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gave Stone the address.
    â€œI’ll see you at noon,” Stone said. He hung up, then pressed the button for the concierge and ordered a rental car for eleven-thirty, then he called room service and ordered a large breakfast. While he was waiting for it to arrive, he called Centurion Studios and asked for Lou Regenstein, its chairman.
    â€œGood morning, executive offices,” a woman’s voice said.
    â€œLou Regenstein, please; this is Stone Barrington.”
    â€œMay I ask what this is about?”
    â€œHe’ll know.” Stone had met Regenstein the year before, when he was in Los Angeles on another matter involving Vance and Arrington.
    A moment later, Regenstein was on the line. “Stone, I’m so glad to hear from you; you’ve heard what’s happened, I’m sure.”
    â€œThat’s why I’m here; I got in last evening.”
    â€œI’ve been going nuts; the police won’t tell me where Arrington is, and the coroner won’t release Vance’s body to a funeral home without her permission.”
    â€œArrington is in a hospital; I’m going to see her at noon today.”
    â€œIs she all right? Was she hurt in the shooting?”
    â€œShe’s fine, from all accounts. I’ll be talking to her doctor, too.”
    â€œWhat can I do to help?”
    â€œLou, who is the best criminal lawyer in L.A.?”
    â€œMarc Blumberg, hands down; does Arrington need him?”
    â€œYes, if only to contain the situation.”
    â€œHe’s a personal friend of mine; I’ll call him right now. Where can he see Arrington?”
    â€œI want to see her before she talks to another lawyer,” Stone said. “Tell Blumberg to expect a call from me at some point, and to deny that he’s representing Arrington, if the press should call in the meantime.”
    â€œAll right.” Regenstein gave him Blumberg’s number. “Remember, Stone, Centurion is at Arrington’s disposal—anything she needs; you, too. Look, I’ve had an idea: You’re going to need some place to get things done while you’re here. I’ll make Vance’s bungalow available to you for as long as you need it.”
    â€œThank you, Lou; it would be good to have some office facilities.”
    â€œYou remember Vance’s secretary, Betty Southard?”
    Indeed he did; Stone and Betty had spent considerable time together during his last visit to town, much of it in bed. “Of course.”
    â€œShe’s there, holding down the fort; I’ll let her know you’re coming, and I’ll leave a pass for you at the main gate.”
    â€œThank you, Lou, I’ll be in touch later.” Stone hung up and called his own office, in New York.
    â€œStone Barrington’s office,” Joan Robertson said.
    â€œHi, it’s Stone.”
    â€œOh, Stone, I’m so glad you called. Have you heard about Vance Calder?”
    â€œYes, I’m in L.A. now, at the Bel-Air Hotel.”
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œI haven’t had time to find out, but I want you to go into our computer boilerplate, print out some documents and fax them to me soonest.”
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    Stone dictated a list of the documents, then hung up. Breakfast arrived and he turned on the TV news while he ate. The local channels were going nuts; the biggest star in Hollywood had been murdered, and they couldn’t find out anything . They were treading water as fast as they could, recycling what little information they had. They couldn’t find Arrington, the police wouldn’t issue anything but the most basic statement, Centurion had no comment, except to express deep loss and regret, and no friend of either Vance’s or Arrington’s would talk to the press, even off the record, not that any of them knew anything. That was good, he thought.
    The phone rang. “Hello?”
    â€œMr.