L.A. Dead

you can get into a club.'

'Why do I have the feeling you aren't telling me the truth about Felipe Cordova?' Marc asked, suddenly changing the subject.

'I don't know, Marc,' Stone replied, surprised. 'Why do you feel that way?'

'You think Cordova didn't kill Vance, don't you?'

'He told a very convincing story.'

'But you want the LAPD and the D.A. and a judge to think he did it.'

'Just that he's a viable suspect, and the cops have ignored him. Shows a lack of good faith on their part.'

'Let me ask you this: What happens if I get the charges against Arrington dismissed, then the cops find Cordova?'

'I don't think we'll ever see Cordova again; he's too scared.'

'You said he denied everything, and you didn't contradict him by telling him about the shoeprint at Vance's house.'

'That's right.'

'So what happens to his story when the cops tell him about the shoeprint?'

'First, they have to find him; he's in Mexico, probably not in Tijuana any more. You know the problems with finding somebody down there, not to mention the difficulties of getting a suspect extradited.'

'I'm talking worst case, here, Stone; I have to protect myself. If, by some miracle, the cops find Cordova in Mexico, or, more likely, he comes back to this country and gets arrested for speeding, or something. I have to know what he's going to say.'

'My guess is, he'll try to implicate Arrington. He knows about the murder, knows she's been charged. He'll do everything he can to see that she takes the fall. That's my guess.'

'I suppose that makes sense,' Marc said. 'You know, I've tried a lot of cases in my time, and a lot of them murders, too, but I don't think I've ever tried one where my second chair was in love with the defendant.'

Stone kept eating his eggs.

'You're a bright guy, Stone, and I suspect a very good lawyer, so I'm going to rely on you not to do anything that will get me hung.'

'I would never do anything like that,' Stone replied truthfully.

'I can see how you might not want to tell me everything you know, to save Arrington's very beautiful ass, how you might even lie to me. That's okay, as long as it doesn't interfere with how I handle my case, and as long as it doesn't get me disbarred or damage my credibility with the D.A. and the judges in this town. That credibility is the most valuable asset I have in defending a client, and I don't want to lose it. I hope I make myself perfectly clear.'

'Perfectly clear, Marc,' Stone said, finishing his coffee. He looked at his watch. 'Well, I think I'd better be getting back to L.A. Thanks for your hospitality.'

Marc stood up and shook his hand. 'And don't forget, if you get horny, call Vanessa; don't go sneaking into Arrington's bedroom. If that got out, it could screw us all.' He handed Stone his card, with Vanessa's number scrawled on the back.

Stone nodded and put the card into his pocket. 'I take your point.' He left the house, got into the car, which smelled of Felipe Cordova's Nikes, and headed back toward LA.

* * *

He was back at Centurion Studios by eleven-thirty, and Betty met him at the door of the bungalow, looking rattled.

'What's wrong?' he asked, tucking a finger under her chin and lifting her head.

'I've just had a very peculiar conversation with Dolce, if you can call it a conversation,' she said. 'Actually, it was more of a tirade.'

'Oh, God; what did she say?'

'She went into some detail about what she would do to me if I ever, as she put it, 'touch him again.' She means you, I believe.'

'I'm sorry about that, Betty; this has nothing to do with you, really.'

'That's not the impression I got,' Betty said. 'Frankly, she sounded nuts to me. I'm scared.'

'Tell you what,' Stone said. 'Why don't you take a trip to Hawaii, do some scouting for just the right place when you bail out of L.A.'

Betty brightened. 'You think you could get along without me for a while? Careful how you answer that.'

Stone laughed. 'It'll be tough, but I'll manage.'

'Maybe that's not such a bad idea,' Betty said. 'I'll get you some help from the studio secretarial pool, then call the travel agent.' She headed for her office.

'Any other calls?' he asked.

'Brandy Garcia called; said his friend has already got your message.'

'I've no idea what that means,' he replied, covering his ass.

'Oh, and I almost forgot: Dolce says you're to meet her at the Bel-Air for lunch at one o'clock.'

'She's in LA.?'

'Yep. And she said, 'tell him to be there without fail, or I'll get mad.''

Stone gave a low moan.

Betty picked up her phone and dialed a number. 'Try and keep her busy long enough for me to get out of town, okay?' she called to him.

'I wish I could reverse our roles,' Stone replied.

Chapter 38

Stone arrived at the Bel-Air on time and with trepidations. What will I do if she starts shooting? he asked himself. What if she only makes a scene? What then? He liked to think he had had less than his share of arguments with women, and that he managed that by being easy to get along with. He had a dread of public disagreements, especially in the middle of places like the Bel-Air Hotel.

He wasn't sure where to meet her, so he wandered slowly through the lobby and outside again, toward the restaurant. Then he saw her, seated at a table in the middle of the garden cafe, wearing a silk print dress, her hair pinned to the top of her head, revealing her long, beautiful neck. Her chin rested on her interlocked fingers, and her mien was serene.

'Oh hello, Mr. Barrington,' the headwaiter said as he approached. 'Mrs. Barrington is waiting, and may I congratulate you?'

Stone leaned over and spoke quiedy, but with conviction. 'There is no Mrs. Barrington,' he said. 'The lady's name is Miss Bianchi.'

'Yes, sir,' the man said, a little flustered. 'Whatever you say.' He led Stone to the table and pulled out a chair for him.

Stone sat down and allowed her to lean over and brush his cheek with her lips.

'Hello, my darling,' she purred.

'Good afternoon, Dolce.'

'I hope you're enjoying your stay in Los Angeles.'

'I can't say that I am,' he replied, looking at the menu.

'Poor baby,' she said, patting his cheek. 'Maybe it's time to go back home to New York-yet again.'

'Not for a while.'

'But what's to keep us here?' she asked, all innocence.

'Business is keeping me here,' he replied.

The waiter appeared. Dolce ordered a lobster salad and a glass of chardonnay, and Stone, the taco soup and