“Why was it unlocked? Doesn’t it have a self-locking latch on it?”
“Yes, but Bix unlatched it when he went out to his car to get something.”
“To get what?”
“His gun.”
“He went outside to get his gun? Why?”
“I wanted to buy a gun as protection, and I needed to know how things like the safety button work. I asked Bix to show me. You see, I was convinced that Ali might snap one of these days. And apparently he did.”
She could see that the detective was very interested now. He’d stopped making notes. He looked her in the eye and said, “Let’s go back to where you heard the car in the driveway. What did you do?”
“I tried to wake Bix. I poked him. I called his name. He wouldn’t budge. He was out cold, snoring. He was very drunk when we went to bed.”
“Then?”
“Then I crept to the landing and looked down and I was almost sure I heard the front door creaking on its hinges. And I ran back in the bedroom and shook Bix and said his name, but it was no use. Bix’s gun and keys and wallet were on the nightstand. I took his gun out of the holster. You have no idea how terrified I was.”
“And then?” the detective said, and his dark eyes under wiry white eyebrows were penetrating.
“Then I didn’t know what to do!”
“Did you try to phone nine-one-one?”
“There wasn’t time! I could hear his footsteps on the stairs! He was coming fast! I was panicked!”
“Then?”
“I ducked behind the closet door! He came in the room! He had the gun in his hand! He was walking toward the bed with the gun pointed! I thought he was going to shoot Bix! I leaped out and I got between him and Bix and I yelled! I yelled, ‘Ali, don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!’ But he turned and pointed the gun at me and I fired!”
She buried her face in tissues then, said, “Excuse me,” and got up and ran into Nicky’s bathroom, where he heard her turn on the water in the sink.
When she returned, the dried blood was no longer on her cheek and chest, and she said, “I’m sorry. I was feeling nauseous. And I didn’t know there was blood on me till I looked in the mirror just now. I guess I knelt beside him. I don’t even remember that. You’ll have to ask Bix what happened then. I don’t think I fainted, but I just have no memory of what happened after I fired.”
“How many times did you fire?” the detective asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Had you ever fired a handgun before?”
“Yes, in the Valley at a gun shop. I went there thinking about buying a gun because of Ali. I took a shooting lesson and decided I’d ask Bix about which gun I should buy. I can give you the name of the gun shop. I have it downstairs in my phone file.”
“Is there anyone else you told about the threats your husband made against you?”
“I don’t have any close girlfriends to confide in. My entire life involves taking care of my son. Let’s see, other than the police officers I named…” Then she said, “Yes, two more police officers.”
“Who’re they?”
“The ones who came the night Sergeant Treakle was here. I thought I heard footsteps outside on the walkway between my property and my neighbor’s. I felt sure it was Ali, but the officers looked around and couldn’t find anything. You can get their names from Sergeant Treakle at Hollywood Station.”
The detective cocked an eyebrow, closed his notebook, and said, “Speaking of Hollywood Station, I think it would be helpful if you would come down to the station now for a few more questions and a more formal statement.”
“Are you accusing me of something?” she said.
“No, it’s just routine,” the detective said.
“I can’t possibly go there,” Margot said. “I’ve been through a great trauma. As soon as your people are out of my house, I’ve got to have my au pair bring Nicky home. There’s a lot for me to do, as you can imagine. I’ll be here at my house to help you any way I can, but I won’t go to the police station unless my lawyer agrees to it and goes with me. And that would happen only after I get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”
“I see,” Bino Villaseñor said, studying her more closely than ever.
A sergeant from Watch 3 told 6-X-66 that one of his morning-watch units would take over, and the midwatch team could go end-of-watch. While 6-X-66 was heading back to Hollywood Station, Gert Von Braun said to Dan Applewhite, “I wish we’d pulled that guy outta his Jaguar. Maybe we’d have found the gun.”
“We had no probable cause,” Dan said. “His driver’s license had the Mount Olympus address on it, and his registration too. It all checked out.”
“I almost always make a guy get out when it’s late at night to see if he’s DUI. Maybe I got intimidated because he was a big-bucks guy from the Hollywood Hills, with lots of LAPD business cards in his wallet.”
“Gert, he wasn’t DUI. He was cold sober.”
“Maybe we shoulda written him a ticket.”
“That woulda delayed what happened by ten minutes, is all.”
“I don’t feel good about the way we handled it.”
“Look, Gert,” Dan said, “that guy was determined to kill his wife and he got what he deserved. Stop beating yourself up.”
“It’s not him I’m thinking about. It’s that Crow, Bix Ramstead. How well do you know him?”
“I’ve seen him around for years, but I never worked partners with him,” Dan Applewhite said.
“He’s through, for sure,” Gert said.
“Bix Ramstead made his choices, just like Ali Aziz,” Dan said. “What happened to both those guys has nothing to do with you and me.”
“I guess so,” Gert said. “But I don’t feel right about it.”
“We’re off tomorrow,” Dan Applewhite reminded her. “So how about doing a Hollywood thing? How about going with me to one of those old movies I told you about? Maybe one starring Tyrone Power. If you wouldn’t mind going out with a geezer.”
“You’re not so old,” she said.
It was still an hour from sunrise when Bino Villaseñor was seated across the table from Bix Ramstead in one of the interview rooms at the Hollywood detectives’ squad room. They had talked for forty-five minutes uninterrupted, all of it recorded.
Bix Ramstead’s eyes seemed sunken in their sockets. He still had the unsettling stare when he wasn’t directly answering a question, what the detective called “the stare of despair.” His mouth was dry and gluey, and when he spoke, the dryness made his lips pop.
Bino Villaseñor said, “You must need a cold drink bad. And so do I.”
The detective left the interview room for several minutes, and Bix put his head down on his arms and closed his eyes, seeing strange images flashing in his mind. When the door opened again, Bix could hear voices outside talking quietly.
Bino Villaseñor put two cold sodas in front of Bix, who was dehydrated from so much alcohol. Bix popped one open and drank it down, then the other. The detective sipped at his and watched Bix Ramstead.
“Is that better?”
Bix nodded.
“We’ve pretty much covered it,” the detective said, “unless you have any more to offer.”
Bix took a deep breath and said, “No. To summarize: I was stinking blind drunk and I don’t remember much of anything after going upstairs. I did hear her yelling ‘Don’t shoot.’ I’m sure of that much. And I damn sure heard the shots. And I saw him dead on the floor, or seconds from death, with blood gushing from chest wounds, and a gun by his hand. Nothing could’ve saved him. I did not talk to Margot about anything after that and did not contaminate the scene in any way. I told her to sit in her son’s room until police arrived. I went downstairs and waited. And I’d give my right arm or both of them if I could set the clock back to seven last night, when I decided I could handle one shot of vodka.”
“Okay, Bix,” Bino Villaseñor said. “I believe you.”