Santa Fe Rules

by Stuart Woods

  “I think I have a better understanding now of why so many people confess to crimes they haven’t committed. Just the experience of being locked up is so demoralizing that the police have you at a tremendous disadvantage.”

  “Did they do the ’good cop, bad cop’ routine?”

  “Yes, and it was surprisingly effective. It took me a few minutes to grasp what was going on.”

  “I see you’ve got Ms. Deering back on the scene.”

  “Now, look, Ed, I’m not flaunting her presence. She and her daughter are here for Christmas, that’s all.”

  “Okay, but no public places, no dinners at the Santacafé, you hear me?”

  “All right, agreed.”

  Wolf finished his huge breakfast, and they left.

  “Now,” Eagle said as he turned toward Wilderness Gate, “remember that I’ve now promised a judge that you won’t leave the jurisdiction. That means you can’t leave the county, not even to take Ms. Deering to the Albuquerque airport when she returns to L.A. Get the lady a taxi.”

  “All right,” Wolf said, beginning to feel trapped. “I’ll stick close to Santa Fe.”

  “Don’t cross the county line, you hear me? I wouldn’t put it past Carreras to put a tail on you, in the hope that you might jump bail and give him a chance to arrest you again.”

  “I hear you, Ed.”

  “There’s something I want you to do, now that the police have made a move.”

  “Sure.”

  “I want you to call or write to everybody you know who is somebody—all those movie people who have public names—and get character references. Absolutely anybody you think might be of any help. Also, any politicians you may know, and any clergymen.”

  “That’s kind of embarrassing, asking people to do that. Is it really necessary?”

  “It is. If it embarrasses you, ask somebody you know to write to them for you. And there’s something else that isn’t going to be easy for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If we go to trial, I’m going to put Julia’s sister on the stand.”

  “What for?”

  “I’ll want a jury to know the kind of person Julia had been, her record of arrests, all the sleaziness. If worse comes to worse and the jury starts thinking you might be guilty, I want them to have somebody else to blame, and Julia’s ideal.”

  “Yeah,” Wolf said. “Julia won’t be there to defend herself. That’ll make me look just swell.”

  “Don’t hand me that. I know enough about her now to know that the woman was a slut and a con artist, and that she never gave a fuck about anybody but herself. What you have to get used to is that she never gave a fuck about you, either.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Wolf said stubbornly.

  “Well, just look at the newest wrinkle in all this,” Eagle said. “She sent Grafton to you—an escaped convict, an armed robber, a con man, a murderer, for Christ’s sake, and she snookered you into having lunch with the guy and helping him sell his screenplay.”

  “It was a good screenplay,” Wolf said. “Crude, but that never put off a major studio. Anyway, Grafton must have been blackmailing Julia.”

  “How do you know that? For all you know, she could have welcomed him with open arms. I have it on good authority that he was an absolute ace in bed.”

  “Oh, thanks for that, Ed, that really helped.”

  “I hope it helped you to understand what Julia was. I deal with people like her every week of my life; I see what they’re capable of and how they always blame somebody else when they get caught. Now, I’m telling you it is critical to your defense to make you look as good as possible and to make Julia look as bad as possible, and we’re lucky that it won’t be hard to do. Julia gave us that, anyway.”

  “All right, Ed, do what you have to do to get me free of this, but I don’t want to hear about it until I’m in a courtroom, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “You’re giving me a free hand, then?”

  “Yes, a free hand.”

  Eagle pulled into Wolf’s driveway. “I’m sorry this is so hard for you, Wolf, but I said I’d get you off; I didn’t say it was going to be fun.”

  “All right, Ed.” Wolf sighed. “I understand my position.”

  Eagle pulled to a stop at Wolf’s door. “No, you don’t. There’s something else you haven’t grasped yet.”

  “Not something else.” Wolf groaned.

