The Ed Eagle Novels

by Stuart Woods

“You ready for arraignment?”

  “Oh, I don’t think we need to go that far, Bob.”

  “ ‘That far’?”

  “I think we should just settle this here, and get it over with.”

  “Ed, are you already looking to plea-bargain? That makes me feel even better about our case.”

  “Bob, I expect you haven’t had time to go over the case file,” Eagle said, starting to get up.

  “Wait a minute,” Martínez said, waving him back to his chair. “I’ve had a look at the summary. It’s a good case.”

  “Bob, Tip Hanks can account for every minute of his time between the hours of four A.M. and when he called nine-one-one. He was in Dallas, he couldn’t sleep, so he decided to get up and return home early. His wife wasn’t expecting him until noon.”

  “So, he killed her earlier than planned,” Martínez said, leaning his chair way back and putting his feet on the desk.

  “No, Bob, whoever she was in bed with shot her, and before Tip’s car pulled up to the house, because Tip never heard the shot. The killer heard Tip’s car door slam and beat it out of the bedroom door opening to the terrace, then ran down the hill to the dirt road where he’d parked his car. Tip heard him leave, and when he looked out the back door he saw dust, but the car was already around the bend and out of sight. If you can get the investigating officers to put down their comic books long enough, they might be able to get some footprints and tire tracks before it rains or the wind blows them away.”

  “You want me to dismiss the charges on nothing more than that story?”

  “Both sides of the bed had been slept in, but she was on the left side of the bed, where Tip slept. Somebody had moved her there while he was screwing her. I expect her ex-husband will testify to that sleeping habit of hers.”

  “What else?”

  “We don’t need anything else. You’re postulating that Tip walked into his house, went to the bedroom, took his gun out of the bedside table and shot his wife in the head, then called nine-one-one. That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It didn’t have to happen that way,” Martínez said.

  “The staff at the FBO at the airport will testify to Tip’s arrival time. They log in every aircraft that lands, and his was probably the first of the day. Drive the route from the FBO to his house and walk in. You’ll see there was no time for him to make love to her and have an argument before killing her. I think it likely that the medical examiner is going to discover somebody else’s DNA inside her.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Even if the killer used a condom and left no trace, the M.E. will say that she had sex with somebody, and Tip’s DNA won’t be inside her.”

  “Maybe he used a condom.”

  “He knew she was on the pill. There was no need for him to do that.” Eagle was making this up, but he could see Martínez begin to show signs of folding.

  Martínez put his feet back on the floor and leaned over his desk. “What evidence do you have that she was having an affair?”

  “She has a history, Bob. Tip was screwing her while she was still married to her last husband. I expect that if I send an investigator to Dallas to talk to other members of the tour and their wives and girlfriends, we’ll find that she had a reputation among the camp followers. This is an old story, Bob, and it will embarrass everybody concerned when the news desks pick it up from the sports pages. You really want to stir that up?”

  “Maybe they’ve been fighting. Maybe we’ll turn that up among their friends.”

  “So what? Every couple fights, but they rarely murder each other. Now, do you really want to arraign him? If you do, then I’ll get him released on his own recognizance and he’ll go back to playing golf for a living, and the whole thing will drag on for weeks before I get a dismissal. Do the right thing, here, Bob.”

  Martínez opened a file on his desk and made a show of reading it, while Eagle sat mute, occasionally crossing and recrossing his legs just to let him know he was still there.

  “All right, I’ll drop the charges for now,” Martínez said, “but if we turn up anything else—anything at all—I’ll have him rearrested.”

  “That’s fair, Bob. Now, will you please fax over a release order to the jail, so I can drive the boy home? He’s got some grieving to do.”

  Martínez buzzed his secretary. “Type up a release order for one Terrence Hanks,” he said. “I’ll sign it, and you can fax it to the jail.”

  Eagle stood up and offered his hand. “Thank you, Bob,” he said. “You won’t regret doing that.”

