by Stuart Woods
“So,” Vittorio said, “what’s your plan?”
Eagle handed him a folder. “Here are four copies of a settlement agreement, giving her the three hundred thousand dollars she already has and holding her blameless for having stolen the money from me; I have already signed it. You get her signature and witness it. Give her a copy and return the other three to me.”
“And how should I accomplish that?” Vittorio asked.
“That’s your part of the plan,” Eagle said. “Twenty thousand dollars and your expenses when you return the properly executed documents to me.”
Vittorio took a sip of his tequila. “How would you feel about having her disappear?” he asked.
“I’ve already told you, Vittorio, I don’t want her killed, and I won’t hire you to do it. I won’t be a part of murder.”
“I wasn’t thinking of murder,” Vittorio replied. That was nearly the truth.
“You may use any legal method you see fit,” Eagle said. “I certainly would be very pleased not to see her again.” He looked up, his eye caught by a blonde in a bright red suit.
BARBARA SAW EAGLE the moment she walked into the Bel-Air bar. Her date was sitting four or five stools behind him. She had certainly not expected this. What the hell, she thought, this is as good a time as any. She walked across the room and directly past Eagle, passing no more than three feet from him, earning an appreciative glance.
She pecked her date, Jimmy, on the cheek, took his hand and led him back across the room to a table, this time passing Vittorio, who glanced at her, too.
“NICE,” VITTORIO SAID after she had passed.
“Yes,” Eagle agreed. Another blonde walked into the room, this one his. “You’re going to have to excuse me, Vittorio,” he said. “I’ve got a dinner date.” Eagle put some money on the bar and shook the Apache’s hand. “Call me on my cell with progress reports. I’ll be in L.A. until the day after tomorrow.”
He walked over to Susannah and kissed her on the cheek. “Shall we go straight in to dinner?”
“Good,” she said.
BARBARA WATCHED THEM LEAVE. She had passed muster; neither of them had recognized her, and she felt elated.
“So,” Jimmy said, “what have you been up to? You certainly look different.”
“It’s the hair and the suit,” she said.
“It’s more than that,” he said, putting a finger under her chin and turning her head. “I can’t quite figure out exactly what it is.”
“Good,” she said, sipping the margarita that had just arrived. “Are we having dinner here?”
“Unless there’s somewhere else you’d rather go,” Jimmy replied. “I’ve booked a table.”
“I like it here,” she said. “Let’s finish our drink and go in.”
“Great. I’ve always liked this place.”
“So have I,” she said. And so had Ed Eagle. And, when she was done, that little fact would be the end of him.
EAGLE AND SUSANNAH were seated at a banquette with a good view of the room. They were ordering when the blonde in the red suit and her Hollywood-looking companion entered the dining room. A couple of weeks earlier, he would have been interested enough to ask the headwaiter who she was and if she was a guest at the hotel, but now he was otherwise occupied and very happy to be.
BARBARA AND JIMMY were seated at a table near the window overlooking the garden restaurant, and her view of Eagle was just perfect. She could move her eyes without moving her head and watch his every move.
She knew his companion from somewhere, she was sure. Maybe she was an actress?
“That’s Susannah Wilde you’re looking at,” Jimmy said. “She’s a very good actress.”
“Oh, yes. I thought she looked familiar.”
“Don’t worry; she’s nothing compared to you, not tonight, not in that suit.”
“Why, thank you, Jimmy,” she said, enjoying the compliment. “Maybe later, I’ll make you glad you said that.”
EAGLE AND SUSANNAH rose from their table and walked from the restaurant. From her table by the window, Barbara watched as they passed, then continued up the walkway toward the suite where Eagle always stayed. She knew, because she had stayed there with him on half a dozen occasions. She knew the little courtyard, and she knew the patio behind the suite.
“Jimmy,” she said, folding her napkin. “Why don’t we get out of here? I’ll follow you to your place, so you won’t have to get up in the morning to take me home.”
Jimmy grinned and tossed a credit card on the table.
SHORTLY, THEY RECEIVED their respective cars and drove from the Bel-Air parking lot, following the winding roads to Sunset, then on to Beverly Hills. They turned up Camden and soon pulled into Jimmy’s steep driveway.
Barbara made a point of leaving her car pointing downhill toward his gate.
Fifty-three
BARBARA FOLLOWED JIMMY THROUGH THE LIVING ROOM of his house to the kitchen, where he snagged a bottle of Dom Perignon from the fridge and two champagne flutes from a cupboard, before continuing upstairs to his bedroom.
“Your wife isn’t in town, I take it,” Barbara said.
