L.A. Dead

compartment, closed the drawer, turned the pulls counterclockwise, and opened it again, just to check. Everything was as before.

Stone then went to the bedroom and searched it thoroughly; he assumed that the police had done the same thing and that the maid had tidied the place after them. Maybe that was why Vance's desk drawers were so neat. He found nothing but the ordinary detritus of wealthy married couples' lives-keys, address books, family photographs, bedside books, remote controls. Stone realized that the room did not appear to have a television set. He pressed the power button, and the lid of an old trunk at the foot of the bed opened, and a very large TV set rose from its depths and switched on.

The local news was on, and it was about Vance. A handsome young woman gazed into the teleprompter and read: 'Vance Calder's widow has still not been questioned by the police. Greg Harrow has this report.'

The scene shifted to the Calders' front gate, where a young man in an Italian suit spoke gravely. 'Amanda, police department sources tell us that, as yet, there are no suspects in the murder of Vance Calder, and that his widow is still hospitalized, with no sign of emerging to speak. The investigating detectives want very much to talk to her, but her doctor refuses to allow her to be interviewed. Some of my colleagues in the media have been to every private hospital in the L.A./Beverly Hills area, without finding out where she is a patient. It had been suggested that she may have been taken to the Calder Palm Springs home, or to their Malibu Beach house, but both those residences are dark, and during the past twenty-four hours, only one vehicle, a taxicab, has arrived here at the Calder Bel-Air home, and the driver refused to talk to the media. There was one man in the taxi, and he, apparendy, remained at the house. Centurion Studios has issued a press release expressing the sorrow of everyone there at the news of Calder's death and asking that the media leave Arrington Calder alone and allow her to rebuild her shattered life. The Calders' only child, Peter, may still be at the Bel-Air house, cared for by the servants, but he has not been spotted here. All we have seen here is security, and plenty of it. A private service has the house and grounds completely sealed off, and no one, except the taxi, has arrived or departed today. We'll keep you posted as details come in.'

Stone switched off the TV set, pleased with the news. He could hardly have written it better, himself, but he knew the lid could not be kept on for much longer. He picked up the phone and called Rick Grant's home number.

'Hi, Stone, how's it going?'

'As well as can be expected,' Stone said. 'Let me give you a number where you, and only you, can reach me.' He dictated the number. 'You can also reach me at Vance Calder's offices at Centurion, as of tomorrow. I'm going to work out of there.'

'Anything new?'

'Not much. Arrington is still under a doctor's care.'

'How much longer?'

'You can tell your people that I'll make her available at the earliest possible moment.'

'Tell them yourself,' he said. 'That would be better. The lead detectives on the investigation are Sam Durkee and Ted Bryant, out of Brentwood.' He gave Stone the number.

'I'll call them tomorrow morning.'

'These are decent guys, Stone, and Durkee, in particular, is a very good detective, but unless they start getting cooperation from Arrington, they're going to begin leaking stuff to the media, and that would not be good for her.'

'We're not hiding anything; Arrington really hasn't been up to questioning, but she's getting better.'

'I'm glad to hear it. Anything else I can do for you?'

'Not a thing, Rick; I'll call Durkee tomorrow.'

'Good night, then; Barbara sends her best.'

'My best to her, too.' Stone hung up and felt a hunger pang. He walked back out to the guest house, where he found Manolo setting a small table and the maid hanging his clothes in the closet, having pressed them.

He sat down to his steak and half a bottle of good Cabernet and tried to forget both Arrington and Dolce as he watched a movie on television. He was unable to forget either of them.

Chapter 12

It was a perfect southern California morning, cool and sunny. Stone swam a few laps in the pool, then put on a guest's terry robe and breakfasted by the pool, looking over the Los Angeles Times and The New York Times, which had arrived with his breakfast. The Vance Calder story had been relegated to the inside pages of the New York newspaper, and was struggling to cling to the front page of the LA journal, but it wasn't going to go away, he knew. The moment a fragment of new information surfaced, there would be headlines again.

He showered, shaved, and dressed and walked into the house, carrying his briefcase. He retrieved the documents from the secret compartment of Vance's desk and put them into his briefcase, then he rang for Manolo. 'I'd like to use one of the Calders' cars,' he told the butler.

'Of course, Mr. Barrington, right this way.' He led Stone to a door that opened into the garage, which had enough room for six cars, but held only four: a Bentley Arnage; two Mercedes SL600s, one black and one white; and a Mercedes station wagon. 'The nanny and I use the station wagon for household errands, unless you'd like it,' Manolo said.

The Bentley was too much, Stone thought. 'No, I'll take one of the other Mercedes-the black one, I suppose. That was Mr. Calder's wasn't it?'

'Yes, sir. The white one is Mrs. Calder's. You'll find the keys in the car.'

Stone had used the black convertible once before, when in L.A., and he recalled that it did not have vanity plates, so it would not be immediately recognized by the media. In fact, he reckoned, a black Mercedes convertible would, in Beverly Hills and Bel-Air, be a practically anonymous car. He backed out of the garage, drove around the house and, using his remote, let himself out of the utility gate and onto the street beyond. He checked to be sure that he was not followed, then drove to Centurion Studios.

The guard was momentarily confused to see Vance Calder's car arrive with a different driver, but when Stone gave his name, he was immediately issued with a studio pass.

'The one on the windshield will get this car in,' the guard said. 'Use the other pass, if you drive a different car.'

'Can you direct me to Mr. Calder's bungalow, please?' The guard gave him directions, and five minutes later, he had parked in Vance's reserved parking spot. The bungalow was just that; it looked like one of the older, smaller Beverly Hills houses below Wilshire. Stone walked through the front door into a living room.

A panel in the wall slid open, and Betty Southard stuck her head through the opening. 'I knew you'd turn up,' she said. She left her office, walked into the living room and gave him a big hug and a kiss. 'I'm glad to see you again,' she said.

'I'm glad to see you, too; I'm going to need a lot of your help.'

'Lou Regenstein called and said you'd be using Vance's office. She waved him into a panelled study, much the same as the one at the house, but larger, with a conference table at one end. 'Make yourself at home,' she said. 'The phones are straightforward; you can make your own calls, or I'll place them for you, depending on whether you want to impress somebody.'

'Thank you, Betty,' Stone said, placing his briefcase on the desk. 'I have some personal news for you; have you seen Vance's will?'

'Not the new one; he made that recently, and he hadn't brought a copy to the office.'

'You're a beneficiary,' Stone said. 'He left you a million dollars.'

Betty's jaw dropped, and a hand went to her mouth. 'I think I'd better sit down,' she said, and she did, taking a chair by the desk. Stone sat down behind it. 'You didn't know?'

'I hadn't a clue,' she said. 'I mean, I suppose I would have expected something after fifteen years with him-I joined him at twelve, you know,' she said archly.

Stone laughed. 'Now you're a rich woman; what are you going to do?'