Gerald Petievich - To Die in Beverly Hills

"What comes after the phony press release?" Higgins said.

Carr pulled his chair closer to the table. As he explained his plan, the others sat in silence. After he had finished his explanation, more beers were opened.

"It's complicated," Higgins said.

"There's a lot of unknowns," Martin said, drinking down another half bottle of beer.

Carr looked at Kelly.

"Lots of things can go wrong," Kelly said. He bit his lip.

"If they do, we'll make repairs along the way," Carr said. "I say we're in a corner and there's no other way to fight our way out of it."

Everyone nodded in agreement. After finishing their beers, Higgins and Martin left, and Kelly asked Carr to join him for a walk.

For the next hour or so, they strolled the darkened suburban streets. Children sped about on bicycles with reflectors. From some of the homes they walked past, they could hear television dialogue, commercials, Hollywood-style gunshots, screeching tires, shouted commands, music.

They talked about some of the cases they had worked on together earlier in their careers. Finally, as they turned a corner and headed back toward Kelly's house, they ran out of conversation. The two men continued up the street to Carr's sedan, which was parked in front of the house. He pulled car keys from his pocket.

"I really think I'm gonna do it," Kelly said as he gazed in the direction of his home. "I'm not one hundred percent positive, but I've been doing a lot of thinking since this thing happened and I'm thinking seriously about taking the disability retirement."

Carr didn't respond. He unlocked the car and climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine.

"Well, why don't you say something?" Kelly said.

"If you want to get your charge by watching TV from now on, that's up to you, Jack," Carr said.

"The whole job is nothing but a goddamn game."

"True."

"If you had a wife and kids, you'd think differently."

"Maybe I would." He winked at Kelly and drove off.

It took Charles Carr twenty minutes to reach Jerome Hartmann's home in Beverly Hills. He pulled into the circular driveway and parked near the front door. The lights were out in the house. Nevertheless, Carr got out and rang the doorbell. After a long wait, he heard footsteps inside. The peephole opened and closed. The outside light came on and the door lock was unfastened.

Jerome Hartmann opened the door. He was wearing a blue terry-cloth robe and leather slippers.

"Sorry to stop by so late," Carr said. "But I want to take you up on your offer to help."

"Come in, Mr. Carr," Hartmann said, stepping aside. He ran his hands through his hair.

"That's not necessary, this will only take a minute. I need the use of a furnished house in Beverly Hills for a few days. I'd like to have the house by tomorrow afternoon. Can you help me?"

Hartmann rubbed his chin. "Greg Peckham and his family are in Cannes the next week or so. I'm sure if I phoned him he'd give me permission … may I ask what you need the house for?"

"I can't tell you all the details right now, but it involves the people who tried to kill you. If we can use the house for a few days we might be able to catch them."

Hartmann nodded. "Call me tomorrow at the bank. I'll have it all arranged."

"Sorry to have disturbed you."

Jerome Hartmann shut the door.

The Beverly Hills Detective Bureau was busier than usual.

There had been an armed robbery at one of the Rodeo Drive jewelry stores and the office was buzzing with activity. Detectives filled out reports as they interviewed the witnesses: a well-dressed young woman, a middle-aged jeweler who still looked pale, a turbaned man wearing a tailor-made suit. Because it was almost time for shift change, uniformed officers roamed in and out of the office, stalling their return to patrol duties.

Travis Bailey stood in the corner of the room sharpening his pencils in an electric sharpener. As he checked each point, he wiped the excess lead on a tissue, then tossed the tissue in the wastebasket. After honing exactly fifteen pencils, he wrapped them with a rubber band and returned to his desk. He opened a drawer and placed the sheaf of pencils in its proper place, then closed the drawer.

"Hold the line," Delsey Piper said, and pressed the hold button on her telephone. "Line three." She looked at Bailey. Bailey picked up the receiver on his desk.

"It's me," Emil Kreuzer said.

"Where are you calling from?" Bailey's tone was less than friendly.

"In a phone booth of course. We need to get together."

"I can't get away today."

"Could you make time for the score of a lifetime? I mean of a lifetime?"

Bailey looked around the room. "I might be able to get away for a few minutes," he said casually. "Meet me at the department store." He hung up the receiver.

He looked at Delsey, still at her desk. "We have to go see an informant."

Bailey checked an unmarked sedan out of the motor pool and drove a few blocks to an exclusive, five-story department store. He drove into the underground garage and parked. "You wait here," he said.

"Can't I go with you? You keep telling me you'll let me meet some of your informants, and then you never do."

"Next time."

"That's what you always say."

Bailey climbed out of the car and entered the store through a bank of glass doors. Inside, he made his way through a cosmetics department staffed with immaculately groomed women of all ages and a circular platform featuring a display of male and female mannequins wearing see-through plastic coats and black leather tights. He took an elevator to the fourth floor, then wound through the fur department to a restaurant furnished with small white tables and cane-backed chairs. They were surrounded by trellises wrapped with artificial greenery.

Emil Kreuzer was the only male customer. He waved Bailey over. A waitress dressed in a puffed-sleeve uniform came to the table and took Bailey's order for coffee.

"I hope this is important," Bailey said after the waitress had left.

"I'll run it down to you and you tell me what you think. Yesterday I did my hypno thing on this movie star's wife-"

"Name?"

"Fay Peckham, wife of Greg Peckham."

"Go ahead."

"After I do the hypno thing I have conversation with the bitch. Somehow or another we get on the topic of gold coins. She tells me she and good ol' Greg are collectors; that they have lots of U.S. gold coins, numismatic pieces worth lots of bucks. I do the I happen to be a coin collector myself act and after a while she gets up and goes in the den. A minute later she comes back out with a tray of Krugerrands and Austrian Coronas. She tells me that her husband has been collecting for the past ten years and has his collection insured for three hundred thousand. The dumb bitch trusts me."

"How do you know the whole collection is in his house?"

"If you'll let me finish, I'll tell you."

Bailey nodded.

"While I'm sitting there jawing with the bitch, the doorbell rings. She goes to the front door. While she's signing for a package or something, I zip into the den. What do I see? A wall safe! The woman is so dumb she actually left the safe open. I got a glimpse of something beautiful. I'm talking about trays of gold coins. I almost came in my pants."

"You're telling me you saw the coins?"

"I saw them. And when I asked her about her next appointment, she told me all about her trip to Cannes. They'll be gone a week starting today. The safe is one of those little ones. Just have your man take an axe. He can chop the safe out of the wall and take it with him."

The waitress came to the table, served the coffee and hurried off.

Bailey tasted the coffee. "This may not be the best time to put Bones to work," he said. "Things have heated up lately."