The man stopped in the driveway. “Following car? We don’t have anyone in a car, just inside the fence, as Mr. Freeman directed.”
“Follow me,” Stone said, “and don’t wave your flashlight around.” He made his way along the wrought-iron fence to a point opposite where the car had been parked earlier, then peeked through the shrubbery. “There’s the car,” he said, “but we can’t get at him through this fence, and I don’t have a way to open the front gate. Let’s just give him a scare, and maybe we can get his license plate number. Get ready with your flashlight.”
“All right,” the man said, stepping forward.
The two of them parted the hedge, and on Stone’s signal, hit the car with both of their flashlights. A startled, wide-eyed man turned toward the light, then started his car and drove away at high speed. “Fortyish, graying hair, sideburns,” Stone said.
“Did you get the plate number?” the security man asked.
“No, the license plate light was out-deliberately, I’m sure.”
“Plain vanilla sedan,” the man said. “I didn’t even get a make.”
“Maybe we’ve scared him off for the night,” Stone said. “Come on, let’s walk the rest of the perimeter.”
They trudged on, lighting their way with the flashlights. As they were passing a point behind the guesthouse, the security man said, “Wait.” He pointed his flashlight at the top of the fence and spotlighted something hanging on one of the sharp spires that rose from the wrought iron barrier. “There.” He parted the hedge, pulled himself up on a crossbar, and retrieved the object. “Piece of blue cloth,” the man said, turning his light on it.
“Cotton,” Stone said. “Maybe from a shirttail.” Then, from behind them a shot fractured the silence. “Come on!” Stone said, drawing the pistol from his belt.
They both ran, flat out, toward the house. Stone opened the rear door and started to run down the central hallway. Then they saw a man crumpled on the floor. The other security man stepped from the living room into the hallway, weapon drawn.
“I hit him,” he said, keeping his gun on the inert figure. The first security man bent down, turned the man over, and kicked away a silenced, small-caliber pistol. He felt for a pulse at the neck. “Nothing,” he said. “He’s dead.”
The man was mid-thirties, dark hair, dressed in a tail-out dark shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The bullet had exited his chest near the heart.
Stone bent and found where his shirttail was torn, then went through the man’s pockets. “Nothing,” he said, “absolutely nothing-not a cent, not a wallet, nothing.”
“Get the fingerprint scanner from my car,” one security man said to the other. “We’ll get his prints before the cops get here. Then you can call nine-one-one.”
Arrington came out of a door across the hall and stopped.
“Oh, my God,” she said.
Stone led her back to her bedroom. “Everything’s all right,” he said. “You’re perfectly safe.”
“I wasn’t for a while, though, was I?” she asked.
Stone didn’t answer, just hugged her.
31
Stone was standing in the driveway when the police cars-three of them, one unmarked-pulled up and stopped. He flashed his badge: “NYPD, retired,” he said. “Please turn off the flashing lights; let’s not disturb the neighbors any more than necessary.”
Dino came walking up the driveway, followed by another man. He introduced Sergeant Rivera to Stone, and Stone introduced them to the lead detective.
“We’ve got a man down in the central hall of the house,” he said to the detective. “One gunshot wound to the back, exiting the chest, DOA. We have security people here to prevent such a thing, but we found where he came over the rear fence, leaving this.” He handed the scrap of blue cloth to the detective. “You’ll see where it came from his shirt. We kicked his gun to one side when we turned him over to see how badly he was hurt, but nobody has touched it since.”
“Motive?” the detective asked.
“Uncertain,” Stone said. “Maybe robbery, maybe something to do with a business deal. This is the home of the late Vance Calder; his widow is in the house, but she saw nothing.”
The detective nodded. “I’ll need to talk to her.”
Stone went and brought Arrington out and introduced them. Then he sat and listened as she was interviewed. When they were done, he took her to her room. “You get some sleep,” he said, kissing her.
Somebody from the medical examiner’s office showed up, followed by two EMTs in an ambulance. They began to do their work.
Eventually, the ME joined Stone and the detective. “Deceased, probably instantly; gunshot wound, through-and-through, fresh corpse, been dead less than an hour.”
“I’ll need the gun that fired the shot,” the detective said, and Mike’s security man handed it over, along with his gun permit and a business card. The detective made some notes, then returned the permit to him. “Remain available,” the detective said, and the man nodded.
Mike Freeman turned up shortly. “I’m sorry I was so long; I was having dinner in Malibu,” he said.
Stone silently wondered where in Malibu.
“With Charlene,” Mike said.
Stone nodded and brought him up to date. “Your people did well,” he said, “but I didn’t. I took Arrington to dinner, and a car followed us, but I thought it was your people. Turned out, I was wrong.”
Photographs of the corpse and the scene were taken. Then the police cleared the scene and took down the yellow tape. Manolo turned up with a mop and a pail and cleaned up the blood, as if he did the same every night.
“It’s time everybody went to bed,” Stone said, shooing everybody out of the house but the security people and Dino. Then he went to Arrington’s room and knocked softly on the door.
“Come in,” she said, and when he had stepped inside, “close the door and come to bed; I don’t want to sleep alone.”
Stone undressed and climbed in next to her. “I told Manolo breakfast at seven; Mike’s people will deliver you to Burbank airport whenever you want to leave.”
She snuggled close to him. “That’s the nice thing about a private jet,” she said. “Departure time is whenever you feel like it.”
She reached down and fondled him, and they had an active halfhour before falling asleep.
She woke Stone at six-thirty, already half-dressed. “I’ll finish packing and join you for breakfast,” she said.
Stone went back to the guesthouse, showered, and changed, then joined Dino at the poolside table.
“You two sleep okay?” Dino asked.
“Yes, considering.”
“Are you still rattled? You were last night.”
“I’m still angry,” Stone said.
“It was Prince, you think? He wants Arrington dead?”
“No, he wants me dead,” Stone replied. “I’ve purposely made myself the main impediment to his deal, so he wants me out of the way. Me dead wouldn’t cause much of a fuss; Arrington dead would make world-wide headlines.”
“I buy that,” Dino said. “Still, it seems reckless.”
“I think he’s beyond caring about that, just obsessed with the deal. What’s the news from your pal Rivera?”
“He pulled in this guy Carter, at Parker Center, and scared the shit out of him. No arrest, but the department fired him.”
“I’m sure that Prince will see that he receives a nice pension contribution,” Stone said.
“Or just kill him, like Alexei,” Dino pointed out.
Arrington joined them, looking fresh and rested, and Manolo served them breakfast.
“Didn’t take you long to pack,” Stone said.
“There isn’t much to pack when you’re traveling from your house to your house,” she said.
“True.”
“How long will it take me to get to Virginia?” she asked. Stone thought about it. “Not more than four hours,” he said. “Something you should think about when you get home is buying a hangar.”
“Good idea,” she said. “Why rent?”
“I’ll research it for you, if you like, see what the market is like, what’s available.”