by Stuart Woods
Baxter looked at the photographs and shook his head. “Neither of them. They were murdered at my house?”
“Yes, in the garage. Both were knifed in a rather gory fashion.”
“Who the hell are they, and what were they doing in my house?”
“Kasov has a reputation as a hired killer, and Krauss worked for him. We don’t know what they were doing in your house or how they got in. Your cleaning lady discovered the bodies.”
Coffee arrived, and a maid poured it for them. Baxter sat back in his chair and sipped. “This is a joke, right? Somebody put you up to this?”
“It’s not a joke, Mr. Baxter. Have you ever had reason to want somebody killed?”
“Four or five times a week, when I’m filming,” Baxter replied. “It’s like that. But I’ve never had any reason to hire a professional killer.”
“Do you have any idea how they got access to your property?” Rossi asked.
“I don’t know—maybe there’s a key under the doormat. This whole business is just crazy.”
“Are you acquainted with a film producer named Billy Barnett?”
“Him I know. When I was shooting here in Santa Fe a few weeks ago, he was hired as a production assistant, under an assumed name—Ted Shirley.”
“Why under an assumed name?”
“Beats me. Turned out, the fellow was very good at his job. He saved me a considerable amount of money when we ran into problems on the shoot.”
“Do you have any reason to wish him harm?”
“Certainly not. I just told you, he saved me money. I gave him a bonus at the end of shooting.”
“Is your wife’s name Geraldine Baxter?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she at the present time?”
“We are estranged. She’s been in a clinic for treatment of an addiction problem for several weeks.”
“Are you aware that she ran down a pedestrian in Beverly Hills while driving under the influence?”
“Yes, I know about that. She had some sort of attack. No charges were brought against her.”
“Did you know that the woman she ran down was the wife of Billy Barnett? Betsy Barnett?”
Baxter looked shocked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t remember her name. I never made that connection.”
“Do you understand why Billy Barnett might have some sort of grudge against you?”
“Why? I didn’t run over his wife, and he never mentioned the incident to me when I met him.”
“You never felt that he might be a danger to you?”
“Never. How is he connected to these homicides?”
“We have no evidence that he is, but we’ll be talking to him.”
“Well, gentlemen,” Baxter said, “if you ever get this worked out, please let me know the details. It sounds as though it would make an interesting movie. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Mr. Baxter,” Rossi said, “why do you have bodyguards here in your own home?”
“Over the years, I’ve disagreed with various people—artistic differences, you might say. I don’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Do you have security personnel at your home on Mulholland Drive?” Rivera asked.
“No.”
“Then why in Santa Fe?”
Baxter appeared to be searching for a reason. “I gave a wrap party at my house when we finished filming in Santa Fe, and two people got into a fight on my patio. One of them was hospitalized, the other left.”
“Who were they, and what was the fight about?”
“I’m not sure I was ever told their names, and I have no idea why they were fighting. I found the incident disturbing, though—thus, the security.”
“When do you plan to return to Los Angeles, Mr. Baxter?”
“I haven’t decided. I’ll be working here with a writer, developing my next picture. It depends on how that goes—days, weeks, whatever it takes.” Baxter stood up. “Now, if there’s nothing further, gentlemen, I have to go to work.”
They thanked him for his time, then left.
• • •
“HOW MUCH OF that did you buy?” Rossi asked as they got into their car.
“Not much,” Rivera replied. “His surprise about the homicides seemed genuine enough, but he began to flounder as we progressed. Have we got a phone number for Barnett?”
Rossi checked the homicide file. “Yes, looks like a cell number.”
“Call him, maybe we can see him after we get back this afternoon.”
Rossi rang the number. “Hello, is that Mr. Billy Barnett? . . . My name is Rossi. I’m a detective with the LAPD. My partner and I would like to speak to you for a few minutes late this afternoon, if you’re available.” He got out a pen. “Thank you. May I have the address?” He wrote something down. “Is that in Malibu? . . . Oh, we’re in Santa Fe, too. How about in half an hour? See you then.” He hung up. “There’s a stroke of luck. Barnett is in Santa Fe. I’ll put the address in the GPS.”
“What a coincidence,” Rivera said. “I hate coincidence.”
47
RIVERA AND ROSSI found the address: a small adobe house in the Eastside section of Santa Fe. Billy Barnett opened the door.
“What’s the LAPD doing in Santa Fe?” Teddy asked, waving them to a seat.
“We could ask you the same question,” Rivera replied.
“My girlfriend owns this house. She’s been living with me in Malibu, and she wanted to pick up some of her things, so we decided to make a weekend of it.”
“Did you drive?”
“No, we borrowed a friend’s airplane.”
“And we borrowed the LAPD’s airplane,” Rossi said.
“You haven’t told me why you are in Santa Fe,” Teddy said.
“We came to question a Mr. Dax Baxter, whom I believe you know,” Rivera said.
“I do,” Teddy said with a grimace.
“Not your favorite person, I gather.”
