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Stuart Woods
Swimming To Catalina
The fourth book in the Stone Barrington series
This book is for
Carolyn and David Klemm,
who have done so much
to make us at home in Litchfield County
Mendy Menenzez:
“You got told, you better stay told.”
Philip Marlowe:
“Oh, sure. I do something you don’t like and I’m swimming to Catalina with a streetcar on my back.”
– Raymond Chandler,The Long Goodbye
Prologue
The night was warm and lovely. To Stone Barrington’s right, the bloom of smog over greater Los Angeles was lit from within like a dirty lampshade; to his left, the lights of Santa Catalina Island twinkled like the eyes of a merry whore. Only a couple of hundred yards from where he stood, the anchor lights of dozens of small craft winked as the wake from the sports fisherman on which Stone rode caught them and made them rock. Stone took a deep breath, which was difficult, since one nostril was clogged by an allergy to L.A. air, and his mouth was sealed shut with duct tape.
“Christ, Vi
“I’m looking, Ma
“Any kind of pliers will do-short-nosed, long-nosed-anything.”
“I said, I’m looking.” There was the noise of metal against metal as Vi
“Jesus,” Ma
“I’m looking, Ma
“Give them to me,” Ma
“This one?” Vi
“Isn’t there a galvanized one in there?” Ma
“Like this?” Vi
“That will do nicely,” Ma
Vi
“Stone,” Ma
Stone turned and looked at Ma
“Okay, okay,” Ma
Stone sighed as well as he could through one nostril, then gave a hop and collapsed over the tool box, scattering its contents over the deck.
“Thanks a lot,” Ma
“There they are,” Vi
“Hand them to me,” Ma
Stone cradled the anchor in his arms like an overgrown puppy.
“Any last words, Stone?” Ma
“Any last words.” Vi
The two men muscled Stone over to the transom, which came up to his knees.
“Hold him right there, Vi
Stone was not prepared for how cold the Pacific Ocean was, but then, he reflected, he hadn’t been prepared for a lot of things. He let go of the anchor, then followed it quickly toward the floor of the sea, trying desperately to hold onto his final breath.
1
Elaine’s, late. Stone Barrington sat at a very good table with his friend and former partner Dino Bacchetti, who ran the detective division at the NYPD’s 19th Precinct, and with Elaine, who was Elaine.
The remnants of di
“Okay, I want to know about Arrington,” Elaine said.
“Elaine,” Dino interrupted, “don’t you know that Stone is still suffering a great deal of emotional pain over Arrington’s dumping him?”
“Who gives a fuck?” Elaine asked, quite reasonably. “I want to know how he let her get away. She was something, that girl.”
“There’s a large body of opinion,” Dino said, “that holds that she didn’t want to be known as Arrington Barrington.”
“And who could blame her?” Elaine asked. “Come on, Stone, spill it.”
Stone took a deep breath and sighed. “I have to take a lot of shit from you two, you know?”
“I think you better cough it up,” Dino said, “or we’re going to start getting tables in Siberia.”
“You bet your ass,” Elaine confirmed.
Stone sighed again. “It was like this,” he said, then stopped.
“Yeah?” Elaine encouraged.
“We were supposed to have ten days sailing in St. Marks in February.”
“I never heard of St. Marks,” Elaine said. “Where is that?”
“It’s a nice little island, tucked between Antigua and Guadeloupe. Anyway, we were supposed to meet at Ke
“I know about the blizzard,” Elaine said, exasperated. “Tell me about the girl.”
“While the blizzard was going on she got theNew Yorker assignment to do a profile of Vance Calder.”
“The new Cary Grant,” Dino explained, as if Elaine had no idea who a major movie star was.
“Yeah, yeah,” Elaine said.
“Apparently he hadn’t given an in-depth interview for twenty years,” Stone continued, “so it was quite a coup. Arrington had known Calder for a while-in fact, she was with him at the di
“So much for social history,” Elaine said.
“All right, I’m in St. Marks, sitting on the chartered boat, waiting for Arrington to show up, when this blonde sails in on a big beautiful boat, all by herself. But she had left the Canary Islands with a husband, who was no longer present. So she gets charged with his murder, and I end up defending her.”
“Like I don’t read a newspaper?” Elaine interjected. “Like the western hemisphere didn’t read about this trial?”
“All right, all right; I keep getting faxes from Arrington, saying she’s all tied up with Calder, then I get a fax saying that she’s going to L.A. with him for more research.”
“‘Research’; I like that.” Elaine smirked.