To Die in Beverly Hills (6 page)

Carr nodded.

"And you didn't order even one drink?"

"That's right."

"Why?"

"Because I was on the wagon."

"And Jack Kelly?"

"He's on the wagon too."

Waeves blew into his pipe.

"From your diagram, it appears that you were in the bedroom when the shooting took place," Waeves said. "Who made the assignment?"

"Bailey did. He seemed to know the layout of the house. It was just a matter of covering the three entrances. The assignments seemed okay to me. We had things covered."

"I'm asking this totally off the record, but were you sleeping in the bedroom when the shooting occurred? Your answer will be kept just between you and me."

"No."

"Then what were you doing?"

"I was in the bedroom covering my position," Carr said. "I was waiting for someone to break into the house."

"You're saying that you were in a nice comfortable bedroom with a king-sized bed literally for hours and you didn't even
think
about lying down on the bed and taking a little rest?"

"Come to think of it, you're right..."

Waeves smiled.

"I did think about it once..." Carr said, "...but I didn't do it."

"Just asking. As you well know, it's my responsibility as the special agent in charge to ask questions when accidents happen." A smoke signal billowed from his pipe. "Nothing personal, you understand."

"Bailey fired a shotgun," Carr said. "Some of the pellets hit Jack. That's what happened."

Waeves ignored the remark. "This Leon Sheboygan...we probably should check into his background. Tony Dio could be behind this."

"Good idea," Carr said to the wall.

"It was a hot day. And I'm sure Hartmann's house was sweltering. You fellas probably had a couple of beers to cool off in there, right? I know I would've."

"No, we didn't."

Waeves fiddled with his pipe. He took some puffs.

"I haven't had a chance to get over and see Jack," Waeves said. "How's he doing?"

Carr stood up. "Is there anything else?"

Waeves licked the stem of his pipe. "Not at the moment."

Carr turned and walked out of the room.

Travis Bailey's condominium was furnished modern: chrome-hanging lamps, a dining table with a glass top, unconventional sofa and chairs upholstered in purple leather. On the wall behind the television hung a four-foot-square oil painting of a bolt and nut on a barren desert. Bailey, who had decorated the place himself, lay back on the sofa with his feet in Delsey Piper's lap. They wore matching blue terry-cloth bathrobes and nothing else.

Delsey Piper turned the pages of a newspaper. "Here it is, she said excitedly. "Officer Shoots Hired Killer. An alleged underworld hit man was killed yesterday in a shootout with Beverly Hills Police Detective Travis C. Bailey. Police sources report that the suspect, who was not identified, entered the Beverly Hills home of Terence J. Hartmann, president of the Southern California-based Bank of Commerce-Pacific. Hartmann was in Palm Springs at the time, attending a bank conference. Acting on a tip that Hartmann might be the target of an attack, Detective Bailey, with the assistance of two U.S. Treasury agents of the L.A. Field Office, initiated a stakeout of the Hartmann residence. In the early afternoon, an armed man gained entry to the palatial home by forcing entry through a back door. When confronted by Detective Bailey, the suspect drew his weapon. In the ensuing shoot-out, the thirty-six-year-old Bailey fired two rounds from a shotgun. The suspect was killed and U.S. Treasury Agent John A. Kelly was wounded. Kelly was rushed to Cedars of Lebanon Hospital, where he underwent emergency surgery for wounds to the chest. He remains in critical condition. Police sources report that the incident at Hartmann's home may be related to the fact that he is a potential witness in a federal trial now under way against reputed Mafia figure Anthony Dio. Dio has been charged with engineering a bank extortion plot involving the use of counterfeit U.S. securities." Delsey Piper giggled. "It's like a movie!"

Bailey smiled. He grabbed the phone receiver off the coffee table and dialed.

"City Desk, Sanders," the man answered.

"This is Travis Bailey, Beverly Hills P.D. I've got some more on the shoot-out for you. The suspect has been identified. I thought you might want to know."

"Got a name?"

"Leon Sheboygan," Bailey said. "Spelled like the city. He's thirty-four years old. A local hit man for the Dio mob...but don't quote me on that. Keep it deep background."

"Sure. What sort of a weapon was he carrying?"

"A thirty-two automatic. All the hit men use 'em these days."

"How many shots were fired?"

"It all happened so fast I don't really know. Things were pretty hot and heavy...I guess I was just a little better shot." He winked at Delsey.

"Have you been involved in other shoot-outs?" the reporter asked.

"Yes, but I've always been able to come out on top."

"Keep up the good work."

"I'm just glad I was able to save Mr. Hartmann's life," Bailey said in a serious tone. The phone clicked.

