Introduction On a cool Texas night in late January, Cliff Baxter slipped out of bed. He stuffed pillows under the covers so his sleeping wife wouldnit notice he was gone. Then he stepped quietly through his large suburban Houston home, taking care not to awaken his two children. The door alarm didnit make a sound as he entered the garage; heid disabled the security system before turning in. Then, dressed in blue jogging slacks, a blue T-shirt, and moccasin slippers, he climbed into his new black Mercedes-Benz S500 and drove out into the night. At 43, John Clifford Baxter, the son of a Long Island policeman, had made it big in Texas. Before quitting his job eight months earlier, he had served as vice chairman of a great American corporation, capping a decade-long career as the companyis top deal maker. Baxter was rich, tooothanks to a generous helping of stock options, a millionaire many times over.

But as he cruised the empty streets of Sugar Land, Texas, Baxter was drowning in dark thoughts. Always given to mood swings, he had become deeply depressed in recent days, consumed by the spectacular scandal that had engulfed his old company. Everyone seemed to be after him. A congressional committee had already called; the FBI and SEC would surely be next. Would he have to testify against his friends? The plaintiffsi lawyers had named him as a defendant in a huge securities-fraud suit. Baxter was convinced they were having him tailedoand rummaging through his familyis trash. Then there was the media, pestering him at home a dozen or more times a day: Did he know what had gone wrong? How could Americais seventh-biggest company just blow up? Where had the billions gone? No one, at this early stage, viewed Baxter as a major player in the companyis crash. Yet he took it all personally.

In phone calls and visits with friends, he railed for hours about the scandalis taint. Itis as if itheyire calling us child molesters,i he complained. iThat will never wash off.i Desperate to get away, heid spent part of the previous week sailing in the Florida Keys. Sailing was one of Baxteris passions. For years, heid decompressed floating on Galveston Bay aboard his 72-foot yacht, Tranquility Base. But heid sold the boat several months earlier. When Baxter returned from Florida, his doctor prescribed antidepressants and sleeping pills and told him to see a psychiatrist.

Heid called the shrinkis office that day to make an appointment. But when the receptionist explained that the schedule was booked until February, Baxter hung upohe wasnit going to wait that long. Less than 48 hours later, at about 2:20 a.m. on January 25, 2002, Baxter stopped his Mercedes on Palm Royale Boulevard, a mile and a half from his home. It was cloudy and a bit chilly that evening by Texas standardsoabout 48 degreesobut the sedan was tuned to an interior temperature of precisely 79. An open package of Newport Lights sat in the center console, a bottle of Evian water in the cup holder. Baxteris black leather wallet lay on the passenger seat.

Baxter parked the car in the middle of the street, with the doors locked, the engine running, and the headlights burning. Then he lifted a silver .357 Magnum revolver to his right temple and fired a bullet into his head. Seven days later, Cliff Baxteris friends from Enron gathered to mourn. The Houston energy giantis collapse into bankruptcy had already become the biggest scandal of the new century. Baxteris death had stoked the media bonfire and tossed a fresh element of tragedy into a bubbling stewpot of intrigue. Enronis influence ranged widelyofrom Wall Street to the White House. So feared was this company, so powerful were its connections, so much was at stake that there was open speculation Baxter had actually been murderedothe target of a carefully staged hit, aimed at silencing him from spilling Enronis darkest secrets.

The rumblings had forced the Sugar Land police department to treat an op.