He made his way around the house, found the deer trail, and started up the mountainside. He was approaching the road when he heard a distant rumble growing closer. Two Harleys roared around a bend, and he ducked to the ground to avoid their headlamps. He lay there and suddenly, something struck his leg sharply like a punch. Only then did he hear the rattle and feel the sharp fangs in his left calf.
He made a grab for the snake and caught it a few inches below the head, then he grabbed it with both hands and squeezed with all his might. The animal writhed, and it was very strong; he got his legs around it to hold it still, then increased the pressure on the neck with both hands. Nearly a minute elapsed before the creature went limp.
Teddy got to his feet, hoisted his trouser leg and inspected the wound, then he went into the duffel, removed the spattered handkerchief, and used it to make a tourniquet around his leg, below the knee and not too tight. He knew the venom, if the snake had not struck a vein, would move upward in the tissue just under the skin. He checked his watch: two thirty-five. He had to move fast.
He grabbed the snake and the duffel, got back to the car, tossed the duffel onto the front seat and the snake onto the passenger floor, then started the car and drove away. Twenty minutes later he turned into the Bel-Air employees’ parking lot, put it into its original parking space, and returned the ignition wiring to its original state. He grabbed the duffel and the snake and got out of the car, glancing at his watch. Nearly twenty-five minutes since the snakebite, and the pain and burning were very bad.
He got across the road and trotted up the path along the fence until he came to the place where he had crossed before. He slung the duffel over the fence, but the snake was harder to deal with. It was about five feet long, thick and heavy, several pounds. He grasped it near the rattles, swung it around his head a couple of times and flung it over the fence. It hung up on the top.
With some difficulty, Teddy climbed over the fence, freeing the snake as he went. On the other side he stopped to rest for a moment, then made his way back toward the cottage. On the drive back he had formulated a plan, and now he executed it.
He dropped the dead snake near the pool, next to a chaise, where he had left his robe that afternoon, then he stripped off his clothes, went into the house, through the kitchen, into the laundry room. He emptied his pockets, stripped and stuffed his clothes into the washing machine, along with the garbage bag, gloves, and handkerchief, then turned on the cold water and started it, no soap.
He took his phone and trotted back to the pool area, slipping into his robe, then he called 911. His leg was swelling badly and throbbing, and he noticed that his lips were feeling numb.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“I’ve been bitten by a large rattlesnake, and I can’t walk on my leg. I need an ambulance and anti-venom immediately.” He gave her his name and the address of the hotel. “I’ll let security at the gate know to let the ambulance in.” He hung up, called the gate on the house phone on the table beside his chaise and gave them instructions. He hobbled to the pool, jumped in and made sure his body and hair were free of blood and debris, then he toweled off and called Sally’s cell phone. She took three rings to answer.
“Yes, Billy?”
“I’m down by the pool,” he said. “I’ve been bitten by a rattlesnake, badly. I’ve called an ambulance, and it’s on its way. Get dressed, and grab some clothes for me. I’m naked.”
“I’ll be right there.” She hung up.
Teddy got into his robe and tied it, then sat down on the chaise, leaned over the side and vomited; he was having some difficulty breathing. His cell phone rang.
“Yes?” he panted.
“Mr. Barnett?”
“Yes.”
“The ambulance was delayed. They had to pick up the anti-venom from a hospital, but they’re about five minutes out now. How’re you doing?”
“Pain, nausea, difficulty breathing,” he said.
“I’ll stay on the line with you.”
“No, my girlfriend is here. You can’t help.” He hung up and checked the time. Fifty-five minutes since the snake struck him.
Sally came running from the house, clutching his clothes, and knelt next to the chair. “Are you all right?” she asked, helping him into his underwear and trousers.
“I’m in considerable pain,” he said.
“You’re panting—are you having trouble breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t talk, just breathe.” She looked at his leg. “Oh, God,” she said, “it’s twice its usual size.”
? ? ?
THREE MINUTES LATER, the ambulance pulled up at the cottage, and Sally shouted for them. Two EMTs ran over with a stretcher.
“Anti-venom?” Teddy asked.
“Got it right here,” the man replied; he was filling a syringe.
“He’s in a lot of pain,” Sally said to him.
“Let’s get him into the wagon,” he said to his partner.
“Bring the snake,” Teddy managed to say. “Sally, follow in your car.” Then he passed out.
60
CARLOS WAS AWAKENED by his ringing telephone. He glanced at his watch as he picked it up: just after ten; he had needed the sleep. “Hello?”
“It’s Regan, downtown.” The LAPD captain. “How are you feeling, Carlos?”
“Much better, sir. I had a very good night.”
“If you’re not up to this, tell me.”
“What’s up, sir?”
“We had a mass shooting in an East L.A. club last night, at least four dead and several wounded. Everybody in Homicide has pitched in, so nobody from the squad is available.”
“How can I help?”
“Dax Baxter is dead. A housekeeper found him a few minutes ago, single gunshot to the head, very likely a suicide. I need a homicide detective there to confirm the details and manage the crime-scene people. Do you feel up to doing that?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
Regan gave him the address. “You’ll be on your own. I’ll send a crime-scene team as soon as they can shake somebody loose from the other scene.”
“I’m on my way, sir.”
“Don’t break your neck. Baxter isn’t going anywhere, and the housekeeper has been told to stay out of the bedroom.”
“Got it, sir.” He hung up and found Chita staring at him. “Are you really going out?”
“I have to, there’s a big shooting in East L.A. and everybody else is working that.”
“I’ll fix you some breakfast.”
“Just a muffin and coffee while I shower. And, Chita?”
“Yes?”
“You might want to call your office. Dax Baxter apparently killed himself last night.”
“Well,” she said, “he said last night that he was depressed.”
? ? ?
CHITA CALLED HER OFFICE and broke the news to Gloria. “You tell the others. There’s a new script ready on Dax’s computer. His last instructions to me were to print and distribute it to the whole list of people, and he’s already given the writer his check. I’ll be there in an hour or two.” She hung up and went to get Carlos’s breakfast.
? ? ?
CARLOS DRANK A SECOND CUP of coffee en route; he made good time to Mulholland Drive. He parked, got out of the car, and rang the doorbell. A uniformed maid opened it, looking distraught. He showed her his badge. “Take me to his bedroom, please.”
He was astonished at the size of the place. He saw a skateboard in a corner and figured that was how Baxter got around it. The maid pointed at the bedroom door. “There.”
“You go back to the kitchen and make yourself some coffee. Make a big pot—there are other cops on the way.”
She walked away and left him standing at the bedroom door. He opened it and walked to the foot of the bed. He could see a hole in Baxter’s temple, and when he walked around the bed he saw an even bigger hole. Crime scene would have to find the bullet. He walked back around the bed and could see nothing that didn’t point to suicide. The gun was where it should be, and there were blood spatters, blowback, on it.
The doorbell rang, and a moment later a young Asian man was standing at the foot of the bed.
“Anybody else?” Carlos asked.
“I’m all they’ve got. There was a big shooting last night.”
“I heard,” Carlos said. “Do a quick walk-around and see if you see anything that contradicts a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”
The tech set down a large bag and did so. “Looks pretty straightforward to me,” he said.
“Okay, you get started. I’ll go interview the maid.”