Stone Barrington 06-11

you.”
    “Please do.”
    “They found a good footprint outside the French doors leading to the pool. A Nike, size twelve.”
    “That’s interesting.”
    “The guy had walked through some sprinkler-dampened dirt, or something; there was only one good one, but they got a photograph of it.”
    “I learned something else,” Stone said.
    “Tell me.”
    “There was a Mexican gardener there, on both the Friday and Saturday, but he left the country Saturday night, went back to Tijuana, so he couldn’t have been questioned by Durkee and Bryant.”
    “That’s very interesting,” Rick admitted.
    “What’s more, another customer of the same gardening service caught the guy in her living room, once. She thought he would have stolen something, left to his own devices.”
    “Pretty good; now you’ve got another suspect. That should take some of the heat off Arrington.”
    “It will, if Durkee and Bryant investigate—find the guy and bring him back.”
    “I wouldn’t count on that,” Rick said. “Getting somebody back from the Mexicans almost never happens. Unless he comes back across the border voluntarily, well, you’re not going to see him. Do you know his name?”
    “Felipe Cordova, and he’s from Tijuana. Had you heard about this guy from your people?”
    “No, and that’s puzzling; I’ll check into it. I’ll pass this on to Durkee, and we’ll see what happens.”
    “I’ll tell you what I think, Rick: I think Durkee and Bryant, and now the D.A., have the hots for Arrington as a suspect, and they don’t want to know anything that points to anybody else.”
    “Could be,” Rick admitted. “Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.”
    “Happens all the time,” Stone said. “In New York, and everywhere else. The path of least resistance, never mind who really did it; nail somebody .”
    “We’ve all seen that.”
    “And the high profile of this case has got them salivating for a high-profile perp.”
    “Could be.”
    “I think it’s the O.J. thing,” Stone said. “They lost that one, and now they want a big conviction to salvage their reputations.”
    “Possibly.”
    “Will you let me know what you hear about the Mexican gardener?”
    “I’ll do that.”
    “Talk to you later,” Stone said into the phone, and hung up. He walked into Betty’s office, but she was not at her desk. He felt the need for a shower and went into the bedroom. He undressed and stretched out on the bed, thinking to relax for a few minutes. Then Betty came out of the bathroom, and she was naked.
    “Oh!” she said. “Sorry, I thought you’d be on the phone for a while.”
    “It’s okay, Betty,” he said, getting up. “It’s not the first time we’ve seen each other in the buff.”
    She walked over and put her arms around him. “I just want to see if this feels as good as I remember. It does.”
    “It certainly does,” Stone agreed. Then, before he could get into trouble, he held her off a few inches. “If I’m not careful, you’ll seduce me,” he said.
    Betty laughed.
    Then there was a blinding flash of light, followed by another. Stone and Betty both turned toward the door, astonished. The flash came again, then there was the sound of running feet leaving the cottage.
    Stone blinked, trying to regain his vision.
    “What the hell was that?” Betty cried.
    “I don’t know; what’s the number for the main gate?”
    Betty dialed the number and handed the phone to Stone.
    “Main gate,” the guard said.
    “This is Stone Barrington; we’ve had an intruder in Mr. Calder’s bungalow. Who’s come in this morning?”
    “In the last half hour, only Mrs. Barrington,” the man replied.
    “There is no Mrs. Barrington! ” Stone yelled. “Don’t let her in here again!” He hung up and turned to Betty. “I’m sorry, it was Dolce; I didn’t even know she was still in town.”
    “Well,” Betty said, “ask her if I can have a set of prints.”
    “That would be funny, if I weren’t so pissed off.”
    “Where were we?” Betty asked.
    But Stone was already dressing.
    “Where are you going?”
    “I’m going to put a stop to this thing with Dolce.”
    “And how are you going to do that?”
    “I’ll talk to her.”
    “Lotsa luck,” Betty said. “Looks to me as though you’re past talking.”

Twenty-seven

    S TONE PARKED VANCE CALDER’S MERCEDES IN THE upper parking lot of the Bel-Air Hotel and walked quickly to Dolce’s suite. He was going to have to have this out with