Stone Barrington: The Short Forever Part 28

"Let's go and see it," Throckmorton said, standing up.

Stone went to the concierge's desk, asked for his key, and led the way to the elevator. The four men filled it completely. Stone's mind was racing. When the two men had entered Lance's house, they must have hung their raincoats on the rack with Stone's: When he had left the house, he must have taken the wrong coat. Oh, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t! How was he going to explain this? And if he told Throckmorton everything, how would he explain not having told him earlier about the two corpses in the wine cellar?

The elevator stopped on Stone's floor, and he led them to his suite. He went to a closet, found the raincoat, and handed it to Throckmorton.

The two detectives peered over his shoulder at the two coats, comparing them. "They're nearly identical," one of them said, helpfully. "The linings look the same, too."

"Mmm, yes," Throckmorton agreed. He turned to Stone. "That doesn't explain how the two coats got exchanged," he said.

"I have absolutely no idea," Stone replied. "Perhaps in a checkroom somewhere?"

"Where? Where have you checked this coat?"

"Everywhere I've been," Stone replied. "Downstairs in the cloak room, in restaurants; I've also hung it on racks in pubs, set it down in shops."

"But where could you have taken this dead man's coat?"

"I don't know, it seems likely that he took mine and left his, doesn't it?"

Throckmorton turned to the two detectives. "Wait downstairs," he said. The two men left the room. "Sit down," he said to Stone. Both men took chairs.

"Evelyn . . ."

"It is only because of Lieutenant Bacchetti's recommendation of you that we are not having this conversation in an interrogation room, and that the interrogation is not being conducted by the two men who just left, who would be doing the job far less gently than I."

"I appreciate the consideration," Stone said, "but I have absolutely no idea when and where this exchange of raincoats happened."

"Let me tell you a bit more," Throckmorton said. "The pa.s.sports found on the men were counterfeits. Does that help jog your memory?"

"I know nothing of false pa.s.sports," Stone said.

"Let me see yours."

Stone went to his briefcase, got his pa.s.sport, and handed it over.

Throckmorton examined it closely, then he took two pa.s.sports from his pocket and compared them. "It says here that this pa.s.sport was issued only a few days ago at the American Emba.s.sy in London."

"That's correct; when I arrived in this country, an immigration officer told me that my pa.s.sport was expiring the following day."

"You didn't know that?"

"No. I hadn't used the pa.s.sport for several months; it didn't occur to me to look at the expiration date. I went to the emba.s.sy, as the officer suggested, and got a new one."

"And where is your old one?"

"The pa.s.sport office kept it."

"And I'm keeping yours," Throckmorton said, tucking all three pa.s.sports into his pocket.

"Suppose I have to leave the country?"

"You will not leave the country until I say so," Throckmorton said, rising. "One last time, Stone; is there anything you wish to tell me?"

"No."

"I'll be in touch," Throckmorton said. He walked out of the room, taking both raincoats with him.

Stone sat down heavily and loosened his necktie. "Jesus Christ," he said aloud, "how could I have made such a stupid mistake?" He laid his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

What seemed only a moment later, Stone jerked awake. Had he dozed off? Then he remembered that Arrington was downstairs in the restaurant. He ran to the elevator, b.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt and fixing his necktie; when he reached the ground floor, he tried not to run to the restaurant. From the door he could see that the table was empty.

"Mr. Barrington?" Mister Chevalier said.

"Yes? Where is Mrs. Calder?"

"I'm afraid she left a few minutes ago; she went to the lounge to look for you but could not find you, so she got her coat and left." Chevalier looked at his watch. "You were gone for nearly an hour," he said, with barely noticeable reproach.

"Oh, G.o.d," Stone moaned.

"We have kept your dinner warm," Chevalier said. "Would you still like to have it, or would you prefer to order something else?"

Stone stared at the paneling ahead of him, wondering how he was ever going to fix this.

"Mr. Barrington?"

"Oh. Will you send it to my suite, please?"

"Of course; and Mrs. Calder's dinner?"

"Give it to the cat," Stone said. He turned and trudged disconsolately to the elevator.

Upstairs, he got out the London telephone directory and looked for the amba.s.sador's residence; he found it under U.S. Government and dialed the number.

