Santa Fe Dead

by Stuart Woods

  As Cato approached, he checked ahead of and behind him. Both sides of the street were clear. He pulled up next to the BMW, in the left-turn lane, put it in park and rolled down his passenger-side window. He slid across the seat and shouted, “Excuse me!”

  The man turned and looked at him.

  “Mr. Wilen?”

  The man rolled down the window. “Yes?”

  “Are you Mr. Joe Wilen?”

  “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”

  Cato pointed the gun at him. “Just hold still,” he said. The bullet struck Wilen just above the left eye, and he went down immediately. Cato didn’t feel the need for a second shot, since he was using hollow-point ammunition and since there were blood and brains all over the inside of Wilen’s windshield and dashboard.

  He put the truck in gear, and as the light changed, turned left. In his rearview mirror he saw the BMW coast across the intersection and come to rest against a curb. He checked his pulse: up maybe ten beats, no more. He took a few deep breaths and worked on settling down. Then a police car appeared behind him, its lights flashing, giving him a low growl of the siren.

  Cato signaled a right turn, then pulled over to the curb, his hands on the steering wheel, and waited. The police car drove straight past him, not even looking at him, headed to some other destination.

  Cato took some more deep breaths, drove a few more blocks, and, when he stopped at another traffic light, selected his home address in the GPS menu and pressed the direct button.

  Once on the freeway he stopped for gas and made a call from a pay phone to the cell phone number he had been given.

  “Yes?” the woman’s voice said.

  “The job in Palo Alto was completed an hour ago,” he said.

  “When I have confirmation on the news or in the paper, I’ll send the next package. You have eleven days.” She hung up.

  THAT NIGHT, back in L.A., Cato drove to Centurion, let himself in through the back gate, cleaned and oiled the gun, then took a thin file and scored the barrel enough to change the ballistic markings it would produce. He returned it to its cabinet in the armory, wiped clean of prints, and went home for some rest.

  Grif’s car was parked on one side of the driveway. Cato let himself into the garage with the remote control and closed the door after him. It was dark outside, and he had seen none of his neighbors on the street.

  Grif was sitting in front of the living room TV, eating chips and drinking a beer. “Hey,” he said.

  “Evening.”

  “Everything come out all right?”

  Cato ignored the question. He peeled five hundreds off the roll in his pocket and handed them to Edwards. “Thanks for your help. Any calls?”

  “Tina called. The cop from Santa Fe is coming to see her. She’s got her story down pat, though.”

  “Good. Was that all?”

  “There was a message from GMAC, saying they received your truck payment.”

  “Good. Anybody else?”

  “That’s everything. I saw your next-door neighbor when I got here yesterday with a sack of groceries. She asked after you, and I told her you were down with the flu. She wanted to bring over chicken soup, but I told her it wasn’t necessary.”

  “All good,” Cato said. “I’m going to go get some sleep; you can go home, if you want to.”

  “After the game,” Edwards said.

  Cato showered, dove into bed and slept well.

  34

  ON SUNDAY MORNING, Eagle called Joe Wilen’s new Santa Fe house and got his wife, Sandi, on the phone.

  “Good morning, it’s Ed Eagle.”

  “Good morning, Ed.”

  “Is Joe awake yet? I thought I’d roust him out for some golf.”

  “No, he went back to Palo Alto Friday night; he had a tournament to play there this weekend, and he starts his flight training tomorrow.”

  “Well, he’ll be out of pocket for a couple of weeks, I guess. Tell him I’ll see him when I see him.”

  “Okay, Ed. Tell Susannah I’ll call her for lunch.”

  “Will do. Bye-bye.” Eagle hung up and went to make breakfast. Susannah was up and in the shower.

  He was about to start scrambling eggs when the kitchen phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Ed?” It was Sandi Wilen, and she sounded shaky.

  “Hi, Sandi. Anything wrong?”

