The Ed Eagle Novels

by Stuart Woods

  CUPIE GOT BACK TO the hospital and found Vittorio sound asleep in his bed. He walked back to the nurses’ station.

  “Hi,” he said to the nurse. “Anything new on Mr. Eagle’s condition?”

  “Still in the ICU,” she said. “He’s awake, though, and the prognosis is good.”

  “Can I see him for a minute?” Cupie knew this was a favor, but he had been chatting her up for such an occasion.

  The nurse looked both ways, up and down the hall. “Okay, just for a minute, Cupie. His wife just went down to the cafeteria. Third door on your left. If he’s asleep, don’t wake him.”

  Cupie went down to the door marked “Intensive Care” and let himself in. There was only one patient, and he was awake. Cupie pulled up a chair. “Ed, how you doing?” he asked.

  Eagle took a deep breath. “Tired,” he said.

  “Don’t talk, just listen. The guy got past us. Our fault, but we know who he is. We’ll take care of it, no charge.”

  Eagle nodded. “What about Barbara?”

  “She’s not in town, on purpose, but we have an idea where to find her.”

  Eagle nodded again.

  “You want us to take care of that, too?”

  Eagle closed his eyes and seemed to go to sleep. Cupie tiptoed out of the unit and walked back to Vittorio’s room. He pulled up a comfortable chair close to the bed and turned on the TV, keeping the volume low. He surfed through the channels, looking for a local news program, finally settling on an Albuquerque broadcast. He sat through a weather forecast, then the anchor came back on-screen.

  “This just in from Santa Fe,” he said. “A spokesman for Saint Michael’s Hospital has announced that local attorney Ed Eagle, a trial lawyer known throughout the West, is in what doctors describe as a normal recovery after surgery for a knife wound in an assassination attempt early this morning. His prognosis is favorable. Police are still searching for the unknown assassin.”

  “And they’re not going to find him,” Cupie said aloud to himself. “But we are.”

  “That’s right,” Vittorio said.

  Cupie turned to find Vittorio awake and looking at him. “Hey. You feeling better?”

  “Much, thanks. The morphine was the right thing to do.”

  “Bart Cross has cleared out of Barbara’s place and is probably back in L.A. by now.”

  “I want out of here,” Vittorio said.

  “Yeah, I know, pal, but you’re going to stay right where you are until your doctors pronounce you fit to walk around like a person.”

  “We have a call to make. I didn’t mention Cross to the cops.”

  “I noticed. Don’t worry, he’ll keep, and we know where to find him.”

  “He’s not the only one we need to find.”

  “I’m with you, buddy. You just relax for a few days and get strong, okay?”

  But Vittorio had dozed off again.

  BARBARA WENT WITH Jimmy Long to a dinner party in Beverly Hills. Before she left, she did a Google search for Ed Eagle and found a report on the AP that he was recovering in a Santa Fe hospital. When she left for the dinner party, she didn’t take any cash with her.

  She enjoyed the party, and Jimmy enjoyed himself a little too much, so she drove him home in his black BMW and put him to bed. He would sleep late tomorrow, she thought.

  She went to her luggage and got what she needed, then got back into the Beamer and drove up Coldwater Canyon, then down into the Valley. She followed Cross’s directions carefully and found his street. It was past one o’clock now, and she drove around the block twice to be sure there was no activity in the neighborhood. Every house on Cross’s block was dark, except his. She stopped at the top of a little hill and called his cell number.

  “Hello.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes,” she said. “We’ll make this quick.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Right,” she said. “Turn off the porch light.” She hung up, switched off the engine, put the car in neutral and coasted slowly downhill with her lights off, stopping in front of the house. She got out and closed the door quietly, and with a brown envelope in one hand and her other hand in her large purse, she walked to the house. The porch light was off.

  She rang the doorbell and waited. Shortly, he came to the door and opened it.

  “Hey, I didn’t hear you drive up. Come on in,” he said, and turned to lead her into the living room.

