Stone Barrington 06-11

claret, opened it, tasted it, poured them each a glass, and sat down. He raised his glass. “To motions to dismiss,” he said, “and to Vanessa.”
    “I’ll drink to both,” Stone said, raising his glass.

Thirty-seven

    W HEN STONE CAME DOWN TO BREAKFAST, MARC WAS just finishing his coffee. Stone took a seat, and Pedro came and took his order for bacon and eggs.
    “Sleep well?” Marc asked.
    “Probably better than you did,” Stone replied, trying not to smirk. “Where’s Vanessa?”
    “Still asleep. Tired.” Marc smirked.
    “I see.”
    “You should give Vanessa a call sometime,” Marc said. “There’s nothing serious between the two of us, and she’s really a very nice girl.”
    “It’s a thought,” Stone said noncommitally.
    “I wouldn’t like to see you all alone in L.A. Might affect your work on the case, that sort of frustration. And since Arrington is off limits …”
    “You’re too kind, Marc.”
    “I certainly am.”
    “Listen, Marc, I was thinking last night: Instead of making an announcement to the press about Cordova, why don’t you just leak it a little at a time. Do you know a reporter you can trust not to reveal his sources?”
    “You have a point: If the press gets wind of a suspect that the police have ignored, then the cops will look bad, and we won’t appear to have had anything to do with it. I like it, and I know just the reporter at the L.A. Times .”
    “Our judge, whoever he turns out to be, will probably hear about it, too, and when we demonstrate in court that the rumors of another suspect are true …”
    “That is delightfully Machiavellian, Stone,” Marc said. “You surprise me.”
    Stone didn’t know how to reply to that. His breakfast arrived, and he enjoyed it, while Blumberg talked about golf in Palm Springs.
    “You play? I’ll give you a game this morning.”
    “I’ve hit a few balls; that’s about it.”
    “You should take some lessons; that’s how to get started.”
    “Golf in Manhattan is tough,” Stone said. “I think you pretty much have to drive to Westchester, and that’s if you can get into a club.”
    “Why do I have the feeling you aren’t telling me the truth about Felipe Cordova?” Marc asked, suddenly changing the subject.
    “I don’t know, Marc,” Stone replied, surprised. “Why do you feel that way?”
    “You think Cordova didn’t kill Vance, don’t you?”
    “He told a very convincing story.”
    “But you want the LAPD and the D.A. and a judge to think he did it.”
    “Just that he’s a viable suspect, and the cops have ignored him. Shows a lack of good faith on their part.”
    “Let me ask you this: What happens if I get the charges against Arrington dismissed, then the cops find Cordova?”
    “I don’t think we’ll ever see Cordova again; he’s too scared.”
    “You said he denied everything, and you didn’t contradict him by telling him about the shoeprint at Vance’s house.”
    “That’s right.”
    “So what happens to his story when the cops tell him about the shoeprint?”
    “First, they have to find him; he’s in Mexico, probably not in Tijuana anymore. You know the problems with finding somebody down there, not to mention the difficulties of getting a suspect extradited.”
    “I’m talking worst case, here, Stone; I have to protect myself. If, by some miracle, the cops find Cordova in Mexico, or, more likely, he comes back to this country and gets arrested for speeding, or something. I have to know what he’s going to say.”
    “My guess is, he’ll try to implicate Arrington. He knows about the murder, knows she’s been charged. He’ll do everything he can to see that she takes the fall. That’s my guess.”
    “I suppose that makes sense,” Marc said. “You know, I’ve tried a lot of cases in my time, and a lot of them murders, too, but I don’t think I’ve ever tried one where my second chair was in love with the defendant.”
    Stone kept eating his eggs.
    “You’re a bright guy, Stone, and I suspect a very good lawyer, so I’m going to rely on you not to do anything that will get me hung.”
    “I would never do anything like that,” Stone replied truthfully.
    “I can see how you might not want to tell me everything you know, to save Arrington’s very beautiful ass, how you might even lie to me. That’s okay, as long as it doesn’t interfere with how I handle my case, and as long as it doesn’t get me disbarred or damage my credibility with the D.A. and the