  "I just got a call from the Palo Alto police. They told me Joe is dead.”

  Eagle took a moment to digest this. “Are they sure it’s Joe?”

  “Yes, he had ID on him. He was shot in his car, on the way to the golf course.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday morning. They’ve been trying to reach me, but they didn’t know about the Santa Fe house. A neighbor finally told them to try me here.”

  “Sandi, I’m so very sorry. I didn’t know Joe very well, yet, but I was looking forward to getting to know him and having him as a neighbor.”

  “Thank you, Ed.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No, I have to go back to Palo Alto. It’s going to take me all day, what with the airline connections.”

  “Sandi, I’ll be happy to fly you directly to Palo Alto. We can be there by lunchtime, and I’m sure you’re going to need some help dealing with this when we get there.”

  “I wouldn’t want to put you to that trouble, Ed, but…”

  “I’ll pick you up in forty-five minutes, okay?”

  “Well, all right, Ed. I really appreciate this.”

  “See you then.” Eagle hung up.

  Susannah appeared in fresh jeans and a sweater, her hair wet. “I don’t like the look on your face,” she said. “What’s happened?”

  “Joe Wilen is dead, shot.”

  Susannah was shocked. “Is it Barbara, do you think?”

  “Yes, I do think. I’m going to fly Sandi home and see if I can help there.”

  “Can I come?”

  “Sure, if you want to. I could use some help with Sandi, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll pack for a couple of days,” she said, disappearing into the bedroom.

  EAGLE LANDED AT San Jose and soon they were at Palo Alto police headquarters. A detective came down and met them, and introductions were made.

  “I want to see my husband,” Sandi said.

  “Of course, Mrs. Wilen,” the detective said. “We’ll need your identification of the body. I’ll get someone to take you over to the morgue.” He picked up the phone and made a call. A moment later another detective appeared and escorted her away, with Susannah in tow.

  “May I speak with you, Detective?” Eagle asked.

  “Sure, let’s use this room over here.” The detective led Eagle into an interrogation room and closed the door. The two men sat down.

  “Please tell me how Joe Wilen died.”

  “Your name again?”

  “Ed Eagle. I’m an attorney, friend of the family. I may be able to help.”

  “Mr. Wilen was scheduled to play in a golf tournament yesterday morning. He left his house and a few blocks away, he stopped at a traffic signal. We think another vehicle drove alongside his car and someone shot him once in the head. The weapon was a.380, the bullet a hollow-point. One was all it took. A jogger found the car a few yards away; it had come to rest against a tree at low speed, and the engine was still running. The jogger didn’t see another vehicle, but from the angle of the wound we think it was a taller vehicle, an SUV or a truck.”

  “I think I may have a suspect for you.”

  “Tell me who he is.”

  “It’s a she, and she has more than one name: Barbara Eagle, sometimes; recently she was calling herself Eleanor Wright; and a couple of weeks ago, she married a Palo Alto man, Walter Keeler.”

  “I know who Keeler is, sure,” the detective said. “He was killed last week in a car crash on the interstate.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “What would Mrs. Keeler’s motive be fo
r killing her new husband?”

  “I don’t think she did that, but I think she either killed Joe Wilen or hired someone to do it.”

  “Okay, what was her motive for killing her husband’s lawyer?”

  Eagle explained about the letter he had written, that Wilen had shown to Keeler, causing him to change his will. “If Wilen hadn’t shown him the letter, Mrs. Keeler would have inherited more than a billion dollars. After he read it, he cut her inheritance down to fifty thousand dollars a month for life and the use, but not the ownership, of their San Francisco apartment.”

  “So she was angry with Wilen?”

  “Oh, yes, and she told him so to his face. He told me, and I warned him to be careful.”

  “Are you related to Mrs. Keeler?”

  “She’s my ex-wife. She was recently tried for a double murder in L.A. and got off-this was only a few weeks ago.”

