Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

Lundquist turned and stared at her. “Just when I thought I had a grip on this story …”

“Mrs. Harding was once married to Paul Manning,” Stone said. “We didn’t mention that before.”

“Oh,” Lundquist said, tonelessly. He was massaging his temples, like someone trying to hold on to his sanity.

“Maybe your lab will come up with something else in the car,” Stone said.

“Maybe, but I’m not going to count on it,” Lundquist replied. “We do have the fact that he got his wife to cancel the prenuptial agreement and make a new will. That’s motive.”

“Oh, you have both motive and opportunity,” Stone said, “but a good lawyer would make a conviction very difficult to obtain. It’s like this: I’m his lawyer, and I stand up in front of the jury. Ladies and gentlemen, my client had no criminal intent when he changed his name. Bad people were after him, and he had to protect himself. Why, it was the government itself that changed his name first. There’s no evidence that he put pressure on his wife to change her will. No, she did that out of love and affection for my client, who is a very lovable and affectionate fellow, crushed by the loss of his bride. My client doesn’t have the technical expertise to tamper with a finely made piece of German engineering, and after all, he was in the same car; he could have been just as easily killed. And on and on like that.”

“This is very depressing,” Lundquist said.

Dino spoke up. “It might help in court if you proved he was Paul Manning, who had already murdered three other people in St. Marks, even if he got away with it.”

“I could get his past ruled out as evidence,” Stone said, “on the grounds that it was irrelevant and prejudicial, and if I couldn’t, I’d say he was railroaded by a corrupt foreign government. No, Mr. Bartlett has crafted himself a very nice little box to live in. And, Dan, if you got him run out of Palm Beach, he’d just go to Palm Springs, or some other place with an inviting climate, and establish himself all over again under another identity. And now he’s got the money to make himself credible in a place like that.”

Everybody was quiet for a while.

Finally, Dino spoke up again. “Unless we staked out Liz like a goat for a lion, then waited to see what happened.”

30

THE FOUR OF THEM GOT OUT OF THE TWO CARS AT THE Breakers Golf Club and gave three bags of clubs to the attendant. The clubhouse was modest, in comparison to the grandeur of the hotel, Stone thought. The weather, as predicted, had cleared beautifully, and it was much cooler after the front had passed through.

“But I don’t play golf,” Liz complained. “What am I doing here?”

“Playing chauffeur,” Stone said. “You can drive a cart. Also, you’re playing the goat.”

“I don’t think I like the goat idea,” she said. “Not when Paul is the lion.”

“Dino’s right,” Stone said, “as much as I hate to admit it. This is the only way to smoke him out. We’re not having much luck any other way. If we see him, you can identify him; if not, then at least we’ll be seen, and word may get back to him that you’re still around.”

“All right,” Liz said.

“This is a pretty chilly paradise you got here,” Dino said, zipping up his jacket to the neck.

“In more ways than one,” Callie said, as another group of golfers inspected them as they passed, staring hard.

They signed in at the clubhouse, then got into carts and drove to the first tee, where the starter cleared them to tee off.

The course was mostly flat and uninteresting. “It’s not the most attractive golf course I’ve ever seen,” Stone said.

“Don’t worry—they’re about to rip the whole thing up and completely rebuild it to new design,” Callie said.

“Ladies first,” Dino said, motioning Callie to drive.

Callie took a few practice swings, displaying good form, teed up a ball and struck it solidly. It flew down the middle of the fairway.

“About two hundred and twenty yards,” Stone said. He teed up and sliced his drive into the next fairway.

“Take a mulligan,” Callie said.

Stone took the mulligan and got it in the fairway, a good twenty yards short of Callie’s ball.

Dino teed up and hooked the ball into the rough. “Mulligan,” he said, teeing up another ball. He swung at that, and it landed no more than a yard from his first ball.

“Your grip is too strong,” Callie said, showing him how to turn his right hand to the left. “That should cure your hook.”