Hollywood Crows (41 page)

When Margot heard him making the call, she stopped gagging and put the tissues in the toilet and flushed them away. When she came out, Bix was talking to the watch commander at Hollywood Station.

Margot washed Ali’s blood from her hands but not from her face or chest. She went to the closet and put on suitable pajamas, a full-length satin robe, and bedroom slippers. Then she walked toward Nicky’s room to sit and prepare herself for the questioning.

The last words she would ever speak to Bix Ramstead were uttered when he was downstairs in the foyer, waiting in the doorway for the arrival of police. She was upstairs, standing at the railing outside Nicky’s room, and she looked down at him.

“You were right, Bix,” she said. “We were very bad for each other. But I want you to know that I’d rather he’d killed me tonight than see you brought into this horrible nightmare. I’m very, very sorry.”

The call was given to 6-A-15 of Watch 3, the morning watch, but when midwatch unit 6-X-66 heard the location, Gert Von Braun said to Dan Applewhite, “Hey, that’s the address that was on that guy’s driver’s license!”

When midwatch unit 6-X-46 heard it, Jetsam said to Flotsam, “Bro, that’s the house on Mount Olympus!”

Soon there were four black-and-whites parked on the street in front, one of them belonging to the watch commander. And Bix Ramstead was standing on the porch in front of the house, telling them not to come inside but to keep the street clear for the coroner’s van, criminalists from Scientific Investigation Division, and the two Hollywood homicide teams that were coming from home. Only a successful telephonic argument by the area captain, who said that this incident should be contained as much as possible, kept Robbery-Homicide detectives downtown from being called out, as they often are in high-profile cases. With an LAPD cop involved, this was very high profile.

The surfer cops stood in the driveway, and Jetsam looked up at the moon illuminating the tile roof on the two-story house. For a few seconds, cobwebs of cloud floated across that dazzling white ball high in the velvety black sky over Hollywood.

And Jetsam said to his partner, “The Oracle would have told us to beware tonight. There’s a Hollywood moon up there. And bro, this fucking house is
full
of bad juju.”

F
LOTSAM SAID TO JETSAM
, “One of the corpse cops just arrived.”

Hollywood homicide D2, Albino Villaseñor, was the first detective to arrive from home. He parked on the street and emerged from the car with a plastic briefcase and a flashlight, wearing the same brown Men’s Wearhouse suit that he’d worn every time Flotsam had seen him.

His bald head glinted under the luminescence provided by the Hollywood moon, and his white mustache looked wild and feline from his having slept facedown in bed. He nodded to the surfer cops and plodded toward the arched doorway in no particular hurry to see another of the multitude of dead bodies he’d seen during his long career.

He turned toward the street when a white van with a TV news logo on the door climbed the steep street and parked as near as it could get to the driveway. And close behind it was a news van from another Los Angeles TV station. The toney Mt. Olympus address on the police band was drawing them from their beds.

After the detective was inside the foyer, Flotsam said to Jetsam, “Dude, do you think a homicide dick gets a secret high when someone else gets laid low? Wouldn’t that, like, give you the guilts?”

“It’d creep me out, bro,” Jetsam said. “And it looks like there’s gonna be an opening in the Crow office, for sure.”

By this time, the forensics van had arrived and criminalists wearing latex gloves and booties were in the bedroom, treating the situation like a full-scale murder investigation, even though Bino Villaseñor had been informed by the patrol watch commander that the only crime committed had been perpetrated by the decedent. But with an LAPD cop even peripherally involved, great investigative care was to be taken, per orders from the West Bureau deputy chief. Just in case things turned out to be more dicey than they seemed.

“Here come the body snatchers,” Flotsam said when the coroner’s van was waved into the driveway by one of the morning-watch officers who’d received the original call.

When Bino Villaseñor got inside, he found Dan Applewhite in the kitchen with Bix Ramstead, who sat staring at his coffee cup, eyes red and ravaged.

