“I also ran a check, just for the hell of it, on a birth certificate for a Peter Barrington, and I found one.” She removed a copy from her purse and handed it to Wheaton. “Have a look.”
Wheaton read the whole certificate. The parents listed were Christine Carter Barrington and Stone Barrington. “It seems to be in order. What’s the problem?”
“Look at the date of birth,” Kelli replied.
Wheaton looked and seemed to do the math. “This makes the boy eighteen,” she said, furrowing her brow, “and Arrington’s name wasn’t Barrington that long ago.”
“But if the boy was born when your source said he was, that is, after the marriage of Calder and Carter, he would be only sixteen now.”
“That is baffling,” Wheaton said, shaking her head and reading the certificate again. “But why would they want the boy born two years earlier? That would obviate Calder as the father and make the boy a bastard. Is it possible that Stone and Arrington had an earlier marriage and were divorced? And that the boy was two when she was remarried to Vance?”
“There’s no record of either Arrington or Stone being married to anybody before the marriage to Calder, at least, not in New York or California,” Kelli said. “I checked the records.”
“The other thing is,” Wheaton said, “as far as we know, Arrington and Stone were both living in New York for the four years prior to the marriage to Vance. So why would the birth be registered in L.A.?”
“I don’t know, and the birth certificate doesn’t list the address of either of them. Also, you can’t live in L.A. without driving, and Arrington didn’t get a California driver’s license until shortly after she was married to Vance.”
“Maybe the boy’s birth date is just a typo on the certificate,” Wheaton said. “Why don’t you check the hospital records and see if they match the year on the certifi cate.”
“Which hospital was it?” Kelli asked.
Wheaton looked at the certificate again. “Uh-oh,” she said.
“What?”
“I missed this the first time. The birth took place at the Judson Clinic, in Beverly Hills.”
“I’ll call them.”
“Don’t bother,” Wheaton said. “The Judson Clinic is a very private hospital, the sort of place that tout Hollywood goes to when they want a quiet abortion, or a quiet detox, or a quiet breakdown. Vance was very private. There was no birth announcement in the papers, even, and it didn’t make the columns. You won’t crack the Judson.”
“Well, shit,” Kelli said in disgust. “I’m all out of options.”
“Then get Arrington on the phone and ask her to explain all this.”
“I called yesterday, and a secretary told me that Mrs. Barrington is writing a book about her marriage to Vance Calder, her marriage to him and his murder, and that she will have no comment to the press until the book is published, and maybe not even then. And if that isn’t enough, she’s out of town, and the secretary wouldn’t say where or for how long.”
“Well, at least you’ve got that little exclusive for Page Six: Arrington Calder Barrington is writing a tell-all book. Go with that. Maybe somebody will crawl out from under a rock, so make sure your byline is on the story.”
Kelli set down her empty coffee cup. “Good idea,” she said. “Thanks for the advice.” She went back to her desk, wrote a paragraph, including the information that Arrington had, at first, been a suspect in her husband’s death, and took it to the day editor.
“What’s your source for this business about the book?” he asked.
“Her husband’s secretary. She gave me that as a reason for Arrington’s not speaking to me.”
“Okay, I’ll run it at the bottom of the page, but no byline.”
“I need the byline, because it might generate a call from somebody who knows something.”
“Knows something about what?”
“It’s going to take me at least fifteen minutes to bring you up to date,” Kelli said. “Have you got that much time right now?”
“Go,” he said.
So, she pulled up a chair and laid out everything she had.
“Maybe it’s just a typo on the certificate,” the editor said.