Stuart Woods - Cold Paradise

“He’s dead,” Dino said, holstering his weapon.

Stone looked around the restaurant for Lundquist but did not see him. Thad and his party were standing against the opposite wall of the restaurant, having wisely not joined the panicked crowd. Thad waved and called out, “We’re okay. Do what you have to do.”

Stone resumed his search for Lundquist and found him under an overturned table. Lundquist had taken a round in the chest, and he had been trampled by the crowd. His nose was badly broken where someone had stepped on it, and there was blood everywhere, but Stone found a pulse.

Griggs and his men finally got into the restaurant and rushed toward Stone.

“We need an ambulance,” Stone said as Griggs arrived. “Lundquist is still alive, but he’s bad. Bartlett is dead. Dino shot him almost at the same time Bartlett shot Lundquist.”

“There’s an ambulance outside,” Griggs said. He spoke into a handheld radio.

“There are probably some injured people in the crowd, too,” Stone said. “It got pretty ugly.”

A pair of EMTs made their way into the ruined room, toting a stretcher and equipment, and immediately began working on Lundquist. Stone stepped away to let them do their work. He followed Griggs over to where Dino stood.

Dino handed Griggs his gun. “You’re going to want this.”

Griggs nodded and examined Bartlett closely, picking up his weapon by its trigger guard and handing both guns to one of his officers.

Stone went to the Wilkeses, picking up a stray napkin along the way. He dabbed at the blood on Margaret’s face, and she barely seemed to notice.

“I want to get her home,” Wilkes said.

Stone turned to Griggs, who had heard, and nodded.

“Chief Griggs will want to talk to you in the morning,” Stone said.

“I saw it all,” Frank said. “Paul had a gun; it was all his fault.”

“Griggs and his men were waiting outside the restaurant to arrest him quietly, but the Minneapolis cop ruined it all.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, but he’s pretty bad. His office had called to say that they have a witness who says Bartlett hired him to fix the seat belt on the car, so that Frances would be unprotected. It doesn’t matter now, of course, but he would almost certainly have been convicted.”

“We’ll go, then.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I can manage.”

Stone watched them leave, then he crossed the restaurant to where Thad, Liz and Callie waited. “Everybody all right?”

They all nodded.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“See what?” Liz said. “I didn’t see anything. I just heard a lot of noise.”

“Paul shot a Minneapolis policeman, and Dino shot Paul. The cop is alive, but Paul is dead.”

“Which Paul?” she asked.

“Aren’t they the same?” Stone asked.

“I wish I knew,” Liz said.

“Thad, why don’t you take Liz and Callie home. Dino and I will need to give statements to the Palm Beach police. We’ll probably be quite late.”

“Sure,” Thad said. “I hope to God the guy is Manning.”

“We’ll see,” Stone said.

Thad ushered the women out of the restaurant, and Stone rejoined Dino and Griggs.

Griggs righted a table and motioned for Dino and Stone to pull up a chair. “You two are the best witnesses I’ve got. We might as well do this right now, then you two can go home.” He pulled a small tape recorder from a pocket, turned it on and set it on the table.

“Okay, Stone, you first.”

Dino stood up. “I’m going to go to the John. It’s better if you interview us separately.”

“Right,” Griggs said. “All right, Stone, tell me what happened, and don’t leave anything out.”

Stone began at the beginning, and when he had finished, Dino came and took his place. Stone waited at the bar and discovered that one of Bartlett’s rounds had hit some liquor bottles and the mirror behind the bar. A cop was digging it out of the wall behind the mirror.

When Griggs had Dino’s statement, they stood up, and Stone joined them. “Frank Wilkes saw the whole thing,” he said. “He’ll back us up on what happened.”

“I’m going to let my people finish here,” Griggs said. “I’m going to the hospital to see how Lundquist is doing. I’ve got to call his department and his family, if he has one.”

“Let’s talk in the morning, then,” Stone said.

“By the way,” Griggs said, “I talked to the Minneapolis department earlier this evening. The guy who rigged Bartlett’s car says the name he knew Bartlett by was Douglas Barnacle. They shared a cell in the Chicago federal detention center when they were both awaiting trial. He says Barnacle was a stockbroker in Chicago who got mixed up in a mob-backed stock scam and turned state’s evidence. That was a little over five years ago. I’m running a check on the Barnacle name now, and I’ll let you know what I turn up.”

“Thanks,” Stone said. “I want to hear about it.” They shook hands and parted.

In the car on the way home Stone and Dino were both quiet for a while.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Dino asked.

“Yes. If Barnacle was in jail in Chicago five years ago, he couldn’t be Paul Manning.”

“Right.”

They drove the rest of the way to the Shames house in silence.

One by one, Thad Shames’s guests straggled on deck for breakfast on the afterdeck at midmorning. Stone thought everybody looked tired, maybe a little shell-shocked. Not much was said, and he didn’t feel ready to tell Thad and Liz what little he knew about Bartlett’s background. He would wait for more information.

Stone was finishing his coffee when Juanito arrived with a fax of a dozen or so pages. Stone flipped through them, with Dino looking over his shoulder, occasionally pointing out something.

“What is that?” Thad finally asked.

“It’s a copy of the criminal record of Paul Bartlett, aka Douglas Barnacle, William Wilfred, Edgar Chase and Terence Keane.”

“He was all those people?” Liz asked.

“Those and maybe more. I’ll summarize for you: He was born Robert Trent Smith, in Providence, Rhode Island, where he attended the public schools and the Rhode Island School of Design, which, incidentally, is very highly thought of. He was kicked out of school a month before graduation for running some kind of swindle that bilked nearly a hundred thousand dollars out of other students and faculty. After that, he chalked up half a dozen arrests for various confidence games. He was, apparently, a real bunco artist, and not averse to the use of violence, when he was caught. Five years ago, he got involved in a mob-backed boiler-room operation, selling worthless stocks at high prices. He ended up in jail and traded his testimony against his cohorts for his freedom and the federal witness protection program. While he was there, he shared a cell with a car thief and insurance scam artist. After that, he apparently left the program and took up a new identity as Paul Bartlett, in Minneapolis, where he eventually married a wealthy widow. Then he got his former cell mate to tamper with the seat belt on his car, and he wrecked it, killing her, but only after she changed her will in his favor.”

“Then he’s not Paul Manning?” Thad asked.

“No. Five years ago, Paul Manning and his wife were sailing in Europe, right, Liz?”

“That’s right.”

“And Bartlett was in jail at the time.”

“So Bartlett was just a waste of your time?” Callie asked.

“Not entirely,” Stone said. “At least you and I managed to get him caught for murdering his wife.”

Dino spoke up. “And I managed to save the State of Minnesota the cost of a trial.”