  “Yes, and something important. Even if you’re acquitted, even if you walk out of that courtroom a free man, a substantial percentage—maybe even a majority—of the people you now know and later meet are always going to wonder if you committed those murders. An acquittal isn’t exoneration.”

  “So how do I become exonerated?”

  “The only way I can do that is by proving that somebody else did it.” Eagle looked away. “And considering the facts of this case—or rather, the lack of them—that may not ever be possible.”

  Wolf slumped. “I see,” he said.

  “Take care of yourself. Call me day or night, if you need me.”

  “Thanks.” Wolf got out of the car and trudged toward the door. As he turned the knob, the door opened before him. Jane rushed to him and put her arms around his waist. “Boy, am I glad you’re here,” she breathed into his ear. “I was wondering if I would ever see you again.”

  He hugged her back. “So was I, love; so was I.”

  CHAPTER

  31

  When Wolf awoke, someone was in bed with him. He opened his eyes, and Jane was there, asleep, wearing a sweater and jeans.

  He turned to face her, and she opened her eyes. “How long have you been there?” he asked.

  She looked at her wristwatch. “About half an hour.”

  “Oh,” he said, disappointed. “I wish you had been there longer.”

  She laughed. “I got up and made breakfast for Sara and Flaps. They went out to build a snowman, so I thought I’d look in on you. You were sleeping like a child; I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.”

  He leaned over and kissed her.

  “Unshaven!” she said, rising to her knees. “Okay, out of bed and scrape that face. I’m not kissing whiskers this early in the morning.”

  He got out of bed and staggered into the bathroom for a shower and a shave. She had breakfast on the kitchen table when he surfaced.

  “Yesterday was nice,” she said. “Thank you for the tour; Sara liked it, too.”

  “Tonight we’ll take a different kind of tour and look at the Christmas decorations. Is it all right for Sara to stay up?”

  “We wouldn’t be able to get her to bed before that time, anyway. She’s a coiled spring on Christmas Eve. What’s on for today?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend some time working on some stuff Ed Eagle asked me to do. I’ve got to write some letters and make some calls.”

  “Okay. We’ll amuse ourselves.”

  “Why don’t the two of you take the car and do some shopping?”

  “Sounds good. I’ve got one or two last-minute things to pick up. I’d just like to lie around and read for a while, too.”

  “My library is yours. Maria is coming tomorrow to cook Christmas dinner for us. I thought I’d ask Mark Shea over, if he hasn’t got plans.”

  “He’s the shrink I met at the D & D’s party?”

  “Right. He’s probably my closest friend in Santa Fe, and I think you’ll like him when you’ve had a chance to sit down with him for a while.”

  “If he’s your friend, he can’t be all bad.”

  Wolf finished his breakfast and glanced at his watch. “I’ll call him now, before he starts with patients.” He went into the study and dialed Mark’s number.

  “Mark Shea.”

  “Hi, it’s Wolf.”

  “Oh, Wolf,” Mark replied, sounding tired. “I’ve been wondering how you were. I’m sorry I haven’t called, but I’ve been swamped.”

  “Jane Deering and her daughter are in
town, and Maria’s cooking us a big Christmas dinner tomorrow. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Thanks, Wolf, but I’m committed to something. I…I would like to talk with you, though. Listen, do you think you could come around here late tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Sure. Can I bring Jane and Sara?”

  “I’d really like to talk to you alone. Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all. What time?”

  “Around six?”

  “Fine. Mark, are you all right? You sound a bit…weary.”

  “Well, a lot has been going on; that’s what I want to talk with you about. I’ve got some explaining to do, Wolf, and I’m looking forward to getting it off my chest.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. See you at six. Oh, and Merry Christmas.”

  “You too, Mark.”

  Wolf hung up, got his address book, and started to make a list of people who would be good for character references. He had a hard time concentrating; Mark had sounded depressed, and he was never depressed. Well, he reckoned, he wasn’t the only one with problems. He’d hear about Mark’s tomorrow.

