Cold Paradise

26

Stone crossed the bridge to the mainland. The heavy rain roiled the Inland Waterway, and his windshield wipers were on full blast. The Rolls-Royce showroom was on the same lot with the BMW dealership, but separate. He put up his borrowed umbrella, strolled into the showroom and began looking at the Rollses and Bentleys, new and used, on the floor. Shortly, a man whose clothes were a cut above those of the average car salesman left his glassed-in office and approached him.

“Good morning. May I answer any questions?”

“Just looking, really. What does the new Bentley sell for?”

“It starts at two hundred fifteen thousand,” the man said. “And there are some options available.”

“Very handsome car,” Stone said. “You just sold one to an acquaintance of mine-yesterday, I believe.”

The salesman wrinkled his brow. “Yesterday? And who would that be?”

“His name is Paul Bartlett.”

“Tall gentleman?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, he came in and had a test drive, but he didn’t buy a car. I believe he went into the BMW showroom next door, though. Perhaps they had something rather more to his liking.”

“Maybe so,” Stone said.

“Would you like to drive a car?”

“On another occasion, perhaps. Thanks for your time.”

“Please come back,” the salesman said.

Stone left and went next door. The BMW showroom was less plush than its neighbor, and the salesmen were lined up along the window at steel desks. One of them leaped up and came toward Stone.

“Hi, there. Can I show you a car?”

“Oh, I’m just window-shopping at the moment. You sold a car to a friend of mine yesterday, though.”

“Oh? Who’s that? We sell cars every day.”

“Paul Bartlett.”

“Oh, yeah. We did the deal on the phone. I picked him up at the airport yesterday. He’s from Minneapolis.”

“That’s the one.”

“Paul got the black 750i, with the V-twelve engine. I’ve got another one on the lot. I could put you in it inside the hour. Why don’t you take a test drive?”

“Oh, I’d just be wasting your time. I’m a couple of weeks away from buying. I just wanted to have a look. Say, where is Paul staying, do you know? He was at the Chesterfield, but he’s checked out.”

“He’s at the Colony. I sent the paperwork over there yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh, yes, the Colony. Say, I don’t mean to cause you any concern, but how did Paul pay for the car?”

“He gave me a cashier’s check on a local bank.” He suddenly looked concerned. “Why? Do you think something might be wrong?”

“Not if he gave you a cashier’s check,” Stone said. “Thanks for your time.” He walked out of the showroom, put up his umbrella and ran back to his car, avoiding the deeper puddles. Well, he thought, Mr. Bartlett has lied about his residence and his car. He is obviously now watching his back. Stone sat in the car and called the Minneapolis police department.

“Ebbe Lundquist, in homicide,” he said to the operator.

“Homicide,” a man’s voice said.

“Ebbe Lundquist, please.”

“Lieutenant Lundquist is out of the office for a few days.”

“Might he have gone to Florida?”

“That’s right. Can someone else help you?”

“No, thanks,” Stone said. He broke the connection and called Dan Griggs.

“Hello?”

“Morning, Dan, it’s Stone Barrington. I believe you talked to a Lieutenant Lundquist yesterday?”

“Right.”

“I think he’s on the way down here.”

“He must have found out something that got him moving,” Griggs said.

“I think he wants to talk to Paul Bartlett,” Stone said. “I’ve learned that Bartlett didn’t buy a Bentley but a black BMW 750i. Also, he’s moved into the Colony Hotel. I think Lundquist might appreciate it if you put a man on him. He seems to be getting slippery.”

“I can do that.”

“Tell him not to crowd the guy. Our friend Mr. Bartlett is getting nervous, and we wouldn’t want him to bail out before Lundquist has a crack at him.”

“I’ll tell my man to work wide. Thanks, Stone.”

“And I’d appreciate a call if there are any developments.”

“Sure. You learn anything about that protocol ten-oh-two thing?”

“I talked to my old partner in New York. His guess is that Bartlett is, or rather was, in the Justice Department’s witness protection program, and that he jumped ship and set up a new identity on his own.”

“That’s an interesting theory,” Griggs said. “Has he got anything to back it up?”

“No, it’s just his hunch, but I think it’s a good one. By the way, he’s coming down here soon, and I’d like for you to meet him. His name is Dino Bacchetti, and he commands the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct.”

“Love to greet him,” Griggs said.

“I’ll bring him by. Take care.” Stone hung up. He pulled into traffic and headed back toward the yacht, and his cell phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Dino said.

Stone could hear a police siren in the background. “Let me guess; you’re on the way to the airport.”

“That’s right,” Dino said. “My flight arrives at two-thirty.” He gave Stone the flight number.

“I’ll meet you. Dino, you’ve got to stop driving around with the siren on. A trip to the airport is not exactly an emergency call.”

“It is if I say it is,” Dino replied. “Traffic is hell on the FDR Drive right now.”

“And the siren helps.”

“You bet your ass it does. How’s the weather down there?”

“Gorgeous,” Stone said, peering through the driving rain at the road ahead, which was barely visible. “I hope you’re bringing a swimsuit.”

“Damn right I am; my golf clubs, too.”

“Great. How about a tennis racket?”

“You know I’m a lousy tennis player.”

“You’re a lousy golfer, too, but you’re bringing your clubs.”

“If that sonofabitch doesn’t get the fuck out of the way, ram him!” Dino shouted, apparently at his driver.

“Have you got another rookie detective at the wheel?”

“So what if I have?”

“Give the kid a break, Dino. He can’t drive over the traffic.”

“My flight leaves in twenty minutes.”

“So what? You’re not going through the airport; you’re going to flash your badge and drive out onto the tarmac, right up to the airplane, aren’t you?”

“You bet your ass, but I’ve still got to move to make it.”

“So call the airline and tell them it’s a police emergency, to hold the flight.”

“Jesus, why didn’t I think of that? Get off the phone!”

“I’ll see you at Palm Beach Airport,” Stone said, and pressed the end button. He laughed aloud at the thought of Dino holding the flight for a police emergency, then arriving at the airplane carrying his golf clubs.

He called the yacht, and Carrie answered.

“Hi. Where are you?”

“On the way back from the Rolls dealer.”

“Find out anything?”

“I’ll tell you later. Have you heard a weather forecast for tomorrow?”

“Rain ends late tonight; sunny all day tomorrow.”

“Thank God. Dino’s arriving this afternoon, with golf clubs. He’d shoot me if he couldn’t play. Can you find us some golf somewhere?”

“Sure. I’ll book a tee time at the Breakers. Ten o’clock okay?”

“Perfect. Dino’s bringing his own clubs. I’ll need to rent some.”

“You can use Thad’s; he won’t mind.”

“Do you play?”

“I’ve got a twelve handicap. What’s yours?”

“We’ll make it a threesome, then,” Stone said, avoiding an answer.

“Well,” she said, laughing, “I’m glad you’re interested in some kind of threesome.”