Regenstein was saying something, but Stone couldn’t hear what it was. Whatever he was saying, it was making Vance angry. “No!” Vance said loudly, then lowered his voice and continued in a strident manner.

Regenstein and the other man were obviously trying to placate him, but Vance was very angry indeed. Stone looked across the room and saw that Vance was standing near a window on the far wall. Maybe Stone could hear from there. He was about to move to that side of the house when the telephone in his pocket rang, loudly. He flattened himself against the house and scrambled for the phone, finally getting to it after the second ring.

“Hello,” he whispered.

“Vance, it’s Barbara; how much longer are you going to be? I’m getting tired of sitting here.”

“A few minutes; listen to the radio or something, and don’t call me again unless it’s an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?”

“Just don’t call again.” He snapped the phone shut and peeked into the room again. The three men were looking around, trying to discover the source of the noise. Stone pushed slowly back through the shrubbery, and as he did he was hit from all sides by water. Half blinded, Stone blundered through the flowerbed to the grass, but got no relief from the continuous spray. It must be on a timer, he thought, and the sprinkler heads were placed to give full coverage. He ran to the corner of the house, and as he turned it, lights came on-bright lights, floodlights, activated by a motion sensor, most likely. There was probably a silent alarm, too. There was nothing for it but to run.

The floodlights revealed a tall wrought-iron fence at the rear of the house, and he thought it might be electrified, so the front gate seemed his only chance. He sprinted past the garage and across the lawn, not bothering with the driveway, and as he did, the front lawn sprinklers came on, too. He charged across the grass, grabbed the rake, and started waving it at the gates. Nothing.

Stone looked desperately around for a sensor and saw a small box on a foot-high steel pole. He waved the rake at it and, finally, the front gates started to open; he threw away the rake and ran into the street, legs pumping. The police were going to arrive any second, he reckoned, so it was no time for a stroll. He made the corner, turned it and ran up the block, looking for the car. It was gone. Through some trees to his right he saw a car wearing flashing lights turning a corner. He crossed the road and dived through a hedge, hitting the ground on all fours, then flattened himself on the grass as the car sped past. He caught sight of a car door that proclaimed the vehicle to be from the Bel-Air Security Patrol. The car turned the corner toward Vance’s house, and Stone broke back through the hedge. Somewhere behind him a dog-avery large dog, from the sound of him-had begun to bark. He stood in the street, soaking wet, grass-stained, and completely exposed, and tried to think what to do next.

As he thought, another car turned the corner to his right, and Stone was about to plunge through the hedge again when he realized the approaching headlights were a familiar oval shape. He ran at the car, hoping to God it was not somebody else’s E-class Mercedes, and waved it down. Shielding his eyes from the headlights, he could see Barbara behind the wheel. He flung himself into the passenger side.

“Get out of here!” he said. “Take a left at the corner!”

“Stone, what happened?” she asked. “You’re dripping wet.”

The car had not moved.

“Barbara,” Stone said as quietly and as slowly as he could, “Please drive away and make a left. Do itright now. ”

“Oh, all right,” she said, and she drove slowly away.

“Faster,” he said.

“How fast?”

“Faster than this!” he hissed.

“Maybe you’d better drive,” she said.

“Stop the car.” He got out, ran around the car, and, when she had settled herself in the passenger seat, smoothed her skirt, fastened her seatbelt, and closed the door, roared off into the Bel-Air night.

“Stone,” she said.

“What?”

“I didn’t get to see Vance’s house.”

39

Stone paced up and down the living room of his suite, trying to think. It was mid-morning, and the California sun streamed through the sliding glass doors to the terrace. Barbara was sitting up in bed, picking at her breakfast and watching Regis and Kathie Lee. The doorbell rang; Stone opened it and found the valet standing there, holding his cleaned clothes.

“Morning, Mr. Barrington,” the man said. “I think we did pretty good with these things.”

“Thanks very much,” Stone said, tipping the man and taking the clothing.

“You sure are hard on your clothes,” the man said. “But at least the second one was fresh water instead of salt.”

Stone hung up the clothes, closed the doors to the bedroom, picked up the phone, and dialed Rick Grant’s number.

“Lieutenant Grant.”

“Rick, it’s Stone.”

“You all right?”

“Yes.”

“I was worried when I didn’t hear from you yesterday.”

“Anything new?”

“Nothing; Mancuso is out on bail, and we haven’t found Manny yet. Oh, somebody spotted Mrs. Calder’s car on Sunset in Beverly Hills last night about ten, but I didn’t hear about it until this morning.”

“That was me; I was returning the car to Calder.”

“What did he have to say?”

“I didn’t get to talk to him,” Stone said. “I just left the car in the garage.”

“It must be driving him nuts, wondering how it got there.”

“I hope so. Anyway, you can take the car off the patrol list.”

“Okay. What else can I do for you?”

“Listen, Rick, I’ve got a big favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve got to get rid of a girl.”

Rick was instantly wary. “What do you mean, ‘get rid of’?”

“I mean find her a safe place to stay. She’s Martin Barone’s girlfriend; I got her packed up and off his boat, and she stayed the night with me at the Beverly Hills, but I’ve got to get her out of here; she’s driving me nuts. Do you maybe know some nice police-woman who could take her off my hands for a few days?”

“What does she look like?”

“Tall, brunette, gorgeous.”

“I know a nice policemanwho could, maybe, take her off your hands for a few days. My boy’s away at college, so there’s a room at my place.”

“What about your wife?”

“Divorced eight years ago.”

“Where can we meet?”

They met at Rick’s house in Santa Monica.

“But I don’t understand,” Barbara said as they pulled up. “Why can’t I stay at the Beverly Hills with you?”

“Because it’s too dangerous,” Stone said, getting her luggage from the trunk. “I’m moving out, too, remember.”

“Where are you moving to?”

“I don’t know yet,” he lied. “I’ve got to find a place.”

“Why don’t we just move to another hotel, then?”

“I have too much to do, Barbara; I can’t take care of you.”

“So how’s your friend going to take care of me?”

“You’ll be safe with him; he’s a cop.”

“Acop?” she said, as if she were being asked to move in with a criminal.

“A very important detective, high up in the LAPD. Nobody will touch you if you’re staying at his house.”

“Oh,” she said.

Stone rang the bell, and Rick appeared at the door.

“Come on in, both of you.”

“Barbara, this is Lieutenant Richard Grant.”

“Call me Rick,” he said, shaking her hand and looking her up and down in a distinctly approving manner.

“Hi, Rick,” she said, smiling brilliantly. “I’m Barbara Tierney.”

“What a lovely name,” he said.

“Look, I’ve got to get moving, so I’ll leave you two alone,” Stone said.

Rick followed him out the door. “She’s amazing,” he said.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’m moving back to the Bel-Air. They’ve got a suite for me that’s at the top end of the hotel, so I can park outside and stay away from the bar and restaurant, where I might run into somebody I don’t want to see.”