Stuart Woods - L.A. Dead

No soup this time, Stone reflected; nothing to be dumped in his lap, and no Dolce to screw up their evening. They began with seared foie gras, crisp on the outside, melting inside, with a cold Chateau Coutet, a sweet, white Bordeaux. That was followed by a thick, perfect veal chop and a bottle of Beringer Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon. Dessert was an orange creme brulee and more of the Coutet.

Coffee was served in Vance's study, before a fire, as the desert night had become chilly. The women excused themselves, and Stone and Dino declined Manolo's offer of Vance's cigars.

"Looks like the bloom is back on the rose," Dino said.

"The atmosphere is certainly warmer," Stone agreed.

"Arrington and Mary Ann spent the afternoon talking about you, I think. Mary Ann probably told her how lost you were without her, and how when Dolce came along, you were ripe for the picking."

"That's embarrassingly close to the truth," Stone said. "Have you heard anything from Dolce?"

"She and Mary Ann had breakfast together at the Bel-Air this morning."

"Is that where she's staying?"

"She's been cagey about where she's staying. I don't like it, frankly; I don't think this is over."

"Neither do I."

"Are you carrying?"

"No, and I don't know why I asked you to bring a weapon out here. A moment of paranoia, I guess."

"If Dolce is mad at you, it's not paranoid to go armed. If I were you, I wouldn't leave home without it."

"I'd feel a fool, wearing a gun these days," Stone said. "It took some getting used to when I was on the force, but now… well, it just seems, I don't know, belligerent."

"You've never liked guns, have you?"

"No, I guess not. I mean, I admire a well-made tool, and I guess that's what a gun is. Some of them are beautiful things, like the Walther, but I never liked the Glocks; they're ugly."

The women came back, and Manolo poured their coffee.

"Did Marc Blumberg see you today?" Stone asked Arrington.

"He came in time for lunch, and by the time he left, I was prepped,' as he put it. Sounds as though someone had shaved my pubic hair and painted my belly orange."

Dino made a face. "Such imagery! Only a woman could put it that way."

"Men are such babies," Mary Ann said. "So easily shocked. Dino, you couldn't make it as a woman for a single day."

"And I wouldn't want to try," Dino said.

They chatted for another hour, then Stone rose and announced his departure. Dino was stifling yawns by this time, too, and he and Mary Ann departed for the guest house.

Arrington walked Stone to the door. "I'm sorry about my behavior last time," she said. "I realize now that it wasn't your fault, that you were the victim."

"Hardly that," Stone said. "I knew what I was getting into."

"No, you didn't," She said at the door, resting her head on his shoulder. "You never do."

Stone put a finger under her chin, raised her head, and kissed her lightly. "I'm glad you and I are all right again."

"So am I."

"If it's any help, I'm already working on an Italian divorce."

"Any kind will do."

"I'd better go."

"Good night, sweet prince."

"And angels sing me to my rest? Not just yet, I hope."

He walked toward the car, then he stopped and turned. She was still standing in the doorway. "Arrington?"

"Yes?"

"I seem to recall that you never wore terrycloth robes."

"What a good memory you have. I always liked plain cotton or silk. What an odd thing to remember."

"Oh, I remember a lot more," he said, as he waved good night and got into the car.

All the way back to Centurion he thought about what she used to wear.

The following morning Marc Blumberg called and asked Stone to come to his office to discuss the motion to dismiss. Stone left Centurion and on his way passed the spot where he'd had the flat tire, reminding him that he had left the damaged tire at a service station for repair. He stopped to pick it up, and as he opened the trunk he saw Felipe Cordova's Nikes. He'd completely forgotten about them.

He arrived at Blumberg's office and was shown in and given coffee, while Marc finished a meeting in his conference room. Shortly, the lawyer came into his office and sat down at his desk.

"So," said Stone, "what's your plan? Who are we going to call?"

"Nobody," Marc replied. "That's my plan."

"Come again?"

"My plan is to cross-examine the prosecution's witnesses to within an inch of their lives. After all, it's they who have to make a case, not we."

"You don't think we ought to try?" Stone asked doubtfully.

"Let me ask you something, Stone: Can we prove Arrington didn't shoot Vance?"

"Maybe not."

"If we could prove she didn't do it, wed be home free, but we can't. So we're going to have to cast so much doubt on the prosecution's case that the judge will throw it out."

"And how are we going to do that?" Stone asked.

"I know Beverly Walters better than you," Marc replied.

"How well, Marc?"

"Well enough, trust me."

"All right, I'll trust you."

"Have you got any other ideas about how we might proceed?"

Stone took a deep breath. "I think we ought to call Felipe Cordova."

"I thought he was lost in darkest Mexico."

"He was, but he's back in LA. Brandy Garcia gave me a heads up."

"Doesn't it bother you that the prosecution would call Cordova, if they knew what we knew about his actions that night?"

"No."

"Stone, we're going to have Beverly Walters on the stand saying she saw Arrington shoot Vance, while Arrington doesn't remember what she did or didn't do. Cordova is just going to back up Beverly's story, isn't he?"

"I don't think so," Stone said.

"And why not?"

"A couple of reasons. First, Vanessa Pike told me she drove Beverly to the Calder house, and that Beverly saw what happened from the rear of the house, at the doors to the pool."

"Wait a minute. What Vanessa told you was that she drove somebody to Vance's; she didn't say who."

"But we know it was Beverly."

"How do we know that?"

"Because Charlene Joiner says that the two of them left her house together that evening, after a day lying around the pool."

"At what time?"

"At just about the time it would have taken for them to drive to the Calder house and arrive at the time Vance was being shot."

"Will Charlene testify to that?"

"Yes, to that and more."

"What else?"

"She'll testify that Beverly was wearing a terrycloth robe over a bathing suit when she left her house."

"So?"

"Cordova says he saw a woman next to Vance's body, and she was wearing a terrycloth robe."

"Did he see her face?"

"No."

"Then it could have been Arrington."

"Arrington doesn't wear terry robes. She likes plain cotton or silk."

"Can we prove that?"

"We can call her maid, who would know her wardrobe intimately, and who got her out of the tub and into a robe."

"I like it," Blumberg said. "But how are we going to put Beverly in the house?"

"I think she'll admit being outside, and it's a short step from the back door into the hallway where Vance died. And there's this, Marc: I'd be willing to bet that Cordova is not mentioned in Beverly's story, because she didn't see him."

"Yeah, but can Cordova prove he was there?"

"The police can; they've got a photograph of his shoeprint."

"Can he produce the shoe?"

"No, but I can; it's in the trunk of my car. I bought the shoes from Cordova in Mexico."

"Nikes, weren't they?"

"Right."

"There are millions of pairs of Nikes out there."

"There aren't millions of size twelves, and Cordova's have a cut across the heel of the sole that shows up in the photograph."

"You know, Stone, I think we're awfully close to being able to prove that Arrington didn't kill Vance."