“A woman alone in this town who isn’t a survivor-well, I don’t have to tell you.”
“No, you don’t. Now, you were here when Mike Barton left with the ransom money?”
“Yes. I told you that.”
“How big was the suitcase?”
“Oh, about this size.” She motioned with her hands. “You know the size you can bring on the plane with you? Well, I’d say it was a size larger.”
“Is it one of a matched set?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Could I see the set? Where would it be?”
“In the closet in Mike’s room. I’ll take you there.” She led the way upstairs. Unlike Angel’s room, this was plain, almost drab. The closet was a large, walk-in affair with, Masuto reflected, enough suits, jackets, and slacks to outfit the entire Beverly Hills police force. The luggage was lined up on a shelf, a space showing where one of the suitcases had been removed. Masuto pulled out the one next to it and studied it. “Just one of each size?”
“Yes, in that design, just one of each size. There are other suitcases in the storeroom.”
“The same design?”
“Oh, no, quite different.”
“Do you know where they came from?”
“They’re from Gucci.”
“The place on Rodeo Drive?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you suppose they’d have another just like it?”
“I’m sure they would. It’s a standard item.”
“Well, that helps. Would you mind coming with me to Gucci to make sure I get the right thing?”
“Sure, if it’s going to end this business.”
“I think it will.”
At Gucci’s, fifteen minutes later, Elaine selected the suitcase.
“How much is it?” Masuto asked.
The clerk, who had been observing Masuto’s creaseless gray flannels, his old tweed jacket, and his tieless shirt, said coldly, “Four hundred and twenty dollars.”
Masuto responded with stunned silence, and Elaine stepped into the gap and said, “This is Sergeant Masuto of the Beverly Hills police force. We need the suitcase only for a single day, not for travel purposes, but simply as an exhibit.”
Masuto took out his badge. “It will be returned, undamaged, tomorrow.”
“I’ll have to speak to the manager,” the clerk said, and when the manager was apprised of the situation, he told them that he was delighted to be of some service to the Beverly Hills police. “You might mention the name Gucci,” he said, “but only if it’s convenient.”
Outside, Masuto said to Elaine, “You, my dear, are a remarkable young woman.”
“I think you’re a remarkable cop,” she returned.
11
Masuto deposited the Gucci suitcase in the trunk of his car and drove Elaine back to the Barton house, explaining on the way about the proceedings scheduled for that evening. “I want things to be as loose and easy as possible. Mrs. Holtz can have cake and coffee for those who want it. Can Miss Jones mix drinks?”
“I’ll help her. But what makes you so sure they’ll come?”
“They’ll come. This is not simply Beverly Hills, it’s the American dream factory. Each one of them has either a starring or a supporting role, and they wouldn’t miss it.”
“And that’s what the suitcase is for?”
“Perhaps. You know, Miss Newman, there is a Zen belief that what one sees is illusion. The reality is what one refuses to see.”
“Yes, and now it’s Miss Newman again.”
“I’m a policeman.”
“And married?”
“And married.”
“They always are.”
Leaving her at the house, Masuto drove to All Saints Hospital and made his way down a flight of steps to the basement and the pathology rooms. Dr. Baxter was waiting to welcome him with a malicious smile.
“Finished, Doctor?” Masuto asked pleasantly.
“I, my Oriental wizard, am finished. You have just begun.”
“I am sure you will make it less difficult for me.”
“Oh, no. No, indeed. I intend to make it damned confusing for you. Not with Mike Barton. A simple case of a bullet in the head, twenty-two caliber. Not with Mr. Kelly, whose skull was blown open with a thirty-eight. But with the Angel-ah, there we have a nest of worms.”
“You know what killed her?”
“You’re damn right I do. I’m a pathologist, not a cop. Would you like to hear what killed her?”
“Very much.”
“Good. Then come over here and have a look at the body of the deceased. Having seen only one puncture hole on the arm of the deceased, you Sherlocks concluded that the Angel was not a user. Nothing of the kind. In her circle it is not fashionable to mark the arm. She used her thighs.”
Masuto turned away, and Baxter covered the body. “Squeamish, huh? Now let me tell you what killed her. It was a combination of three things-Scotch whisky, chloral hydrate, and a large dose of heroin.”
“Chloral hydrate?”
“The venerable Mickey Finn. My guess is that it was mixed into the whisky, which would put her to sleep, and while she was in slumberland, someone not concerned about marking the beautiful arm slipped in and shot her full of heroin.”
Masuto made no response to this, his carefully constructed puzzle tilting and crumbling, and Baxter watched him with satisfaction. Then his usually impassive face creased in unhappiness, and he whispered, “Oh, my God, what a fool I was.”
“Not alone, young fellow,” Baxter said cheerfully, “not alone by any means. One among many, because now comes the whammy. Brace yourself.” Silent, Masuto stared at him. “You can’t guess? Come on, throw a wild one at me.”
“I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about,” Masuto said tiredly.
“Kind of upset you with that three-way knockout. By the way, any one of those three, the Mickey, the whisky, or the heroin would probably not be lethal. Put them together, and you have a one-way ticket into the great beyond. Still waiting for the whammy?”
“Yes, my good doctor,” Masuto said coldly.
“Okay, here it is. Your Angel is not a woman. She’s a man.” Pleased with himself, he waited for Masuto’s reaction.
“Is this another manifestation of what passes for your sense of humor?”
“Really getting to you today,” Baxter said, rubbing his hands together. “As a matter of fact, it’s pretty damn funny, isn’t it?”
“You are the coldest, most inhuman imitation of a healer I have ever encountered!” Masuto said angrily.
“Healer? Hell, no. I am a pathologist, sonny, and don’t you ever forget that-and a damn good one. And what I said before goes. Your Angel is a man.”
“All right, I’m listening.” His anger passed. Now the last few pieces were falling into place. “Please explain
