“Good girl.”
“Dax sounded funny,” she said, “rattled, maybe.”
“I expect he had just come from his old house.”
“You think he murdered two people?”
“No, I think he had occasion to view the bodies. So did I—that was what ruined my appetite.”
Chita raised a hand. “No further details, please.”
“Agreed.”
“Do you think the cops went to Santa Fe, looking for Dax?”
“I expect so,” he replied.
“You think Dax is in jail?”
“If he was, who would he call?”
“His lawyer, I guess. He’d call me if he wanted anything done in his absence, and he didn’t do that.”
“My guess is, he hasn’t been arrested. For that, they’d have to be able to put him at the house. Is Dax the kind of guy who’d pull a knife on somebody?”
“I think Dax Baxter is the biggest coward I’ve ever met. He’s a bully, but he backs down in a hurry.”
“He didn’t kill the two guys. One of them was a cold-blooded hit man, and the other—well, he worked for the hit man.”
“That sounds like the sort of men he might hire to do his dirty work,” she said.
“You think he’s capable of having somebody murdered?”
“In a fit of anger, yes. And he’s capable of staying angry for long periods—days, sometimes.”
They ordered dinner, and Carlos pulled out his cell phone. “Excuse me, I want to check something.” He pulled up the surveillance app. “The Porsche is still in his garage,” he said. “Did he have another car?”
“Yes, a Bentley sedan. I’ve had it serviced for him.”
“Might he drive it to the airport?”
“More likely, he would call a car service. I could check, if you like.” Her cell phone rang, and she got it out of her bag. “It’s Dax,” she said. “Hello?” She listened for a moment. “First thing,” she said, then hung up. “He left his briefcase in his office, and he wants me to FedEx it to him tomorrow morning.”
“Chita,” Carlos said, “do you think I could have a look in that briefcase before you send it?”
She shrugged. “Right after dessert,” she said.
43
STONE WAS HAVING a before-dinner drink with Ana, when his cell rang: Cupie. “Hello, Cupie.”
“How you doin’, Stone?”
“I’m knee deep in bourbon, so pretty good.”
“I’ve got some news on Dax.”
“What news?”
“He got out of town early this morning, but not before one of his people called me and asked for four rough, tough security guards.”
“Did you supply them?”
“I did. Two flew out with him and two met him in Santa Fe. These guys break heads, on request.”
“You have any background on why he left town?”
“Well, yeah. An old buddy of mine still works Homicide at LAPD. There was a double homicide at a vacant house Dax owns in the Hollywood Hills.”
“Anybody anyone knows?”
“One of them was a hit man known as the Russian.”
“Him, even I have heard of. How did they die?”
“Badly, by the blade.”
“Let me understand,” Stone said. “Dax’s hit man, who’s said to be invincible, was knifed by somebody?”
“I don’t think Dax could handle that himself.”
“So what’s going on?”
“Beats me, but Dax was pretty wired, according to his secretary.”
“Well, that’s fascinating, Cupie,” Stone said. “I wouldn’t mind hearing more, if it comes to you.”
“Sure thing. Have a nice evening.”
Ana looked at Stone curiously. “Anything wrong?”
“Not with me,” Stone said. “Excuse me a second.” He got up and walked into another room, then called Billy Barnett.
“Hi, Stone.”
“Hi, Billy. Just a little heads-up. I came by a piece of information, and I’d rather not talk about how. Also, this call to you was just catching up, okay?”
“Whatever you say, Stone.”
“There was a double homicide last night at a house owned by Dax Baxter, and he left for Santa Fe this morning in the company of heavy security.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope. Nice not talking to you.” Stone hung up and went back to the study and Ana.
“You know,” she said, “I’m enjoying myself here enormously, but I have to show my face in Santa Fe soon, or my clients will think I’m drying out somewhere.”
Stone laughed. “I like having you here, but if you have to go, I’ll get somebody to fly you home in my plane.”
“We could extend this little tryst for a while if you came with me.”
“Well, I have to get back to New York soon, and I could use a couple of days in Santa Fe. Maybe I’ll fly you myself.”
“That would be lovely.”
“And maybe after you’ve shown your face in Santa Fe, you’d like to spend some time in New York.”
“It’s a thought,” she said.
The butler brought dinner in on a rolling table and set it up.
? ? ?
CHITA GOT THEM past the guard at the gate, saying Dax needed something from his office. She let them into the building, and they went upstairs. “You want lights or no lights?” she asked Carlos.
“Just the desk lamp,” he said, sliding into Dax’s chair. “Not a bad office. I admired it when I was here.”
“Dax hires good people, then renegotiates when the bill comes. People rarely work for him twice.” She got the briefcase from the credenza behind the desk and set it down before him.
Carlos looked at the locks. “I don’t suppose you know the combination?”
She looked at the numbers. “You’re in luck—he didn’t lock it.”
Carlos opened the case and found a steno pad on top of some papers. He went quickly through them—contracts, correspondence, the budget for a film—he went back to the steno pad.
“He takes notes on that,” she said, “whatever he needs to remember.”
Carlos leafed backward through the pages, assuming they were chronological. He found phone numbers, doodles, an address or two. Further back in time he came across an address and phone number that interested him. The number was an L.A. cell, but the address was a high-end trailer park on Pacific Coast Highway, on the way to Malibu. There was no name, just one initial: R. He wrote it down. There was a key ring in the case, too. He held it up for Chita. “Do you know what these keys are for?”
“Nope. They look like house keys.”
“I wish I had some wax to take impressions.”
“I wish I could help you.”
He took a sheet of Dax’s stationery from a drawer, placed each of the three keys on it and traced their outline. “This’ll have to do,” he said. “I don’t suppose you have the combination to his safe? There must be one here somewhere.”
She walked over to a wall and pulled on a picture, which, hinged, covered a wall safe with a digital key pad. “What will you give me for the combination?”
“My heart and soul,” he said, “but you already have those.”
She smiled, tapped in a code, and the door beeped and swung open.
Carlos got up and removed a penlight from his pocket and shone it into the safe. “Much cash,” he said, “several thousand dollars.”
“He hates ATMs,” Chita replied. “I get him five grand at a time from the bank, and he uses the money as needed.”
“Gun,” Carlos said, holding it up with a finger through the trigger guard. “Walther PPK, stainless steel, loaded.”
“He has a permit for it, city and state.”
“I’ll bet it’s not the only one he has,” Carlos remarked. He flipped through the remainder of the safe’s contents. “Nothing remarkable. Okay, get me out of here before we’re arrested.”
She put the steno pad and the keys back into the briefcase, closed it, and put it back inside the credenza.
“Aren’t you going to send it to him?” Carlos asked.
“I’ll do it from here tomorrow morning,” she said. “It’s what he would expect, so I’ll use an office waybill.”
They locked up and walked back to his car. “You’ve never been to my place,” he said.
“No, I haven’t.”
“I think now would be a good time.”
She smiled. “So do I.”
44