  Eagle left the office, got into his car and drove back to the jail, phoning ahead to let them know he was coming and to have his client processed out. He had only a few minutes to wait before Tip Hanks appeared, taking his belongings out of an envelope and stuffing them into his pockets.

  “Is it time for the arraignment?” he asked as he shook Eagle’s hand.

  “You’re not going to be arraigned,” Eagle said. “I persuaded the D.A. to drop the charges.”

  Hanks looked at him incredulously. “How did you do that?”

  “He hadn’t even read the case file thoroughly,” Eagle replied, leading him out the front door. “Once he did, he reconsidered, after I had pointed out how weak his case was.”

  They got into the car, and Eagle turned toward Las Campanas. “By the way,” he said, “I told him that your wife was on the pill; I hope that’s true.”

  “It is,” Hanks replied.

  “Here’s my theory of the case: Your wife was having an affair, and she didn’t expect you home before noon today. Her lover had already shot her, for reasons of his own, when you pulled up, and he ran. Maybe they’ll find DNA, maybe not. He could have used a condom. But they won’t find your DNA in her, right?”

  “Right,” Hanks said.

  “You’re wondering who she was having the affair with?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Could have been anybody,” Hanks replied. “She liked sex more than any woman I ever met, and she wanted it regularly. Normally, she’d have been in Dallas with me, but she’s missed a couple of tournaments lately, saying she wasn’t feeling well enough to go. She was a terrible hypochondriac.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Eagle said.

  “What are the chances that they’ll catch the guy?” Hanks asked.

  “Fifty-fifty, I’d say. A lot better if there’s DNA.”

  Hanks put his head back against the headrest and sighed. “She didn’t deserve this,” he said.

  “Are you scheduled to play next weekend?”

  “No, I passed on the next one. The week after, though.”

  “That’s time enough to get your head together,” Eagle said. “Go out and practice as you usually do; look sad, don’t laugh at anybody’s jokes; keep any conversations about her to an absolute minimum. People are going to be watching your reactions. Same thing when you rejoin the tour.” He followed directions to Hanks’s front door, and the young man got out.

  “I’ll send you a check. What do I owe you?” he asked.

  “I get ten grand for getting out of bed,” Eagle said. “I’ll send you a bill.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “If the evidence doesn’t go your way and Martínez has you rearrested, I’ll apply it to my retainer.” Eagle reached into his glove compartment and found a card. “This is the number of a service that cleans up crime scenes,” he said. “Don’t call them until the police let you know they’ve released the scene. Take care.”

  Eagle drove away, thinking he’d done a good day’s work.

  6

  Barbara spent a day shopping in Phoenix and Scottsdale, and found a used, low-mileage Mercedes station wagon within her budget. By the time she had finished shopping she still had twenty thousand dollars of Alvarez’s money in her new purse. She employed her old, legal identity as Eleanor Keeler, which would be all right as long as Warden Alvarez didn’t report her escape.

/>   She found a branch of her San Francisco bank and arranged a wire transfer of cash from her account, and they issued her a new checkbook. None of her credit cards had expired.

  After a room-service dinner and a movie in her room she called Canyon Ranch, in Tucson, a top-notch spa resort, and booked herself into a suite for a week. Then the following morning she drove there and checked in.

  It was a beautiful place, and her little cottage was near the dining room and classrooms. She didn’t need to lose any weight, but she took the opportunity to tone up and pamper herself with facials and massages.

  A couple of days after she checked in, as she sat down for dinner in the crowded dining room, an attractive couple asked if they could join her.

  “We’re Hugh and Charlene Holroyd,” the man said, and she shook both their hands. “Eleanor Keeler,” Barbara replied. She had no qualms about using the name, because, according to Jimmy, the AP reports of her arrest and trial in Mexico had used the name Barbara Eagle.