  Barbara took the silenced pistol from her purse and shot him once in the back of the head. He crumpled and fell forward onto the floor, striking his head on the coffee table on his way down. She backed away a couple of feet to avoid splatter and shot him again in the head, then looked around.

  The cell phone she had given him was on the coffee table, and she put that into her purse. She went through his pockets and took his wallet, which contained a dozen hundreds, then found his bedroom and searched it. She found a lot of other cash, her cash, in a bureau drawer and took that, then left the house, opened the car door and pushed until it started rolling, then got inside and waited until she was at the bottom of the hill before starting the car.

  She stopped at a quiet place, took the batteries out of the two cell phones, wiped everything clean and dropped it all into the brown envelope. She removed the credit cards from the wallet and put that into the envelope, too. On the way home, she found a house being remodeled with a Dumpster outside and tossed the phones and the wallet into it. A few blocks later, she dropped the credit cards into a sewer, then drove to Jimmy’s, undressed and got into bed with him.

  Barbara slept like a lamb.

  36

  Cupie went to the hospital the following morning and found Vittorio’s bed empty. He looked up and down the hall and spotted him at the nurses’ station.

  He walked down to where Vittorio stood, filling out a form. He was fully dressed, and his left arm was in a sling. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “I’m checking myself out of here,” Vittorio said. “I’m fine.”

  “He really shouldn’t leave here,” the nurse said, “but he’s stubborn.”

  “I’ve got a pocketful of pills to take,” Vittorio said, signing the document and handing it to the nurse. “Now the hospital has zero liability.”

  “The doctor isn’t going to like this.”

  “I don’t like it, either,” Cupie said, “but there’s no stopping this guy.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Vittorio said, starting down the hallway. They looked in on Ed Eagle, who had been moved to a room, and found him asleep. “Just as well. I don’t want to talk to him until this is over. Let’s go,” he said to Cupie, and they walked out into the parking lot. “We need to be in Los Angeles.”

  “No, we don’t,” Cupie said. “We’re going to your place, and we’ll talk about L.A. tomorrow.”

  “Cupie—”

  “Shut up and get in the car, Vittorio.”

  Vittorio got in, and Cupie drove him home.

  As soon as they were there, Cupie called Centurion Studios and asked for Bart Cross.

  “Long Productions,” a woman said.

  “May I speak to Bart Cross, please?”

  “Who is this?”

  “A friend of his. He asked me to call him when I came to L.A., and I’m here.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you,” the woman said. “Bart has died.”

  “Died? How?”

  “He was murdered last night.”

  “Murdered?” Cupie asked. “Who murdered him?”

  “The police don’t know yet. His cleaning lady found him this morning in his living room. He had been shot.”

  “I’m shocked to hear that,” Cupie said. “Can you give me his address? I’d like to send some flowers.”

  The woman gave him the address. “It’s just west of Burbank Airport,” she said, “off Coldwater Canyon.”

  “Thank you very much,” Cupie said.

  “May I have your name, please?”


  But Cupie had already hung up.

  “Barbara killed him,” Vittorio said. “She must have found out that Eagle is still alive. This means she’s in L.A.”

  “And probably at James Long’s house,” Cupie said. “I know a cop in Burbank. Let me make a call.” He put the phone on speaker and dialed the number.

  “Burbank police,” a male voice said.

  “Detective Dave Santiago,” Cupie said.

  “Hang on.” The phone rang.

  “Detective Santiago.”

  “Dave, it’s Cupie Dalton.”

  “Hey, Cupie, how are you?”

  “Not bad. You working the Bart Cross murder?”

  “I’m not the lead, but I was out there early this morning. Did you know the guy?”

  “Friend of a friend. What did you see out there?”

  “He took two in the head from behind,” Santiago replied. “Looked like a pro to me.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “TOD was between midnight and two A.M., the M.E. says.”

  “Any leads?”

