The Case of the Kidnapped Angel: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Six) by Howard Fast Read Free Book Online Page B

Barton’s place, and then I can tell my wife I actually saw Mike Barton in the flesh. That’ll give her meat for the coffee klatch for the next two weeks. Unless you want to talk to Lee?”
    â€œHe’s a screenwriter, isn’t he?”
    Beckman consulted his notes. “That’s right. Cominsky says he’s the hottest writer in the business.”
    â€œWe’ll skip him. I don’t want any more imagination. I already have too many notions of what happened here last night.”
    They were on Sunset Boulevard, heading east toward Beverly Hills, when Masuto’s radio lit up. It was Polly at the switchboard at the station house.
    â€œWhere are you?” she asked him.
    â€œJust east of Sepulveda.”
    â€œLet me try to patch you through to the captain. He’s been trying to get you.”
    â€œMasao?” Wainwright’s voice was flat and bleak. “Where the hell are you?”
    â€œJust passing the university.”
    â€œWell, get your ass over here to San Yisidro, just up from Tower.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause Mike Barton is sitting here in his car with a bullet through his head.”

San Yisidro
    San Yisidro is a road that winds up into the Santa Monica Hills, branching off from Tower Road a short distance from Benedict Canyon. For about a mile and a quarter San Yisidro is within the city limits of Beverly Hills, and then the road goes on into Los Angeles. It must be noted that Beverly Hills itself is an island, entirely surrounded, not by water but by the City of Los Angeles. San Yisidro is a very elegant neighborhood, but there are spots where the cactus and the mesquite still grow untouched as they have for the past hundreds of years.
    It was at one such spot that Mike Barton’s black Mercedes was parked, drawn up on the shoulder of the road, the central attraction for two Beverly Hills police cars, Wainwright’s car and Dr. Sam Baxter’s car. A uniformed policeman stood in the road, waving the curious by. Masuto and Beckman parked behind a prowl car and then joined Wainwright at the Mercedes. The door was open, and Baxter was examining the body of what had been Mike Barton. On the other side of the seat Sweeney, the Beverly Hills fingerprint man, was dusting the car and the dashboard.
    â€œWhen did you find it?” Masuto asked Wainwright.
    â€œHalf hour. Officer Comdon was patrolling the road, and he saw the car. Barton looked alive just sitting there, which is why, I guess, other cars passed it by, but Comdon figured he might be lost or something.”
    â€œWhen was he killed?”
    Wainwright nodded at Sam Baxter, and Masuto went over to the doctor and asked him.
    â€œHow the hell do I know?” Baxter snapped. “Was I here? All right, we’ll play the guessing game.” He looked at his watch. “It’s four-thirty now. I’d say he’s been dead four hours, and that’s just a guess, and if you put me on a witness stand, I’ll say it’s a guess.”
    â€œThank you, Doc. Next to your skill I admire your sweet nature most. What killed him?”
    â€œA gun. What in hell do you think killed him?”
    â€œYes, of course,” Masuto said humbly. “I thought perhaps you could tell us what kind of a gun.”
    â€œThe bullet’s still in his skull. When I open him up and take it out, I’ll give you all the details. Meanwhile, from the entry hole, I’d guess it was a twenty-two, and since the bullet didn’t go through, I’d say it was a twenty-two short. A guess, you understand? But what the hell, if I did my work the way you people do yours, my whole life would be guesses.”
    â€œYes, our work is hardly as precise. How far away was the gun when the bullet was fired?”
    â€œYou’re sure you don’t want the name of the killer?”
    â€œOnly if you have it.”
    â€œThe gun was no more than twelve inches away. Powder burns. If you