  Everyone got on together immediately, and they hadn’t been sitting at her table more than five minutes before Barbara knew what they had in mind, which was fine with her, because she hadn’t had enough voluntary sex for nearly three months, and she missed it.

  After dinner they invited her back to their cottage, which was larger than hers, and everybody had a drink. Fifteen minutes later the three of them were in bed together.

  Later, when they had exhausted themselves, Hugh asked, “Where do you hail from, Eleanor?”

  “San Francisco,” Barbara replied, “but I’m thinking of making a change. How about you two?”

  “We have a ranch near Los Alamos, in New Mexico,” Hugh said. “You should come for a visit. It’s nice around there.”

  “What a kind invitation,” Barbara said, kissing Charlene again. “I just might take you up on it.”

  “You girls play,” Hugh said. “I’ll just watch, until I, ah, catch my breath.”

  TIP HANKS SHOWED the cleaners out of the house. They had made his bedroom as new and replaced the bedding and mattress. He was all right, really, except that he was still angry with his wife, and he was glad for the cleaners to take away garbage bags full of her clothes and other belongings. Now there was nothing left of her in the house, and he wanted it that way. He’d kept her jewelry, which was locked in the safe.

  The phone rang, and he answered. It was his caddie, Mike Pat-rick. “Hey buddy,” Tip said.

  “I heard about it on TV,” Mike said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m getting past it,” Tip replied. “I’m going to start practicing again tomorrow.”

  “You want me there?”

  “Nah, Mike, I’ll meet you in Houston next Tuesday night. You’ve already booked the hotel, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to be sure you felt up to playing.”

  “I will by next week.”

  “Okay, I’m just going to lie around the house until then. See you in Houston.”

  Tip took calls from his agent and sponsors as well, then things quieted down. He had a call from the medical examiner’s office saying that Connie’s body had been released. Ed Eagle’s office recommended a mortuary, and he ordered the body collected and cremated. Connie had no family, so there was no one to notify.

  As he was getting some pocket money from the safe he saw the envelopes holding their wills, and he opened Connie’s, which he hadn’t seen before. It turned out that she had received a substantial settlement in her last divorce, and she had left everything to him. His net worth had suddenly been increased by some seven hundred thousand dollars. He faxed the will to Eagle’s office.

  Tip made himself a sandwich for lunch and thought about what had happened. Who the hell could Connie have been fucking? And why would the guy want to kill her? If he’d been five minutes earlier coming home, he might have surprised them. Then it occurred to him that if that had happened, the guy might have killed them both.

  He put his dishes into the dishwasher and went back to the safe, where he kept a small nine-millimeter semiautomatic pistol. He threaded the holster onto his belt and pulled out his shirttail to cover it. He would carry it for a while, at least while he was in Santa Fe. He was licensed in the state, and his old Florida license covered him in nearly half the country.

  He went into his study and found a stack of bills next to his computer. Connie had usually paid them online, but he knew how to do it. The one on top was her credit card bill, and there were a lot of lunch charges, and judging from the amounts, they were for two people. That surprised him, because Connie had not made a lot of friends since she had been in Santa Fe. The charges were from half a dozen of Santa Fe’s best restaurants.

  Tip called Ed Eagle and told him what he had found.

  “That’s interesting,” Eagle said. “I think the police might like to know who she’d been lunching with, but I think we might like to know first. Will you spring for a few hundred dollars for an investigator to visit the restaurants?”

  “Sure, Ed. By the way, I faxed you Connie’s will. I’d like you to take care of whatever legalities are involved.”

  “I’ll put an associate on it,” Eagle said, “and I’ll send a messenger out there for the original; we’ll need it.”

  “I’ll leave it on the front porch in an envelope,” Tip said.

  “Good. I’ll let you know what our investigator learns, and we can decide if it should go to the police.”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “One other thing,” Eagle said. “I’ve spoken to the medical examiner, and there was no DNA present at the scene, not yours or anybody else’s.”

  “So, he would have used a condom?”

