“Thank you for seeing me on no notice.”
Prince shook Stone’s hand. “Any time at all,” he replied. “Carolyn, would you please escort Mr. Barrington to the elevator?”
“Oh, I wonder if I might call a taxi,” Stone said. “A friend dropped me here and took my car.”
“Carolyn, call down for my car and have Mr. Barrington delivered to…” He raised his eyebrows.
“Bel-Air,” Stone said. “That’s very kind of you.”
“It just sits in the garage until I need it,” Prince said, “and I won’t need it until this evening. If you have any shopping to do or other calls to make, please keep the car until seven, if you like.”
“Thank you again,” Stone said, then followed the gorgeous Carolyn out of the office and to the elevator. She stopped there.
“It will be only a moment,” she said. “Do you have friends in L.A., Mr. Barrington?” she asked.
“A few.”
“Would you like to have dinner with me while you’re here?”
“That would be very pleasant,” Stone replied, surprised, then he thought about it for a second. “Tell me,” he said, “will this dinner be tax-deductible for Mr. Prince?”
She gave a little laugh. “No, this isn’t business, just pleasure, and neither Mr. Prince nor I will be paying.” She handed him a card. “This is my address; eight o’clock tonight?”
The elevator arrived, and Stone stepped aboard. “Book us into your favorite restaurant,” he said, then the doors closed and Stone left his stomach on a high floor as the car plummeted to the lobby.
He walked out of the skyscraper to find a bright, silver Bentley Mulsanne awaiting him. A man with a shaved head in a black suit and tie held the door open for him. The car had only recently been introduced and Stone hadn’t seen one yet, so he had a good look around it before he got in.
The driver slid into the front seat and closed his door, sealing out all sound from Wilshire Boulevard. “Where may I take you, Mr. Barrington?” he asked.
Stone gave him the address of the Bel-Air house.
“No shopping?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time for shopping,” Stone replied. “How do you like the car?”
“It’s superb,” the man replied. “Mr. Prince had an Arnage before, but this one is a considerable improvement in every way.”
Stone electrically adjusted his seat and settled in for the ride. “What else does Mr. Prince drive?” he asked.
“He has an Aston-Martin DBS for the occasions when he drives himself,” the man replied.
“He has good taste in cars,” Stone said.
“In everything,” the man replied.
As they approached the house, Stone gave the driver the code for the gate, and he was dropped at the front door. He thanked the driver and walked into the house, which seemed deserted, although he knew that Manolo was somewhere nearby. Dino was not back yet, and Stone changed into a swimsuit and took a plunge in the large pool. He swam a few laps, then put on a robe, and settled into a chaise longue, just as his phone buzzed.
“Hello?”
“It’s Eggers,” he said.
“Good afternoon,” Stone replied. “You still at the office?”
“I never get out of here before seven,” Eggers said.
“Do you have some news for me?”
“Do I! Rex Champion is close to bankruptcy. He’s been selling off his breeding stock piecemeal to create enough cash flow to keep afloat until he can sell. And every time he sells another Derby winner, the value of the business drops.”
“That’s very interesting,” Stone said. “Have you formed an opinion as to what the whole kaboodle might be worth?”
“Thirty-five million, tops,” Eggers said. “That price would allow Rex to pay his debts and walk away free and clear, but I don’t think he would have much left over. If Arrington wants to be generous, she could offer him thirty-eight million. In two or three years, if the economy bounces back and she can buy some good breeding stock, it could be worth half again as much.”
“So you think it’s a good investment for her?”
“If I didn’t have to run this law firm, I’d put together some investors and buy it myself,” Eggers said.
Dino appeared from the direction of the house, shucked off his coat, tossed his tie aside, and sat down. Manolo was right behind him with two tall drinks on a silver tray.
“Gotta run,” Stone said. “Let me know if anything new comes up.”
“Arrington is going to have to move pretty quickly to get the place before word gets out and the buzzards start circling,” Eggers said. “Bye.” He hung up.
Stone picked up his drink from where Manolo had set it, raised his glass to Dino, and took a gulp. “Welcome back,” he said. “Did you learn anything scintillating?”
Dino took a similar swig and sighed. “Jennifer Harris died from something like an ice pick driven into her brain from the back of the neck, above the hairline,” he said, pointing to his own neck. “Whoever did it was cool enough to wait for the blood to stop leaking before he placed her head on the pillow, then he filled the tiny wound with spirit gum, so it wouldn’t drain further.”
“What’s spirit gum?” Stone asked.
“It’s a thick, gummy substance that actors use to create makeup, and undertakers use to fill indentations in a corpse. The ME might have overlooked the wound, since he wasn’t expecting it, if Rivera hadn’t asked him to be thorough.”
“Well, we’re in a whole new ball game, I think,” Stone said.
10
Dino looked at Stone. “You look worried.”
“I guess I am,” Stone said.
“Something to do with Mr. Prince?”
“Yes,” Stone said.
“What was he like?”
“Like Donald Trump, except with good taste and real money.”
“I’m trying to get my mind around that,” Dino said.
“He’s a very slick article, and I came away impressed, until you told me about Jennifer Harris.”
Stone’s phone buzzed. “Hello?”
“It’s Arrington. What are you doing out there?”
“Dino and I had lunch with Rick Barron today, and then I met with Terrence Prince.”
“And how did that go?”
“Have you ever met or spoken to Mr. Prince, Arrington?”
“No, neither.”
“He seems very cocksure about your selling your shares. Have you indicated to anyone that you intend doing so?”
“Nobody out there.”
“How about at home?”
“My lawyer and accountant.”
“Do you trust them both implicitly?”
“I guess. They’re the same man.”
“Does he have any special qualifications for managing your affairs?”
“I manage my own affairs; he’s the old-line go-to guy, and he has a good reputation, locally, for giving sound advice.”
“What is his name?”
“Howard Sharp.”
“I think you should fire him at once.”
“Why?”
“Because, if what you’ve told me is true, he’s the only person who could have given Terrence Prince the assurance that you’re going to sell your Centurion shares to him, and that is a serious ethical violation. It means you can’t trust the man.”
“And who should replace him, you?”
“No, I don’t have all the skills required to advise you in a credible way. However, Woodman amp; Weld does, and if you become their client, I can see that you get their best attention.”
“What can they do for me that Howard Sharp can’t?”
“They can keep your confidences, for a start. They can also tell you how much you should pay for Champion Farms.”
“Will you ask them to offer an opinion on that?”
“They already have,” Stone said. “Thirty-five million at the most, thirty-eight, if you’re fond of Rex Champion and want to be generous with him.”
“And how did they arrive at that number?”
“Through due diligence,” Stone replied. “Something Mr. Sharp is not acquainted with, apparently. Tell me, did Mr. Sharp recommend that you pay fifty million for the farms?”