"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.
"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 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 glass, and sat down. He raised his glass. "To motions to dismiss," he said, "and to Vanessa."
"I'll drink to both," Stone said, raising his glass.
Chapter 37
When Stone came down to breakfast, Marc was just finishing 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 LA. 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."
"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 balls; 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.