturally look at the spouse. I think we’ll just have to wait for them to get past that.”

“Have you called Marc Blumberg, my lawyer friend, yet?”

“Not yet; I hope we won’t need him. Also, there’s a downside to calling him; if somebody in his firm leaked the call to the press, it would make it look as though we expected Arrington to be charged.”

“I understand,” Lou said. “I’ll call Arrington now.”

Stone hung up and glanced at his watch. It would be midnight in Sicily, now, and he hadn’t called Dolce yet. He knew she liked to stay up late, so he dialed the number.

It rang once, before being picked up by a machine. “I’m entertaining a guest right now,” Dolce’s voice said, “so go away.”

Stone hung up, angry, and tried to think of something else. He thought of Marc Blumberg and dialed his number.

“Mr. Blumberg’s office,” a woman said.

“My name is Stone Barrington; I’m calling Mr. Blumberg at the suggestion of Lou Regenstein.”

“And how can Mr. Blumberg help you, Mr. Barrington?”

He obviously wasn’t going to get past this woman without telling her the purpose of his call, and he had no intention of doing that. “Please ask Mr. Blumberg to call me at Centurion Studios.” He gave her the number and hung up.

Betty Southard came into the office. “I was passing and heard you mention a Blumberg. Marc Blumberg?”

Stone nodded.

“Is Arrington in
that
much trouble?”

“It’s just a precaution,” Stone replied. “I think it’s best to be ready for anything.”

“I suppose so,” she said. “How about some dinner tonight?”

“I’d like that,” Stone said. He hadn’t been looking forward to being sequestered at the Calder house, and Dolce’s behavior had removed any guilt he might have felt about seeing another woman. “Book us at your favorite restaurant.”

“Pick me up at seven-thirty?”

“Sure.”

“You remember the address?”

“How could I forget?”

The phone rang, and Betty picked up the one on the desk. “Mr. Calder’s bungalow.” She handed the phone to Stone. “Marc Blumberg.”

“Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Blumberg,” Stone said. “Lou Regenstein has suggested we meet to discuss something very important.”

“Of course,” Blumberg said. “Tomorrow morning okay?”

Stone could hear diary pages turning. “I’d rather not come to your office, for reasons I’ll explain later. Would it be possible for you to meet me at Centurion Studios after office hours?”

“I’ll be finished here by five-thirty,” Blumberg replied. “I could be there by six, but I’ll only have about forty-five minutes; I have to get home and change for dinner.”

“Six will be fine,” Stone said. “I’ll leave instructions for you at the gate.” He hung up. “Betty,” he said, “will you have a pass and directions to the bungalow at the main gate? Blumberg is coming here at six.”

“Consider it done,” she replied.

“Do you mind if I don’t change for dinner?” he asked. “I won’t have time to go back to Vance’s.”

“No problem. When is Arrington getting out of the hospital?”

“Tomorrow, I hope.”

“Do you think you should be living at the house then?”

“You have a dirty mind.”

“You bet I do; I have two suggestions.”

“What?”

“The first is, move in with me. I managed to make you comfortable the last time you were here.”

“I think it’s best that I just move back to the Bel-Air,” Stone said. “What’s your second suggestion?”

“Vance has … had a place at Malibu; I think that might be enough distance between you and Arrington, and I’ve got the keys.”

“That’s a thought,” Stone said. “I’ll let you know.”

Marc Blumberg bustled into the bungalow promptly at six, a small, fit-looking, deeply tanned man of fifty in a perfectly cut suit and gleaming shoes.

Stone shook his hand. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m okay,” Blumberg said, taking a seat on a leather sofa. “I believe I’ve heard of you, Stone. May I call you Stone?”

Stone sat down beside him. “Of course.”

“And I’m Marc. I remember that business in St. Mark’s a few years back, when you defended the woman on a murder charge. Saw it on
60 Minutes
, I think.”

“Yes, that was a difficult one.”

“Pity she was hanged.”

“Yes.”

“I remember from Lou that you’re a friend of Mrs… . the Calders. I take it I’m here to talk about another murder trial.”

“Let’s call this a precautionary meeting.”

“It’s always wise to take precautions. Has Arrington talked to the police yet?”

“Earlier this afternoon.”

“I should have been there for that,” Blumberg said.

“I didn’t want to appear to be running scared,” Stone said. “You’d have been happy with the way it went.” He gave Blumberg a detailed rundown of Arrington’s questioning.

“That sounds okay,” Blumberg said. “You handled it well.”

“Thank you.”

“Sounds as though they don’t have another suspect.”

“That’s how I read it. They went through the drill the night of the murder, and they didn’t come up with anything, and that disturbs them. Cops like early indications, and when they don’t find them, they look at the household.”

“Anybody in the house besides Arrington?”

