“How do you know? Did she tell you?”
“Arthur Crombie told me.”
“Ah so.” It escaped from him involuntarily. “Are you and Mr. Crombie friends?”
“We belong to the same golf club and-” He let that go.
“Were you going to say the same gun club?”
He stood up. “You know, Masuto, I don’t like what’s going on here. You want to talk to me about pistols, then I want to know why.”
Masuto sighed and shrugged. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of something, that’s all. You were saying that Mr. Crombie had a customer who was willing to pay a million dollars for your wife’s house.”
Standing there, Greene hesitated. Finally, he said, “I wish I knew what in hell you’re after.”
“A killer.”
“What the devil has her house got to do with that?”
“You brought up the question of the house.”
“Right. I did. Actually, the offer was one million two hundred thousand. That’s not as crazy as it sounds, not in Beverly Hills. The house has seven bedrooms, a tennis court, and a swimming pool. An Iranian or an Arab made the offer, according to Crombie. I loved that house, and now it’s gone. Do you wonder that I’d like to kill that broad?”
“Gone? Has it been sold?”
“What in hell’s the difference? You don’t think I’m in her will?”
“Who is in her will?”
“I’ll give you long odds that every nickel she had goes to Monte Sweet.”
“You never had children?”
“One miscarriage. She’d never take a chance again.”
“Who are her lawyers?”
“Kellog and Cohen. They’re in Westwood, I think.”
Masuto scribbled down the names.
“Whoever did it,” Greene said, “find the bastard.”
“Yes, I intend to,” Masuto said. “Meanwhile, I trust you won’t be leaving town for the next few days.”
Greene stared at Masuto for a long moment; then he nodded and left. Masuto dialed Information and got the telephone number for Kellog and Cohen. When he dialed that number, the woman’s voice at the other end asked who he would like to speak to.
“Mr. Kellog.”
She made the connection, and after a moment a man’s voice told him that it was Kellog.
“This is Detective Sergeant Masuto of the Beverly Hills Police Department. I’m calling you concerning the death of Alice Greene, who, I understand, was a client of yours.”
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“I suggest you get our number from Information and call me back. In that way, you can be certain the call is valid.”
“Masuto?”
“That’s right.”
He put down the phone and waited. A minute or so later, it rang. “What’s all this about?” Kellog asked him.
“Your firm drew up Mrs. Greene’s will. I would like to know who the beneficiary is under that will.”
“Now you know I can’t do that, Sergeant Masuto. This is a confidential matter between my client and myself.”
“Your client is dead.”
“That changes nothing. When the will is read, the beneficiary will become public. Until then, I must protect my client’s confidentiality.”
Masuto’s voice hardened. “Your client, Mr. Kellog, is not only dead. She was savagely murdered. Her death was hideous and painful. I am engaged in an investigation of her death, in an effort to find the murderer. If you persist in your attitude, which constitutes interference with my investigation, I shall have to get a court order to examine that will. You know that I can get such an order. Wouldn’t it be much simpler for you to name the beneficiary? Time is important.”
There was a long silence, and then Kellog said, “Well-since you put it that way-I can’t see that it will do any great harm.”
“Thank you.”
“Actually, there are three beneficiaries-the Bowdow Home, the Happy Bark Cemetery, and the Wolf Society.”
Masuto was scribbling furiously. “Would you repeat the second one?”
Kellog went through the names again.
“And what exactly are these places?”
“The Bowdow Home is a hospital for dogs and cats, out in the Valley. The Happy Bark Cemetery is, as you might infer, a cemetery for well-loved pets. The Wolf Society-well, that’s a bit more complicated. Not only do they carry out a whole program of anti-vivisectionist propaganda, but they are also in the vanguard of the wolf-jackal investigation and controversy.”
“And what might that be?” Masuto asked.
“As I understand it, there is a theory that the husky, the chow, the Pekinese, and a few other breeds of dogs are descended from the wolf, while all other dogs are derived from the jackal. Mrs. Greene explained this to me at some length, but it remains rather fuzzy in my mind. In any case, the Wolf Society devotes itself to serious work on this theory.”
Masuto took a deep breath and asked, “Are there no other beneficiaries?”
“None.”
“Can you tell me the size of the estate?”
“That will have to be determined in probate, but I should guess it will amount to at least a million and a half- that is, including the property.”
Masuto thanked him and put down the phone. Wainwright came into his office, and Masuto said, “Has it ever occurred to you that only huskies, chows, and Pekinese dogs are descended from wolves? I would have said the Pekinese evolved from a hamster, but that shows how much I know.”
“What in hell are you talking about?”
“Alice Greene’s will. A million and a half. It goes to dogs and cats.”
“And where does that get us?”
“Nowhere. Precisely nowhere.”
“I been with the city manager and the mayor, Masao. They want my scalp. Maybe they took it with them already. It’s twelve hours since a murder took place in Beverly Hills, and we haven’t tied up the case. It doesn’t matter that the L.A.P.D. with seven thousand men on the force can’t solve the Hillside Strangler killings, to which they have assigned more men than we got on our whole force. One murder in this town makes them insecure.”
“It makes me insecure.”
“I guess that’s funny. They want crime prevented. There is no way to prevent a crime.”
“There has to be,” Masuto said.
“What does that mean?”
“Those three women are going to die unless we prevent it.”
“Well, you got Beckman living in there, living the life of a goddamn gigolo, with three dames waiting on him hand and foot. What else can I do? I told you you could have cops outside, front and back, but you didn’t want that. We could put another cop inside, and if they start screaming about sixteen hours overtime, let them scream. They’re going to holler about everything else. And for Christ’s sake, don’t let it drop that we got three murders pending. That’s all I need.”
“It’s not a jail, Captain. Sooner or later, the women have to come out.”
“Then, goddamnit, Masao, get the bastard!”
