by Stuart Woods
“Mr. Cato, where were you last weekend?”
“Me and Grif Edwards-he works over to the motor pool-was down in Tijuana.”
“When did you leave L.A.?”
“We got out a little early on Friday, to beat the traffic. Around three, I guess.”
“What time did you get to Tijuana?”
“Well, shit, we didn’t beat the traffic, so it was pretty near bedtime when we got there.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know, ten, maybe.”
“Where’d you stay?”
“A little hotel called the Parador, down near the bullring. That’s what we went down there for, the bullfights.”
“Who was fighting?”
“Shit, I can never remember their names.”
“How many bullfights did you go to?”
“Well, we went Saturday and Sunday, and there was three each afternoon. We came on back when they was over on Sunday.”
“What time did you leave?”
“Around five, I guess. There was less traffic, so we were back in L.A. around nine.”
“Do you know Don Wells, a producer on the lot?”
“Well, yeah, I’ve worked most of his pictures, either as a stuntman or an extra.”
“He’s a buddy of yours, then?”
“Sort of. We play poker every Thursday night, when he’s in town.”
“Where do you play?”
“Over at his office.”
“When was the last time you played?”
“Right before he went to Italy. That was a few weeks ago.”
“Does Grif Edwards play, too?”
“Yeah, he’s a regular.”
“I guess that’s it. Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t mention it. See you, Jeff.”
The two men got back into their golf cart and drove away.
“Okay, I guess that went well,” Bender said. “Cato lied about what time they left on Friday, and Edwards lied about not knowing Wells socially.”
“It’s a start,” Reese said.
29
JOE WILEN TOOK the elevator up to Eleanor Keeler’s apartment, accompanied by his associate, Lee Hight. Eleanor met him as he stepped directly into the foyer. “Thank you so much for coming to San Francisco, Joe,” Eleanor said, shaking his hand warmly and ushering him into the living room. “I don’t even have a car. Walter was going to ship his two cars up here along with his household goods, but none of that has arrived yet.”
“Eleanor, may I introduce my associate, Lee Hight?”
The two women shook hands, then Eleanor sat down on the living room sofa and offered them the facing chairs. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”
“Thank you, no,” Wilen said. “I’d rather get directly down to business.”
“Of course. I must say, Joe, that you look a little grim this morning.”
Wilen didn’t respond to that. “Much has transpired since we met on your wedding day,” he said, avoiding using her name.
“Well, yes, you’re right about that.”
“Including some events you don’t yet know about. That’s why I’m here.” Wilen set his briefcase on the coffee table, opened it and placed the copy of the doctored Keeler will before her. “This is the will that Walter executed an hour or so before his death in the accident,” he said. “It makes very specific bequests to you, and I want to tell you about the bequests and the conditions attached to them.”
“Conditions?” Eleanor was looking wary now.
Wilen ignored the question. “Walter took me aside on your wedding day and gave me some notes for a new will. When I returned to the office, I gave the notes to Lee, here, along with my instructions, and asked her to draft the will while I was away for a couple of days in Santa Fe.”
Eleanor’s expression changed ever so slightly at the mention of Santa Fe.
“I played in a golf tournament in Santa Fe, and my partner was your former husband, Ed Eagle.”
Eleanor’s face became stony. “A very untruthful man,” she said. “I hope you didn’t believe anything he told you about me.”
“Mr. Eagle wrote a letter to Walter and asked me to deliver it. He did not tell me of its contents but said Walter could, if he wished to.”
“A letter?”
“This letter,” Wilen said, handing her the copy from Eagle.
She glanced through it. “This is preposterous,” she said.
“No, it is not,” Wilen replied. “I took the precaution of having the state police check it out, and they confirmed all of the major assertions.”
“You don’t understand,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter whether I understand. Walter was at the point of signing his new will when I gave him the letter. When he had finished reading it, he showed me the letter and told me that he wished to make some changes in the will before he signed it. He dictated some new instructions to me, and I asked Lee to make the changes. When Walter had read the new draft, he signed it in the presence of three witnesses, as you will see on the final page.”
“Just give me the short version,” Eleanor said, her face hard.
“Walter has left you a stipend of fifty thousand dollars a month for life, to be paid from a trust that now also owns this apartment. He has also given you lifetime occupancy of the apartment but not ownership. You may neither sell or rent the apartment or use it for any other purpose than your residence. You will be held liable for any damage to the apartment. Both the stipend and your residency in the apartment are contingent on noncriminal behavior on your part. Should you be convicted of any felony, the stipend will stop immediately, and you will be given thirty days notice to vacate the apartment.”
Barbara had gone pale. “That was not what he gave me to believe,” she said. “I was to get everything after his charitable bequests.”
“He changed his mind after reading Mr. Eagle’s letter,” Wilen replied.
“This will not stand. I will break this will.”
“I should point out that Walter also dictated a clause stating that, if any of his heirs contest the will or complain about its terms to the press, his or her inheritance will be reduced to one dollar.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Eleanor spat.
