Swimming to Catalina (27 page)
Stone jumped, then turned to find the captain standing in the doorway. “Sorry, you startled me,” Stone said. “I’m doing fine; just about finished. Tell me, how are the engines cooled?”
“There’s a heat exchanger mounted to each engine,” the skipper replied, pointing to the equipment
, “with a mixture of fresh water and coolant; that cools the top end. Then there’s a raw-water flow to the bottom end of each engine.”
“Where does the raw water come from?” Stone asked. It was what he most wanted to know.
“A seacock on each side of the engine room,” the skipper replied, indicating a large valve operated by a wheel.
Stone had been looking for the sort of lever found on smaller boats; he was glad to have the big valve pointed out to him. This time there was no rubber hose, but a steel pipe running to the engine. “Got it,” Stone said. Then he saw something he didn’t recognize. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a six-inch pipe that rose from the bilges to about two feet above the deck plating. Attached to it were half a dozen smaller pipes, each with its own seacock. There were two of them, a few feet apart, and he had never seen anything like them.
“Those are called seaboxes,” the skipper said. “They bring in raw water for all sorts of uses—air conditioning, toilets, everything.”
Stone nodded. “Well, I guess that just about does it for me.”
“I’ll show you the way up,” Reno said.
Stone continued to pump the man as they climbed toward the upper decks. “How often does the owner use the yacht?”
“Practically every weekend, and sometimes he’ll spend a night aboard during the week.”
Stone continued making notes. “How many guests at a time?”
“We’ve got a dozen guest staterooms, sleeping twenty-four, plus the owner’s cabin.”
“How many crew?”
“We go light on crew; there’s a cook, a steward, two maids, a mate, and me. When there are dinner parties, the caterers furnish the help.”
“So that’s six living aboard?”
“At the weekends, yes, and whenever the owner is aboard. During the week we usually manage a lot of time off. I can run the boat with the help of one crew between here and Catalina, and when we’re on our mooring out there, there will often be just one man aboard.”
“Any worries about security problems?”
“Nah. Some big boats have armed guards, but our owner doesn’t believe in intrusive security—makes the guests wonder what they’re being protected from. Anonymity is the best security, we reckon.”
“Makes sense,” Stone said. They had reached the main deck now. “Well, thanks for the tour; I’ve got all I need to make my report.”
“We’re changing insurance companies, then?”
“It’s by no means certain; we’ll make our proposal and see what happens.”
“Who are you dealing with at our end?”
“Not your owner; one of his people, I think. I don’t have any direct contact with clients; I’m just the technical guy.” Stone shook the man’s hand, then went ashore. One thing he was sure of: He had checked every part of the yacht, and Arrington was not aboard
Contessa.
He gave some thought to going back to
Maria
and sinking the sports fisherman again. It was a quiet day at the marina, and he could probably get away with it. Maybe he could sink
Paloma
as well. It would be fun to drive Ippolito even crazier.
Finally he decided against it. The police investigation would turn up the fact that somebody from an insurance company had visited the boats, and the simplest sort of check would reveal that he was bogus. The police would have a description of him, and he didn’t want that.
Eventually, the skipper of
Contessa
would mention to somebody that an insurance man had been aboard, and give a description of Stone. That didn’t trouble him greatly, since Ippolito himself would be unlikely to be involved, and he was the only man in his organization who could recognize Stone by sight.
He made his way back to his car and telephoned Betty Southard at her office. “Hi, it’s Stone; can you talk?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“I want to take a closer look at David Sturmack; what can you tell me about him?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with his address and all the telephone numbers you’ve got for him.”
She read the information out to him.
“Does he have a second home?”
She gave him an address in Malibu that sounded as though it might be next door to Ippolito’s slightly scorched beach house.
“What can you tell me about him personally?”
“He’s always been very cordial to me; he’s one of those people who can make you feel, when you’re talking to him, that you’re the only person in the room. He likes beautiful women, and from remarks that Vance has made, I think he always has something on the side. His wife seems cowed by him, so I don’t think she’d object, even if she knew.”
“Got any names?”
“There was an actress on Vance’s last picture, Veronica Hart, that he seemed to be very interested in. Want her address?”
