"So what's your conclusion?"
"Well, my hypothesis is that Martindale hired this guy Barnum to fly him up here and back, and the guy gave the tower a false tail number when he took off and landed. And from the time he took off until about forty minutes after he landed, nobody saw Martindale at the Bel-Air Hotel."
"I suppose he could have landed at Napa County, but then he'd have to have a car to get to the Kinsolving property; it would be a good eight miles."
"I've got an idea about that, too," Wheeler said. "The Milburn Winery has a private strip, and that property borders the Kinsolving place. I bet the strip is less than half a mile from Kinsolving's house. I called the Milburn office, but nobody lives on the place, and the night watchman doesn't remember a plane landing. He could have been on the other side of the property."
"But Barnum denies flying up here last night?"
"That's right, but he sounded funny to me."
"Okay," the sheriff said, "let's see what you got: You got a suspect says he was in his hotel room, but he had opportunity to get out unseen and charter an airplane. You got an airplane that takes off from Santa Monica, but gives the wrong tail number to the tower; then it returns later, and the roundtrip flying time makes sense. And you got a suspected pilot who denies everything. It's all circumstantial, and you haven't got a single witness to support your theory, right?"
"Right, but I'd like an opportunity to crack the pilot."
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to fly down there in the county airplane and talk to the guy face to face."
The sheriff looked at his watch. "All right, if the county manager will approve it, and nobody else is using the airplane, and the pilot's available to go. Don't stay overnight, come right back; I'm not signing any expense reports."
"That's just what I'll do," Wheeler replied. He picked up the phone and called the county manager's office.
CHAPTER 55
Sandy walked Sam Warren and his wife to their rental car. After taking the morning easy he was feeling much better.
"Sandy, you don't have to see us off," Warren protested as they walked down the front steps of the house. "You ought to be in bed."
"Really, Sam, I feel quite well now; I wish you could stay for lunch, so we could talk more."
"I really do have to get back to New York. You're not my only client, you know."
"I know, but you always make me feel that I am."
The two men shook hands, and Warren drove away. Sandy walked slowly back into the house and met Cara, who was coming down the stairs
"I woke up, and there was nobody in bed with me," she pouted. "You shouldn't be up."
"I feel fine now," he said. "Except that I'm very angry."
"You have every right to be," she said. "He's violated our home, tried to harm us both. And I think he's too smart for the police, at least for the Napa County sheriff's department. I mean, the sheriff is a sort of bumpkin, and that deputy who's supposed to be investigating can't be more than twenty-five."
"You realize what Peter was trying to do, don't you?"
"Frighten us, I expect."
"No, he was trying to kill you, then blame it on me."
Cara paled slightly.
"That would be his idea of the perfect revenge, wouldn't it?"
"I'm afraid it would," she said.
"You know him; do you think he'd try again?"
"It wouldn't surprise me; I told you he was obsessive, and I don't think he could let this go, particularly after we humiliated him publicly. Maybe the suit was a mistake."
"Not as far as I'm concerned," Sandy said. "I hope you're wrong about the police."
"It's not the police that make me think he won't get caught. Peter is extremely clever; he wouldn't have done what he did unless he was convinced he would get away with it. It's not like Peter to put himself at risk."
"You said it was unlike him to provoke a physical confrontation, too," Sandy said, "but that's exactly what he did last night."
Cara shook her head. "He thought he had an advantage; he thought he could disable you in the dark, then have me all to himself. I told you he had no compunctions about attacking a woman. His plan went wrong, but only because he failed to hit you hard enough, and I was lucky enough to get my arm inside his noose."
"I see your point," Sandy said. "So you think he's still afraid of confrontation?"
"I know he is," she replied.
"Then," said Sandy, "I think the thing to do is to confront him."
Cara looked at him narrowly. "Sandy, what are you thinking of doing?"
"I'm thinking of confronting him."
She came to him and put her arms around his waist. "Listen to me, my darling," she said. "If you kill Peter, you'll simply put yourself in still more jeopardy. I mean, Peter is a problem, sure, but if you become a murderer you'll have to deal with the police, and that could be infinitely more difficult than dealing with Peter."
"I don't think I have to kill him," Sandy said. "I think, if he's the coward you believe him to be, it will be enough for me to make him believe that I'll kill him, that he's made me desperate enough to do that."
"I don't like this," Cara said.
"Neither do I," Sandy replied, "but I don't know what else to do." He went to the phone, got the number of the gallery from the operator and dialed the number.
"Hello?" Peter Martindale's voice said.
Sandy took a deep breath. "This is Bart." he said. "We have to meet."
There was a long silence, then Martindale spoke. "Where?" he asked.
"At the same place we met the first time out here. Take the four o'clock boat."
"All right," Martindale replied.
Sandy hung up and turned to Cara. "I have to go to San Francisco," he said.
"I'm coming with you."
"No, it's better if you aren't involved."
"But I am involved, right up to my ears."
"I'm going to take your car."
"Sandy, I'm coming with you."
Sandy shook his head and got her car keys from the hall table.
"Sandy-"
"No, my darling," he replied. He kissed her, then got a raincoat from the hall closet. "The forecast is for cool in the city today," he said, then left the house. He walked to the car, then stopped. He was unarmed. He walked around the house and, peeking through a window to see that Cara was not in the kitchen, he entered through the back door. Half a dozen knife handles protruded from a wooden block on a counter. He chose a slim, sharp boning knife, wrapped the blade in some paper towels, put the knife in his raincoat pocket, and returned to the car.
CHAPTER 56
Tony Wheeler sat in the copilot's seat of the old Beech Baron, relishing the flight to Santa Monica. He had eleven hours of dual instruction under his belt, and his instructor, Bert Corley, was his pilot today.
"How long do you reckon, Bert?" Tony asked as they leveled off at their cruising altitude.
"Couple hours," Bert replied. "You want to fly her for a while? It's not all that different from the trainer you've been flying, just heavier."
"Thanks, but I have to think about what I'm going to ask this guy," he said.
"What is it you want to know from him?"
"Well, I think he flew a guy up here last night and gave the Santa Monica tower a wrong tail number to keep anybody from finding out. He didn't file a flight plan, either."
Bert nodded. "That would be easy enough to do," he said. "How you going to get him to admit it?"
"I don't know," Tony admitted.
They landed at Santa Monica on schedule and pulled off the runway and into Cloverfield Aviation. Bert cut the engines. "You know where this guy's place is?"
"Nope."
They got out of the airplane, and Bert flagged down the fuel truck and had a word with him. He thanked the man and came back to where Tony waited. "Down this way a couple hundred yards," he said, pointing. "Let's just walk down the taxiway."