by Stuart Woods
“I believe you,” she said. “Is that why you know so much about so many things?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Did you have to do bad things?”
“I’ve done some bad things, and I don’t want to talk about them, if that’s all right.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’d just as soon not know.” Lauren had been a sergeant with a special investigative unit of the Florida State Police. She’d left a good career to go with Teddy. He knew it and was grateful.
“I’ve booked us into the Inn of the Anasazi for a week,” he said. “If you like the town, we can look for a house to rent. If not, we can go on to California whenever you like.”
They continued into the town, drove through the Plaza and checked into the hotel, which, like just about everything else in the town, was built in Santa Fe style. A fire of piñon logs burned in the lobby, and the piney scent filled the air.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, eighteen hundred miles east of Santa Fe, Holly Barker arrived at her office a little after seven AM. Holly was assistant deputy director of operations, reporting directly to the director of operations, Lance Cabot, and she wanted to get to the office before he did. Lance had been on leave when she had returned from a month in Orchid Beach, Florida, where she had once been the chief of police.
She had been in her office for only a moment when Lance rapped on her doorjamb.
“Welcome back,” she said.
“Same to you. Anything to report?”
Holly took a deep breath. “Yes. Maybe you’d better sit down.”
“Come into my office,” he said.
She followed him down the hall and sat on his sofa, next to the chair where Lance liked to sit during meetings.
“So?”
Holly decided to just blurt it out. “Teddy Fay is still alive,” she said.
Lance put his face in his hands. “I didn’t hear that,” he said. “And I’m not going to hear the rest of what you have to tell me.”
“I met him in Orchid Beach,” she said. “I had no idea who he was.”
“He would have planned it that way,” Lance said. “Do you think he planned to meet you?”
“No, I’m certain he didn’t, but I’m also certain he knew who I was.”
“Is he still there?”
“No, he left town shortly before I did. I stopped by the cottage he rented to say good-bye to his girlfriend, a state police officer named Lauren Cade, who I knew in the army. The house had been cleared.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“I didn’t until the last day. I found him interesting, and a little odd. He was an excellent cook.”
“He cooked dinner for you?”
“For my boyfriend, Lauren and me.”
“Good God.”
“When I stopped by the cottage to see Lauren, there was a big safe in a closet that I didn’t know about. He had left a note on the safe for the landlord. The note said the combination was T-E-D-D-Y.”
“Any idea where he went when he left Orchid Beach?”
“None,” she said. “He could be anywhere.”
“He’s not anywhere,” Lance said. “He’s somewhere. Have you met Todd Bacon, who’s the station chief in Panama?”
“No.”
“He has a special interest in finding Teddy,” Lance said. “Call him and tell him he’s done in Panama, to report to me here as soon as he can clear his desk and pack his things.”
“Am I going to be involved in this?” she asked.
“Do you want to be?”
“No more than I have to.”
“You can brief Todd on your experience with Teddy in Orchid Beach,” Lance said. “After that I’ll try to keep you out of it. I know you have some sympathy for him.”
“I’ll do what I can to help,” Holly said, but she wasn’t looking forward to it.
8
Tip Hanks stood outside the clubhouse at Las Campanas, hitting chip shots to the practice green. About one out of six was going into the cup, but, of course, he was hitting from the same position. Still, he was getting better at sinking chip shots, and that could win tournaments. Tip had had a number of top-ten finishes this season, and one in the top five. He was determined, in the next season, to start winning, instead of just making a good living.
The season playoffs were just ahead-four tournaments-and the winner on points would win the FedEx Cup, and that was a ten-million-dollar check. Tiger Woods was out with a knee injury, so it was anybody’s to win.
A member ambled by and stopped for a moment to convey his condolences. Tip was momentarily surprised. He had been shaken by Connie’s death but, he reflected, more shaken when he had been arrested. It had not been much of a relationship beyond sex, and he wondered-not for the first time-if God had somehow short-changed him in the emotions department.
He walked over to the driving range, teed up a ball and snapped into his brain’s swing mode, which obviated any other thought, even of his dead wife. He hit a bucket of balls with his driver and fairway woods and was satisfied with the results. He had improved his driving a lot this season by shaving ten yards off his length and hitting fairways instead of hooks and slices.
He had lunch in the bar, then put away his clubs and went home. When he got out of the car he saw an envelope propped against his front door. Inside was a letter.
Dear Mr. Hanks,
My name is Dolly Parks, and first of all I want to tell you how sad I was to hear of Connie’s death. We had met only recently, but I liked and admired her.
We met when I posted a notice on a bulletin board at the farmers market in town, seeking an assistant’s position, full- or part-time. She called me, and we had lunch, and she told me that the two of you had discussed hiring someone to deal with the bills, the house maintenance and travel arrangements. I was supposed to start next Monday.
I don’t know if you are still interested in hiring someone, but I would appreciate the opportunity to talk with you about it. My number is below.