  After dinner, he drove Jane and Sara around downtown Santa Fe and the East Side Historic District.

  “What are all those little lights along the tops of the houses?” Sara asked.

  “They’re called farolitos,” Wolf replied. “You take a paper bag, put some sand in the bottom to weight it, then stick a candle in the sand and light it. Presto! A farolito! Then you line them up along the roof.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Sara said, pressing her nose to the window.

  “Of course, these days a lot of them are plastic and electric, but it’s the thought that counts.”

  They drove slowly through the narrow streets of the east side. Traffic was heavy—everybody went out on Christmas Eve in Santa Fe to see the lights.

  “What’s that nice smell?” Sara asked. “It’s like incense, or something.”

  “That’s piñon smoke,” Wolf replied. “All the adobe houses have fireplaces, and everybody burns piñon wood. Piñons are the short, gnarled pine trees that you’ve seen all over the place.”

  “It’s lovely,” Jane said. “It seems to fit right into the Santa Fe atmosphere.”

  “We’ll burn some ourselves when we get home.”

  By the time they got home, Sara had fallen asleep in her mother’s lap. Wolf carried her into the house, and Jane got her tucked in. Flaps climbed onto the bed, tail thumping, and laid her head across Sara’s small body, then gave them all a goodnight grin. Wolf and Jane tiptoed from the room.

  Wolf lit a fire in the study and poured them a brandy.

  “I’ve never seen her fold so completely on Christmas Eve,” Jane said.

  “It’s Flaps,” Wolf replied. “She’s never had her own little girl before; the two of them wore each other out today.”

  “You’re good with her,” Jane said.

  “I like her. I haven’t spent a lot of time around children, but I feel very comfortable with Sara.”

  “She feels comfortable with you, too,” Jane said. “That hasn’t always been the case with the men in my life.”

  Wolf reclined on the sofa and pulled her head onto his shoulder. They kissed, then began to move against each other.

  “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Wolf said.

  “Maybe not,” she replied, “but I’m willing to find out.”

  They made love on the floor in front of the fire until only glowing coals were left.

  “Best Christmas I ever had,” Wolf sighed.

  CHAPTER

  32

  When Wolf woke on Christmas morning, Jane was under the covers with him again, this time without clothes. But they were not alone; Sara was jumping up and down on the bed, screaming “It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!” and Flaps was on the bed too, dancing and barking.

  “All right! All right!” Jane cried. “Just give us a minute! We’ll meet you at the tree!”

  The little girl and the dog bounded from the room.

  “What was that?” Wolf said sleepily. “A terrorist attack?”

  “That was a little girl and a dog on Christmas morning,” Jane groaned. “And if we don’t get up and get in there right now, they’ll be back, I promise you.”

  Wolf struggled out of bed, crawled into some clothes, and moaned. “Do I have time to brush my teeth?”

  “Not a chance,” Jane said, zipping up her jeans. “We’ll be attacked again. Come on.”

  When they arrived at the tree, Sara was separating the pres-ents into three piles, while Flaps helped by sniffing everything carefully. Sara’s was the biggest pile. She tore into the packages, shrieking with delight at each gift, no matter what it was. She danced around the room wearing Wolf’s gift, a small sheepskin coat and matching snow boots.

  “Those are for when you’re in Santa Fe,” he said. He opened one of his own presents—a photograph of the three of them with Flaps and the snowman that had been taken only the day before.

  “That’s for when we’re not here,” Jane said.

  Maria cooked a grand Christmas dinner, and they ate formally in the dining room, stuffing themselves with the traditional dinner. After lunch, Wolf and Jane left Sara playing with her new Nintendo game and Flaps methodically removing the skin from one of her new tennis balls. They napped for most of the afternoon, and when Wolf woke, it was time to visit Mark Shea. He got out of bed, taking care not to wake Jane; he was on his way out of the house when the phone rang. He grabbed it before it could wake Jane.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Wolf, it’s Mark. I want to ask a favor.”