“I assure you that it is perfectly legal, as is everything else in this will, and I can assure you, as Walter’s executor, that, if necessary, I will expend whatever funds are necessary to uphold the will. I don’t think you would be able to find a lawyer anywhere who would contest the will under these circumstances.”
“What about Walter’s airplane?”
“He sold it the day he signed his will. He planned to buy a better one but never had the chance.”
“What about the vineyard we bought?”
“I spoke with Emilio Galiano, and he has released the estate from the sale and returned Walter’s check.”
“But that was to be mine!”
“A great deal might have been yours but for your dishonesty.” Wilen closed his briefcase and stood up. “I want to make it perfectly clear that I in no way represent you legally. I do not wish to speak to you again. If you have any need to communicate with me, put it in writing and send it to my office. Do you understand?”
Eleanor stood up. “Get out.”
Wilen turned to go, then stopped. “Oh, by the way, you have about ninety thousand dollars in your checking account, and you may keep that. Walter’s household goods and cars will not be shipped here; they are now part of his estate. You will receive your payments on the first of each month, wired to your checking account. Good day.” Wilen stalked out of the apartment, followed by Lee Hight.
They were out of the building before either of them spoke. “That was very good, Joe,” Hight said.
“It was very satisfying,” Wilen replied.
“I’m very glad that we acted as we did with regard to the will.”
“If I had any doubts, they have all been resolved,” Wilen said.
BARBARA PACED THE living room of her apartment, crying and swearing, cursing Walter Keeler, Ed Eagle and Joe Wilen aloud. “I will make you pay, Ed Eagle!” she cried. “And you, Joe Wilen, will eat dirt before I’m done with you!”
DOWNSTAIRS, the superintendent of the apartment building opened an envelope in his mail and found five one-hundred-dollar bills. A note told him that he would receive another five hundred each time he reported on the movements of Mrs. Walter Keeler. He put the money in his pocket, smiling. His wife didn’t need to know anything about this.
BARBARA FELL ASLEEP on the living room sofa, and it was late afternoon before she woke. She was calm, now, and resigned to the terms of the will. At least she got six hundred thousand a year out of that fucking Walter, she thought, and the use of this apartment.
But while she was calm, her anger at Ed Eagle and Joe Wilen had shrunk into a cold, hard lump in her breast. She would deal with both of them.
30
CUPIE SAT AT his table in the garden at Spago Beverly Hills and waited for Jeff Bender to arrive. He had known Bender since he was a rookie detective in Beverly Hills, when Cupie was an LAPD detective, and they had always been friendly. Bender liked chic restaurants, and Cupie was happy to entertain him at one, especially since Ed Eagle was buying.
Cupie’s cell phone rang, and he answered. “Cupie Dalton.”
“Mr. Dalton, this is the superintendent at Mrs. Keeler’s apartment building.”
“Yes, what’s up?”
“Mrs. Keeler left for the airport a few minutes ago. She said something to the doorman about being in Los Angeles for a few days.”
“Right. Your money will be in the mail today.” He hung up.
Cupie saw Bender enter the restaurant and work his way across the garden toward their table, waving at acquaintances and occasionally stopping to shake hands and chat for a moment. Finally, he reached the table, shook Cupie’s hand and sat down.
“What are you drinking?” Cupie asked as a waiter appeared.
“Absolut martini, two olives, very cold,” Bender replied.
“A Diet Coke for me,” Cupie said. The waiter departed.
“You on the wagon, Cupie?” Bender asked.
“Nope, it’s just that if I drink at lunch, I fall asleep in the afternoon. The golden years will come to you, too, Jeff.”
“What are you up to these days?”
“I’m a busy bee, I am,” Cupie replied. “I guess word must be getting around about what an ace P.I. I am.”
“What sort of stuff you working on?”
“Oh, a widow who’s been a bad girl; a husband who may have been a bad boy. That sort of thing.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested in the domestic stuff,” Bender said.
“Listen, I’m not kicking down doors and snapping Polaroids, kid; this is very important, big-money stuff.”
Bender seemed to prick up his ears. “How much money we talking about?”
“Oh, a billion here, a billion there.”
Their drinks arrived, and they raised their glasses and sipped.
“Tell me,” Bender said, “would one or more of these billions relate to somebody at Centurion?”
Cupie grinned. “You’re way ahead of me, Jeff.”
“Well, I didn’t think you were springing for Spago because you like a pretty face at your table.”
“I suppose you already know the name of the gentleman.”
“It wouldn’t be one Donald Wells, movie producer and recent widower, would it?”
“The name has a familiar ring,” Cupie said. “Seems there was something about the gent in the papers the last few days.”
“Oh, it’s big news and drawing attention from various places.”
“What sort of places?”
“Santa Fe, of course, since that’s where it all went down.”
“Who in Santa Fe?”
“A detective specializing in homicides.”
Cupie flagged down a waiter and ordered another round.
“Why, Cupie, I think you’re trying to get me drunk.”
“Come on, Jeff, a second martini never made you blink.”
“I’m not resisting,” Bender said, as the second drink arrived.
