Stuart Woods - Cold Paradise

Because of the weather, they had dinner in the yacht’s dining room, which was a symphony of mahogany and teak. Juanito had set a small table for the four of them, and candlelight gleamed on fine silver, as he served the dinner Callie had cooked for them. Dino had taken a shine not only to Callie, but to Liz as well, and they to him.

“What, exactly, do you do on the police force, Dino?” Liz asked him.

“Well, you know how, on the TV cop shows there’s always these two detectives who are out there busting their balls to solve the case?”

“Yes.”

“That used to be Stone and me.”

“Oh.”

“And you know how the two detectives come back to the station house and report to their lieutenant, and he criticizes them and second-guesses them and ridicules them and sends them back out onto the street to do it all over again?”

“Yes.”

“That lieutenant is me, now.”

“Was Stone a good detective?” Callie asked.

Stone shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“He wasn’t all that bad,” Dino said, “but he was hard to keep alive. I was always having to shoot people so they wouldn’t kill him.”

“Nonsense! I was a very good detective,” Stone said, “but that second part is perfectly true, which gives you a pretty good indication of what percentage of Dino’s statements you can believe.”

“Tell us about when you saved Stone’s life,” Liz said.

Dino took a big sip of his wine. “Well, let’s see,” he said. “The first time was when we had chased this guy down in a car, and he came out shooting, got Stone in the knee. I put one in the middle of his forehead.”

“Goodness,” Callie said. Both the women were rapt.

“Then there was the time Stone had to jump out of a helicopter because people were trying to kill him. I used a shotgun that time; didn’t kill anybody. Then-oh, this is my favorite-this very strange guy had Stone strung up by his heels, naked, in this old slaughterhouse, about to cut him a few new orifices, and I put two in him.”

Liz blinked rapidly. “Strung up by his heels, naked? Whew! If I had a folding fan, this is where I’d use it.”

“And there were probably a couple of other times, but you get the idea.”

Callie spoke up. “The idea seems to be that Stone needs his hand held.” She took his hand and squeezed it.

“That’s about it,” Dino said. “Stone has good instincts, but he never listens to them. He’s so curious that he doesn’t notice when people are trying to kill him.”

“Tell us about Stone and women,” Callie said.

Dino rolled his eyes. “Don’t get me started.”

“No,” Stone said, “don’t get him started. You keep this up, Dino, and I’m going to start telling them the truth about you.”

Dino held up a hand. “Peace,” he said. “Anything else you girls want to know about Stone, you’re going to have to ask him.”

“Well, Stone,” Callie said. “Will you sit still for some personal questions?”

“As long as you don’t expect an honest answer,” Stone replied.

Juanito suddenly appeared, the cordless phone in his hands. “Miss Callie,” he said, then mouthed, “It’s for him,” pointing at Stone.

Callie took the phone. “May I help you? And who is this? I’m sorry, Mr. Barrington left this morning. I believe he was headed for California somewhere, before returning to New York. No, I’m sorry, I don’t have his schedule. Why don’t you call his New York office? Goodbye.” She punched the off button.

“Was it a woman?” Stone asked.

“No, a man. He wouldn’t give his name. He sounded a little like Paul Bartlett, but I can’t be sure about that.”

“That was a nice touch, about California,” Stone said. “I’ll have to remember what a good liar you are.”

“I was lying in a good cause,” Callie replied. “Dino needs help in keeping you alive.”

“Like Regis says, 'I’m only one man,'“ Dino said.

The phone rang again while still in Callie’s hand. “Here we go again,” she said. “Hello? Oh, yes, Chief, I’ll put him on.” She handed the phone to Stone.

“Hello, Dan.”

“Hi, Stone. Our friend from the frozen tundra, Lieutenant Lundquist, has arrived. Could we have a word with you tonight?”

“Sure,” Stone said. “Give me half an hour, then come over to the Shames house. We’re on the yacht moored out back.”

“See you then.”

Stone hung up. “Well, ladies, you’re going to have a couple more cops on your hands shortly.”

“I’d better finish dessert,” Callie said, rising and heading toward the galley.

“What cops?” Dino asked.

Stone explained about Griggs and Lundquist, and about Paul Bartlett’s sojourn in Minneapolis.

“God, I love catching murderers,” Dino said, “don’t you?”

“Not as much as you, Dino, but I’ll admit, it’s satisfying. What I don’t like about murderers is that time after you’ve figured out what they did but before you arrest them. They tend to be touchy during that period.”

“So you think Bartlett is dangerous?”

“I certainly do. Griggs has assigned somebody to keep an eye on him, but Lundquist has asked us not to crowd him just yet.”

“I hate not crowding them,” Dino said.

Callie returned to the table, followed by Juanito carrying a tray of flaming desserts.

“Something old-fashioned,” she said. “Baked Alaska. I thought, given the weather, we could use the extra warmth.”

“Mmmmmmm,” Dino said, plunging into his. “We may keep you on here.”

“Why, thank you, sir.”

Liz was toying with her dessert. “Stone,” she said, “am I ever going to be able to leave this boat again?”

“Sure you are, but right now is not a good time. Paul doesn’t know you’re here, at least not for sure.”

“We could stake her out, like a goat for a lion,” Dino said.

“Thank you, Dino,” Liz said. “That was so beautifully put.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dino said, grinning.

Chief Dan Griggs and Lieutenant Ebbe Lundquist arrived, sharing a golf umbrella. They were both dripping wet.

“Sorry to get you out this late, Chief,” Stone said. “Couldn’t this have waited for better weather?”

“Lundquist, here, insisted,” Griggs replied.

Lundquist looked around at the yacht. “You live pretty well, Mr. Barrington.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but, unfortunately, the yacht is not mine. And please call me Stone.” Stone introduced everybody, and Callie got the visitors a hot toddy, while everyone else had brandy.

“It’s like this,” Lundquist said. “We dug Bartlett’s car out of a junkyard, where it was waiting to go into the compactor. Couple more days, it would have been gone. We have you to thank for that, Stone.”

Stone shrugged. “I just happened to get lucky.”

“The car was a 1991 Mercedes station wagon, and that year, a passenger-side air bag was an option, and Mrs. Bartlett, who owned the car, had not ordered the option. Everything about the car was normal, for one that had just collided with a tree, except that the seat belt latch had been tampered with.”

“Tampered with how?” Dino asked.

“There’s a steel eye that sticks up on a stalk, then there’s the receptor end that latches onto that. We opened up the receptor, and the spring inside had been deformed, compared with the driver’s side, so that it would not hook securely when fastened. Mrs. Bartlett would have heard a click when she put it on, but it would have come undone under pressure.”

“And colliding with a tree would certainly be enough pressure,” Stone said.

“This guy is very clever,” Lundquist said. “That was the sort of technical thing that would have gone completely unnoticed if you hadn’t given us a heads up to look for something.”