  “None. We’re just getting started. What’s your interest in this, Cupie?”

  “Just idle curiosity,” Cupie said. “I heard the name on the news and thought I knew him.”

  “Should we talk to your friend?”

  “Nah, he knows nothing. He doesn’t even live in L.A. Thanks for the info, Dave. I’ll pass it on.”

  “Buy me lunch one of these days.”

  “Sure thing,” Cupie said, and hung up. He turned to Vittorio. “There you go.”

  “It’s Barbara. She went there to pay him off—or at least Bart thought that. I bet they didn’t find any money in the house.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “She found out Eagle is alive and burned Cross to cut the trail to her.”

  “Yeah, but she knows that won’t do it for us,” Cupie said. “She knows we know. That means she’ll run. She won’t be in L.A. when we get there.”

  “She’ll be coming to Santa Fe,” Vittorio said.

  “Maybe, but not right away. Once Eagle talks to the cops, she’ll be too hot here. Maybe she’ll just hire somebody else.”

  “She’ll be very pissed off that Eagle is still alive,” Vittorio said. “I think she’ll come here pretty quick.”

  “She won’t go back to the same house,” Cupie said. “She knows we know about that place.”

  “What was that detective’s name who talked to us?”

  “Uh, Romeo? No, Romera, or Romero.”

  “I’m going to call him,” Vittorio said, picking up the phone.

  “What for?”

  “Eagle’s going to need a police guard while he’s in the hospital, and maybe when he gets out, too.”

  “What’s wrong with us?”

  “We didn’t do so hot before,” Vittorio pointed out.

  “But if we call in the police, we’re not going to get a shot at Barbara.”

  “If they’ve got any brains, they’ll be guarding him anyway,” Vittorio said.

  “They weren’t guarding him as recently as an hour ago,” Cupie said.

  Vittorio punched the speakerphone button on the phone, called the Santa Fe Police Department and asked for Detective Romera.

  “Romera,” the man said.

  “Detective, this is Vittorio. You talked to me yesterday at the hospital.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “I got out this morning, and there was no police guard on Ed Eagle.”

  “I think the guy with the knife is long gone,” Romera said.

  “You’re right about that, Detective, but the woman who hired him could still be around.”

  “The ex-wife?”

  “It’s gotta be.”

  “You think she’ll hire another man?”

  “Maybe, or maybe she’ll want to do it herself. I know her. She’s very determined.”

  “You may have a point,” Romera said. “I’ll put a couple of uniforms on Eagle’s hospital room.”

  “Twenty-four hours a day?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “They should get a list of nurses authorized to be in there and check everybody against the list who goes into the room.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks for calling.” Romera hung up.

  “He didn’t sound too enthusiastic to me,” Cupie said.

  “Maybe not, but he’s got enough street smarts to know that if Eagle gets killed in the hospital he, personally, will be left holding the bag. He’ll put the guards on.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Cupie said. “So, what are we going to do?”

  “Maybe we can stop her from getting as far as the hospital,” Vittorio said. “If we can find her.”

  37

  Todd Bacon sat in his hotel room, staring at his computer screen. He had reported in, told Holly Barker that her idea had worked but that he had lost Lauren Cade. She had not been pleased, and he wasn’t pleased with himself, either.

  Now he was faced with new difficulties. Lauren, knowing that she had been spotted, would go to ground, and what’s more, she now knew what he looked like. He didn’t even know if it had been she in the Volvo station wagon; that was just a guess.

  Nevertheless, he logged on to the Agency mainframe, accessed the New Mexico DMV records and did a search for green Volvo station wagons. They were apparently popular in the state, because the search turned up fourteen of the cars in green, none of them in Santa Fe. There was, however, one in Taos that had been registered the day he had spotted Teddy in the Grand Cherokee. That would have been the day he would have traded cars, and Teddy certainly knew enough about the Agency’s computers to hide the trade.

