by Stuart Woods
“I think it does, probably whoever killed Mark Shea. First of all, I’m surprised that Julia would give anybody else the code; from what I know about her, it just doesn’t sound like her. But she obviously gave the code to somebody, so it had to be somebody she trusted implicitly. That person waited until he—or she—felt the heat was off, then made a run on the money.”
“Well, Barbara Kennerly isn’t in prison anymore, is she?”
“No, she’s a free woman.”
“Then she’s got to be the one.”
“Maybe, but I’ve got some problems with that.”
“What problems?”
“Wolf, why would she come to Santa Fe and start a new life? She knew Julia was dead; she’d read about it in the papers while she was in prison. So if she had the bank account code and knew the money was there, why didn’t she just immediately transfer the money to a bank of her choice, take her new money and her new name, and disappear?”
Wolf thought about this. “It must mean that there’s something in Santa Fe she wants, something she has to have before she takes a hike.”
“But what? If she’s really in this, then all that’s in Santa Fe for her is the possibility of getting arrested and sent back to prison. Why would she come out here and ask your lawyer, of all people, for a job? Why would she agree to take the witness stand in your defense? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“I agree,” Wolf said. “It doesn’t.”
“Also, her every action since arriving here has been that of a person who was beginning a new life. She found a job and an apartment, she’s buying things for the place, and she bought a new car.”
“Where did she get the money for a new car? She’s just out of prison.”
“Perfectly reasonable explanation for that: When she was married, her husband bought her a lot of jewelry—I know that’s true, because I’ve seen it; it’s good stuff. She sold some of it to establish herself here.”
Wolf shook his head. “None of this makes any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t; but I’ve got a dinner date with your sister-in-law tonight, and I’m going to put her through the wringer. If she knows something about this, I’m going to find it out.”
Wolf turned his attention to the two documents before him. Then he stopped talking and stared at the wire-transfer order.
“What is it, Wolf?” Eagle asked.
“This order to transfer the money was faxed to the bank,” he said.
“So?”
“Look at the logo at the top of the page.”
Eagle looked at the page. “What do you mean, ’logo’?”
“You can set up a fax machine so that it has something to identify the sender at the top of the page.”
“Oh, sure. There’s no name, just a phone number.” His mouth dropped open. “Area code 505; it was sent from New Mexico.”
Wolf nodded. “From Santa Fe,” he said. “That’s my fax number. This wire-transfer order was sent from this house.”
The two men sat and stared at each other.
“When?” Eagle said, grabbing the paper. “Here it is, stamped at the top: twelve-twenty today.”
“I went out to lunch,” Wolf said. “I left at just about that time.”
“So somebody saw you leave and came in here and used your fax machine?”
“Let’s double-check,” Wolf said, rising and heading for the study. He pressed a key, and the fax machine printed out a journal. “Here it is: a fax was sent at twelve-twenty.”
“Was the house locked?”
Wolf shook his head. “I never lock the place unless I’m going to be gone overnight.”
“Who knows about that?”
“Just about anybody who knows me well, I guess.”
“Would your cleaning lady have been here?”
“No, she leaves at noon sharp every day. She has another job in the afternoons.”
“All right,” Eagle said, “that means there’s somebody in Santa Fe who knew about the theft of the money before we did. Somebody Julia would have trusted.”
Wolf nodded. “And maybe the same person who shot Mark Shea?”
“And who spent the night before at his house. So it was somebody who knew both Julia and Mark well. Did Julia have any close friends in Santa Fe?”
“Monica Collins,” Wolf said.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Eagle replied, his eyes widening.
“She was the only person Julia was really close to here, and Monica knew Mark well, too. She was his patient.”
“Could Mark have been screwing her?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Wolf replied. “Mark had a reputation for sleeping with the odd patient.”
“I think I’ll drop a word to the D.A. about Monica. It would be interesting to know if she could substantiate her whereabouts the day Mark was shot.”
“It certainly would be interesting to know that,” Wolf agreed. “It would be interesting to know her whereabouts on the night of the murders here, too.”
“Wolf, did Monica come to your house a lot?”
“Yes, she was here often. She and Julia would lunch when we were here, and if we had people in for drinks, Monica would always come.”
“So she could have been here the night of the murders?”
“Yes. Yes, she could well have been.”
“Would she have known your house would be unlocked when you were in town?”
“She was in and out of here with Julia all the time. Yes.”
“Can I use your phone?” Eagle asked.
“Sure.”
Eagle dialed Santacafé and was connected to the owner. “Jim, it’s Ed Eagle. Can I ask you something in confidence? I wouldn’t like anyone to know I asked.”
“Sure, Ed.”
“Did Barbara Kennerly work lunch today?”
“No, I sent her home. She obviously hadn’t been feeling well all morning, and by lunchtime she looked like death. Female problems, I think.”
“What time did you send her home?”
“A little before twelve, I guess.” He laughed. “Ed, you and your romantic problems are something.”