The detective, who did not know the Crow personally, nodded at him. Bino Villaseñor, speaking in the lilting cadence of the East Los Angeles barrio where he’d grown up, said to Bix, “Soon as somebody else from our homicide team arrives, I’d like them to take you to the station. I’ll get down there as soon as I can.”

Bix Ramstead nodded and continued to stare. The detective had seen it before: the unnerving, hopeless look into the abyss.

The detective said to another of the morning-watch cops standing in the foyer by the staircase, “Where’s the lady of the house?”

“Up in one of the bedrooms to your left,” the cop said. “She’s with a woman officer from the midwatch.”

Bino Villaseñor climbed the stairs to the upper floor, looked in the master bedroom where lights had been set up, and did not enter while the criminalists were at work, but he could see that blood had drenched the carpet under Ali’s body. The detective turned left and walked to Nicky’s bedroom, where he found Margot Aziz, still in pajamas and robe, dried blood on her cheek and chest, sitting on the bed, apparently weeping into a handful of tissues. He didn’t know the burly female officer with her, but he indicated with a motion of his head that she could leave. Gert Von Braun walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

“I’m Detective Villaseñor, Mrs. Aziz,” he said to Margot. “We might need you to come to the station for a more formal statement, but I have a few preliminary questions I’d like to ask.”

“Of course,” Margot said. “I’ll tell you whatever I can.”

Bino looked around the huge bedroom, at the mountain of toys and gadgets and picture books and the biggest TV set he’d ever seen in a child’s bedroom, and he said, “Where is your son?”

“He’s spending the night with my au pair,” she said. “That’s why I… well, that’s why Bix and I… you know.”

“How long have you and Officer Ramstead been intimate?” the detective asked, sitting on a chair in front of a PlayStation and opening his notebook folder.

“For about five months.” She almost said “on and off” but realized how inappropriate that would sound and said, “More or less.”

“Do you often sleep together here?”

“This is the first time we’ve ever slept together anywhere. On the other occasions we went to hotels for brief interludes.”

“Tell me what happened after you and Officer Ramstead went to sleep.”

“I heard a noise.”

“What kind of noise?”

“Ali’s car. The window was open and I heard it, but of course I didn’t know it was him. It could have been someone visiting next door. There’s a Russian man living there who gets visitors at all hours.”

“What’d you do then?”

“I’ve been frightened for some time about my husband. He’s irrational…
was
irrational. He hated me and wanted to take my son from me any way he could. I’ve told my lawyer, William T. Goodman, numerous times about threats my husband made. I can give you my lawyer’s phone number.”

“Later,” the detective said. “Did you tell anyone else about the threats? Did you report the threats to the police?”

“I tried to,” she said. “I told it to Officer Nate Weiss of the Community Relations Office, and Sergeant Treakle, and Detective Fernandez, and of course Bix Ramstead.”

That surprised Bino Villaseñor, who said, “Did any of the officers talk to you about making a police report against your husband for making terroristic threats?”

“Nobody seemed to think the threats were explicit enough to qualify as a crime. Everyone seemed convinced that a successful businessman like Ali Aziz wouldn’t do anything irrational. But I knew he was an insanely jealous and dangerous man, especially where our son was concerned. I knew he’d eventually try to steal Nicky from me. What I didn’t know was that he was insane enough to come here to murder me.”

“How’d he get in? Did he still have a key?”

“Not that I know of,” she said. “I changed the locks when he turned vicious during our divorce and custody battles.”

“How about the alarm? Didn’t you change the code when he moved out?”

“Yes,” she said, “but… sorry, it’s hard to talk about.”

“Take your time,” the detective said.

“I’m ashamed. So ashamed. But the truth is, Bix and I were drinking quite a lot. He drank a lot more than I did, and I had to practically carry him up the stairs. And, well, we made love. We were both exhausted. I simply could not get up again to set the alarm. I dozed off. I don’t know, maybe I felt secure with a police officer… with Bix in bed with me. I’d forgotten that the front door was unlocked.”

“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.”