Redding indicated the man seated next to him. “This is Inspector Patou, with the French Sûreté. Inspector, would you explain the rest of it, please?”
Inspector Patou spoke English with a slight French accent. “At the request of Interpol, we traced Harry Stanford to St.-Paul-de-Vence, and I sent three detectives there to follow him. He managed to elude them. Interpol had put out a green code to all police departments that Harry Stanford was under suspicion and should be watched. If they had known the extent of his crimes, they would have circulated a red code, or top priority, and we would have apprehended him.”
Woody was in a state of shock. “That’s why he left us his estate. Because there was nothing in it!”
William Parker said, “You’re right about that. You were all in your father’s will because the banks refused to go along with him and he knew that, in essence, he was leaving you nothing. But he spoke to René Gautier at Crédit Lyonnais, who promised to help him. The moment Harry Stanford thought that he was solvent again, he planned to change his will to cut you out of it.”
“But what about the yacht, and the plane, and the houses?” Kendall asked.
“I’m sorry,” Parker said. “Everything will be sold to pay off part of the debt.”
Tyler sat there, numb. It was a nightmare beyond imagining. He was no longer Tyler Stanford, Multibillionaire. He was merely a judge.
Tyler got up to leave, shaken. “I…I don’t know what to say. If there’s nothing else…” He had to get to the airport quickly to meet Lee and try to explain what had happened.
Steve spoke up. “There is something else.”
He turned. “Yes?”
Steve nodded to a man standing at the door. The door opened, and Hal Baker walked in. “Hi, Judge.”
The breakthrough had come when Woody told Steve that he had the fingerprint card.
“I’d like to see it,” Steve told him.
Woody had been puzzled. “Why? It just has the woman’s two sets of fingerprints on it, and they matched. We all checked it.”
“But the man who called himself Frank Timmons took the fingerprints, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then if he touched the card, his fingerprints will be on it.”
Steve’s hunch had proved to be right. Hal Baker’s prints were all over the card, and it had taken less than thirty minutes for the computers to reveal his identity. Steve had telephoned the district attorney in Chicago. A warrant was issued, and two detectives had appeared at Hal Baker’s house.
He was in the yard playing catch with Billy.
“Mr. Baker?”
“Yes.”
The detectives showed their badges. “The district attorney would like to talk to you.”
“No. I can’t.” He was indignant.
“May I ask why?” one of the detectives asked.
“You can see why, can’t you? I’m playing ball with my son!”
The district attorney had read the transcript of Hal Baker’s trial. He looked at the man seated in front of him and said, “I understand you’re a family man.”
“That’s right,” Hal Baker said proudly. “That’s what this country is all about. If every family could—”
“Mr. Baker.” He leaned forward. “You’ve been working with Judge Stanford.”
“I don’t know any Judge Stanford.”
“Let me refresh your memory. He put you on parole. He used you to impersonate a private detective named Frank Timmons, and we have reason to believe he also asked you to kill a Julia Stanford.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What I’m talking about is a sentence of ten to twenty years. I’m going to push for the twenty.”
Hal Baker turned pale. “You can’t do that! Why, my wife and kids would…”
“Exactly. On the other hand,” the district attorney said, “if you’re willing to turn state’s evidence, I’m prepared to arrange for you to get off very lightly.”
Hal Baker was beginning to perspire. “What…what do I have to do?”
“Talk to me…”
Now, in the conference room of Renquist, Renquist & Fitzgerald, Hal Baker looked at Tyler, and said, “How are you, Judge?”
Woody looked up and exclaimed, “Hey! It’s Frank Timmons!”
Steve said to Tyler, “This is the man you ordered to break into our offices to get you a copy of your father’s will, to dig up your father’s body, and to kill Julia Stanford.”