The car drove away. A car that had been following them pulled into his driveway, and Baxter used his remote to open the garage so the two men could put their car inside. He let them into the house through the garage door to the inside, and checked the alarm box for any attempted entries. None. Then he took the two men to the kitchen. “Make yourselves at home here. Take anything you want from the fridge.”
“Thank you, sir,” one of them said. “We’ll check the house, inside and out, before we do.”
Baxter went into his study and poured himself a drink, then he called Chita.
“Hello, boss.”
“Hi, I’m back from Santa Fe, and I’ll be in tomorrow morning, usual time.”
“Got it.” They both hung up.
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RIVERA AND ROSSI turned into the Malibu Village parking lot and drove slowly around it once, passing the Prius. Farther along, they passed a patrol car backed into an alley between two shops, its lights out, and Rivera flashed his own lights to let them know he was there. He then parked fifty feet from the Prius, facing the market, so they could see the whole area. His cell rang. “Rivera,” he said.
“Hey, it’s Chita.”
“Hey, there,” he replied, then covered the phone. “Give me a minute, will you?” he said to Rossi.
“I’ll go talk to the uniforms,” Rossi replied, and got out of the car.
“You back yet?” she asked.
“Yeah, but I’m working.”
“I just got a call from Dax. He’s back in town, and he’ll be at work tomorrow morning.”
“Did he say why he came back so soon?”
“No, but he sounded pretty calm. He was very nervous when I spoke to him before I left. You want dinner here tomorrow night?”
“I’d love to, but let me call you tomorrow afternoon and confirm. We’re working a case almost constantly.”
“Something to do with Dax?”
“I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”
“Bye-bye.” They hung up.
Rossi got back in the car. “They’ve been here about forty-five minutes,” he said. “They don’t know what time the car was parked.”
Rivera pointed at the little theater. “Maybe he’s taking in a movie,” he said.
“Could be.”
Dispatch called them on the radio.
“This is Rivera.”
“We got another call from Malibu Village,” the operator said. “A motorcycle, BMW, reported stolen from the same lot where the Prius is.”
“Roger. Over and out.” He replaced the microphone.
“You think our boy abandoned the Prius and stole the motorcycle?” Rossi asked.
“Possibly,” Rivera said. “Let’s take a ride down to Billy Barnett’s house. Call the patrol car and ask them to stay on here and to apprehend the driver of the Prius if he turns up.”
They got as far as the beach restaurant, when Rossi said, “BMW motorcycle on your right.”
They parked and walked over to the machine. “The right plates,” Rivera said.
“Well, look at that,” Rossi said, pointing. “Two slashed tires.”
53
TEDDY WAS NEARLY asleep when he heard his cell phone vibrate. He got out of bed, picked it up, and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “Yes?”
“Mr. Barnett, I’m sorry to disturb you at this time of the evening, but—”
“Who is this?” Teddy asked.
“This is the LAPD, Detective Sergeant Rivera. We spoke in Santa Fe. As I said, I’m sorry to wake you but—”
“I’m going to hang up now,” Teddy said.
“Shut up and listen to me!” Rivera said. “Your life is in danger.”
Teddy sighed. “All right, tell me something I don’t know.”
“Are you aware that Dimitri Kasov has a younger brother?”
“Who’s Dimitri Kasov?”
“You know goddamned well who he is,” Rivera said. “His younger brother, Sergei, shot two LAPD homicide detectives in their car, murdering one of them, and this afternoon he shot my partner.”
“Where did this happen?” Teddy asked.
“In an Airstream trailer at a trailer park quite near your house, belonging to Dimitri. So he’s in your neighborhood.”
“Go on.”
“He took a Prius from his brother’s place, then drove it to Malibu Village and abandoned it, then stole a BMW motorcycle. We found the motorcycle in a restaurant parking lot near your house with both tires slashed. I think you slashed them.”
Teddy said nothing.
“Sergei Kasov was not in the restaurant, and I believe that he may have walked down the beach to your house. Are you at home?”
“No,” Teddy replied.
“That’s good news. My partner and I would like to enter your house.”
“I thought you said your partner was shot this afternoon.”
“He was, but he was not seriously wounded. I have two questions for you. One, may I have your permission to enter your house to see if Kasov is there?”
“What’s your second question?”
“If I may do that, is there some method by which I can enter your house quietly without a key?”
Teddy thought for a moment. “No, but there is a key concealed near the front door. When I was last there, I forgot to arm the alarm system.”
“May I have your permission to enter your house?”
“Oh, all right, you can go inside. The key is in a fake rock, on a pile of rocks about eight feet to the right of the front door. The lock turns very quietly. The front hall leads directly to the living room, which overlooks a deck and the beach. Master bedroom is to the left, open kitchen to the right. A spare room is beyond the kitchen. Got that?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Listen to me, Detective. That man is very dangerous, and you should not go in there without serious backup.”
There was no response.
“Detective Rivera?” The man had hung up. “Shit!” Teddy quickly got into some clothes, slipped on his loafers and his shoulder holster, and left the sleeping Sally there. He got into the car and aimed it at Malibu. Traffic was light at this hour: he could make it quickly, if the cops didn’t give chase. He left through the main gate and turned into Stone Canyon Road, then floored the car. He had to slow to make the first couple of turns, but after turning onto Sunset Boulevard he drove as fast as he could, running every light. On the straightaways, he was topping a hundred mph.
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RIVERA AND ROSSI parked their car three houses down from Billy Barnett’s address and walked carefully down the paved road, avoiding the noise of the graveled edges. Rivera found the fake rock containing the key and moved very quietly to the front door. He put his ear to the wood panel and listened for the better part of a minute, then gave Rossi a thumbs-up and put his finger to his lips, which was unnecessary. He carefully inserted the key and slowly turned it, until he felt the bolt retract, then he opened the door a couple of inches and stood still, listening. All he could hear was the waves coming in at the rear of the house.
Both detectives drew their weapons, armed them, and entered the residence.
Rossi waited until they were abreast of the kitchen, then pointed at himself, then to the hallway leading to the master bedroom.
Rivera gave him a thumbs-up, then made a tamping motion with his free hand. Take it easy.
Rivera turned and assumed a combat position, aiming down the hallway toward the bedroom. He could just make out Rossi’s broad back. Then he heard a muffled thump, and suddenly Rossi was running backward toward him, taking up most of the hallway.
Rivera tried to aim past him but could see nothing. Then Rossi struck him, and he fell backward into the kitchen. As he struggled to get up, he heard another thump, and it was as if someone had punched him hard in the middle of his body. He fell onto his back, his weapon pointing toward the hallway, and got off two rounds.
Then he heard a door open and, a moment later, a garage door opening. A car started and drove away from the house, burning rubber.
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