Part 30 (1/2)
”Oh, I think I could win it,” Marc replied c.o.c.kily.
”Probably, but I don't want to take the chance, and I don't want Arrington to have to live with half the world thinking she murdered her husband.”
”We'll go for the motion to dismiss, when I'm ready,” Marc said, ”and we'll play it big in the press, sow some doubt amongst the jury pool. Even if we lose, we can do ourselves some good.”
”Let's don't lose,” Stone said.
A Latino in a white jacket came out of the house. ”Dinner is served, whenever you're ready, Mr. Blumberg.”
”Thank you, Pedro,” Marc said. ”We'll be right in.”
”May I use a phone?” Stone asked.
”Sure; go into my study, first door on your left.” Marc pointed the way.
Stone went into the study, closed the door behind him, and picked up the phone on the desk. He checked his notebook and dialed the number for Brandy Garcia.
”Buenos dias,” Garcia's voice said. ”Leave me a message, okay?” There was a beep. Garcia's voice said. ”Leave me a message, okay?” There was a beep.
”Give your friend in Tijuana a message,” Stone said. ”Tell him there's a warrant out for him. Tell him to go where even you you can't find him.” He hung up the phone and went in to dinner. can't find him.” He hung up the phone and went in to dinner.
Vanessa was sitting at a small table alone. She patted a chair next to her.
Stone was relieved that she had put on a sweater. He sat down. ”Where's Marc?”
”He's down in the wine cellar, getting us something to drink.”
Marc returned with a bottle of claret, opened it, tasted it, poured them each a gla.s.s, and sat down. He raised his gla.s.s. ”To motions to dismiss,” he said, ”and to Vanessa.”
”I'll drink to both,” Stone said, raising his gla.s.s.
Thirty-seven.
WHEN STONE CAME DOWN TO BREAKFAST, MARC WAS just finis.h.i.+ng 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 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 b.a.l.l.s; 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?”