"Reporters used to call my father all the time," Delsey said. "When I was a kid, paparazzi would be waiting outside restaurants. Once they took a picture of us coming out of Perino's. A few days later there was an article in a movie magazine asking whether the young blonde seen with Rex Piper was going to be his sixth wife." She giggled. "That was at the time when my father was really big...right after he made
Sundown Morning.
He took me with him to Italy on location. I met some kids and we spent the whole summer smoking hash and taking trains around Europe. When we got back to the States the movie really hit. There were fans hanging around in front of our house all day. I used to flip 'em the bird out the window. Once this thirteen-year-old named daddy in a paternity suit. He told me he didn't do it but one of my girl friends had seen him with her at the Pro-Celebrity golf tournament. Our maid told me about her too. She used to tell me everything if I would give her a free day off when my father was out of town." She sighed and caught her breath. "Daddy finally settled out of court. He hired a private detective to handle the negotiations. Everyone in Hollywood knows my father as a real cockhound. Once when I came home from boarding school he had these two Puerto Rican women in his bedroom..." She laughed. "It was really gross."

Bailey left the sofa and strolled into the bedroom. He opened a dresser drawer and removed two marijuana cigarettes from a small wooden box. As he headed back toward the sofa, Delsey picked up where she had left off.

"The day my father's house was burglarized and you came over to investigate was the same day he accepted his first role in a dinner-theater musical. It was a blow to his ego. He said he couldn't get work in Hollywood because he fired his agent for cheating him on a contract and his agent's brother was a producer and between the two of them they destroyed his career..."

He tossed her a marijuana cigarette. She caught it.

"But I think the real reason was that my father is just getting old," she said.

He lit a match and offered it to her. She leaned toward him and fired the cigarette. He lit his, and with a puff, felt a wave of relaxation. Bailey leaned back on the sofa and propped his legs up on the table. Delsey's voice seemed to emanate from far away,

"When you asked me if I wanted to be a police officer I thought you were crazy. But my father thought it was a great idea. I know I would have never been accepted on the Department if my father hadn't lived next door to the mayor. They're old friends from when they worked together on
The Enchanted Castle.

"Don't forget that every cop on the Department
knows
that the mayor was your hook," Travis Bailey said.

"Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke," she said with a giggle. She cupped her hands around the roach and took a couple of deep drags. She held the smoke in her mouth, then let it crawl out. "I can't wait till tomorrow. My first day as a detective..."

Bailey puffed. "Go for it, baby."

Charles Carr wandered around Jerome Hartmann's living room. The carpet was stained with the still-damp mixture of water and blood. In addition to the buckshot holes in the wall next to the hallway door, there was shattered glass and dried-up aquarium fish everywhere. In the middle of the mess, white tape outlined where the burglar's body had ended up.

Hartmann stood next to the sliding glass doors. He was dressed in tennis togs, which failed to hide his slack stomach muscles. He shook his head sadly. "I had no idea when those hoods approached me that it would end up in something like this. It's like a bad dream," he said. "I can't tell you how grateful I am to Agent Kelly. I hope you will let me know if there is anything I can do for him or his family. I really mean that."

Carr nodded. His eyes followed the reverse path of the bullet holes, from the wall to the bar. He stepped gingerly on the wet rug toward the hallway door where Kelly had been hit. Another tape mark.

"I guess I took a vacation at just the right time," Hartmann said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Carr returned to the living room. He checked the lock on the sliding glass door. Having pulled out pad and pen, he made notes.

There was the sound of vehicles pulling into the driveway and car doors closing.

TV cameramen and photographers followed Travis Bailey in through the sliding doors. He winked at Carr. "The Chief wants a little coverage," he said. Flashbulbs popped. The newsmen jostled for position. Bailey pointed at the bullet holes. More photographs.

While this was going on, Carr drew a diagram of the room and the location of the evidence on his note pad. Having completed the sketch, he strolled out the glass door into the backyard. Hartmann followed. "I'm a member of the Beverly Hills Police and Fire Commission," he said. "I intend to thank Detective Bailey publicly at the next meeting. It's a good feeling to know that one's police department is on the ball."

Carr nodded approvingly. "Did you tell anyone about your trip to Palm Springs?"

"Certainly not," Hartmann said. "I followed your instructions and didn't tell a soul. Not a soul...with the exception of the Beverly Hills Police Department. I phoned them and gave Detective Bailey a brief rundown before I left. I was worried about someone putting a bomb in my house while I was gone. Certainly you don't consider that a breach of confidence on my part?"

Carr shook his head. "Of course not." The photographers shuffled out of the house and piled into station wagons, then drove off.

Travis Bailey sauntered over to Carr. He shook his head mournfully. "I really feel bad about Jack. It was just one of those things...a cross-fire situation."

"These things happen," Carr said ruefully.

"I hope Jack has no hard feelings."

"He doesn't. And as a matter of fact, he asked me to tell you that."

"I'm glad," Bailey said. He patted Carr on the shoulder.

Carr avoided the urge to cringe and, instead, smiled at the detective.

"By the way," Bailey said, "what brings you back here?" He spoke as if he were doing nothing more than making conversation.

"I'm doing a diagram of the scene. My agent in charge loves lots of paperwork."

"Why don't you just copy my reports? Save yourself some time."