“Sure.” He wrote it down, along with the phone number. “How big an actress is she?”
“Struggling, but pretty good. She reminds me of me a few years ago.”
“Any idea how Sturmack spends his time when he’s not conspiring with Ippolito or getting laid?”
She laughed. “He and Vance play golf at the Bel-Air Country Club once in a while. He seems to have lunch there most days.”
“You got any private numbers from Ippolito?”
“Let’s see.” She flipped some pages and gave him home, office, and car numbers, plus the number aboard
Contessa.
“I think that’ll do me for a while,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Dinner tonight?” she asked.
“You mind doing it in my suite at the Bel-Air?”
“I don’t mind doing anything in your suite.”
“Seven o’clock?”
“Make it eight.”
“You’re on.” He hung up and headed for Sturmack’s address. Maybe he hadn’t devoted enough attention to the man thus far, but he was going to remedy that now.
D
avid Sturmack lived in a Georgian mansion less than a five-minute drive from Vance Calder’s house, in Bel-Air. It seemed to be on at least ten acres of land, which Stone thought must have cost a very large fortune. He had been struck by how little land most expensive L.A. houses occupied, especially in Beverly Hills, but also in the even ritzier Bel-Air. A platoon of men were working on the front lawn, employing tractor mowers, string trimmers, rakes, and hoes. One operated what appeared to be a large vacuum cleaner. God forbid a stray blade of cut grass should mar the perfect greenery.
The Rolls convertible was parked outside the front door, and as Stone drove past the house, Sturmack came out, got into the car, and started down the driveway. Stone made a U-turn and followed at a very discreet distance, wondering how best to shake up Sturmack’s world. He had already shaken up Ippolito,
and now it was Sturmack’s turn. He had an idea. He dialed a New York number.
“Lieutenant Bacchetti.”
“Dino, it’s Stone.”
“How you doing, Stone? I was beginning to wonder if you’d got lost.”
“Not yet, but people are working on it. Do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
Stone gave him Sturmack’s car phone number. “Call this number; a man will answer. Say to him, ‘Stone Barrington has a message for you from the other side; he’s not through with you and Ippolito yet.’”
“I got the number,” Dino said, “now what the fuck are you talking about?”
“Just do it, Dino; it’s important.”
“You want me to tell him who I am?”
“For Christ’s sake, no! Just say the words and then hang up and call me back on my cell phone.”
“Whatever,” Dino said, and hung up.
Sturmack turned left on Sunset, and Stone followed. Perhaps a minute later, Stone saw the man pick up his car phone and speak into it. Suddenly the brake lights on the Rolls came on, and Sturmack pulled over. As Stone drove past him, he could see Sturmack shouting into the car phone. Stone turned right, made a U-turn, and waited for the Rolls to pass on Sunset, then he fell in behind it again, perhaps a hundred yards back. His cell phone rang.
“Yep?”
“It’s Dino, I did it.”
“What did he have to say?”
“First there was a stunned silence, then he started calling me names, said he would have me castrated. I
don’t know why—I’ve never even met the guy. Who was he?”
“Fellow by the initials of D.S. We talked about him before?”
“I remember. What’s this about?”
“I’m just rattling his cage. He and a friend of his tried to off me a few days back.”
“Sounds like you make the man nervous,” Dino said.
“I’m just getting started.”
“Oh, by the way, you remember the other name you asked me about? About his family connections?”
“Sure.”
“I told you the old mob guy didn’t have any sons, but he had a nephew. Apparently he had a brother who was an honest man, relatively speaking, worked in the garment district. The brother had a son. I believe the French say
‘Voilà!’”
“Indeed. It’s not all that useful at the moment, but it’s nice to know about.”
“Stone, are you working on getting yourself killed?”
“Far from it,” Stone replied. He missed Dino, and he had a thought. “I could use somebody to watch my back. Have you got any off-time coming?”
“To come out there?”
“I’ll spring for a first-class ticket and a room at the Bel-Air Hotel.”
“That’s a very tempting proposition,” Dino said. “Okay, but if you ever tell Mary Ann that it wasn’t department business, I’ll have you offed myself.”