"Good evening," a young male voice said, "this is the residence of the United States Amba.s.sador." Probably a marine.

"My name is Barrington," Stone said. "May I speak with Mrs. Arrington Calder? She's a guest of the amba.s.sador."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Barrington, Mrs. Calder has asked me not to put any calls through."

"Would you tell her I called, please?" He gave the Connaught's number.

"Of course, sir; good night."

There was a sharp rap on his door, and he went to answer it. His dinner had arrived, and he didn't feel like eating it.

39.

STONE, HAVING LAIN AWAKE UNTIL the middle of the night, slept as if drugged. It was mid-morning before he woke up, and his first move was to call the emba.s.sy residence again and ask for Arrington. There was a long delay, then a woman came on the line.

"Stone?"

"Arrington, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Stone, it's Barbara Wellington."

"I'm sorry, I thought you were Arrington. I've been trying to reach her; she wasn't taking calls last night."

"I know; she came home very hurt and angry last night; she said you had abandoned her in the middle of dinner at the Connaught. What happened?"

"Some people showed up that I absolutely had to see, and-"

"She also said that when she got up to go to the ladies' she saw you kissing another woman in the Connaught lobby, so when you reach her, I don't think you ought to try and pa.s.s that off as business."

"It was business-not the woman-but three men I had to see, and-"

"And when she came back from the ladies' you had disappeared, and the concierge said you had gone up to your suite with a guest."

"With three guests-they insisted. You see-"

"Stone, it's not I you have to convince, so save your strength."

"May I speak to Arrington, please?"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Barbara, please just tell her there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for-"

"Stone, Arrington has gone."

"Gone where? Where can I reach her?"

"To New York; she left here about twenty minutes ago for Heathrow. I think she'll be staying at the Carlyle. If I were you, I'd go after her, get the next plane."

"I'm afraid I can't do that-"

"You're going to have to resolve this face-to-face."

"How long did you say she'd been gone?"

"About twenty minutes."

"What airline?"

"British Airways."

"Do you know the flight number?"

"No, but it leaves around noon, I think. You have to be there early these days, because of all the security stuff."

"Thank you, Barbara." Stone hung up, then picked up the phone again. "Please ask the doorman to get me a cab for Heathrow immediately," he said to the operator. "I'll be right down."

He threw on some clothes and, unshaven and unshowered, ran for the elevator. The doorman had the cab door open as he came through the revolving door, and he dove into the rear seat.

"Heathrow, is it, sir?" the cabbie asked.

"Right, and hurry."

The driver pulled away and turned up Mount Street, headed for Park Lane. "Shouldn't be too bad this time of day; what airline?"

"British Airways, first-cla.s.s entrance."

"Righto."

Stone sat back and stared out the window, frequently glancing at his watch. Traffic wasn't bad, and after the Chiswick Roundabout, it became even better.

"Excuse me, sir," the driver said, "I don't want you to think I've come over all paranoid, but I'm quite sure there's a car following us."

Stone spun around and looked at the traffic behind them. "Which one?"

"It's a black Ford, the big one; at least two men in it, about four cars back."

"Are they staying back, or are they trying to overtake us?" Stone asked.

"They were closer before; now they're just lying back there, keeping us in sight." What now? he thought. Have the two big "Greeks" been replaced in the lineup?

"Is there any way you can shake them?"

"Not on this road; they're faster than I am. I could get off the motorway and try and lose them in Hammersmith."

He had no time for that. "Never mind, just get me to Heathrow as fast as you can."

"Righto."

The driver stayed in the center of three lanes, driving fast; the black Ford held its position, and when the cab left the motorway at the Heathrow turnoff, Stone saw the Ford's turn signal go on.

The driver followed the signs to the British Airways terminal, still driving fast. Stone reached into a pocket for money, and discovered he had none. He had nothing in his pockets.

The cab screeched to a halt. "Wait for me here," he said. "I'll be right back."

"I don't know if . . ."

But Stone was gone at a run. He did not see the black Ford stop fifty yards back and two men get out. He dashed into the terminal and ran for the first-cla.s.s ticket counter. There were three people in line; he ignored them and went to the desk. "Excuse me, this is an emergency; can you tell me if Mrs. Arrington Calder has checked in yet?"