Barton was of no great consequence, nor could Masuto recall much of it as he entered Captain Wainwright’s office.
The small office was crowded. Joe Smith, the city manager, was there, along with Al Freeman, who was the mayor-an honorary, unpaid job-and three other men, introduced in turn as Frank Keller of the FBI, very young, very pompous; Jack McCarthy, Barton’s lawyer; and Bill Ranier, Barton’s business manager. McCarthy was in his late fifties, overweight, sure of himself, with a wide local reputation among film people; Ranier was middle forties, thin, nervous, impatient.
Wainwright wasted no time. “This is Masuto,” he told Ranier and McCarthy. “I’ll settle for him and his partner, but I can’t have hands off. Once Barton informs the police, it’s a police matter.”
“I know, I know,” said McCarthy. “I advised him. But you know damn well, Captain, that a smart kidnapper will not pick up the ransom if he suspects a trap.”
“Jack,” the mayor said soothingly, “if there’s one thing we’re all together on, it’s that nothing must happen to Angel. But Barton can’t handle this alone.”
“He’s not alone. He has Bill and me.”
“Not enough,” Wainwright said. “You know that as well as I do, Mr. McCarthy. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I know Barton’s convinced that his house is being watched and that maybe there’s even an inside connection, and we got to respect the threat that his wife will be killed if he even speaks to the cops. There’ll be no phone taps, and the feds will use our place here as their command post. Now Sergeant Masuto here is the best man we got. A hell of a lot of gardeners are Japanese or nisei. We’ll fit Masuto up with a gardener’s pickup and he’ll change his clothes and drive out to Barton’s place and go in through the back door the way a gardener would. Barton’s an actor, so he can raise hell with Masuto for interrupting him today if anyone’s listening and then he can find a way to talk to Masuto alone.”
“I don’t know whether Barton will buy that.”
“He’ll buy it,” Freeman said. “I’ll drive out first and talk him into it. But when it comes to the drop he wants to be alone, absolutely alone.”
“Let him work that out with Masuto,” the city manager said. “Barton has the last word, but when there’s a crime in our city limits and we’re informed, we have an obligation to pursue it.”
“I’ll arrange for the car,” Wainwright told them. “Nothing’s going to happen until the banks open. I’d appreciate it if one of you filled Sergeant Masuto in. Then he can go home and change clothes, and still get to Barton’s soon after nine.”
“I’ll go there now,” Freeman said, and then asked McCarthy, “are you worried about carrying the money, Jack? I can meet you at the bank.”
“No sweat. You stay with Mike. He’s alone, and he’ll need all the support he can get.”
Freeman left with Wainwright. The mayor put his arm around McCarthy and assured him of the city’s support. “Everyone loves Angel. I wouldn’t want to be in the kidnapper’s shoes if anything happens to her. You tell Mike that we’re at his disposal. The whole damn city’s at his disposal.”
“That’ll help.”
They left McCarthy with Masuto, who said, “You’ll forgive me if my questions are blunt. I have to get home and change clothes, and I want to get to Barton’s as early as possible. First-how much is the ransom?”
“A million dollars.”
“Has Barton got it?”
“He’ll get it. Yes, he’s got it.”
“When did the kidnapping take place?”
McCarthy stared at Masuto thoughtfully for a long moment before answering. “They say you’re good. Are you that good?”
“I’m a cop,” Masuto said. “I do my job.”
“That’s fair enough. The Bartons have a place out at Malibu. Last night there was a party at the Malibu Colony. Mike felt rotten, headache, maybe a touch of the flu. He talked Angel into going without him, and he told her that if it got to be past midnight and she was enjoying herself, she shouldn’t try to drive home but stay over at their Malibu place and come in today.”
“That sounds like an understanding husband.”
“They have a good relationship. Mike went to sleep. At three in the morning he was awakened by the kidnapper’s call. The man told Mike he had Angel and that the ransom was a million.”
“Who gave the party?”
“Netty Cooper. She was married to Sam Cooper, the producer. They’re divorced. She got the house at Malibu.”
“What did Barton do then?”
“He drove out to Malibu. His house had been broken into. There were signs of a struggle-broken lamps, overturned chairs.”
“Did he then go over to Cooper’s place?”
“No. The kidnapper had warned him to keep it quiet. For all Mike knew, the party might still be going on.”
“Is his house in the Colony?”
“No, about a mile away.”
“He’s a cool-headed man.”
“Yes, he is.”
“And what was his next move?” Masuto asked.
“He telephoned me from the beach house and I met him here at his home in Beverly Hills. It was about six o’clock in the morning then. I persuaded him to call Al Freeman. The kidnapper had been very emphatic about what would happen to Angel if he communicated with the police, but Al felt he must call in the feds. Then I talked to Bill Ranier. A million dollars in cash is a very large order, Sergeant. No one bank carries that kind of cash. Fortunately, both Bill and I have good connections with a number of banks.”
“But you found the cash?”
“It’s promised. It’s being put together and it will be delivered to the Central Bank of Los Angeles by nine- thirty. I’ll pick it up there. The kidnapper said he’ll call in his instructions for the drop at noon.”
“Did Barton talk to his wife when the kidnapper called?”
“Oh, yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She was frightened. Mike says she could hardly talk. What does a woman say in a situation like that?”
“If he repeated her exact words and if you can remember them, I’d like to hear them.”
“What difference does it make? Time is running out.”
“It might be important.”
McCarthy shook his head and knit his brow. “I don’t know. ‘Help me.’ I think. ‘Get me out of this, please, Mike.’ Something like that. I didn’t press him.”
“Do they have a security system in their house at Malibu?”
“I think so, yes.”
“It connects with the Malibu police?”
“I really don’t know.” He looked at his watch. “Suppose you hold the rest of your questions for Mike when you get out there. I have to get over to the bank.”
Masuto nodded, and as McCarthy left, Wainwright entered the room. “The gardener’s rig will be downstairs in a few minutes, Masao. I swear I don’t like this. It’s lousy police method, and the feds are leaning on us and screaming special privilege. What in hell do they expect? It’s Beverly Hills not Hell’s Kitchen. There’s more weight in this town than at a fat farm, and it all leans on us.”
“When he goes to make the drop,” Masuto said, “should I try to follow him?”
“No. We have to leave him clear.”
“I don’t like it. It’s wrong.”
“I know. It’s lousy police work.”
“I don’t mean that,” Masuto said. “It’s wrong on his end.”
“What does that mean?”