“What would the name of this detective be?” Cupie asked.
“Alex Reese.”
“And what was he looking for?”
“Detective Reese is a very smart fellow,” Bender said. He told Cupie about how Reese had combed the credits of Wells’s movies for suspects.
“And who at Centurion did he find?”
“Two very likely candidates, I should think.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Two staff stuntmen, who double, in one case, as a wrangler and stable hand, and in the other, as a mechanic in our motor pool.”
“Names?”
“Jack Cato and Grif Edwards, respectively.”
“You know them?”
“I know Cato, and I’ve met Edwards.”
“You think they’re the kind of guys who would kill for money?”
“I think Edwards would kill for money,” Bender said. “I think Cato would kill for money, then blackmail the guy who paid him to do it. He’s the smarter of the two and the leader.”
“And Reese is now a dog with a bone.”
“You bet your ass he is. I’d give you odds that right now he’s checking the guest list at the Parador Hotel in Tijuana, which is where these two boys claimed to have been on the relevant dates. It seems they’re aficionados of the bullfight, though they couldn’t come up with any of the names of the toreros in question on the dates in question. Also, Edwards lied about how well he knew Wells, and Cato lied about when they left for Tijuana. I’ll bet Reeves is checking airline reservations between L.A. and Santa Fe, too.”
“Are these guys smart enough to get away with it?”
“Cato may be; Edwards certainly isn’t. In fact, I think that if this cop gets much closer to them, Edwards could meet with a fatal accident.”
“Courtesy of Cato.”
“If the boy has the balls to kill one of America’s richest women, do you think he’d hesitate to cap Edwards, if he began to think he was a liability?”
“What about Don Wells?” Cupie asked.
“What about him?”
“Does he have the balls to cap Cato, in similar circumstances?”
“Well, now, that’s a very interesting question,” Bender said. “You know, all sorts of people are smart enough or crazy enough to hire somebody to remove a wealthy spouse from the scene, but could Wells point a gun at Cato and pull the trigger? I don’t know. I really don’t.”
AFTER HE HAD poured Jeff Bender into his car, Cupie sat in his own vehicle and got out his cell phone.
“Ed Eagle.”
“It’s Cupie. The superintendent in Barbara’s building says she left for Los Angeles this morning. She told the doorman she’d be away for a few days.”
“Good to know. Let me know when she goes home. How did your meeting with the security guy go?”
“It went very well indeed; you’ll get the bill from Spago. Sorry about that, but Bender has expensive tastes when somebody else is buying.”
“Tell me it was worth the money.”
“I believe it was. It seems that a cop from Santa Fe named Reese has questioned two studio stuntmen at Centurion; names Jack Cato and Grif-with-a-G Edwards.”
“And?”
“Bender thinks they look good for it. They claim to have been in Tijuana when the killings took place, but he thinks Reese might punch holes in that.”
“That’s very interesting to know, Cupie.”
“A strong hint that Bender is right could come if Grif Edwards meets with an unfortunate accident. He sort of predicted that. Cato is the smart one, and Edwards is not.” He explained about the lies Reese had caught them in.
“Cupie, you can take anybody to Spago on my dime, anytime you think it’s useful,” Eagle said.
“Not at the moment, but let me know if anything happens to Edwards.”
“You betcha.”
31
ED EAGLE AND Susannah Wilde sat at their table at Santa Café and waited for Joe Wilen and his wife to arrive. “I told you about helping him find a house, didn’t I?” Eagle asked.
“Yes, you did and about closing the sale, too.”
“They’re back to move in, I think,” Eagle said. He looked up and saw them walk into the dining room. “Here they are.”
“Hello, Ed. I’d like you to meet my wife, Sandi. Sandi, this is Ed Eagle and…”
“Susannah Wilde,” she said.
The couple sat down.
“Good flight in?” Eagle asked.
“Yes, and the return trip will be my last in the King Air. I’ve sold it to an old friend.”
“You must’ve bought something else,” Eagle said.
"I bought Walter Keeler’s CitationJet Three; I start training in it for my type rating next week.”
“That will make the trips from the coast to Santa Fe quicker.”
“I’m pleased about it, too,” Sandi said. “I never liked the idea of propellers; I was always afraid that one would fall off. Or both.”
They ordered drinks and dinner.
“By the way, Ed,” Wilen said, “I can answer that question you asked me last time we spoke.”
“What question was that?”
“The answer is yes, Walter did read your letter before signing his will, and as a result, his wife’s inheritance was sharply limited. She gets a monthly stipend and the use of an apartment, and that’s it.”
“And how did she take the news?” Eagle asked.
“Not well. I had the pleasure of delivering it personally.”
“Joe, I hope you got the message in my letter to Walter, that she is dangerous when crossed.”
“Oh, at my suggestion, Walter included a clause cutting off her payments and evicting her if she is convicted of criminal activity, so I don’t think she’ll be out to get me.”
“That was a smart move. Did you explain that to her, as well?”
“You bet I did and in no uncertain terms. I’m glad to see the back of that woman.”
