Cold Paradise

20

Stone had a late breakfast the following morning and was finishing his coffee, when Juanito came aboard from the house with a Federal Express package for Stone. He ripped it open.

Joan wrote in a note: “Bob Berman brought this by for you. He said you’d know what it is.”

Stone lifted a four-inch-thick stack of computer paper out of the box and looked at the first page. It was a computerized registration form for the Brooke Hotel in Manhattan. The fanfold paper opened to reveal what appeared to be the entire guest list for the Brooke on the previous Friday.

Liz came on deck looking fresh and new in a short linen dress. “Good morning,” she said. “What’s that?”

“I had some phone calls from a Manhattan hotel last week; fellow asked for me and wouldn’t leave a number.”

“You think it might have been Paul?”

“Maybe. It would be a big help if you would go through these registration forms and see if any of the names seems familiar to you-not just people you know, but names that Paul might have chosen for a new identity.”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to.”

“When you’ve done that, I’d like you to take a ride with me.”

“Where?”

“I met a man last night who could possibly be Paul, but I couldn’t be sure. The nose was different, as you said, and that seemed to change everything. Anyway, I haven’t seen him for some years, and I’m not sure how good I’d be at identifying him. I’d like to see if we can spot him around his hotel and let you get a look at him.”

“Okay, and I can tell you that when I saw him in Easthampton he looked very different from his old self. I spotted him as much by his walk and his body language as by his appearance.”

“What sort of hair did he have?”

“His natural dark, going gray; that hadn’t changed.”

“How long?”

“Not too long; longer than yours, though.”

“Does the name Paul Bartlett ring any bells?”

“Just the Paul. But if Paul were hiding out, I don’t think he’d use his real first name. He’s a lot smarter than that.”

“Sit down, and let’s go through this hotel list together.”

“Okay. Can I have some coffee first?”

Stone rang for Juanito and ordered the coffee, then they started through the stack of fanfold paper. They had gone through only a dozen or so names when Liz stopped. “Garland,” she said. “Donald Garland.”

“Familiar?”

“Garland was Paul’s mother’s maiden name. Donald was his father’s first name.”

“Do you know how to contact them? Maybe he’s been in touch.”

“Both dead,” Liz said.

“Mr. Garland is from San Francisco,” Stone read from the document. “Says here he’s with Golden Gate Publishing, and he lives in Pacific Heights. When it’s opening time out there, I’ll check him out.”

They continued to read through the list for a while, then Juanito appeared with the telephone. “For you, Mr. Barrington.”

“Yes?”

“It’s Dan Griggs.”

“Morning, Dan. I expect Dave Riley briefed you on last night’s events.”

“Yes, and we’ve checked out Mr. Bartlett. He’s from Minneapolis, as he said, and he did sell his design firm last year.”

“Oh,” Stone said. “I guess that lets him out.”

“Not necessarily,” Griggs said. “He had owned the firm for only two years when he sold it, and I haven’t been able to find out anything about him before that, which is unusual.”

“I thought I’d take Mrs. Harding over to his hotel this morning and see if we can spot him. She thinks she can identify Paul Manning.”

“It’s a nice thought, but he checked out this morning; said he was going back to Minneapolis on business.”

“He doesn’t have a business,” Stone pointed out.

“I’m checking with the airlines to see if he was on any outbound flight this morning,” Griggs said. “I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Stone said and hung up.

Liz was still going through the guest list. “I haven’t come across anything else yet,” she said.

“Paul Bartlett has checked out of his hotel,” Stone said. “Said he was returning to Minneapolis on business. Did Paul Manning have any connection with Minneapolis?”

“No, but he wouldn’t have settled in a place where anybody knew him.”

“How recognizable would he have been to his readers? Did he do a lot of book signings? Have his photograph on the book jackets?”

“The only photograph of Paul that ever appeared on a book jacket or in a press release from his publishers would have been one taken when he was very heavy and had a full beard. He would be completely unrecognizable to any reader now.”

“Bartlett recently sold a graphic design business. Did Paul have any design inclinations?”

“He was a fine arts major at Syracuse,” Liz said. “He drew and painted quite well.”

“Did he take any design courses? Anything that would give him the skills he would need for graphic design?”

“I don’t really know,” she said. “He didn’t talk about college all that much.”

Callie appeared on deck. “What are you two doing?” she asked.

Stone explained the stack of paper.

“And how did you get the guest list of a New York hotel?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Juanito came back with the phone for Stone.

“Hello.”

“It’s Dan Griggs. Paul Bartlett didn’t take any flight out this morning, and he didn’t charter any aircraft on the field, but he did turn in his rental car at Hertz, at the airport.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Stone said. “Why would he drive to the airport and turn in his car, then not fly out? How would he leave the airport without transportation?”

“I’ll check the local cab companies and see if a driver picked up anyone answering his description,” Griggs said.

“You might check if he rented a car from another company, too, and if so, what kind and what license number. Might be nice to get his driver’s license info from Hertz, too.”

“I got that. It lists a Minneapolis address.”

“Issued when?”

“Two years, three months ago.”

“Can you check with the Minnesota motor vehicle department and find out if it was a renewal or a new license, and if he turned in a license from another state?”

“Sure, that’s pretty easy.”

“Oh, and what’s his date of birth on the license?”

Griggs told him, and he repeated it to Liz.

“Eighteen months younger than Paul,” she said.

“Keep me posted,” Stone said to Griggs, and hung up.

Liz was still going through the hotel list.

“Anything at all?” Stone asked.

“Just Garland so far," she said. ”Pity the hotel doesn’t photograph its guests.“

“I’ll bet it won’t be long before they start that,” Stone said. “That’ll make it easier to track fugitives.”

“And errant husbands,” Liz said. “I wonder if there’s a Mrs. Bartlett.”

“He said she died last year.”

“Might be interesting to check with the Minneapolis police department and find out if that’s true and, if so, how she died,” Liz said.

“You know something, Mrs. Harding,” Stone said. “You’d make a good cop.” He picked up the phone and called Dan Griggs.

“It’s Stone. Bartlett said his wife died last year. Can you check with the Minneapolis PD and see if there was foul play suspected?”

“Sure can do that,” Griggs said. “Bartlett’s driver’s license was issued after a driving test, not swapped for another state’s.”

“Now that’s really interesting,” Stone said. “How many middle-aged men take driving tests?”

“Only those who learned to drive late in life, and that’s not likely- and those who haven’t driven for a long time or who’ve been out of the country long enough for their licenses to expire.”

“And people who need new identities.”

“Right. Something else: I talked with the Hertz clerk at the airport, and she said Bartlett was picked up by somebody in a BMW. She could see the curb from her desk.”

“So he could still be in town.”

“Or on a road trip.”

“Yeah. Dan, could you check with an outfit called Golden Gate Publishing in San Francisco and find out if their employee Donald Garland matches Bartlett’s description?”

“Okay. They open in an hour out there. How’d you get onto this Garland?”

“You’d rather not know, but there’s an outside chance he could be Manning.”

“I’ll get somebody on it.”

“Thanks.” Stone hung up and gazed across Lake Worth.

“What?” Liz asked.

“Somebody picked up Bartlett at the airport. I wonder why.”

Callie was leafing through the hotel guest list.

“Callie? Where do the Wilkeses live?”

“On North County Road.”

“Let’s go see them.”