“Not anybody’s favorite person,” Teddy replied. “Though I do have to thank him for introducing me to my girlfriend. We both worked on a film of his here.”
“I believe you’re also acquainted with a Dimitri Kasov,” Rivera said.
Teddy shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“It’s our understanding that you and Mr. Kasov had a conversation during which knives were employed.”
“Ah, is that his name?”
“It is.”
“It wasn’t a very long conversation,” Teddy said. “No introductions were made.”
“When you met Mr. Kasov at Mr. Baxter’s house, were you anticipating an attack?”
“I was given a warning before the party.”
“Who warned you?”
“A member of the film crew told me that Baxter had hired a Russian to kill me. I went to see Baxter about it, and he denied it, but I was wary when I went to his house.”
“So you were carrying a knife?”
“It was a legal one, five-inch, fixed blade.”
“How did you happen to know how to use it?”
“I was given some instruction in self-defense when I was a young man in the service.” He didn’t mention which service.
“Had you any occasion to hone those skills in the years since?”
“No. Fists, a couple of times, no knives.”
“Would you describe yourself as a combative man, Mr. Barnett?”
“I am a peaceable person, who has, on widely separated occasions, had cause to defend myself. I expect you gentlemen have, as well.”
“Mr. Barnett, I believe you recently lost your wife.”
“That is so. She was run down by a drunk driver in Beverly Hills.”
“I recall the case,” Rivera said. “Do you know the name of the person who
ran her down?”
“I suppose I was told, but I don’t remember it. I’ve made a great effort to put that event behind me.”
“Was she prosecuted?”
“I don’t believe so. I was told that she had some sort of medical episode, blacked out.”
“Are you aware that she is the wife of Dax Baxter?”
Barnett looked at him for a long moment. “I was not.”
“So you don’t bear a grudge against Mr. Baxter?”
“Why would I do that? He didn’t run down my wife.”
“Is it possible that Mr. Baxter believed that you had a grudge against him, and that you planned to harm him?”
“I don’t know, he didn’t mention it on the occasion when we met. Incidentally, that was the only occasion on which we met.”
“Do you know whether Mr. Baxter has paranoid tendencies?”
A woman’s voice behind them said, “I can answer that.”
“Come in, Sally,” Teddy said. “These are Detectives Rivera and Rossi. Gentlemen, this is Sally Ryder, whose home this is.”
“How do you do,” Rivera replied. “You were saying, Ms. Ryder?”
“Dax Baxter was well known among the film crew to be a paranoiac. He had a very thin skin, and he employed two large men to protect him on the set.”
“Protect him from who or what?”
“Who knows?”
“Mr. Barnett,” Rossi said, “do you think it’s possible that Mr. Baxter sent Mr. Kasov to see you a second time?”
“I’m under the impression that the Russian gentleman was hospitalized after our encounter, and I think it’s unlikely that he would be well enough for another such encounter.”
“I don’t think you need worry about him,” Rivera said. “He was murdered the night before last at a house owned by Dax Baxter.”
Teddy shrugged. “Well, I suppose that is a hazard associated with the man’s trade. Did Baxter kill him? He doesn’t seem like the type, frankly.”
“That remains undetermined at this time. When he was killed, Mr. Kasov was in the company of another man, his employee, whose name was Richard Krauss. Do you know him?”
“No, I’ve never heard of him.”
“He was a rather large man. Perhaps Mr. Kasov felt he would make up for his own temporary disability.”
Teddy shrugged. “I have no such knowledge.”
“Mr. Barnett,” Rivera said, “is it possible that Mr. Baxter sent Mr. Kasov and Mr. Krauss to kill you, and that you were again required to defend yourself?”
“When did you say these killings occurred?”
“The night before last,” Rivera said.
“Sally and I had dinner after work at a restaurant about a mile from my house. We came home after that and remained there for the rest of the evening.”
“That is so,” Sally echoed.
“And if Mr. Baxter still wants to kill me, he’s beyond paranoid, he’s crazy.”
The doorbell rang, and Sally went to answer it, and a couple came in. “Gentlemen,” she said to the detectives, “this is Stone Barrington.”
“And this is Ana Bounine,” Stone said. “Billy Barnett and Sally Ryder.”
“Stone,” Teddy said, “these gentlemen are Detectives Rivera and Rossi from Los Angeles.”
“Billy,” Stone said, “do you need an attorney?”
Teddy laughed. “No, I don’t think so.” He turned to the detectives. “Gentlemen, we have plans for dinner, so if there’s nothing else . . .”
“Nothing else at this time,” Rivera said.
Stone spoke up. “Have you come all the way from L.A. to speak to Mr. Barnett?”
“No, we came to speak to someone else. Mr. Barnett just happened to be in town.”
“May I ask who you came to speak to?”
“It was Dax Baxter,” Teddy said. “Apparently they think Baxter is trying to kill me.”
“From what I’ve heard of Mr. Baxter,” Stone said, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“We’ve been hearing that a lot,” Rivera said. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Barnett. Perhaps we’ll talk another time, in Los Angeles.”