“No. The butler and maid were in their quarters; the butler found Vance and called the police.”

“What was the scene like?”

“Vance was dressed in tuxedo trousers and a pleated shirt, no tie. They were going to a black-tie dinner at Lou’s house a little later. He was found lying facedown in the central hallway of the house, one bullet here.” Stone pointed at the spot.

“You used to be a cop, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got a scenario for this that doesn’t involve Arrington shooting Vance?”

“Here’s how I read it,” Stone said. “Arrington was in the bathtub; Vance was getting dressed. His safe was open, containing his jewelry box, a nine-millimeter automatic, and a box of cartridges. He either walked in on a burglary, or a burglar walked in on him, probably the former. The burglar took the jewelry box and the gun, walked Vance into the central hallway and shot him.”

“Any struggle?”

“Looks like an execution to me. My guess is, Vance saw it coming and turned away. That’s why the wound in the back of the head.” Stone stood up, held out his hands in the “no, no” position, then half turned away from his imaginary assailant.

“Makes sense,” Blumberg said.

“For Arrington to have done it, she would have to have gone to the safe, taken out the gun, cocked it, flipped off the safety, then either marched her husband out into the hall, or gone looking for him and found him there. That doesn’t fit a domestic quarrel.”

“It fits a cold-blooded, premeditated murder,” Blumberg said. “How do you figure the chances of that?”

“Unlikely in the extreme.”

“I’m glad to hear it. So what we’ve got is an innocent woman who loved her husband, who is a suspect only because the police haven’t done their job and found the real killer.”

“In a nutshell,” Stone said. “A couple of other things you should know: I got the impression from the detectives that they might have other evidence we don’t know about. They refused to disclose it to me, said they’d talk to a California lawyer.”

“We’ll get it; don’t worry. What’s the other thing?”

“The police talked to a woman named Beverly Walters, who told them Vance was screwing an actress named Charlene Joiner; they took that as Arrington’s motive for the shooting.”

“I know her; she’s a complete bitch, and she could give us trouble at a trial. Charlene Joiner, huh? If it’s true, Vance was a lucky guy.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen some of her pictures.”

“Tell me, Stone, what’s your role in all this?” Blumberg asked. “Family friend?”

“That, and for the moment, Arrington’s personal representative. I have her confidence and a power of attorney.”

Blumberg looked Stone in the eye. “You and Arrington ever have a thing, Stone?”

“We were living together in New York when she suddenly married Vance.”

“You want me to represent her?”

“If it becomes necessary.”

“I think you’re right about my presence being a red flag; the media would play that big. Here’s what we do. I don’t so much as even speak to Arrington, unless we find out she’s going to be arrested.”

“I might be able to get advance notice of that, if it happens.”

“Good. If you do, I surrender her to the D.A. I can arrange that. From then on, I’m her lawyer, not you; I’m running the case.”

Stone shook his head. “If it comes to that, I’ll want to be involved every step of the way.”

“That’s not how I work.”

“Then I can only thank you for your time,” Stone said.

Blumberg thought for a moment. “What do you want?”

“Second chair; partner in decision-making; no move without my agreement.”

“All right,” Blumberg said. “Are you licensed in California?”

“No.”

“I’ll deal with that. I’ll want a hundred-thousand-dollar retainer up front, against a half-million-dollar fee, the remainder payable before the trial starts.”

“To include all your expenses,” Stone said.

“Agreed. If I can stop it before it goes to trial, I’ll bill her at a thousand dollars an hour.”

“To include your associates and staff.”

“Done.” Blumberg held out his hand, and Stone shook it.

“I’ll draft a letter appointing you and get a check drawn, immediately after any arrest.”

“When is Arrington returning home?”

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“Where are you living while you’re here?”

“In the Calders’ guesthouse.”

“I don’t want the two of you to spend so much as a single night under the same roof. Move out before she gets home.”

“All right.”

Blumberg looked at his watch and stood up. “I’ve got to run,” he said.

“One thing, Marc,” Stone said. “I don’t want you to mention this to
anybody
—staff, wife—
anybody
.”

“That goes without saying,” Blumberg replied.

Stone walked him to his car. “Thanks for coming,” he said.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Blumberg said breezily. “I’ll get her off.”

Stone waved good-bye, then went to his own car. You probably will, he thought, but I hope to God it doesn’t come to that.

He went back to his desk, called Dolce again and got the same message. It only made him angrier. He was glad to be having some company tonight.

Fifteen

S
TONE AND BETTY SAT AT A GOOD TABLE AT SPAGO BEVERLY Hills. “I remember when this was another restaurant,” he said. “I had lunch here a couple of times, in the garden.”

“I’ll give you a little Beverly Hills gossip,” Betty said. “You know why the old place failed, after many years as a success?”