Her résumé was attached. She had held office and secretarial jobs in New York for a period of ten years or so.
Connie and he had talked about hiring a secretary, Tip remembered. He picked up the phone, called her and asked her to come to the house for a drink in the late afternoon.
He showered and shaved and dressed, then took an hour’s nap. By the time he had roused himself and dressed, the doorbell was ringing.
Dolly Parks was unexpectedly attractive-small, blond and shapely. She had dressed in informal but appropriate clothes for her interview. Tip invited her into his study. “Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” she said. “Maybe later.”
“I liked your résumé,” he said. “Sounds like you’re a well-organized person. When did you last see Connie?”
“At the end of last week. She called the day before she… died and said that she had checked my references and that I was hired.”
“At what salary?” he asked.
“Twenty-five dollars an hour, health insurance, three weeks’ vacation after six months. She said that she thought you would need me only half a day, but if the work mounted up, maybe longer. That’s why we agreed on an hourly rate. I have one other client in Santa Fe, but I work for him only a couple of hours a day, three days a week.”
“That sounds fine to me. I’m leaving on Tuesday to play a tournament. Can you start tomorrow? I’d like to get you familiar with the computer banking I’ve set up.”
“Of course. I’d be glad to.”
“Come on, I’ll show you some ropes now.” He went to his computer and began explaining the banking program.
“I’m already working with that for my other client,” she said, “and for the same bank, so I can hit the ground running.”
“That’s good news,” he said. “My caddie, Mike, has been doing the travel arrangements, but he’s not very good at it, so I’d like you to take over that. I have an airplane and fly myself, so t
here won’t be much in the way of airline reservations, except for Mike, if he’s meeting me at a tournament. He lives in Dallas.
“My checks from the PGA are deposited into a savings account at the bank here, and I make computer transfers to the checking accounts, one for business, one for household and personal. I’ll make you a signatory on those two, so you won’t need my signature to pay bills, and I’ll transfer funds into them as needed. My accountant does regular audits on my accounts, so he’ll catch you and send you to prison if you steal.” Tip laughed, and she laughed, too.
“I understand,” she said. “Do you travel with a laptop?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I can scan the bills and e-mail them to you for approval. After a while, I’ll learn your spending habits, and you might want to give me a little more freedom.”
“Probably.”
“I would like you to check every credit card bill, though, to see if the charges are genuine. There’s a lot of credit card fraud around, and you don’t want to fall victim to that.”
“Right. I’ll also want you to keep track of my tax-deductible expenses, so you can give them to my accountant at the end of the year. I don’t like to deal with taxes any more than I have to.”
“I’m very familiar with the IRS schedules and which expenses belong on which schedule,” she said, “so that won’t be a problem. How much are you gone?”
“I play, on average, about three times a month during the season, which is drawing to a close now. This winter I’ll play some in Japan and maybe Australia and the Middle East, to keep the income stream going. I could be gone for six or seven weeks at a time.”
“Well, before you leave I’ll be familiar with everything, and we’ll have e-mail to stay in touch.”
“Right.” He got up and led her to a door that opened into an empty room next door. “We’ve used this for storage. Why don’t you clean it out and outfit it as an office for you? Get yourself a computer, some file cabinets and bookcases, whatever you need. There’s a closet over there for supplies. We have an account with a local office-supply firm.”
“I’m good with computers,” Dolly said. “If you’ll give me a credit card number I’ll order a computer online and transfer all the business software to the new computer.”
Tip handed her his business credit card. “Call American Express and order a card for you. I’ll speak to them when you’re on the line with them.”
They went back into the study, Dolly made the call and the card was ordered.
“Stop by the bank tomorrow and get new signature cards, and we’ll both sign them.”
“Certainly.”
“I can’t think of anything else to tell you, Dolly. Would you like that drink now?”
“Yes, thanks. That would be very nice.”
Tip made the drinks from the concealed bar in his study, and they watched the sunset together.
9
Near the end of her stay at Canyon Ranch, Barbara drove to the Tucson Airport and took a plane to Los Angeles. She got a cab to Venice Beach and got out a block from her destination.
She walked slowly to the end of the block, looking at every person she saw, then walked past her destination for another block, then slowly returned, still checking. The man she was visiting was in a potentially dangerous business, and his camera and photography shop might be staked out by the police or, worse, the Feds.
Finally, she went in and asked for the owner. “Name?” the girl behind the counter asked.
“Tell him an old customer,” Barbara said.
The girl left, then came back. “You can go in,” she said.
Barbara walked to the rear of the store to the office and rapped on the doorjamb.
He looked up and stared for a moment before he placed her. “Ah, hello,” he said. “Took me a minute, what with the red hair.”
She sat down in the chair next to his desk. “I need the works,” she said, “and in two identities.” She wrote down the two names, addresses and vital statistics on a pad he handed her.
“How soon?”
“I can give you a week.”
“I can do that, but it’s going to be expensive; prices have gone up. Sixty grand.”
