Stone Barrington 06-11

when they question her, though.”
    “Of course, and I will be, too. How about early afternoon?”
    “All right; I’ll prepare her.”
    “I’ll do some preparation, too, before they arrive. I’ll let you know the exact time, after I’ve talked to them.”
    “I’ll wait to hear from you, before I tell Arrington.”
    “I’m working from Mr. Calder’s office at the studio, should you need to reach me.” Stone gave him the number, then hung up. He found the intercom and buzzed Betty.
    “Yes, Stone?”
    “Now get me Detective Sam Durkee at the Brentwood LAPD station.”
    After a short wait, Betty buzzed him, and he picked up the phone. “Detective Durkee?”
    “That’s right.”
    “My name is Stone Barrington; I’m handling the affairs of Mrs. Vance Calder.”
    “I know your name from Rick Grant,” Durkee said. “Rick says you’re an ex-homicide detective.”
    “That’s right; NYPD.”
    “Then you’ll understand what we have to do.”
    “Of course. I’ve just spoken to Mrs. Calder’s doctor, and he says you can interview her this afternoon. How about two o’clock at the Judson Clinic?”
    “That’s good for me; I’ll bring my partner, Ted Bryant.”
    “You have to understand her condition,” Stone said. “She’s been very badly shaken up, and there are some big gaps in her memory.”
    “Oh? How big?”
    “When I spoke with her yesterday, the last thing she could remember was a conversation with her gardener eight days before the homicide. I’ve confirmed the date with her butler.”
    “So, basically, when we question her, she’s going to say she remembers nothing?”
    “Her doctor says she may recover some of her memories, but I can’t promise you anything. For a while, she didn’t remember being married to Calder, but she’s gotten past that, so she may remember even more. I can tell you that she has no hesitation about talking to you; she wants her husband’s murderer caught and prosecuted.”
    “Well, we’ll certainly try to make that wish come true,” Durkee said.
    “There have to be some ground rules: Both her doctor and I will be present at the interview, and if either of us, for any reason, feels she shouldn’t continue, we’ll stop it.”
    “Understood,” Durkee said dryly. “See you at two o’clock.”
    Stone hung up and began to think about this interview. It was crucial, he knew, for Arrington to convince them she was innocent. If she couldn’t do that, her life was going to change even more dramatically than it already had.

Thirteen

    S TONE COULD HAVE SPOTTED THE TWO MEN AS DETECTIVES in any city in the United States. They were both middle-aged, dressed in middling suits that revealed bulges under the left arm to anyone looking for them. Sam Durkee was at least six-four and beefy in build; Stone made him as an ex-athlete. Ted Bryant was shorter, bald, and pudgy. He didn’t expect either of them to be stupid, and his plan was to be as cooperative as humanly possible, without handing them his client on a platter.
    He shook their hands, then led them upstairs to Arrington’s room. She was sitting up in bed wearing cotton pajamas; Dr. Judson was at her bedside. Stone made the introductions, and everybody pulled up a chair.
    Durkee took the lead. “Mrs. Calder,” he said, “first, I want to offer the department’s condolences on your loss.”
    “Thank you,” Arrington said, managing a wan smile.
    “I hope you understand that there are questions we must ask, if we’re to apprehend your husband’s killer; I know this won’t be pleasant, but we’ll keep it as short as we can, and we’d like the fullest answers you can give us.”
    “I’ll do my best,” Arrington replied.
    “What do you recall about the evening your husband was shot?”
    “Absolutely nothing, I’m afraid. I remember going to the hairdresser’s the day before, Friday, but I don’t remember driving home, or anything after that, until I woke up here.”
    A Friday memory was progress, Stone thought.
    “Are you beginning to pick up pieces of your memory?” Bryant asked.
    “It seems so,” she said. “Every day, I remember a little more.”
    “Are you aware that your husband owned a gun?”
    “He told me so, but I never saw it.”
    “Was he the sort of man who would have used a gun to defend his home?”
    “He certainly was; I’m sure that’s why he owned it.”
    “Do you know where he kept the gun?”
    “No.”
    Stone spoke up. “The butler told me that Mr.