Stone Barrington 27 - Doing Hard Time

soon as they had hung up, he went to the secretary’s desk.
    “Have you got a phone number for Mr. Majorov?” he asked.
    “He’s at the New Desert Inn, in Las Vegas.” She wrote down the number for him.
    “Have you ever met Mr. Majorov?”
    “No,” she replied. “I’ve talked with him on the phone several times, though. He was very businesslike, no charm.”
    “Would you like to call him and tell him what’s happened?”
    “I think you should do that,” she said. “You’re management, I’m just a secretary.”
    The young man went back to Igor’s desk, called the number, and asked for Majorov.
    “Yes?”
    “Mr. Majorov?”
    “Yes?”
    “This is Todd German, in Phoenix. I work for Igor Smolensky.”
    “Yes, Mr. German, what is it?”
    “We just got a call from the Los Angeles Police. Igor has been found dead, in the trunk of his car.”
    After a brief silence, Majorov asked for an account of his conversation with the police. Todd told him everything he had said.
    “Did they ask about someone called Billy Burnett?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Did you mention that name to them?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Then they don’t know that Igor was looking for him?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Do you have any information on the whereabouts of Burnett?”
    “No, sir. I was watching the FlightAware website, looking for Burnett’s airplane, which seemed to be based at Santa Monica Airport. Igor planted a GPS tracker in the airplane, and I could see that represented on our tracking screen. Then the marker was turned off and turned on again, and it had moved to Igor’s hotel. I think the police must have turned it off, because it isn’t alive anymore. I called the place at the airport where the airplane was kept, and they said he left this morning, headed east.”
    “Call the police back and tell them you’d like to claim the body, then go to Los Angeles and arrange to have it cremated and the ashes disposed of. Igor wasn’t married, was he?”
    “No, sir, I don’t think so.”
    “Did he have a regular girlfriend?”
    “Not that I know of. He worked all the time.”
    “Yes, he was a very hard worker. Go through Igor’s desk and office and remove everything that belonged to him and shred any documents that mention Billy Burnett. Find his desk diary, if he kept one, and his address book. Scrub his office computer clean of any files pertaining to Burnett. If anyone calls the office asking for Igor, they are to be told that he has left the company and you have no forwarding address. When all that is complete, bring the diary and address book and come to Las Vegas. There will be a room reserved for you at the New Desert Inn. We will talk then.” Majorov hung up.
    Todd hung up the phone and buzzed the secretary. “Book me a room for tonight at Shutters, and get me a seat on an airplane to Los Angeles, and tomorrow, to Las Vegas.” He thought for a moment. “First class. Then come in here and help me. Also, get two thousand dollars in cash from the safe.”
    “You’re going to L.A.?”
    “Yes, to claim the body and have it cremated. Then I have to go to Las Vegas and see Mr. Majorov. Do you know of anyone who Igor was attached to that should be notified?”
    “No, I don’t think there was anyone like that,” she said.
    “Anyone who calls should be told that Igor has left the company and we don’t have a forwarding address.”
    Todd hung up the phone. He had the feeling that he had just been promoted in the organization.

Teddy drove to Centurion Studios after lunch and, at the gate, was directed to the parking lot for tour customers. He arrived to find two dozen people boarding a tram pulled by an electric cart, paid for his ticket, and climbed aboard the last car, sitting next to an attractive woman of about forty. The tram departed.
    “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” the driver said over the speaker system, “and welcome to Centurion Studios, one of Hollywood’s last intact movie factories. Some of the buildings you’ll see date to the beginnings of the movie industry, but most were built after the founder of the studio bought this land and created Centurion.”
    The driver continued his spiel as they drove past a row of what appeared to be old-fashioned Los Angeles houses. The driver explained that they were called bungalows and housed dressing rooms for stars and the offices of producers and directors. As they passed one particularly nice example, Teddy saw Peter Barrington’s Porsche