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.