Swimming to Catalina

watchfully back to Betty’s house, parked the car, retrieved his luggage, and drove away.
    Shortly he was back at the Beverly Hills car rental company. “Hi,” he said to the young man behind the desk, “I’m bringing back the SL500; I’d like another car, please.”
    “Something wrong with the Mercedes?”
    “I’d like something a little less conspicuous.”
    “In Beverly Hills, there’s nothing less conspicuous than an SL50O.”
    “Good point, but what about a nice sedan?”
    “Let’s take a look,” the young man said, leading the way to a row of glittering cars.
    “That,” Stone said, pointing. It was a Mercedes, the E-class sedan, metallic green, a nice neutral color.
    “The E430? Great car; it has the V8 engine.”
    “That will do nicely.”
    Stone signed the new paperwork and transferredhis luggage to the new car, then noticed the name of the rental agency next to his license plate. He dug a hundred-dollar bill from his stash and approached the desk again. “It’s just possible that somebody might come around asking about me,” he said, pushing the bill across the counter. “If that happens, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell them that I turned in the car this morning and that you drove me to the airport.”
    “You bet,” the young man said, pocketing the hundred. “Which airline?”
    “What flies to New York?”
    “United; there’s a flight leaving about now.”
    “Tell them I took that, okay?”
    “Absolutely. When are you bringing the E430 back?”
    “A few days.”
    “And where are you staying?”
    “With friends; I’m not sure which ones yet.”
    “Anything you say, Mr. Barrington; enjoy the car.”
    Stone consulted his map and drove to Le Parc, the hotel Betty had recommended. At the front desk he asked for a suite.
    “For how long, Sir?”
    “Two or three days, maybe longer.”
    “We can do that. Your name?”
    “Jack Smith.”
    “May I have a credit card, Mr. Smith?”
    “How about if I leave a cash deposit?”
    “That will be fine; we’ll need fifteen hundred dollars.”
    Stone counted out the money, in hundreds.
    The desk clerk rang for a bellman, and shortly Stone was in a comfortable suite, complete with kitchenette. It wasn’t the Bel-Air, but it was nice. He unpacked, then phoned police headquarters.

    “Lieutenant Grant,” Rick’s voice said.
    “It’s Jack Smith,” Stone replied.
    “Hi, Jack; what can I do for you?”
    “I need the office and home addresses and phone numbers of Louis Regenstein, David Sturmack, and Onofrio Ippolito.”
    “Can I call you back?”
    “Yeah, I’m at a hotel called Le Parc, in West Hollywood, registered as the unforgettable Jack Smith, and keep it to yourself.” He gave him the address and number.
    “Yeah, I know the place; I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
    “Thanks.” Stone hung up and rummaged in his kitchenette for breakfast. He found some croissants and orange juice, and he made himself some coffee. The phone rang.
    “Jack?”
    “Yeah, Rick.”
    “I’m on a pay phone now. Here we go: Regenstein is at Centurion Studios; Ippolito is in an office building over the main branch of Safe Harbor, downtown, and Sturmack has an office in the same building.” He gave Stone the addresses, plus the home addresses and numbers. “The home numbers for all three are unlisted, so don’t let anybody know where you got them.”
    “Thanks, Rick; you free for dinner later? I’m buying.”
    “Sure.”
    “Someplace not too Hollywood.”
    Grant gave him the name of a Greek restaurant on Melrose. “It’s good, but you won’t run into anybody in the movie business.”
    “Sounds perfect. Eight o’clock?”

    “Make it seven.”
    “See you then.” Stone hung up and called his secretary in New York.
    “Hi, Alma, how’s it going?”
    “Not bad.” She gave him a few phone messages.
    “I’ve got a new address, or you can reach me on my portable.” He gave her the name of the hotel and the number. “You can give that to Dino or Bill Eggers, but not to anybody else. I’m registered as Jack Smith. If I get any calls, especially from Vance Calder, say that you’re expecting me back in New York tonight, and I’ll return the calls then.”
    “Got it.”
    Stone finished his breakfast, then went down to the garage and got his new car. His pocket phone rang.
    “Hello?”
    “It’s Alma; Vance Calder called, asked that you call him at home as soon as you get home.”
    “Got it. Anything