“Thanks, Jim. Remember, don’t tell her I asked.” He hung up and turned to Wolf. “She wasn’t at work.”
“So she could have sent the fax?”
“I’m damned well going to find out,” Eagle said.
CHAPTER
44
Eagle had most of dinner prepared before Barbara arrived. “What can I get you to drink?” he asked as he took her coat.
“I think I could stand a stiff vodka,” she said. “I’m really tired; maybe it will help. Do you have any Stolichnaya?”
“Sure,” Eagle replied, taking a bottle from the refrigerator. “You’re not feeling well?”
“Better than yesterday.”
“What was wrong yesterday?”
“You really want to know?”
“Sure.” He handed her a stiff shot of the vodka.
“I thought I was bleeding to death,” she said. “Once in a while I have a really rough period, and yesterday was the worst I can remember.”
Eagle poured himself a single-malt Scotch; it might help with what he had to do, he thought. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, handing her the drink.
Barbara took a long pull of the vodka. “Wow,” she said.
“It’s good for what ails you,” Eagle said.
“Well, I asked for it. Yes, I am feeling better, but just so you know before you start breathing in my ear, not that much better. I won’t be very good company tonight, and I’m going home early.”
“As you wish,” Eagle said.
He quickly sautéed some boned chicken breasts and made a cream and tarragon sauce while the rice and vegetables cooked. By the time they sat down with a bottle of wine, Barbara was clearly a little looped, and she drank most of the cabernet. After dinner, Eagle steered her to the sofa before the fireplace in the study, then poured her a brandy.
“I’m a very drunk
lady,” Barbara said, lifting the snifter to him.
“I think you’d better sleep here tonight,” Eagle said. “You shouldn’t drive.”
“As long as you don’t tamper with me,” she said.
“I promise.”
The file folder was on the coffee table in front of them, and he picked it up. “Barbara, I’ve got some bad news for you.”
“Great,” she said, “that’s all I need.”
“The wire-transfer didn’t work.”
“Huh?”
“The money isn’t in Mexico City. The really bad news is, it isn’t in the Caymans, either.”
Barbara put her drink on the coffee table and put her face in her hands.
At last, Eagle thought, I’ve cracked that seamless surface. He hadn’t wanted it this way; he was half in love with her, and he wanted her to be what she seemed—nothing more. “Did you hear me?” he asked gently.
She shook her head. “I heard you, lover, but it was Greek to me. What on earth are you talking about?”
He took out the copy of the wire-transfer order and read aloud. “‘Dear Sirs: Please wire transfer contents of account 0010022 to account number 4114340, head office, Banco Nacionale, Mexico City. Abracadabra. Voilà.’ It’s signed Frances B. Kennerly.”
Barbara picked up the brandy again and tossed the contents of the glass down her throat. “Ah, the pain is going away,” she said. Then she frowned. “What was that you just said?” she asked. She was very drunk now.
“You want me to read it to you again?”
“No, just the last part. Acabra…something.”
“‘Abracadabra. Voilà.’”
“Where on earth did you hear that?” she asked.
“It’s in the fax you sent.”
“What fax?”
“The fax I just read to you.”
“Is it from Julia? Can’t be. Julia’s dead.”
“No, it’s not from Julia.”
Barbara helped herself from the brandy bottle. “That’s what she always used to say.”
“What?”
“Acabadabba—” she broke into giggles. “I can’t say it.”
“Abracadabra. Voilà.”
“That’s it! That’s what Julia used to say when she was proud of herself, like when she cheated on a test in high school and got an A.”
“It was the code for the Cayman account,” Eagle said.
“Who Kamen?”
“The bank account in the Cayman Islands.”
“Ed, what the hell are you talking about?” She tossed back some more brandy. “No pain,” she said. “No pain, no gain, no pain.” She looked glassily at her glass. “No brandy, either.”
“I think you’ve had enough of that,” Eagle said, taking the glass from her. He was baffled now.
“I think you’re right,” Barbara said. She crawled across the sofa and laid her head on his shoulder. “When you’re right, you’re right, Ed.”
“You sent the fax, didn’t you?” he asked, worried now.
“Just the fax, ma’am,” she said, then giggled sleepily.
Eagle turned her face up to him. “You don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, do you?”
“Can’t fuck,” she replied. “Like to fuck, but can’t.”
“You’re going to bed,” Eagle said, getting an arm under her legs and another under her shoulders and lifting her from the couch.
“Going to be sick,” Barbara said.
“Oh, no,” he whimpered.
CHAPTER
45
Ed Eagle sat at his desk with his face in his hands. He had left Barbara asleep in his bed, then had rung Jim at Santacafé and told him she was still unwell, wouldn’t be in. He wondered why he himself was in the office this morning, when he wasn’t much better off than Barbara. The trouble with getting somebody drunk, he thought, was that you had to get snockered yourself.
His secretary came into the office and placed an envelope on his desk. “By messenger from the D.A.’s office,” she said.