  This was a lead so slim that it hardly qualified as a lead, but it was all he had. The Taos car was registered to a Walt Gooden. A quick call to 411 confirmed that no one by that name had a phone in Taos, nor did he, after another check, have one in Santa Fe. Well, Teddy wouldn’t have registered the car in the alias he was using, would he?

  Todd continued to deduce. If Lauren had gone to ground after being spotted, would Teddy have done the same? And if so, what might cause one of them to leave wherever they were living? They weren’t going to run—they had already demonstrated that. But they could just wait him out. After all, Todd wasn’t going to spend the rest of his career on this job, no matter how important it was to Lance Cabot.

  Food. They had to eat. Maybe one of them would leave to buy supplies—not only a meal but groceries. Todd reasoned that they would not go just to a convenience store, where choices would be limited, but to a proper supermarket, where they could find a large enough variety to keep them in good meals for an extended time, maybe a week or ten days.

  In his travels around Santa Fe Todd had seen only one large supermarket, though certainly there must be more. He had seen a large Albertsons in a shopping center with a big parking lot. It was as good a place to start as any. He went down to the garage and started to get into his rented red Taurus, then stopped. Teddy had already seen that car. He went into the hotel, to the rental car desk, and exchanged the Taurus for a silver Toyota, then drove to where he had seen the Albertsons store.

  A sea of cars greeted him. He figured if they were going to shop for groceries, they would park as close to Albertsons as possible, so he started at the front door and began driving slowly up and down the rows of parked cars, checking for Volvo station wagons. He found a silver one and a white one but no green one. He continued to look.

  Finally, he had covered the entire parking lot without finding the car he was looking for. He’d come back tomorrow and start again. Then, as he was driving back toward the supermarket, he saw a green Volvo station wagon, empty. He checked the plates: New Mexico, Santa Fe County. He double-parked, got out of his car and tried a door on the Volvo. Locked. He walked slowly around the car, looking inside. He saw a map of the state and nothing else.

  Todd returned to his car, opened the trunk and opened a case he traveled with. He chos
e two items, closed the case and the trunk, and returned to the Volvo. He looked around for cops or someone paying attention to him, found no one, then dropped to the ground, crawled halfway under the car, far enough that no one could reach unless they crawled as far as he had, and attached the little box magnetically to the frame. He pressed a button on the side and watched a red light start to flash. It would continue for two minutes.

  He got up from under the station wagon, went back to his car, drove a hundred yards away and stopped. He switched the GPS device on and pressed the button for current location. The device took a moment to locate itself, and then a map of Santa Fe appeared. He pressed another button, and a red light on the map began to flash. It had nailed the location of the green Volvo station wagon. Now he didn’t have to closely tail the car; when it moved, he could follow at an unseen distance.

  He found a parking space and sat in the car, waiting.

  BARBARA WAS WATCHING television in Jimmy’s study when he came home from the studio. “Hi,” she said.

  He didn’t reply but went to the bar, poured himself a stiff drink, then flopped down in his easy chair.

  “Something wrong, sweetie?” she asked. He hadn’t even offered her a drink.

  “Yeah, something’s wrong,” he replied, without looking at her.

  “What is it?”

  “You remember the pilot who flew us back from Mexico?”

  “Of course. What was his name?”

  “Bart Cross.”

  “Oh, sure. What about him?”

  “I gave you his name, remember?”

  “I had forgotten,” she said.

  “Did you ever speak with him?”

  “No. I decided he might not be the right man for the job.”

  “Well, Bart is dead,” Jimmy said. “He was shot at his home last night. It’s all over the papers.”

  “I haven’t read a paper today,” she said.

  “There was something else in the paper,” he replied. “Somebody attacked Ed Eagle with a knife in Santa Fe yesterday but failed to kill him.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Sounds like somebody was doing you a favor.”

  “Well, trying, maybe.”

  “Barbara, did you hire Bart to kill Eagle? I mean, I knew you were going to do something like that, and I didn’t really care.”