To Die in Beverly Hills

THREE

It was early morning and Carr had a hangover.

The office intercom buzzed and a secretary told Carr the agent in charge wanted to speak with him. Carr got up from his desk and headed down the hallway. As he rounded the corner into an anteroom in front of No Waves's office, a young black woman wearing a summer dress sat behind a typewriter. She held up a sheet of paper as he approached. It read HIS RECORDER IS ON! She crumpled the note and tossed it in the wastebasket.

Carr winked at her and continued into the office.

No Waves sat behind his desk thumbing through Carr's report on the Beverly Hills stakeout. Pipe-cleaning equipment was scattered about the desk.

Waeves did not acknowledge Carr's presence, but continued reading the report. Carr was accustomed to this behavior. In April, Waeves had spent a week at his desk reading a book entitled How to Intimidate and Succeed.

Waeves licked a thumb and turned to the last page of the report. He made a, little note in the margin, then looked up. 'I don't see any need for this interview to be recorded, do you?' He dug his meerschaum into a plastic tobacco pouch.

Carr shrugged and sat down.

'Have you had any feedback from Mr. Hartmann?' No Waves said.

'About what?'

'About the damage to his home. Even though the Beverly Hills detective did the shooting, the government could be held liable for the shotgun damage to his walls and aquarium. I understand he had a lot of very valuable tropical fish in there.'

Carr blinked back anger. He took a deep breath. 'No feedback.'

'All we need is another damage claim against the government,' Waeves said sarcastically. He held up the report. 'Your report says that you and Kelly met with Bailey in Chinatown when he first informed you of the possible hit on Hartmann. Was any liquor consumed at this meeting? I'm asking this strictly off the record. I mean that.'

'No.'

'I take it you were in a bar?'

Carr nodded.

'And you didn't order even one drink?'

'That's right.'

'Why?'

'Because I was on the wagon.'

'And Jack Kelly?'

'He's on the wagon too.'

Waeves blew into his pipe.

'From your diagram, it appears that you were in the bedroom when the shooting took place,' Waeves said. 'Who made the assignment?'

'Bailey did. He seemed to know the layout of the house. It was just a matter of covering the three entrances. The assignments seemed okay to me. We had things covered.'

'I'm asking this totally off the record, but were you sleeping in the bedroom when the shooting occurred? Your answer will be kept just between you and me.'

'No.'

'Then what were you doing?'

'I was in the bedroom covering my position,' Carr said. 'I was waiting for someone to break into the house.'

'You're saying that you were in a nice comfortable bedroom with a king-sized bed literally for hours and you didn't even think about lying down on the bed and taking a little rest?'

'Come to think of it, you're right…'

Waeves smiled.

'I did think about it once…' Carr said, '…but I didn't do it.'

'Just asking. As you well know, it's my responsibility as the special agent in charge to ask questions when accidents happen.' A smoke signal billowed from his pipe. 'Nothing personal, you understand.'

'Bailey fired a shotgun,' Carr said. 'Some of the pellets hit Jack. That's what happened.'

Waeves ignored the remark. 'This Leon Sheboygan…we probably should check into his background. Tony Dio could be behind this.'

'Good idea,' Carr said to the wall.

'It was a hot day. And I'm sure Hartmann's house was sweltering. You fellas probably had a couple of beers to cool off in there, right? I know I would've.'

'No, we didn't.'

Waeves fiddled with his pipe. He took some puffs.

'I haven't had a chance to get over and see Jack,' Waeves said. 'How's he doing?'

Carr stood up. 'Is there anything else?'

Waeves licked the stem of his pipe. 'Not at the moment.'

Carr turned and walked out of the room.

Travis Bailey's condominium was furnished modern: chrome-hanging lamps, a dining table with a glass top, unconventional sofa and chairs upholstered in purple leather. On the wall behind the television hung a four-foot- square oil painting of a bolt and nut on a barren desert. Bailey, who had decorated the place himself, lay back on the sofa with his feet in Delsey Piper's lap. They wore matching blue terry-cloth bathrobes and nothing else.

Delsey Piper turned the pages of a newspaper. 'Here it is, she said excitedly. 'Officer Shoots Hired Killer. An alleged underworld hit man was killed yesterday in a shootout with Beverly Hills Police Detective Travis C. Bailey. Police sources report that the suspect, who was not identified, entered the Beverly Hills home of Terence J. Hartmann, president of the Southern California-based Bank of Commerce-Pacific. Hartmann was in Palm Springs at the time, attending a bank conference. Acting on a tip that Hartmann might be the target of an attack, Detective Bailey, with the assistance of two U.S. Treasury agents of the L.A. Field Office, initiated a stakeout of the Hartmann residence. In the early afternoon, an armed man gained entry to the palatial home by forcing entry through a back door. When confronted by Detective Bailey, the suspect drew his weapon. In the ensuing shoot-out, the thirty-six-year-old Bailey fired two rounds from a shotgun. The suspect was killed and U.S. Treasury Agent John A. Kelly was wounded. Kelly was rushed to Cedars of Lebanon Hospital, where he underwent emergency surgery for wounds to the chest. He remains in critical condition. Police sources report that the incident at Hartmann's home may be related to the fact that he is a potential witness in a federal trial now under way against reputed Mafia figure Anthony Dio. Dio has been charged with engineering a bank extortion plot involving the use of counterfeit U.S. securities.' Delsey Piper giggled. 'It's like a movie!'

Bailey smiled. He grabbed the phone receiver off the coffee table and dialed.

'City Desk, Sanders,' the man answered.

'This is Travis Bailey, Beverly Hills P.D. I've got some more on the shoot-out for you. The suspect has been identified. I thought you might want to know.'

'Got a name?'

'Leon Sheboygan,' Bailey said. 'Spelled like the city. He's thirty-four years old. A local hit man for the Dio mob…but don't quote me on that. Keep it deep background.'

'Sure. What sort of a weapon was he carrying?'

'A thirty-two automatic. All the hit men use 'em these days.'

'How many shots were fired?'

'It all happened so fast I don't really know. Things were pretty hot and heavy…I guess I was just a little