Stone Barrington 06-11

either,” Blumberg replied, “but I do believe that someone might say she did.”
    “Any idea who?”
    “Not yet. I think it’s time for me to call the D.A. and express our desire to cooperate, offer to let them question Arrington.”
    “They’re not going to like what she has to say. She still has a memory gap from the day before the killing until she woke up in the clinic. They’re probably going to want a polygraph, too.”
    “I’ll have the usual reasons for not cooperating on that, plus there’s the memory loss; she can’t lie about what she can’t remember.”
    “They’d want to ask her if she can remember,” Stone said. “If she says she can’t, and the needle jumps, they’ll be all over her.”
    “I think we should consider doing a polygraph of our own,” Blumberg said.
    “And leak it to the press?”
    “Right.”
    “Couldn’t hurt.”
    “Where is she now?”
    “At the Malibu house; I’m with her.” Stone gave him the phone number.
    “Have any funeral arrangements been made yet?”
    “Lou Regenstein is handling that; he plans to do it on a sound stage at the studio.”
    “Good idea; that’ll keep the public at arm’s length. Stone, I think they’re going to arrest Arrington, but I think I can hold them off, until after the funeral.”
    “What do you think the charge will be?”
    “If they have faith in their witness, it could be murder one.”
    “Shit,” Stone said. “And that will mean no bail. I don’t want to see her in jail for weeks or months, waiting for a trial.”
    “Neither do I,” Blumberg said. “There’s an outside chance that I could get house arrest, under police guard, with high bail. Can she raise it?”
    “How high are we talking about?”
    “At least a million; maybe as high as ten million.”
    “I’ll have to talk to Vance’s lawyer and financial people about that,” Stone said. “I’ve been putting it off, hoping the situation would be resolved. There are two big insurance policies, but they’re not going to pay if Arrington is arrested.”
    “Is she the beneficiary?”
    “No, the estate is, but she’s the principal heir.”
    “If the estate is the beneficiary, the insurance company has to pay; no way around it for them. But, of course, there’s a law against a murderer profiting from his crime, so probate would be another story. However, we could offer to sign over Arrington’s interest in the estate to secure a high bail; a judge might go for it, because until she’s convicted, she’s innocent.”
    “Any precedent for that?”
    “I’ll get somebody researching; we’ll do a brief.”
    “Good; I’ll get on to the Calders’ financial people and see how liquid she is.”
    “Okay. If the police show up there and want to arrest Arrington or take her in for questioning, tell them her doctor has ordered her to bed and to call their captain or the D.A. before proceeding.”
    “Right.” Stone said good-bye and hung up. Immediately, the phone rang. “Hello?”
    “Stone, it’s Betty; Manolo just called and said the police are at the Bel-Air house with a search warrant, tearing the place apart.”
    “Call him back and tell him not to impede them in any way,” Stone replied. “I’ll call him later.”
    “All right. Anything else?”
    “Did Vance have a principal financial adviser?”
    “He pretty much managed his own affairs,” she replied, “but the person who would have the greatest grasp of his affairs is Marvin Kitman, his accountant. His lawyer is Bradford Crane.”
    Stone jotted down both numbers. “Call both of them, and tell them I’m handling Arrington’s affairs. There’s a power of attorney in Vance’s office desk, giving me full authority; fax that to both of them.”
    “All right. Are you still out of touch, if the police call again?”
    “I am. I’ll talk to you later.” Stone hung up to see Arrington coming down the stairs. She was wearing a thin, silk dressing gown, and judging from the way she was lit from behind by a large window on the stair landing, nothing else.
    “Ah, that’s better,” she said, heading for the bar. “Can I fix you a drink?”
    “It’s a little early for me, and for you, too. Come and sit down, Arrington; we have to talk.”
    “I’m having a Virgin Mary,” she said, pouring tomato cocktail over ice, “or, as Vance used to call it when he was dieting, a ‘bloody awful.’” She came and sat down beside him on the sofa, drawing a leg under her, exposing an