Eagle slit open the envelope, and the sound of tearing paper seemed much too loud. “List of witnesses in the matter of New Mexico vs. Willett,” it said at the top of the page.
(a) Enrico Alvarez: testimony of whereabouts of defendant at time of crime.
(b) Marcia Evans: testimony of defendant’s knowledge of victim James Grafton.
There were other witnesses: Captain Carreras, the medical examiner, a fingerprint expert. It was at the very bottom of the list that the surprise came:
(f) Monica Collins: testimony on defendant’s relationship with victim Julia Willett.
Eagle did not like the sound of that at all. He picked up the phone and called Wolf Willett.
“Wolf, it’s Ed. I just got the D.A.’s list of witnesses for the trial, and Monica Collins’s name is on it, for testimony about your and Julia’s relationship.”
“I don’t understand,” Wolf said.
“Neither do I. I’m about to give Martinez Monica’s name for investigation in Mark Shea’s death, and now she turns up on his list of witnesses. Tell me as much as you can about your and Julia’s relationship with Monica.”
“Julia and I met Monica at a benefit for AIDS victims last Christmas at the Eldorado Hotel; the two of them seemed to hit it off. After that, they had lunch often whenever we were in Santa Fe, and a couple of times we got together with her when she was in L.A.”
“Did you ever have any arguments or fights with her?”
“No, we got along quite well. Not as well as she and Julia, though.”
“Apart from the two occasions when the three of you got into bed, do you think Julia could have been having a sexual relationship with Monica?”
“That never occurred to me, but they certainly were enthusiastic about each other when I was in bed with them—especially Monica. I think she could have been a little in love with Julia.”
“Do you think Julia confided in her about personal things?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. In some ways, Julia’s relationship with me was pretty superficial; maybe she needed somebody to talk to. She didn’t seem to have anybody like Monica in L.A.”
“We could haul her into a deposition, I guess, but I don’t think it’s worth the trouble. It sounds as though her testimony would be hearsay, and that would be inadmissible.”
“Why would the D.A. call a witness whose testimony he knows would be inadmissible?”
“Never underestimate the stupidity of a prosecutor,” Eagle said.
“If you say so, Ed.”
“I have to send Martinez a list of our witnesses today. I want to call Hal Berger and Jane Deering.”
“Why do you want to call Jane?”
“Because I think she will be a credible witness to your good character, and she can testify about your state of mind since the murders.”
“I’m reluctant to do that, Ed, unless you think we really need her.”
“I think we do. I don’t want to call a lot of witnesses, especially character witnesses; we’ll admit the letters we have as evidence for the jury to consider. Hal can testify about Jack’s will and the theft of your brokerage accounts, but I want one very personal witness, and Jane is the logical choice for that.”
“All right, I’ll ask her.”
“I also want you to see a psychiatrist I know this week,” Eagle said.
“What on earth for?”
“Since Mark Shea is not available to testify, we need someone who can give a rational explanation to the jury of your blackout periods. This is very important, and when the D.A. sees our man on the witness list, he may want you examined by somebody for the state as well, so you’d better be prepared for that. Just tell them both the truth, and you’ll be all right.” He gave Wolf the name and address of the doctor and the appointment time, then hung up.
Eagle spent the rest of the morning with an associate, sifting through documentary evidence and making up his list of witnesses. By lunchtime he felt ready for
trial, and he still had a few days to go. His hangover had not abated, though; he was going to need the hair of the dog at lunch, he reckoned, just to get through the day.
The phone rang.
“Good morning,” Barbara said.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Not as bad as I expected,” she replied. “Throwing up must have helped. It was sweet of you to get me off work today, but I’m going to go in for lunch.”
“If you’re feeling up to it.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better.”
“What was all that last night about a fax and the Cayman Islands?”
“It’s nothing, forget it.”
“I very nearly have. I did have the feeling that I was being grilled about something, though.”
“Forget it. There is something I want to ask you, though.”
“Shoot.”
“When was the very last time you talked to Julia?”
“Last spring, on the phone.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Her marriage, my plans when I got out.”
“Had you changed your name by that time?”
“No, but I had been thinking about it.”
“Did you tell Julia what name you had chosen?”
“We kicked around a few names; Julia liked ‘Barbara’ best. So did I.”
“So she knew your name was going to be Barbara Kennerly?”
“Yes. I wrote her about it after it had been legally changed. Why are you interested in this?”
“I don’t want to go into details right now; suffice it to say that Julia took a strong interest in your new name. It looks as though she had planned to decamp with Grafton, and she obtained a passport in the name of Frances B. Kennerly.”
There was silence at the other end of the line. “Why Frances?” Barbara asked.
“She had to get hold of a real birth certificate in order to get the passport, and that name was as close as she could come to Barbara Kennerly.”
“I see.”
“Does this sound like something Julia would do?”
“Yes. From the time we were children, she always seemed to want the things I had. Now, it seems, she wanted Jimmy, and she wanted my name, too. It bothers me about her wanting Jimmy, though.”
