“I’m sorry for the delay. Here’s the report. You departed your office at six-forty PM yesterday and drove in the direction of your home, but you made a detour along the way. You turned left into a residential street and entered the driveway of a house. You remained there for four minutes, then drove back to the main road and continued your journey home, arriving at seven twenty-six PM. This morning, you left your house at eight forty-five and drove to your office, arriving at nine thirty-two. You’re still there.”
“Your men are to be complimented, Sergeant. Please give them my thanks for their attention.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Baxter.”
“How long will this surveillance continue?”
“Until we’ve apprehended a suspect.”
“No matter how long it takes?”
“Oh, it shouldn’t take all that long, Mr. Baxter. Our average time for apprehension after surveillance is a little under six weeks.”
“Six weeks?”
“That’s the average, sir. It could take less time, but usually not less than four or five weeks. Sometimes it takes longer, but never more than eleven weeks, in our experience.”
“Thank you,” Baxter said weakly.
“Oh, Mr. Baxter, I’m sure you own more than one vehicle. Would you please let me know if you plan to take another car somewhere, so I can notify my team?”
“Yes, of course,” Baxter said, and hung up.
“That was beautiful,” Joe Rossi said, laughing. “I was listening on the extension. How’d your date go last night?”
“Just great. I think I’m in love.”
“Easy, Carlos, any guy who’s no longer paying alimony is vulnerable.”
“Funny, I like feeling vulnerable,” Carlos replied.
? ? ?
TEDDY AND SALLY had finished lunch and were lying on the deck, taking the sun.
“Whatever happened to my self-defense training?” Sally asked.
“Is now soon enough?” Teddy asked.
“Sure.”
“Come into the living room.” He opened the sliding door and they stepped into the air-conditioning. He went into the kitchen, came back with a table knife, and handed it to her. “All right, there are two basic attacks—swinging and jabbing. Take a swing at me.”
“But I might hurt you.”
“You won’t. Go ahead.”
She swung the knife toward him; he struck the inside of her wrist with the edge of his hand, and the knife flew away.
“Ow!” she said.
“I’m sorry. Let’s do everything at half speed.”
“Why didn’t you jump back?” she asked.
“Never jump back, he’ll just keep coming until you’re against a wall. Step into his swing. That shortens his arc and gives you a chance to hit him with your other hand.”
“Hit him where?”
“If you’re dealing with a man, who may be bigger and stronger than you, hit him squarely in the nose, as hard as you can. You’ll break the cartilage, stun him, and blood will pour out. Trust me, everybody hates the sight of his own blood. Then run.”
“What if there’s nowhere to run, if I’m trapped?”
“Then, before he can recover, find something with some weight to it and strike him in the temple. Like the little bronze sculpture on the coffee table. That would render him unconscious, maybe even kill him.”
“But I don’t want to kill him.”
“Why not? He’s already tried to kill you. Don’t hold back and let him regain the advantage of his height and weight.”
“But you said I should never kill anybody.”
“I said you should never use a gun to kill anybody. If a man has attacked you with a knife, everyone’s sympathy—the police, the DA, the court—will be with you. You’re a defenseless woman who acted in desperation to save your life. A woman with a gun is not defenseless and not so sympathetic.”
He walked her around the room and showed her objects that could be used as weapons: a paperweight, a heavy crystal bowl, a letter opener from the desk. “This has a sharp point, but not a sharp blade. How would you use it against an opponent?”
“With the pointy end,” she replied.
“Where?”
“In the heart?”
“The heart can be difficult to find when you’re under attack. It has a rib cage to protect it, and you might not get a second thrust. Stab him in the throat, here, or here.” He pointed to the Adam’s apple and the jugular. “Anywhere in the neck is going to hurt like hell and bleed a lot. Stab him more than once, if you can. If he’s close to you, stab him in the eye. That will stop anybody.”
“Ugh,” she said.
“When your life is in danger you can’t afford to be squeamish. Get mad at him, that will help.” He took her into the kitchen. “You’ll notice that the knives are not in a drawer,” he said, “but in a wooden block, with their handles exposed. If you’re under attack, you don’t have time to remember which drawers the knives are in and search the drawer. And when you choose your weapon, don’t take the big chef’s knife—it’s unwieldy. You can kill a man with any knife there, even a three-inch paring knife. Keep them all sharp. A dull knife is of little use, whether you’re attacking a man or a tomato.”
He led her back into the living room and faced her. “Now, we’re both unarmed, but he has height, weight, and strength on you. Don’t wait to defend an attack—attack!”
“In the nose?”
“Sure, but that may not be available, and it’s defensible, if he’s quick. So is the crotch, which is greatly overrated as a place to attack, unless you’re wearing heavy shoes and have an open target—from behind is best, that’s where his balls are.”
“So where?”
“The shin is tempting, if you’re wearing the right shoes, but the knee is much better. If you’re wearing heels, your only shot is his foot, and his shoe will help protect him. But his knee has no protection. The kneecap is a painful place to be kicked and may be disabling, but a kick inside the knee outward with your instep will, first of all, knock him down, because the knee will collapse, and if you kick hard enough he won’t be able to stand on it.”
? ? ?
THEY WORKED FOR another hour, increasing their speed. “You’re doing well,” he said. “That’s enough for today. You deserve a reward. What would you like?”
“Anything I want?” she asked, putting her arms around him.
“Anything,” he said.
She told him, and she got it.
36
STONE AND ANA were having breakfast in bed. She was speaking on her cell to the prospective buyer of a large property in Santa Fe. “No, I’m out of town,” she was saying, “but my associate, Carolyn, will pick you up at your hotel at ten AM and take you to see the house. You may, if you wish, speak to me at any time while you’re viewing the place. Carolyn has a phone with a video link to mine, so we can meet face-to-face. Enjoy!” She hung up, just as the butler came into the room and handed Stone an envelope. “Just hand-delivered from the hotel manager, Mr. Barrington,” he said.
Stone opened the envelope and found an application for the hotel’s private club inside, complete with credit information and a photograph of a man he’d never seen before. He showed it to Ana. “Is this Dax Baxter?”
“Yes, it is. Why do you have his photograph?”
“He wants to join our private club, which gives access to all of our facilities to locals who are not guests in the hotel.”
“And you get to approve or disapprove?”
“It happens when an applicant has a reputation for poor behavior or a bad credit record. According to his credit report, Baxter has both—has been sued half a dozen times by restaurants or clubs for nonpayment. A note from the manager says that he typically offers to pay less than what he owes.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Ana said. “I ran a credit report on him when he was house hunting, to see if he was a good mortgage applicant, and he wasn’t. Fortunately, he paid cash for the house.”
There were two boxes at the bottom of the letter, and Stone checked the one marked “Decline,” and signed it.
“Smart move,” she said. “He’s trouble, especially if he owes you money.” She picked up a copy of Architectural Digest from the bed, opened it to a spread, and handed it to Stone. “You’d think that anyone who lives like this could pay his bills on time. I’ve heard on the real estate grapevine that he stiffed the interior designer for her work on his house, and she had to settle for half her fee to avoid going to court against him. He would have seen to it that her legal costs would have been more than her fee.”