and in the Bahamas.â
âAnd the treasury allows it?â
âMasao, when a child is kidnapped, people bankrupt themselves to pay the ransom, and most kidnappings are not faked. Internal Revenue is pretty damned heartless, but this is America, and you know how peopleâs hearts go out to a kidnap victim.â
âAnd itâs more or less foolproof, isnât it?â
âExcept for stupidity, which you tell me this is laced with. However, considering that he would have paid ten percent to the launderers, Mike Barton would be holding nine hundred thousand dollars in cash. Thatâs a lot of cash. What would he have done with it?â
âThatâs the question, isnât it? When I know that, Iâll have all the other answers.â
âHowâs that?â
âJust a guess that whoever killed Mike Barton did it for the money. I find the money, I find a killerâor killers.â
The House on the Hill
North of Sunset Boulevard, in Beverly Hills, the land rolls up to the Santa Monica Mountains. The gentle slopes and hillocks are cut by several canyons, and the real estate in this area constitutes one of the most expensive residential neighborhoods in the entire country. The Barton home was on a hilltop just high enough to look out over the Beverly Hills Hotel, a Spanish colonial house on an acre of ground.
It was dark when Masuto pulled into the driveway, and four cars were already standing in the parking area. Beckman was waiting outside the front door, talking to a uniformed Beverly Hills cop, and he greeted Masuto with relief. âYou got a houseful of angry citizens,â he told Masuto, âespecially McCarthy and Ranier, who insist that we got no right whatsoever to keep them here.â
âWe havenât. Why do they stay?â
âThey tell it that the only reason theyâre here is to protect the rights of the Angel and to keep her from being bullied by the cops.â
âWhy do they think weâd bully her?â Masuto wondered.
âBecause when they asked Wainwright whether they were suspects, he said that he had to take the position that everyone who knew about the kidnapping was to some degree suspect. He said it more diplomatically, but McCarthy blew his top anyway. Bartonâs secretaryâher nameâs Elaine Newmanâwent to pieces when she heard about the murder.â
âOh? And how did Mrs. Barton take it?â
âI donât know. Sheâs been in her room since she got back. The doctorâs been here to see her.â
âWhat doctor?â
âTheir family doctor, name of Haddam. Heâs gone now.â
âAnd what about the FBI?â
âThat kid, Frank Keller, was here. He nosed around and asked a few questions. Didnât seem to know what the hell he was doing.â
âAnd the captain?â
âThe captain went home to have dinner. McCarthy told him that any harassment of Angel Barton would result in an action, and that heâd sue the hell out of the city, and you know how the captain reacts when one of the wealthy citizens threatens to sue the city. He says that you can handle it, because since you know all about who murdered Barton, you can go easy on everyone else. What about it, Masao? Do you know?â
âSort of.â
âWhat the devil does âsort ofâ mean?â
âI know and I donât know.â
âSure. That clears it all up.â
Beckman led the way into the house. âWhat about the press?â Masuto asked him.
âThey were here, also the TV guys. Wainwright and McCarthy spoke to them. I told Frank, the officer at the door, not to let anyone in, except first he talks to you.â
Masuto was studying the house thoughtfully. Earlier in the day he had seen it only from the outside. Inside, it displayed the slightly insane baronial overbuilding of a film starâs house of the nineteen thirtiesâtile floor, huge center
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