Stone Barrington 06-11

living room and out onto a patio.
    “Ask him yourself,” Garcia said, nodding toward a large man seated at a patio table next to a small swimming pool, hunched over a beer. “That’s Felipe Cordova, and you owe me another three grand.”
    Stone handed him the money, then walked to the table and took a seat opposite the man, getting a look at his shoes on the way. He saw the swoosh logo. “Felipe Cordova?”
    The man nodded.
    Stone offered his hand. “My name is Barrington.”
    Cordova shook it limply, saying nothing.
    “You have any problem with English, or you want Brandy to translate?”
    Cordova looked at Garcia, who was stepping back into the house, and Stone took the opportunity to switch on the little recorder in his shirt pocket.
    “English is okay,” he said, “but I got another problem—a thousand bucks.”
    Stone counted out five hundred and placed it on the table. “The rest when we’re finished, and if you tell me the truth, there might be a bonus.”
    “What you want to know?” Cordova asked.
    “You work for a gardening service in L.A.?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You work sometimes for Charlene Joiner, in Malibu?”
    Cordova smiled a little. “Oh, yeah.”
    “You work for Mr. and Mrs. Calder, in Bel-Air?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You were at their house the day Mr. Calder was shot.” It wasn’t a question.
    “I don’t know nothing about that,” Cordova said.
    “Thanks for your time,” Stone said. “You can leave.”
    Cordova didn’t move. “What about my other five hundred?”
    “If you want that, you’ll have to start earning it,” Stone said.
    Cordova glared at him for a moment. “I didn’t cut the grass that day.”
    “No, you were there to burgle the place.”
    Cordova chuckled. “Shit, man,” he said.
    “I’m not here to arrest you; I think you know the cops aren’t going to find you here. They’re not even looking for you.”
    “What makes you think I’m a burglar?” Cordova asked.
    “Those Nikes you’re wearing cost a hundred and eighty bucks,” Stone said. “You didn’t buy them cutting grass.”
    “Shit, man …”
    Stone slammed his hand on the table. “Shit is right,” he said. “That’s all I’m getting from you.”
    “Okay, okay, so what do you want to know?”
    “Did Calder catch you in the house?”
    “I never got into the house,” Cordova replied.
    “You were right outside the door; you were seen,” Stone lied.
    “By who?”
    “By Manolo’s wife; you didn’t see her.”
    “Then you know I didn’t get in the house. I only got as far as the back door. I went in through a little gate where we take the equipment in.”
    “And what did you see at the back door?”
    “First, I heard something.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like a gun going off.”
    “How many times?”
    “Once. I was almost to the back door when I heard it. I took a few more steps, and I looked through the door. It was a glass door, you know? With panes?”
    “I know. What did you see?”
    “I saw Mr. Calder lying on the floor in the hall, and blood was coming out of his head.”
    “What else did you see?”
    “I saw the gun on the floor beside Mr. Calder.”
    “What kind of gun?”
    “An automatic; I don’t know what kind.”
    “What color?”
    “Silver.”
    “What else did you see?”
    “I saw a woman running down the hall.”
    Stone’s stomach suddenly felt hollow, and he couldn’t speak.
    Cordova went on. “She was wearing one of them robes made out of that towel stuff.” He rubbed his fingers together.
    “Terrycloth?”
    “Yeah. It had this …” He moved his hands around his head.
    “Hood?”
    “Yeah, a hood. She was barefoot; I don’t think she had nothing on, except the robe.”
    “Could you see her body?”
    “No, just her feet.”
    “Did you see her face?” Stone held his breath.
    “No.”
    Stone let out the breath.
    “But it was Mrs. Calder.”
    Stone’s stomach flip-flopped. “If you didn’t see her face, how do you know it was Mrs. Calder?”
    “C’mon, man, who else would it be, naked and in a robe in the Calders’ house?”
    “But you didn’t see her face.”
    “No, but it was her. Same size and everything; same ass, you know?”
    “Which way was she running?”
    “Away from me—that’s all I know, man; I got the hell out of there, you know? I was over that fence and out of there in a big hurry.”
    Stone took him through it again, made him repeat every statement, but nothing changed. Finally, there was nothing else to