“No loose lips here. Catch the next plane you can, rent a car at the airport, and they’ll give you directions to the Bel-Air. I’ll have a room waiting for you, and we’ll have breakfast in the morning.”
“You want me to come heavy.”
“Good idea. Rick helped me out in that regard.”
“Am I out of my fucking mind?”
“You’ll like it here, I promise.”
“Am I gonna get laid out there?”
“I won’t stand in your way,” Stone laughed.
“Bye-bye.” Dino hung up.
Sturmack was passing the Beverly Hills Hotel now, still headed up Sunset. When he reached the Sunset Strip, Sturmack parked the Rolls and entered a small business.
Stone was surprised. He called Rick Grant.
“Lieutenant Grant.”
“It’s Stone.”
“Hi.”
“Are you aware that Vinnie’s Deli is back in business?”
“What?”
“I just saw the lawyer who doesn’t practice law go in, and he’s not the only customer.”
“They’re operating illegally,” Rick said. “When we raided the joint I had their business license canceled.”
“Is that grounds for busting them again?”
“You bet it is! I’ll have a couple of cars over there in a few minutes. We’ll see if they’re taking bets again, too.”
“Can you bust the customers, too?”
“I can bring ’em in; I can’t hold ’em.”
“I’d love to see the guy ride in the back seat of a black and white.”
“I’ll probably feel the mayor’s hot breath on my neck, but what the hell, it sounds like fun.”
“I’ll wait and watch from a distance,” Stone said. He pulled into a side street and parked facing the deli.
Nineteen minutes later, by his watch, two police cars and two vans pulled up in front of the deli, and the raid went down exactly as before.
Minutes later, people were being led out in handcuffs, and Stone was delighted to see David Sturmack shackled to two men in dirty aprons, protesting loudly to whoever would listen. Nobody did. There was a bonus, too: Martin Barone was among the arrested. Sturmack must have been meeting him there. Stone’s phone rang.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Rick; did it happen, yet?”
“You bet, and they bagged Barone, too.”
“If they were just having a sandwich, I’ll have to let them go, but if they were in the back room, I can charge them.”
“Great! By the way, our man arrived in a Rolls convertible. Can you impound that?”
“Why not? I’ll send a tow truck.”
“I hope they won’t be too gentle with it.”
“They usually aren’t,” Rick said, laughing.
“Let me know how it comes out, okay?”
“Sure, I will.”
“By the way, Dino is on his way out here; you want to have lunch tomorrow and catch up?”
“Love to.”
“Meet us in the outdoor cafe at the Bel-Air at twelve-thirty.”
“See you then.”
Stone hung up and drove back to the hotel, whistling a merry tune all the way. Things were looking up: he was unsettling his enemies, his best friend was coming to help him, and he had a wonderful evening planned in his suite.
S
tone and Dino had breakfast on the terrace of Stone’s suite and caught up. “You staying busy?” Stone asked.
“If I was busy, could I come out here and screw around with you? The crime rate in New York is dropping like a stone, you should excuse the expression—murders down, robberies down, even burglaries down. It’s terrible!”
Stone laughed.
“It’s not funny; pretty soon they’ll be laying off cops. Already we’re getting ‘nice’ lessons from the mayor’s office, so we don’t annoy the tourists.”
“It’s a better city for us all, Dino.”
“I liked it the way it was before—people getting popped at all hours of the day and night, hookers on 42nd Street, three locks on every door—it was a cop’s city, you know?” He waved a hand. “Not like this miserable excuse for a metropolis. You call this a hotel? There’s not a fire escape in the place, there are no
hookers in the lobby, and it’s located in a jungle!”
“A garden.”
“A garden is, like, in the back yard of a brown-stone; this is a fucking jungle! There are plants here that only belong in the rain forest; there are swans in a creek, for Christ’s sake! In New York I wouldn’t give ‘em twenty-four hours before somebody’d be barbecuing ‘em!”
“I like it here—the hotel, I mean.”
“You would. How the fuck can you afford it?”
“I told you about my part in the movie. I made twenty-five grand in a couple of days. I’m spending it.”