  “And where can I find her now?”

  “Maybe at her San Francisco home, but she could also be at the home of a friend called James Long, in Los Angeles.”

  There was a knock on the door, and the detective got up and opened it.

  An attractive woman in her thirties stood there. “Detective Hayman?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Lee Hight. I’m an associate of Joe Wilen-actually, his law partner.”

  The detective offered her a chair and brought her up to date.

  “I was at the meeting where Joe told Mrs. Keeler about her inheritance,” she said. “The woman looked as though she might kill him on the spot. It was scary.”

  “So you concur that Mrs. Keeler should be our chief suspect?”

  “Without any doubt.”

  “Do you have the address of her San Francisco apartment?”

  Hight gave it to him.

  “Expect her to have a good alibi,” Eagle said, “but she’s responsible for Joe Wilen’s murder, I promise you.”

  35

  EAGLE AND SUSANNAH drove Sandi Wilen to her home, and she insisted that they stay overnight. They consented, and Susannah cooked dinner for them that evening.

  “Ed, you think Walter Keeler’s widow had something to do with this, don’t you?” Sandi asked over dinner. “You told us at dinner the other night that she could be dangerous.”

  “I have no doubt that she is responsible,” Ed replied. “She probably hired someone, because it would be too dangerous for her to do it herself, given the clause in Walter’s will, cutting her off if she committed a crime.”

  “Did you tell the police detective about her?”

  “Yes, I did, and Joe’s law partner, Lee Hight, added her weight to the opinion.”

  “Lee is a good person and a good lawyer,” Sandi said. “Joe made her a partner in the firm just this past week.”

  “Does the firm have a lot of clients?”

  “One or two of Joe’s friends. Most of the work was for Walter Keeler, and Joe said that would continue to be the case, because they’ll be administering Walter’s estate, which, as you can imagine, is considerable.”

  The doorbell rang, and Sandi went to answer it. She came back with Lee Hight. “Lee, you’ve met Ed Eagle; this is his friend, Susannah Wilde.”

  Lee sat down. “Mr. Eagle, you should know that, tomorrow morning, I’m going to cancel all payments from Walter Keeler’s estate to Mrs. Keeler and issue an eviction notice for the apartment.”

  “Lee, do the terms of Keeler’s will allow you to do that because you suspect Mrs. Keeler, or does she have to be convicted?”

  “The will says she has to be convicted, but what the hell, she can sue us.”

  “Please don’t do this,” Eagle replied.

  “Why not? Do you think she’ll pursue it through the courts?”

  “Yes, but more important, I think you would be placing your life in danger. If she has already had Joe killed, do you think she would hesitate to go after you? She’s a very angry woman.”

  Hight looked worried. “I hadn’t got that far in my thinking,” she said.

  “My advice is to continue to make the payments, and as soon as she’s convicted, stop them.”

  “I guess that’s good advice,” Hight said. “I’m just so fucking angry about this, I’m not thinking straight.”

  “Sandi tells me Joe made you a partner last week. Do you have that in writing?”

  “Yes, Joe took care of that.”

  “Then go run your law firm and don’t worry about Mrs. Keeler. Let the police do that.”

  “All right, Mr. Eagle. I’ll do that.”

  “And if I were you, I’d get a gun permit from your local police department, take some instruction, and carry it until Mrs. Keeler is locked safely away.”

  “I think that’s good advice, too,” she said.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Eagle called Cupie Dalton.

  “This is Cupie.”

  Eagle told him about Wilen’s murder.

  “Man, she’s something, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, and she’s probably in L.A.”

  “So I should watch my ass?”

  “So you should watch your ass.”

  “Do you know where she is in L.A.?”

  “Probably at her friend Jimmy Long’s house.”

  “I could tail her.”

  “Better somebody she doesn’t know. I’m going to speak to the chief of police about that; maybe he’ll authorize surveillance. God knows, the D.A. would like another crack at her.”

