A Death In Beverly Hills Read Online Free PDF Page B

near your wife's car," Katz said in as sincere a tone as he could manage. Travis gave him a quick smile.
    "So, guys . . . ." Travis glanced at his $15,000 watch.
    "Just a couple of other things. We don't want to have to ask you to come back again."
    "Hey, I'm the star. They aren't making the movie without me."
    "We've been going over the list of people who were in your house in the weeks before your wife disappeared. There are still some prints we can't match up. Can you think of anyone else?"
    "I gave you the pool guy, right?" Page in hand, Furley checked the list and nodded. "Let's see, Delfina . . . the gardener, he might have come inside to use the can. He's supposed to use the one in the pool house but, well, what are you gonna do? He's probably Delfina's second cousin or something." Travis pursed his lips in thought as if multiplying two five digit numbers in his head. "My personal trainer, the catering crew for the Christmas party, all the guests from the party, Marian's family, father, brother-- that kid's a piece of work. I told you to check him out, right?"
    Katz nodded.
    "Well, okay. You know how it is. The caterer brings his crew, waiters, bartender, busboys, who knows?"
    "We've printed all of them."
    "Sure, you printed the ones they told you about. Half those people are probably hiding from Imigracion . Last thing they're gonna do is line up to be fingerprinted by the policia . That's probably who your missing prints belong to. Besides . . . " Travis shrugged.
    "Besides what?"
    "Well, what are the odds that someone who could have done something like this would leave his prints in my house and not already have a record? I mean, anybody who was in my house who isn't already in your computers is probably a producer or a studio guy, not a kidnapper." Seeing Katz's blank stare, Travis frowned. "I'd like to help you but I'm just saying that I think this fingerprint thing is a dead end. If you ask me, it's some whack job like the guy who killed Lennon."
    "You think your wife is dead?"
    "No, Hell no! I didn't mean that, just that when you're a celebrity, shit like this becomes part of your life, they paint a target on you," Travis tapped his chest and scowled.
    I don't believe this guy , Katz thought. His pregnant wife is missing and probably dead and he's complaining that there's a target on his chest !
    Simon suppressed his anger and gave Travis another forced smile and as politely as possible said: "You know, Tom, in cases like this, we have to consider all the possibilities."
    "Sure."
    "It's like a pilot, before he takes off, he goes through the checklist."
    "It's not that he thinks the gas tank is empty," Furley cut in, "but he still calls off 'Fuel?' and the co-pilot checks the gauge. That way, if something goes wrong later and someone asks, 'Did you run out of gas,' the pilot can say, 'No, we checked that specifically before we took off.' It's like that with us. Just because we ask a question doesn't mean we think something is wrong. We just gotta go through the checklist."
    "Sure, I understand. You've got to be thorough."
    "Right," Furley said, smiling weakly. "We've got to check off all the boxes."
    "Okay, lay it on me."
    "You know, Tom," Katz began in a fatherly tone, "we've heard some things, that in the past maybe you've gotten physical with people now and then. True?"
    "I don't let anybody push me around."
    "Of course not. You're not some pansy musical star," Furley added. "We get that. But, we've got to deal with this part of the checklist."
    Katz opened a folder and flipped a couple of sheets over the top. "You were in a fight in August of '98 with a . . . Gary Dolenz?"
    Travis waved his hand as if shooing a fly. "One of those guys in a bar who thinks he'll look tough if he sucker punches Tom Travis. I don't sucker punch that easy."
    "December '99 at the Ionic Grill?"
    "You guys ever jump off the back of a pickup truck doing thirty miles an hour? The director couldn't get the shot he wanted and I told him,