Stone Barrington 06-11

said.
    “Would you find the number of the Judson Clinic, which is in Beverly Hills, and ring it?” he asked.
    “Of course; I’ll ring it now.”
    Apparently the hotel knew of the hospital.
    “The Judson Clinic,” a woman’s voice breathed into the phone.
    “My name is Stone Barrington,” he said. “I’m a friend of Mrs. Arrington Calder. Can you connect me with her room, please?”
    “I’m afraid we have no guest by that name or anything like it,” the woman said.
    “In that case, please take my name—Stone Barrington—and tell Mrs. Calder that I’m at the Bel-Air Hotel, when she feels like calling.”
    “Good night,” the woman said, and hung up.
    The bellman arrived with the luggage and the papers. “Shall I unpack anything, Mr. Barrington?” he asked.
    “You can hang up the suits in the large case,” Stone said. The man did as he was asked, Stone tipped him, and he left.
    Stone picked up the papers. Vance had made the lower-right-hand corner of The New York Times front page and the upper-right-hand corner of the Los Angeles Times . The obituary in the L.A. paper took up a whole page. There was nothing in the news report he didn’t already know.
    Stone ordered an omelet from room service and ate it slowly, trying to stay awake, hoping Arrington would call. At eleven o’clock, he gave up and went to bed.
    Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

Seven

    T HE TELEPHONE WOKE STONE. HE CHECKED THE bedside clock: just after nine A.M. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
    “Is this Stone Barrington?”
    “Yes.”
    “This is Dr. James Judson, of the Judson Clinic.”
    “Good morning. How is Arrington?”
    “She’s been asking for you. I’m sorry the woman who answered the telephone last night didn’t know that.”
    “When can I see her?”
    “She’s still sleeping at the moment, but why don’t you come over here around noon? If she isn’t awake by then, I’ll wake her, and the two of you can talk.”
    “What is her condition?”
    “Surprisingly good, but there are complications; we can talk about that when you arrive.” He gave Stone the address.
    “I’ll see you at noon,” Stone said. He hung up, then pressed the button for the concierge and ordered a rental car for eleven-thirty, then he called room service and ordered a large breakfast. While he was waiting for it to arrive, he called Centurion Studios and asked for Lou Regenstein, its chairman.
    “Good morning, executive offices,” a woman’s voice said.
    “Lou Regenstein, please; this is Stone Barrington.”
    “May I ask what this is about?”
    “He’ll know.” Stone had met Regenstein the year before, when he was in Los Angeles on another matter involving Vance and Arrington.
    A moment later, Regenstein was on the line. “Stone, I’m so glad to hear from you; you’ve heard what’s happened, I’m sure.”
    “That’s why I’m here; I got in last evening.”
    “I’ve been going nuts; the police won’t tell me where Arrington is, and the coroner won’t release Vance’s body to a funeral home without her permission.”
    “Arrington is in a hospital; I’m going to see her at noon today.”
    “Is she all right? Was she hurt in the shooting?”
    “She’s fine, from all accounts. I’ll be talking to her doctor, too.”
    “What can I do to help?”
    “Lou, who is the best criminal lawyer in L.A.?”
    “Marc Blumberg, hands down; does Arrington need him?”
    “Yes, if only to contain the situation.”
    “He’s a personal friend of mine; I’ll call him right now. Where can he see Arrington?”
    “I want to see her before she talks to another lawyer,” Stone said. “Tell Blumberg to expect a call from me at some point, and to deny that he’s representing Arrington, if the press should call in the meantime.”
    “All right.” Regenstein gave him Blumberg’s number. “Remember, Stone, Centurion is at Arrington’s disposal—anything she needs; you, too. Look, I’ve had an idea: You’re going to need some place to get things done while you’re here. I’ll make Vance’s bungalow available to you for as long as you need it.”
    “Thank you, Lou; it would be good to have some office facilities.”
    “You remember Vance’s secretary, Betty Southard?”
    Indeed he did; Stone and Betty had spent considerable time together during his last visit to town, much of it in bed. “Of course.”
    “She’s there, holding down the fort; I’ll let her know