  “Good idea.”

  “You might look into who the hit man could be, Cupie. My guess is that Jimmy Long found somebody for her, since she doesn’t really know a lot of people in L.A.”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  Eagle said good-bye and hung up. Next, he called his friend, the Los Angeles Chief of Police, Joe Sams.

  “Hello, Ed, how are you?”

  “I’ve been better, Joe. You remember my former wife, Barbara?”

  “The double murderess? How could I forget.”

  “Well, she’s done it again.”

  “Not in L.A., I hope.”

  “No, in Palo Alto. I believe she hired someone from L.A. to kill a lawyer named Joe Wilen.”

  “Why from L.A.?”

  “Because she doesn’t know anybody in San Francisco, where she’s now living. A couple of weeks ago, she married a very rich retired businessman named Walter Keeler.”

  “I knew Walter; I read about his death in the papers. Did she have anything to do with that?”

  “No, it was a traffic accident.” Eagle explained about the terms of Keeler’s will and Wilen’s part, as well as his own part in preventing her from inheriting everything.

  “So she got Wilen, and you’re next?”

  “Probably. Don’t worry, I’m carrying, thanks to your help with my license.”

  “Do you have anything on the woman that would give me probable cause to arrest her?”

  “No. I think what your people could do best would be to find out who she hired to do it.”

  “And where do we start?”

  “She has a friend named Jimmy Long, a successful movie producer. He was her alibi at her trial, and it was his story that got her off. He’s her only friend here, as far as I know, so she might have turned to him to help her find a contract killer.”

  “Would this Jimmy Long be likely to know a contract killer?”

  “He’s in the movie business, Joe.”

  “Oh. All right, I’ll assign some people to track down his connections and see if a likely hit man turns up. Anything else I can do?”

  “If I can think of anything, I’ll call you, Joe. Thanks for your help.” Eagle hung up.

  “You’re carrying?” Susannah asked.

  “You know I usually do, especially when I’m in L.A.”

  “Should I be carrying?”

  “Maybe so. Barbara saw you at the trial, and she may have recognized you from the movies. Do you have a license for L.A.?”

  “Yes. So you think she w
ould really come after me?”

  “Yes, because she knows it would hurt me.”

  36

  DETECTIVE ALEX REESE found the apartment building in West Hollywood where Tina López and her roommate, Soledad Rivera, lived and rang their bell.

  The door was opened by a short, plump, pretty woman. “Yes?”

  Reese flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Reese, Santa Fe Police Department. Are you Tina López or Soledad Rivera?”

  “I’m Soledad,” she replied. “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to ask you and Ms. López some questions regarding an investigation I’m conducting. Is she here?”

  “Maybe.”

  “May I come in?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  Before he could reply, another woman came down a hallway and approached the door. She was taller and quite beautiful, wearing low-cut jeans that exposed an expanse of belly from well below her navel to just below her deeply cut cleavage.

  “Are you Tina López?”

  “He’s a cop from Santa Fe, Tina,” Soledad said.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to ask both of you some questions concerning an investigation I’m conducting. May I come in?”

  “I guess so,” Tina replied.

  Reese took a seat in the small living room. “It’s my understanding that you were both in Tijuana for the bullfights recently.” He gave them the dates. “Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Tina replied.

  “Who were you with?”

  “Grif Edwards and Jack Cato,” Soledad said quickly.

  “And where did you stay?”

  “At the Parador,” Soledad said.

  “Before I ask you the next question I should tell you that my investigation is of a double murder, a mother and her son, in Santa Fe, and that anyone who gives false information to me with regard to those killings is liable to be charged as an accessory. Being an accessory to murder carries the same prison sentence as that for the actual murderer. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Both women stared at him blankly, and he thought he saw tears begin to well in Soledad’s eyes.

  “Do you understand?”

  “We don’t want to talk to you anymore,” Tina said.