TEDDY LAY ON his back and stared at the ceiling. He was nearly done, he reckoned. This one more thing to do, and he could relax and enjoy the movie business again.
Keeping people from killing him and protecting Sally was hard work, and he was tired of it. The thing about that kind of tired, he remembered—it makes you sloppy, and he couldn’t afford sloppiness. He ran through what he had to do again, to be sure there were no slipups. What he had to do was harder than just eliminating somebody. He had to do it so finally, so definitively that no one would come looking for him, no one would be looking for anybody to hold responsible.
He could leave no tracks.
58
DAX BAXTER DROVE HOME, exhausted. He put his car in the garage, then let himself into the house, entering the alarm code. To his surprise, instead of giving him an “accept” reply, it just went dark. He was about to call the alarm company when it came on again. Power glitch, he said to himself. He warmed up the dinner the cook had left for him and ate, then went into his bedroom and undressed for bed. He called Chita’s cell number.
“Yes, boss?” she said quickly.
“Listen,” he said, “tomorrow morning, print out the script that’s on my computer and distribute it to production, set design, costumes, and all the other usuals.”
“You sound tired, boss.”
“I’m exhausted and depressed. I always feel this way when a script is finished. I’m not going to come in tomorrow, I’m just going to sleep, probably all day. I’ll turn off the phones, including my cell.”
“See you Monday, then?”
“Right. I’ll feel better when I have some production problems to deal with. Good night.” He hung up and fell into bed.
“He sounded terrible,” Chita said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so down.”
“I guess that’s the price for his kind of success,” Carlos said.
“He’s not going in tomorrow. I can sleep late, if you like. You don’t have to go to the office, do you?”
“I’ve pretty much been ordered not to,” Carlos replied.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little tired. The doctor told me I might feel this way for a few days. Hospitalitis, I guess. My body doesn’t believe I’m out of their clutches yet.”
“Well, we’ll have to see what we can do to distract you. We’ve got the whole weekend ahead of us.”
? ? ?
TEDDY FAY CALLED his housekeeper. “The police have been at the house,” he said, “and I’m sure they left a mess—tape all over the place, maybe some stains on the carpet. Do the best you can with all that, and we’ll be home sometime over the weekend.” She said she would, and he hung up.
The butler brought them dinner, and they got into bed and watched a movie. Sally fell asleep in the middle, as she often did. Teddy looked at his watch. He couldn’t leave for another couple of hours, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep.
? ? ?
AT TWO AM he got out of bed, dressed, and went downstairs to Stone’s study. He removed a couple of books from their shelf and removed the items he’d placed there earlier and put them into a plastic duffel.
He left the house and walked to a spot along the fence where he knew there was a gap in the security camera coverage; he tossed his bag over the fence, then climbed over.
He walked down a path to Stone Canyon Road, down the hill for a few yards, then into an employee parking lot for the Bel-Air Hotel. He found a nineties-era, anonymous-looking car and took a minute or two to hotwire it. Then he backed out of the parking space and turned down Stone Canyon to Sunset, then up Beverly Glen Boulevard, all the way to Mulholland Drive.
The night was amazingly clear for L.A., and he saw more stars than usual. The city was a riotous grid of lights, stretching to the Pacific. He’d always loved the sight. He stopped at the Stone Canyon overlook for a while to enjoy the view and to check traffic. He saw two cars, then, for the next half hour, no traffic at all. He started the car and drove until he could see the security lights of Dax Baxter’s house.
He drove a bit farther, then made a U-turn and parked behind some scrub. He checked his pistol for a full clip, pumped a round into the chamber and engaged the safety, then he got out of the car and, using a penlight, walked until he came to the deer path down the mountain. He made his way slowly down the mountainside, and halfway down, he heard a rattlesnake, probably the one he had heard before on the path. He thought about catching it and taking it to Dax as a kind of gift, but the police probably would suspect that someone put the snake inside the house.
He continued down the steep path, until he came to the security perimeter. He knew that he wouldn’t set off any alarms or cameras because he had already disabled them at the security box. Still, he walked the perimeter, checking the house for anyone still up and about, but saw no one. He found the ladder he had used before and set it up so that he could reach the control box quickly on his return.
He slipped out of his shoes, went to the rear door he had entered earlier, and let himself into the house. Then, in his thick, cotton athletic socks he padded here and there in the house to be sure he was alone with Dax.
Satisfied, he stopped outside Dax’s bedroom and removed the trash bag from his duffel. With his Swiss Army knife, he cut a twelve-inch hole in the bottom for his head and two others for his arms, then pulled it over his head. He tied a handkerchief around his neck, so that he could pull it up to cover most of his face.
Thus prepared, he walked into Dax Baxter’s bedroom.
59
TEDDY STOOD SILENTLY and watched the figure in bed. Baxter’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, and he emitted an occasional snore. Teddy pulled up his handkerchief mask and walked over to the bedside. He pulled on his rubber gloves and slowly opened the bedside drawer, revealing the pistol.
Teddy picked up the weapon, slid back the slide far enough to be sure there was still a round in the chamber, then flicked off the safety and held the gun to Dax’s temple. He didn’t wake up—probably had taken a sleeping pill. He reached out with his free hand and pinched the man’s nostrils shut. Dax sucked in a breath through his mouth and opened his eyes.
“Hello, Dax,” Teddy said. “Remember me? Your wife killed my wife, then you covered it up. Welcome to hell.” Teddy saw recognition in his eyes. He squeezed the trigger.
Dax’s body twitched; blood and brain matter sprayed everywhere—over the adjacent pillow, around the bed, and back toward Teddy. Teddy picked up Dax’s empty hand, put a gloved finger into the blood on the pillow and flicked it onto the hand, then he dropped the pistol onto the floor and let Dax’s hand dangle over it.
Teddy made sure that none of the blood had splattered onto his socks, then he backed away from the bed and took a look around. Everything seemed to be in an order the police would find plausible. He went into the bathroom and rinsed the blood from his face, handkerchief, garbage bag, and gloves, walked back to the rear door, opened it with a clean glove, stepped outside, then shed the garbage bag and stuffed it into his duffel. He pulled off the handkerchief, then checked the doorstep for splatter and, finding none, put the handkerchief into the duffel.
He took a few deep breaths, then slipped his feet into his loafers and walked around the house to where the ladder leaned against it. Carefully, clenching his penlight in his teeth, he climbed up, restored the security box wiring to its original state, then closed it, returned the ladder to its usual place, shed the gloves, and put them into the duffel.