“All right, but everything has to work, has to show up in the relevant databases.”
“Always,” he said.
She opened her purse and paid him in hundreds, then watched while he checked a sample of the bills on a light box.
“All good,” he said. “Let’s get a couple of pictures.”
Barbara checked her makeup, then posed, once as the redhead she now was, and once with a blond wig.
“You can pick them up a week from today,” he said.
“I’d like you to FedEx them, overnight, to this address.” She wrote it down for him. “I’m trusting you by paying you before I see the paper,” she said.
“I don’t fail my best customers,” he replied.
She thanked him and left. She walked a couple of blocks before she found a cab back to the airport. She didn’t want to spend any more time in L.A. than necessary.
CUPIE DALTON SAW the woman coming from a block away. He always spotted beautiful women from a distance; it was a trait learned over the decades. Cupie was ex-LAPD, now a private investigator, and because of his work a lot of faces looked familiar to him. Also, there was something about the way she walked. He ducked behind a palm tree as she approached, then watched her pass and get into a taxi. She was different but still familiar. Images flashed through his mind. “Jesus,” he said aloud, “it can’t be. I must be getting old.”
Cupie was one of two P.I.s who had been hired by Ed Eagle to find the wife who had stolen his money, and he had been responsible for the ruse that had got her to Mexico, where she could be arrested. “It can’t be,” he said again, but he thought he should call Ed Eagle.
He had already dialed the number, but as he was about to press send, he stopped. No need to make a fool of himself. First, he would check. He looked up a number in his cell phone address book and pressed the call button. A woman answered in Spanish.
“I’d like to speak to the capitán,” he said. “Tell him it’s Cupie. He’ll know.”
“Momento,” the woman said, then there was a click and the man came online.
“Cupie, my friend,” the police captain said. “How are you? Are you in Tijuana?”
“No, Capitán,” Cupie said. “I’m in L.A., but I just saw a familiar body walk past me, and I thought I was dreaming.”
“You always dream of women, Cupie,” the capitán said.
“This one is a nightmare,” Cupie said. “You took her off a yacht for me a few months ago.”
“Oh, La Barbara,” the capitán said. “I will never forget her.”
“She was convicted, remember?”
“Oh, yes. She will die in prison.”
“Are you sure she’s still there?”
There was a brief silence. “Do you have some reason to believe she is not?”
“I told you, I could swear I saw her five minutes ago. Can you find out if she’s still in prison?”
“Instantly,” the capitán said. “Give me your number.”
Cupie gave him the number, then went and sat on a bench, looking out over the Pacific.
THE CAPITÁN DIALED the number and listened to it ringing.
“Capitán Alvarez,” a voice said.
“Pedro, it’s me.”
“Good day to you, my friend. Are you in Acapulco?”
“No, I’m in Tijuana. I just wanted to check something with you.”
“Of course. How can I help you?”
“Tell me, is the woman, Barbara Eagle, still in your custody?”
Alvarez didn’t miss a beat. “Of course she is,” he replied. “I fucked her in the ass this morning. She loved it.”
“I’m relieved to hear that,” the capitán said.
“Why do you ask me this?”
“A friend saw a woman in L.A. a f
ew minutes ago who looked like her.”
“Your friend drinks too early in the day. Next time you’re in Acapulco, drive up here, and you can fuck her, too.”
“That might be fun, as long as there isn’t a straight razor around.”
“No worries there, my friend. I would never let her near sharp instruments.”
“Thank you, Pedro. I’ll call you when I come south and take you up on your offer.” He hung up and called Cupie.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, Cupie.”
“What did you find out?”
“She’s still in the prison in Tres Cruces. The warden told me he fucked her in the ass this morning.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
“He says you drink too early in the day.”
“Maybe I’m getting old,” Cupie said. “Thanks, my friend. I’ll buy you a drink the next time I’m in Tijuana.”
“You do that.” The capitán hung up.
Cupie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was glad he’d checked. If he had made that call he might have destroyed his credibility with Ed Eagle, who was one of his better clients.
IN TRES CRUCES, Pedro Alvarez ran into the toilet and vomited. Still this woman haunted him. He wished he’d shot her in the head and buried her in the mountains.
10
Dolly Parks spent the entire day of Tip’s departure for the Houston tournament directing the moving in of office furniture. She arranged things efficiently, not forgetting to give herself a nice view of the Jemez Mountains from her seat at her desk.
When everything was arranged as it should be and wiped down for dust she opened the box containing her new computer and set it up, hanging the twenty-one-inch flat monitor on the wall beside her desk. She had only to swivel her chair to the right to have the keyboard at hand and the screen before her. She plugged in all the cables, then tucked the tiny Enano PC away in a corner of her desk.
She took a box of writable CDs into Tip’s study and copied all his files, then loaded them into her computer. A few minutes of testing the bank program and she was up and running. She spent the rest of the day putting away her office supplies on the shelves she had had installed in the closet, and then she was done.