“How about you, Rick?” Stone asked.
Rick Grant signed the document, and Stone gave them each a copy for their records.
“When do we meet your witness?” Rubens asked.
Stone got up, went into the adjoining suite, and came back with Vance Calder. The IRS man and the FBI agent suddenly became movie fans. They were both on their feet, almost to attention, shaking hands with the famous man, and Rick Grant’s reception was almost as welcoming. They all sat down.
“Vance,” Stone said, handing him a copy of the agreement, “the IRS, the FBI, and the LAPD have all agreed to offer you immunity from prosecution and complete confidentiality in return for your account of recent events; in addition, you will not have to testify in court, and the kidnapping will be kept out of it. In return, you are expected to be completely frank with them and to answer their questions truthfully. I have to warn you that should you not tell the truth, you can be charged with lying to a federal agent. Do you understand the terms of the agreement?”
“Yes,” Vance said.
“I think it would be best, gentlemen, if you let Mr. Calder start at the beginning and tell his whole story without interruption. When he is finished, you can ask all the questions you like. I’d like to remind you that I consider Mr. Calder still to be in danger, and I expect you to keep his location confidential. Vance?”
Vance Calder proceeded to give a performance that, had Stone seen it in a theater, he would have stood up and applauded. The federal agents and the L.A. policeman listened, rapt, as the story unfolded. When he was finished, the questioning began, and Vance’s answers were as impressive as his monologue had been. Stone began to believe that the actor should write his own scripts.
When it was over, Vance retired to his suite, and Stone faced the feds again.
“That was very impressive, but it wasn’t enough,” Hank Cable said.
“I told you that it wouldn’t be,” Stone replied, “but now you have a direction. I suggest that you begin by arresting Martin Barone on charges of tax evasion, money laundering, and whatever else you can come up with from the wiretap of his offices. You can at least threaten him with Vance’s testimony. Even though that won’t happen, Barone doesn’t know. You could throw in the kidnapping charge, too; I can give you a witness who’ll testify that Barone was in possession of Mrs. Calder’s car for several days.”
The meeting broke up, and Stone asked Rick Grant to stay behind.
“You were right,” Rick said. “There’s not going to be much left for the LAPD.”
“Oh, there might be,” Stone said. “How about murder?”
“You’re still alive.”
“Vinnie Mancuso and his partner, Manny, aren’t.”
“You’ll never tie that to Ippolito.”
“There’s a new way in,” Stone said. “Let me make a couple of phone calls.” He called Betty Southard and made a request and had a longer conversation with Lou Regenstein; then he invited Rick to join him in the car.
“Where are we going?” Rick asked.
“To Centurion Studios,” Stone replied.
“For what?”
“To see Billy O’Hara. He’s up to his ass in this.” As they drove, Stone explained what he had in mind.
“The guy was a cop,” Rick said. “You really think he’ll go for it?”
“One way to find out. If he doesn’t, you and I have a lot more work ahead of us.”
At Centurion they picked up the visitor’s passes that Betty had left for them and asked directions to the security director’s office. They hadn’t made an appointment. O’Hara’s secretary disappeared into his office, then came out. “He’ll see you,” she said.
“Please call Mr. Regenstein’s office and tell him we’re with Mr. O’Hara,” Stone said. He and Rick went into the private office and closed the door behind him.
“Rick!” O’Hara said rising to greet him with a handshake. “How are you?”
“Very well, Billy,” Grant said. “I’d like you to meet someone; this is Stone Barrington.”
O’Hara’s handshake stopped before it got started; he was clearly nonplussed. That was enough to convince Stone.
Stone and Rick sat down.