“Let’s see,” he said, sitting down at the computer again. “Oakland would be the likely destination for a general aviation aircraft.” He tapped some keys. “I’ve got two — a Citation and a Gulfstream IV. The GIV left an hour ago.”
“Gotta be the Gulfstream,” Croft said. “That’s a transatlantic airplane. Let’s go talk to Captain Clark. He’ll spring for a San Francisco trip on a crime that’s getting as much TV time as this one.”
39
Stone was back at The Arrington in time for lunch, and he persuaded Ann to join him. He explained what had happened to Eagle’s airplane.
“The ex-wife, then?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Will the police be able to do anything?”
“They’re trying, but the only material witness is dead.”
“It’s time we talked,” Ann said. “The president left for Washington right after breakfast this morning. Kate is waiting for the new campaign plane to be delivered — should be here tomorrow.”
“Will you have to go with her?”
“We had a long talk this morning,” Ann said. “I suggested that I might be of more use to her by continuing to work out of the New York office. She has a good travel team without me, so she bought that.”
Stone broke into a big smile. “That’s wonderful news,” he said. “We can fly out of here tomorrow or the next day. We’re waiting for the return of the Strategic Services aircraft — it’s being flown back from Tokyo. So we’ll have a couple of soft days.”
“Not soft for me. I’ll be on the telephone constantly.”
“Move into my study and work here, then. The hotel will want the presidential cottage back.”
“Okay, I’ll do that. Listen, the Republican convention is next week, and Senator Henry Carson of Texas looks like he’s taking the nomination. Our private polls show Kate leading all the obvious Republicans, except Carson, by double digits. She’s leading him by eight points.”
“That’s good news.”
“We believe we can take him, and I’ve already told you what my job is going to be if that happens.”
Stone nodded.
“I’ll make as much time for you as I can, but I can’t make any promises. If she wins, all hell will break loose the day after the election, as I’ll be running the transition team.”
“And I’ll get to Washington as often as I can,” Stone said. “Something else: I have to go to Paris this fall for the opening of the new L’Arrington there, and I have some other business there, so I may be two or three weeks. Any chance you can do some of that with me?”
“I’d love to, God knows, but I just can’t manage it. I can’t even say I’ll try.”
“Well, if that’s the price of getting Kate elected, I’ll just have to live with it,” Stone said ruefully.
“If it’s any consolation, I’ll have to live with it, too,” Ann said.
The phone buzzed, and Stone picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Ed. I just wanted you to know that we made it back okay.”
“I’m sorry you couldn’t wait and fly with us. You’d have liked the airplane.”
“I already wish we’d done that. When we got back we found my office and house staked out by the press.”
“Pick somebody you like and give him an exclusive interview. Everybody else will run it, but you’ll have them out of your hair.”
“Good idea. I’ve got just the reporter in mind. Anything in particular you want me to tell them?”
“Just stick to the truth, and you won’t get accused of lying to Otero and Willingham.”
“Okay. Thanks for your help this morning.”
“Have you heard anything new from the cops?”
“Not a word. Everybody in the world wants to talk to me but them.”
“That just means they don’t have anything to tell you yet.”
“I guess so. Can you stop for a few days in Santa Fe on your way back?”
“I’d love to, but Ann has to get back to her New York office. She’s got a lot on her plate now.”
“I guess she has. Susannah sends her love. Give ours to Ann.”
They hung up.
“The Eagles send love,” he said to Ann.
Detectives morales and croft sat down across the desk from Captain Clark, and Croft slid a typed form across the desk.
“San Francisco?” the captain asked, feigning shock. “Is this a vacation request?”
“Cap, our only suspect is in San Francisco,” Croft said. “The media are all over us on this thing, and we don’t have anything to tell them.”
“You actually think you’re going to get something out of this Grosvenor woman?”
“We can only try.”
“I remember her from her murder trial. I was the lead detective on that case, and she is the coldest, smoothest bitch I’ve ever laid eyes or ears on. She doesn’t make mistakes.”
“Nobody’s lucky all the time,” Morales said.
“Luck has nothing to do with it. Look, if that bomb hadn’t gone off when it did, this Gregg character would have exploded it after the plane took off and we’d be right where we are now, with nothing but two waterlogged corpses. That’s bad luck.”
“At least we could have questioned Gregg.”
“Questioned him? You wouldn’t even know he existed.”
“You’ve got a point, Cap,” Croft said. “But we’ve gotta try to nail this woman.”
“God knows I’d love to do that,” Clark said. He signed the expense form and scribbled something on it. “You’ve got three days and my very best wishes.” He slid the form back across the desk. “See the cashier, and make your travel arrangements through the department. No Ritz-Carlton.”
Morales and Croft got out of there as fast as they could.
40
The Grosvenor Gulfstream IV landed smoothly at Oakland and taxied to the Business Jet Center. The stewardess took their hand luggage while the pilots and linemen moved their larger baggage from the rear compartment to their Bentley Mulsanne, which stood, idling, beside the big jet.
“Anything I need to know about the last twenty-four hours?” Charles asked as he helped Barbara into her coat.
“Nothing you want to know,” she said, pecking him on the lips. “Just remember I haven’t been out of your sight the past couple of days, except to go to the hotel salon.”
They walked down the airstair door and into the Bentley.
“Home, James,” Charles said to their driver, whose name was actually James. He had been invalided out of a career as a pro football linebacker by a knee injury during his fourth season and was now a factotum for the Grosvenors.
James delivered them to their apartment on Green Street, just off Nob Hill, and they took the elevator to the penthouse while James and the doormen dealt with the luggage.
Charles called his dealership and got a report from the sales manager, then he hung up. “We sold two Flying Spurs and a Mulsanne while we were gone, and four used vehicles. I wish Bentley would deliver new cars at the factory in England — we’d sell four or five more a year to people who want to tour in their new cars.”
“Keep after them, Charles,” Barbara said. She turned to the maid who was unpacking her bags. “Run me a bath.”
Late in the afternoon Chico Morales and Stockton Croft got off a flight at San Francisco International that had been somewhat less comfortable than the Grosvenor Gulfstream. They picked up their plain, underpowered rental car and drove to their blank-faced business hotel on an unfashionable block off California Street. There was no valet service or doorman, so they had to park on the street and carry their own luggage, after Croft had extracted a police placard from his briefcase and slipped it over a sun visor. He hoped the meter maid wouldn’t notice that the badge it displayed was from L.A.