Stone Barrington 06-11

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.”
    “I don’t want you to feel you’ve wasted my time, Stone,” Thad said. “You were perfectly right to follow that lead, and I’m glad that it came to some good.”
    “But now we’re right back where we started,” Stone said. “Liz, let’s talk about this sighting of Paul Manning in Easthampton.”
    “All right,” she said.
    “Tell me exactly the circumstances under which you saw him.”
    “I was in a shop on Main Street, pointing to something in the window for the saleslady to get for me, and I saw him outside the window.”
    “Did you see his face?”
    “Not entirely, just partly. I caught a glimpse of his nose, which was straight, and that threw me off for a moment. Then, as he was walking away, he did this thing with his shoulders that he used to do.” She demonstrated with a sort of shrug. “As if his jacket weren’t resting comfortably on his shoulders.”
    “I remember his doing that in St. Marks,” Stone said. “What else?”
    “That was it. I waited until he had gone on down the street, then I got into my car, made a U-turn and got out of there. You’re looking at me as though it were my imagination.”
    “No, no,” Stone said. “I believe you. I just wanted the details.”
    “And,” Thad said, “there is the matter of the vandalizing of Liz’s house.”
    “Of course,” Stone said. “I know the threat is real, and I think Paul Manning is just as dangerous as Paul Bartlett was.”
    “So,” Thad said, “where do we go from here?”
    “I’ll have to give that some thought,” Stone said. “I’d feel better if we had some bit of information that would give us a basis for a search.”
    “What sort of information?” Thad asked.
    “Well, for instance, a man made several phone calls to my office and wouldn’t give his name, making my secretary suspicious. Caller ID told us the calls came from a Manhattan hotel.” He pointed to the stack of computer paper that rested on a deck chair nearby. “A friend of mine managed to print out the guest list, and Liz and I went through it carefully. I was hoping a name might ring some sort of bell. One name seemed plausible, but it didn’t work out, and neither of us saw another familiar name on the list.”
    “I did,”