Stuart Woods - Bel-Air dead

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Woolich said. “I had visions of having to hire an armored car.”

Stone chuckled appreciatively.

“Would you excuse me for a moment,” Woolich said.

“Of course; as long as you leave the check with me. I wouldn’t want it out of my sight.”

“Of course,” Woolich said, handing back the check. “I just want to be sure that the account holder has sufficient funds to pay the check.” He chuckled at his own joke, then left the room.

Stone saw a light go on on Woolich’s phone, and after a moment, the light began to blink.

Woolich returned. “Mr. Prince would like to speak with you,” he said. He indicated that Stone should come around the desk. “Just press the flashing button,” he said.

Stone pressed the button. “Good morning, Terry,” he said.

“Good morning, Stone. May I take this request for a wire transfer as an indication that your client has accepted my offer?”

“You may.”

“Do you have the signed contract with you?”

“I do.”

“I’ll send someone down for it immediately, then I’ll speak with Mr. Woolich again.” He hung up.

Stone resumed his seat, and Woolich resumed his.

“Lovely day,” the banker said.

“Every day out here seems to be a lovely day.”

“Ah, well, sunny California,” Woolich replied.

There was a knock at the door, and Carolyn Blaine walked in. “Good morning, Stone,” she said.

“Good morning,” Stone replied, handing her one copy of the sales agreement. “Duly witnessed by a member of the New York Police Department.”

She looked at it, checked the signatures, and smiled broadly. “Congratulations!” she said.

“And to you. I’m sure that running the project will be a lot of fun for you.”

“Oh, yes.” She produced a cell phone and pressed a speed dial number. “All is in order,” she said. She listened, then handed the phone to Woolich.

“Yes, Mr. Prince? As you wish.” He handed the phone back to Carolyn. “Thank you, Ms. Blaine.” He sat down again, and Carolyn left the room.

“Please send the wire to the attention of William Eggers, Managing Partner.”

“Of course.” Woolich turned to his computer, pulled up a form and began to type, entering the numbers Stone had given him. “Here goes,” he said, pressing the send key with a flourish. “Done.” He pressed a couple more keys and the printer beside his desk spat out a sheet of paper. Woolich signed it, then handed it to Stone. “The transfer is confirmed; the funds are in your trust account.”

Stone read the confirmation, then stood up. “Mr. Woolich, it has been a pleasure doing business with you,” he said. The two men shook hands, and Stone left the bank, whistling a merry tune.

Stone arrived at the house and found Arrington, in a bathing suit now, lying on a chaise beside the pool. He walked over, kissed her, and handed her the wire transfer receipt. “You are officially twenty-five million dollars richer,” he said.

“How nice,” she replied. She patted the chaise next to her. “Sit for a moment.”

Stone did so.

“Rick Barron called ten minutes ago. He said that Jack Schmeltzer called him this morning and told him that he would be voting with Prince this afternoon.”

That knocked the wind out of Stone. “That’s bad news,” he said. “What with Mrs. Grosvenor buying the Jennifer Harris shares and taking charge of Jim Long’s, we are, to put it as gracefully as I can manage, fucked.”

“That seems so,” Arrington said, “but Rick, bless his heart, seems to remain just slightly optimistic.”

“Did he say why?”

“No. He just said he will see us at the meeting at two o’clock on stage four.”

“Well,” Stone said, sighing, “let’s hope that Rick’s and Dino’s optimism is not misplaced.”

Stone was tying a necktie in anticipation of the shareholders’ meeting when the phone in his room rang. “Hello?”

“Stone, it’s Ed Eagle.”

“Afternoon, Ed.”

“I have some interesting news regarding Dolly Parks/Carolyn Blaine.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve had a phone call from the Santa Fe Police Department, from the detective in charge of the investigation into the murder of the wife of my client, Tip Hanks.”

“Something new?”

“Something old, actually. During the investigation a lipstick smear was found on a pillowcase in Mrs. Hanks’s bedroom. It wasn’t thought to be possible to extract a DNA sample from it at the time, but newer technology has prevailed, and the police have a fully constituted sample. All that remains now is to have Ms. Blaine tested for it.”

“That’s good news, Ed.”

“A problem, though; since there is no existing evidence that Ms. Blaine is Ms. Parks, there is no probable cause for the police to request a warrant requiring her to give a sample for testing.”

“That is a problem, isn’t it?”

“It is, unless you can help.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Do you think there is some way you might be able to get a sample of her DNA?”

“What, exactly, did you have in mind, Ed?”

“I don’t know; get her into the sack and get a swab, I guess.”

“Aren’t you forgetting that Ms. Blaine, if she is Ms. Parks, is a lesbian?”

“More likely bisexual,” Eagle said, “in that she slept with Mr. Hanks as well as Mrs. Hanks.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ed; she hasn’t shown the slightest interest in sex with me, and to tell you the truth, I have no interest in sex with her.”

“Force yourself,” Eagle said.

Stone laughed. “There’s got to be another way.”

“All right, find another way.”

“Ed, all I can tell you is that, should I have an opportunity to snag some small part of her precious bodily fluids, I will do so.”

“I guess I can’t ask any more than that,” Eagle said.

“You have already done so.”

“My apologies.”

“No apology necessary,” Stone said.

“Your shareholders’ meeting is today, isn’t it?”

“It is, but I’m afraid our side has come up short in the quest to deny Mr. Prince his opportunity to raze much of the studio, in favor of a hotel.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“On the bright side, I did bank twenty-five million dollars of his money this morning-a down payment on his purchase of Arrington Calder’s Bel-Air property.”

“So, it’s a clean sweep for Mr. Prince, is it?”

“Looks like it. I had hoped to see him laid low, but a quarter of a billion dollars for the Bel-Air property is a nice consolation prize.”

“We should all be so consoled.”

“Yes, we should. Gotta run, Ed.”

“Keep in touch; I’m relying on you.”

“Oh, the pressure!” Stone said, and hung up.

The phone rang again almost immediately. “Hello?”

“It’s Eggers.”

“Good day, Bill; where are you?”

“Still in Seattle. I wanted you to know I’ve been informed that we received Mr. Prince’s twenty-five million dollars into our trust account this morning. It has already been transferred to Arrington’s Chase accounts. Perhaps she should give her banker some instructions on how to invest it; you don’t want to lose a day’s interest on that kind of balance.”

“Good point, Bill.”

“And don’t forget to pay the taxes.”

“Will do.”

“When is your meeting?”

“At two, L.A. time.”

“Good luck.”

“I’m afraid we’re all out of that, but thanks.”

“You don’t have the votes?”

“Only forty-eight percent, or thereabouts.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yes, it is. Gotta run, Bill; thanks for the call.”