“What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with his address and all the telephone numbers you’ve got for him.”
She read the information out to him.
“Does he have a second home?”
She gave him an address in Malibu that sounded as though it might be next door to Ippolito’s slightly scorched beach house.
“What can you tell me about him personally?”
“He’s always been very cordial to me; he’s one of those people who can make you feel, when you’re talking to him, that you’re the only person in the room. He likes beautiful women, and from remarks that Vance has made, I think he always has something on the side. His wife seems cowed by him, so I don’t think she’d object, even if she knew.”
“Got any names?”
“There was an actress on Vance’s last picture, Veronica Hart, that he seemed to be very interested in. Want her address?”
“Sure.” He wrote it down, along with the phone number. “How big an actress is she?”
“Struggling, but pretty good. She reminds me of me a few years ago.”
“Any idea how Sturmack spends his time when he’s not conspiring with Ippolito or getting laid?”
She laughed. “He and Vance play golf at the Bel-Air Country Club once in a while. He seems to have lunch there most days.”
“You got any private numbers from Ippolito?”
“Let’s see.” She flipped some pages and gave him home, office, and car numbers, plus the number aboard Contessa.
“I think that’ll do me for a while,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Dinner tonight?” she asked.
“You mind doing it in my suite at the Bel-Air?”
“I don’t mind doing anything in your suite.”
“Seven o’clock?”
“Make it eight.”
“You’re on.” He hung up and headed for Sturmack’s address. Maybe he hadn’t devoted enough attention to the man thus far, but he was going to remedy that now.
47
David Sturmack lived in a Georgian mansion less than a five-minute drive from Vance Calder’s house, in Bel-Air. It seemed to be on at least ten acres of land, which Stone thought must have cost a very large fortune. He had been struck by how little land most expensive L.A. houses occupied, especially in Beverly Hills, but also in the even ritzier Bel-Air. A platoon of men were working on the front lawn, employing tractor mowers, string trimmers, rakes, and hoes. One operated what appeared to be a large vacuum cleaner. God forbid a stray blade of cut grass should mar the perfect greenery.
The Rolls convertible was parked outside the front door, and as Stone drove past the house, Sturmack came out, got into the car, and started down the driveway. Stone made a U-turn and followed at a very discreet distance, wondering how best to shake up Sturmack’s world. He had already shaken up Ippolito, and now it was Sturmack’s turn. He had an idea. He dialed a New York number.
“Lieutenant Bacchetti.”
“Dino, it’s Stone.”
“How you doing, Stone? I was beginning to wonder if you’d got lost.”
“Not yet, but people are working on it. Do me a favor?”
“Sure.”