focus on was Elena.”
“Can you describe the two men?” Kylie asked.
“They had their faces covered with green surgical masks, and they were wearing black knit caps. The one who reached in the back wasn’t wearing gloves, so I could see his hands. He was white.”
“What was your relationship with Elena Travers?” I asked.
“I loved her.”
“You were also her personal trainer?”
“That’s how it started, but six months ago I asked her out on a date. I never thought it would go anywhere, but it did. I couldn’t believe it. Elena could have had any guy in Hollywood, but she only wanted to be with me. I was ready to spend the rest of my life with her. And now…”
He shook his head. The interview was over, but Kylie and I gave the man a few moments to reflect on his loss.
The three of us stood there in the vast open space of the Ziegfeld lobby, red carpet beneath us, crystal chandeliers glittering above, half a dozen larger-than-life-size pictures of Elena Travers assaulting our senses from every angle. Finally, Jeffers broke the silence.
“It’s all my fault,” he said. “If Elena had gone with Leo like she was supposed to, she would still be alive.”
And just like that, the interview was no longer over.
“Who is Leo?” I asked.
CHAPTER 3
Leo, it turned out, was someone Kylie had met.
“I doubt if he’d remember me,” she said when we were back in the car.
“How is that possible? You’re the most unforgettable cop on the force.”
“I wasn’t a cop that night. It was an industry party, and I was there as Mrs. Spence Harrington. Leo was so starstruck he barely said hello to me. People like him don’t waste their time talking to the wives of people who make movies.”
We found Bassett’s number in Elena Travers’s cell phone. I called him and told him we had a few questions.
“My brother and I have some questions of our own,” he said. “Can you meet us at our place?”
By the time we got there, the street was clogged with news trucks, paparazzi, and the usual assortment of homicide junkies. Two squad cars and a pair of traffic agents wearing Day-Glo yellow vests had been dispatched to the scene to help maintain sanity.
Working for Red, I get a firsthand look at how the other half lives. Of course, the Bassett brothers weren’t exactly the other half. They were more like the 1 percent of the 1 percent, and their “place” was more like a palace.
Back when New York was in its industrial heyday, lower Manhattan was peppered with loft buildings intended for commercial or manufacturing use but off-limits for residential. In the early eighties, the law changed, and the smart money gobbled up the cold, bleak, rat-infested buildings for next to nothing.
The Bassetts got in early and transformed a six-story warehouse on West 21st Street into two spectacular triplex apartments. Leo occupied the lower half of the building, and Kylie and I took the elevator to the third floor.
The door opened into a vast room with vaulted ceilings, massive windows, and museum-quality furniture. The two men who were waiting for us looked nothing like brothers.
One was big and burly, with a smoky-gray beard and icy blue eyes. He was wearing faded jeans and a nondescript T-shirt. “Max Bassett,” he said.
The other was short, with soft, doughy features and ink-black hair that could only have come from a bottle. His outfit, a red smoking jacket over deep-purple silk pajamas, looked like it was right out of Hugh Hefner’s closet.
“I’m Leo,” he said. “Thank you for coming. We are devastated, and there’s no real information on television. Please tell us what happened.”
We sat down, and I gave them the highlights.
“I don’t understand,” Leo said. “We’ve been robbed before. Jewel thieves almost never get violent. Why did they have to shoot her?”
“You’re not listening,” Max said. “They shot her because her idiot boyfriend grabbed for the gun.”
Leo lashed out. “So
“Can you describe the two men?” Kylie asked.
“They had their faces covered with green surgical masks, and they were wearing black knit caps. The one who reached in the back wasn’t wearing gloves, so I could see his hands. He was white.”
“What was your relationship with Elena Travers?” I asked.
“I loved her.”
“You were also her personal trainer?”
“That’s how it started, but six months ago I asked her out on a date. I never thought it would go anywhere, but it did. I couldn’t believe it. Elena could have had any guy in Hollywood, but she only wanted to be with me. I was ready to spend the rest of my life with her. And now…”
He shook his head. The interview was over, but Kylie and I gave the man a few moments to reflect on his loss.
The three of us stood there in the vast open space of the Ziegfeld lobby, red carpet beneath us, crystal chandeliers glittering above, half a dozen larger-than-life-size pictures of Elena Travers assaulting our senses from every angle. Finally, Jeffers broke the silence.
“It’s all my fault,” he said. “If Elena had gone with Leo like she was supposed to, she would still be alive.”
And just like that, the interview was no longer over.
“Who is Leo?” I asked.
CHAPTER 3
Leo, it turned out, was someone Kylie had met.
“I doubt if he’d remember me,” she said when we were back in the car.
“How is that possible? You’re the most unforgettable cop on the force.”
“I wasn’t a cop that night. It was an industry party, and I was there as Mrs. Spence Harrington. Leo was so starstruck he barely said hello to me. People like him don’t waste their time talking to the wives of people who make movies.”
We found Bassett’s number in Elena Travers’s cell phone. I called him and told him we had a few questions.
“My brother and I have some questions of our own,” he said. “Can you meet us at our place?”
By the time we got there, the street was clogged with news trucks, paparazzi, and the usual assortment of homicide junkies. Two squad cars and a pair of traffic agents wearing Day-Glo yellow vests had been dispatched to the scene to help maintain sanity.
Working for Red, I get a firsthand look at how the other half lives. Of course, the Bassett brothers weren’t exactly the other half. They were more like the 1 percent of the 1 percent, and their “place” was more like a palace.
Back when New York was in its industrial heyday, lower Manhattan was peppered with loft buildings intended for commercial or manufacturing use but off-limits for residential. In the early eighties, the law changed, and the smart money gobbled up the cold, bleak, rat-infested buildings for next to nothing.
The Bassetts got in early and transformed a six-story warehouse on West 21st Street into two spectacular triplex apartments. Leo occupied the lower half of the building, and Kylie and I took the elevator to the third floor.
The door opened into a vast room with vaulted ceilings, massive windows, and museum-quality furniture. The two men who were waiting for us looked nothing like brothers.
One was big and burly, with a smoky-gray beard and icy blue eyes. He was wearing faded jeans and a nondescript T-shirt. “Max Bassett,” he said.
The other was short, with soft, doughy features and ink-black hair that could only have come from a bottle. His outfit, a red smoking jacket over deep-purple silk pajamas, looked like it was right out of Hugh Hefner’s closet.
“I’m Leo,” he said. “Thank you for coming. We are devastated, and there’s no real information on television. Please tell us what happened.”
We sat down, and I gave them the highlights.
“I don’t understand,” Leo said. “We’ve been robbed before. Jewel thieves almost never get violent. Why did they have to shoot her?”
“You’re not listening,” Max said. “They shot her because her idiot boyfriend grabbed for the gun.”
Leo lashed out. “So
Similar Books
Wildalone
Krassi Zourkova
The Perfect Murder
Jack Hitt
The Last Time I Saw You
Eleanor Moran
Trials (Rock Bottom)
Sarah Biermann
What Could Possibly Go Wrong. . .
Jeremy Clarkson
Joe Hill
Wallace Stegner
Balls
Julian Tepper, Julian
The Lost
Caridad Piñeiro
A Bend in the River of Life
Budh Aditya Roy