  “One supposes. Have you thought any more about the killer? Does anyone leap to mind?” Eagle asked.

  “No. Connie didn’t have many friends in Santa Fe.”

  “Someone from out of town?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Be careful of your behavior, Tip. The police are still thinking about you, and they may even have you followed.”

  “I thought I was cleared.”

  “Not necessarily. The charges have been dropped, but the D.A. could always bring them again, if new and incriminating evidence should emerge. You have to remember that having the charges dropped was a slap in the face to the investigating detectives, so they’re not exactly on your side.”

  “I don’t see how they can find anything incriminating,” Tip said. “After all, I didn’t do it.”

  “Right. Fax me the credit card bills, and I’ll get back to you as soon as our investigator checks them out.”

  Tip hung up, put the will in an envelope and left it leaning against the front door with Eagle’s name on it, then went back to paying bills. He was going to have to hire a secretary, he thought.

  7

  Teddy Fay’s single-engine Cessna 182 RG crossed a range of snowcapped mountains late in the afternoon. It had been a long day against headwinds. He looked to his right at Lauren Cade, who seemed to be dozing. He placed a hand on her knee, and she stirred. “We’ll be on the ground at Santa Fe in fifteen minutes,” he said.

  Lauren looked around. “What are these mountains?”

  “The Sangre de Cristos,” he said. “They run up to Taos, north of here.”

  “What about south?”

  “They peter out.”

  “Pretty. Is it going to be cold in Santa Fe?”

  “Probably, but it’s a dry cold. You won’t feel it so much.”

  “I’m going to have to buy a coat,” she said. “I didn’t own one in Florida.”

  “We’ll both have to do that,” Teddy said.

  Albuquerque Center called. “Descend and maintain one zero thousand,” the controller said. “Report the airport in sight.”

  The weather was startlingly clear, and after consulting the GPS map, he thought he could pick out the field. The automated weather recording said that the wind was 190 at 10 knots. Five minutes later he r
eported the airport in sight.

  “Cleared for the visual approach to Santa Fe,” the controller said.

  Teddy descended to eight thousand, and once at that altitude, he turned left downwind for runway twenty and called Santa Fe tower.

  “Cleared to land on twenty,” the controller replied.

  He touched down smoothly on the runway and taxied to Santa Fe Jetcenter, where a rental car awaited them. He placed a fuel order and arranged hangar space, then he and Lauren drove into the city.

  “Teddy,” she said, “I know there are some things you haven’t told me about yourself.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you talk so little about your past. I just want you to know that as far as I’m concerned, your life began the day I met you.”

  Teddy smiled. “I feel exactly the same way,” he said. He had been struggling with how much to tell her, and how to justify his behavior since he had retired from the CIA some years before after a thirty-year career. Teddy had been an assistant deputy director for technical services at the Agency. Tech Services was the innocuous name for the department that supported foreign agents in the field, supplying identities, weapons, disguises, communications and anything else they might need. The work had given him an astonishing range of skills, and he had used them to stay out of prison. He turned to Lauren.

  “I’ll tell you this much,” he said. “I worked for the Central Intelligence Agency for thirty years. I know that sounds like a bad pickup line in a bar, but it’s true.”

  “I believe you,” she said. “Is that why you know so much about so many things?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Did you have to do bad things?”

  “I’ve done some bad things, and I don’t want to talk about them, if that’s all right.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I’d just as soon not know.” Lauren had been a sergeant with a special investigative unit of the Florida State Police. She’d left a good career to go with Teddy. He knew it and was grateful.

  “I’ve booked us into the Inn of the Anasazi for a week,” he said. “If you like the town, we can look for a house to rent. If not, we can go on to California whenever you like.”

  They continued into the town, drove through the Plaza and checked into the hotel, which, like just about everything else in the town, was built in Santa Fe style. A fire of piñon logs burned in the lobby, and the piney scent filled the air.