Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

“Very handsome car,” Stone said. “You just sold one to an acquaintance of mine—yesterday, I believe.”

The salesman wrinkled his brow. “Yesterday? And who would that be?”

“His name is Paul Bartlett.”

“Tall gentleman?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, he came in and had a test drive, but he didn’t buy a car. I believe he went into the BMW showroom next door, though. Perhaps they had something rather more to his liking.”

“Maybe so,” Stone said.

“Would you like to drive a car?”

“On another occasion, perhaps. Thanks for your time.”

“Please come back,” the salesman said.

Stone left and went next door. The BMW showroom was less plush than its neighbor, and the salesmen were lined up along the window at steel desks. One of them leaped up and came toward Stone.

“Hi, there. Can I show you a car?”

“Oh, I’m just window-shopping at the moment. You sold a car to a friend of mine yesterday, though.”

“Oh? Who’s that? We sell cars every day.”

“Paul Bartlett.”

“Oh, yeah. We did the deal on the phone. I picked him up at the airport yesterday. He’s from Minneapolis.”

“That’s the one.”

“Paul got the black 750i, with the V-twelve engine. I’ve got another one on the lot. I could put you in it inside the hour. Why don’t you take a test drive?”

“Oh, I’d just be wasting your time. I’m a couple of weeks away from buying. I just wanted to have a look. Say, where is Paul staying, do you know? He was at the Chesterfield, but he’s checked out.”

“He’s at the Colony. I sent the paperwork over there yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh, yes, the Colony. Say, I don’t mean to cause you any concern, but how did Paul pay for the car?”

“He gave me a cashier’s check from a local bank.” He suddenly looked concerned. “Why? Do you think something might be wrong?”

“Not if he gave you a cashier’s check,” Stone said. “Thanks for your time.” He walked out of the showroom, put up his umbrella and ran back to his car, avoiding the deeper puddles. Well, he thought, Mr. Bartlett has lied about his residence and his car. He is obviously now watching his back. Stone sat in the car and called the Minneapolis Police Department.

“Ebbe Lundquist, in homicide,” he said to the operator.

“Homicide,” a man’s voice said.

“Ebbe Lundquist, please.”

“Lieutenant Lundquist is out of the office for a few days.”

“Might he have gone to Florida?”

“That’s right. Can someone else help you?”

“No, thanks,” Stone said. He broke the connection and called Dan Griggs.