“Anytime,” Teddy said. “You can reach me at Centurion Studios. And good luck in your investigation.”
The detectives left, and Teddy got everyone a drink.
“You sure you don’t need a lawyer, Billy?” Stone asked.
“Sounds to me that Dax Baxter is the one who needs the lawyer,” Teddy said.
48
THEY HAD DINNER at Geronimo, on Canyon Road, and dined on tenderloin of elk and a fine cabernet. After dinner, the women excused themselves.
“Billy, what’s going on with the cops?” Stone asked.
“You may remember that I was attacked by a man at Dax Baxter’s wrap party a few weeks ago?”
“Ah, yes. The Russian.”
“One and the same. The detectives came to Santa Fe to interview Baxter, then they phoned me. Since I was here, they came to see me, too.”
“What is their theory of the case?” Stone asked.
“They seem to have two notions. One, that Dax killed them or hired someone to; the other that Dax hired them to kill me, and that I defended myself.”
“I’m reliably informed that they were both knifed in a particularly gory fashion.”
“As I said to the cops, a hazard of their trade.”
“Do you have an alibi for that time?”
“They said it was the night before last. Sally and I had dinner at a local restaurant. I suppose I have a credit card receipt somewhere. We went home and stayed there.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
“I guess I’m relieved that they weren’t killed at a time when I didn’t have an alibi.”
“Here come the ladies,” Stone said. “Don’t mention this to Ana, she’ll hear about it soon enough on her personal grapevine, which is extensive.”
• • •
TEDDY AND SALLY were in bed by eleven; Teddy dressed and left the house before midnight, while she slept soundly. He found a sharp boning knife in her kitchen and took her binoculars from a peg in the living room.
He drove out to Tano Road, and using the dashboard GPS map, found a road roughly parallel to Dax’s. He parked the car in someone’s driveway and stood facing Dax’s house, about a hundred yards away. He leaned on a fender and viewed the property through the binoculars.
There was perimeter lighting, so he had a good view. Two men stood on a porch near the front door, and as they waited, a car drove up and two other men got out. All four were tall and beefy. They exchanged a few words, then the first pair walked away from the main house to a guesthouse, and Teddy saw lights come on there. The replacement shift went inside. With four guards on the property, it seemed like an unpromising time for him to visit Dax. Teddy got back into the car, and before he could turn on his lights, another car drove past him with its headlights off. Very dark out here, he thought; no place to drive without lights.
He got out of the car and walked down to the road. The other car had parked perhaps twenty yards away, at the roadside. The door opened, illuminating the interior, and Teddy got a good look at the man’s back. He had a completely bald head and, while not particularly tall, looked muscular, dressed in tight-fitting black clothes. He was wearing a leather shoulder holster, but Teddy couldn’t see the weapon. The car door closed, and the man stood next to it, using binoculars to look at Dax’s house.
Well, Teddy said to himself, that makes two of us.
Then the man left the road and, using a small flashlight, began making his way down the hill toward the Baxter residence. Teddy got his binoculars and watched the man’s progress. It occurred to him that he looked like someone Teddy had seen before, but he couldn’t get a look at the man’s face.
The m
an reached Dax’s road and stopped, clearly casing the house. He walked down the road for fifty yards or so, while Teddy kept him in sight with his binoculars. Finally, he crossed the road and, staying outside the perimeter lighting, made his way around the house and disappeared.
Teddy wondered if there was some sort of perimeter alarm. He hadn’t heard anything, so probably not. Lights went off at the rear of the house, and everything got quiet.
• • •
DAX BAXTER HAD taken a sleeping pill and was becoming groggy. He switched off the lights, got into bed, and settled in for the night. He didn’t know how long he had been asleep when he was awakened by pressure on his neck, and something sharp against his skin.
“Wake up,” a man’s low voice said. Then he was slapped twice, bringing him to consciousness.
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked.
“No,” Baxter replied. “But you’d better leave. There are armed guards in the house.”
“Not very good ones,” the man replied, switching on a reading light and turning it on its gooseneck so that it illuminated Dax’s face and made it impossible to see the man’s face. “My name is Kasov. Does that sound familiar?”
“Dimitri?” Dax asked, confused.
“Dimitri is dead,” the man said. “My name is Sergei, and I am his brother, younger by one year. Did you kill my brother, or order him killed?”
“No, no,” Dax said. “I hired Dimitri to kill a man called Billy Barnett. It was Barnett who killed him and the other man, Krauss. He also may have shot two police detectives.”
Sergei shook his head. “I killed the two cops. Dimitri always told me that if anybody ever killed him it would be the cops, so when I heard, I got angry and killed a couple of cops. Who is this Billy Barnett?”
“He is a man who wishes me dead,” Dax replied.
“If this Barnett could kill Dimitri with a knife, then you are in great danger.”
“That’s why the guards are here.”
“Where is this Barnett?”
“He lives in Malibu, in Los Angeles.”