  “Sure, Mark.”

  “I remember your telling me you owned a pistol.”

  “That’s right.”

  “May I borrow it? Would you bring it with you?”

  Wolf was very surprised. Mark was a vigorous opponent of the right to handgun ownership; he and Wolf had argued many times about the gun control laws. Wolf resisted the urge to tease him now about his stand. “All right, Mark. I’ll bring it with me.”

  He went to the study, opened the safe, checked to be sure the pistol was loaded, put it into his coat pocket, and left the house.

  New snow had fallen during the night, and Wolf drove carefully through the nearly deserted streets. Everybody was doing what he had been doing, he reckoned—sleeping off Christmas dinner. He drove north through town and out onto the Taos Highway. When he turned left onto Tano Road, he noted how few tire tracks had marred the new snow; by the time he reached the turnoff to Mark’s house, there were only the tracks of a single car. It was dark as he swung through the open gates to Mark’s compound, and his lights illuminated the single set of tire tracks that had turned into Mark’s place.

  The only light in the compound was from the outbuilding that was Mark’s professional suite, and Wolf turned toward it at the fork in the drive. The big house, off to the right, looked empty, haunted. The tracks preceding him stopped next to Mark’s Range Rover, which was covered in a fluffy layer of new snow, but there was no other car. Wolf left the Porsche and trudged to the front door, following another set of footprints that seemed to be going the other way.

  Wolf rapped sharply on the door and opened it. “Hello? Mark?”

  Music was playing quite loudly. Vivaldi, The Four Seasons. There was something in the air, too, a familiar scent.

  Wolf was swept back in time; he was twelve or thirteen. He’d gotten his first gun, a .22 rifle, for Christmas, and he was out in the woods at the edge of his hometown of Delano, looking for rabbits. First, though, he’d wanted some target practice. He’d found some bottles and lined them up against a mudbank, then fired his new rifle for the first time. The smell of gunpowder had filled the woods, a smell he came to associate with afternoons in the fields and mountains around his home, hunting with a friend and a dog. The smell was here now and was entirely pleasant,
until he realized it was out of place.

  Wolf looked around and saw no one. The music became an irritant, and he went to the stereo in the bookcase and switched it off. It was then that he heard the noise, and it made his hair stand on end—a rasping groan. He walked around the sofa and found Mark Shea, lying on his side, trying to get up.

  “Mark!” Wolf managed to say. He went to his friend and turned him over onto his back. The front of his white shirt was a mass of blood, and turning him over revealed an expanding pool of red on the carpet.

  Mark’s mouth moved, but no sound came out, except the rasp.

  “Hang on, Mark,” Wolf said, grabbing for the phone. With one hand he dialed zero, while with the other he loosened Mark’s shirt collar.

  “Operator.”

  “Get me the police; this is an emergency.”

  The operator was matter-of-fact. “May I have the number you’re calling from?”

  Wolf struggled to remember the number and couldn’t. “I can’t remember it. Please connect me with the police—no, with the sheriff’s department.” Mark’s house was outside the city limits, in the county’s jurisdiction.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I must have the number.”

  Frantic, Wolf looked at the telephone in his hand, but there was no number on it.

  “Listen to me, you stupid bitch,” he said, “a man is badly hurt, and I want the sheriff’s department right now, do you hear me?”

  “All right, keep your shirt on,” she said sourly.

  At the moment he was connected, Wolf remembered Mark’s number.

  “Sheriff’s department.”

  “Hello, I need an ambulance and the police here right away. A man has been shot.” He recited directions to Mark’s house.

  “Your name and number?” the deputy said.

  “My name is Willett.” He rattled off the phone number. “Please hurry and get here.”

  “Is the man badly hurt?”

  Wolf wanted to say that he was probably dying, but he didn’t want Mark to hear that. “Yes, very.”

  “We’re on the way.”