“She left five weeks ago,” Jimmy replied, slipping out of his pants. “I wish she’d come and get the rest of her clothes,” he said, nodding at a closet. “I could use the space for mine.”
Barbara matched his speed at undressing. She pulled him on top of her and let him find his way inside her. Jimmy had always been an athletic lover, but he was a little out of shape these days, and she wanted him tired, so she let him do all the work, while she uttered encouraging words and noises.
An hour later, Jimmy had been rendered helpless. Barbara decided to nap for a while; she didn’t want to make her move until much later.
Eagle and Susannah were locked in each other’s arms until exhaustion came, then she went to the bathroom and returned to find him fast asleep. An orgasm, she remembered, rendered a man unconscious.
BARBARA WOKE FROM HER NAP and discovered from the bedside clock that she had slept until nearly three in the morning. She checked on Jimmy and found him snoring happily. He had always been a sound sleeper, she reflected.
She rose from the bed and went to Jimmy’s wife’s closet. From a large selection, she chose a dark dress, a black silk scarf and a pair of sneakers. The shoes were a little too large, but she could manage.
She dressed, wrapped her head in the black scarf, completely covering her hair, and quietly left the room, taking her large handbag with her. Outside, she got into her little SLK and, without closing the door, put the transmission in neutral and let the car roll down the driveway and out the gates. Once in the street, she closed the door, started the engine and headed for Sunset Boulevard.
Ten minutes later she drove past the main exit of the Bel-Air parking lot, where she got a good look at the lone parking attendant, sitting in a chair, leaning against the attendants’ shed, dozing, then on, past the entrance to the lot, and to a driveway, which, at this hour, she knew from experience, would be unattended. She switched off her headlights.
This drive led to a couple of smaller parking lots where guests could park near their rooms without having to take the longer walk through the hotel lobby. She knew where Eagle always parked, and she put her car there.
Before leaving the car she took the little. 380 Colt from her bag and found the silencer, screwing it into place. She checked to be sure there was a round in the chamber, then she put the weapon back into her handbag and got out of the car, stopping to listen for footsteps before continuing.
The silence was broken only by a chirping insect nearby. She walked lightly down a footpath toward the courtyard where Eagle’s favorite suite was, and when she found the gate to the courtyard, she pulled herself up so that she could see over. All the lights were out inside.
She walked around the building to the rear of the suite and found the fence that enclosed the patio off the bedroom. A nearby garbage can would do for a stool she could stand on t
o survey the inside. The doors from the bedroom to the patio were wide open, and she could see the foot of the bed, by the light of an outdoor lamp over the path behind her.
She set her bag on the ground beside the garbage can and took out the small, silenced pistol, sticking it into the belt of her borrowed dress, then, with one last look around for company, she climbed onto the garbage can, hiked up her skirt and threw a leg over the fence. She dropped lightly to the stone patio. She didn’t much care if he came outside to meet her; it would just make things simpler.
She stopped and listened for a moment but heard no noise, no rustling sheets. Satisfied that all was quiet, she tiptoed to the French doors and looked inside. She could see the shapes of two people in bed, Eagle with his dark head and the actress with her yellow hair. She took another step inside.
Neither moved. She raised the pistol and fired two shots into Eagle’s head, then, as the woman woke to the small sounds, two more rounds into her.
Done.
She went back to the fence, moved a patio chair, stood on it and looked around. No person, no sound but the chirping insect. She threw a leg over the fence, found the garbage can and let herself down. She replaced the can where she had found it, took a handkerchief from her bag and wiped the can and the top of the fence clean of any fingerprints, then she dropped the pistol into her bag and began making her way toward where she had parked her car.
She was about to step from a short tunnel into the lot when she heard a noise, and headlights flashed, as a car pulled into the lot. She turned and ran lightly out of the tunnel and stood behind a small tree, trying not to breathe audibly.
She heard car doors slam, and a moment later, a couple, holding hands and laughing, came out of the tunnel and turned up a path toward another building.
Barbara paused to hear their door close, then she made her way through the tunnel and back to her car. She waited until she had driven out to Stone Canyon Road and passed the Bel-Air parking lot before turning on her headlights.
She saw no cars before reaching Sunset, and only two or three before she made it back to Camden. She turned up Jimmy’s driveway and parked her car as before, making as little noise as possible.
She let herself into the house and undressed at the foot of the stairs, before tiptoeing back to the master bedroom. Quietly, she put away the borrowed clothes, then eased back into bed. Jimmy still slept soundly.
She woke him in the most pleasant possible way, with her lips and tongue on his penis. She wanted him to remember that they had made love in the middle of the night.
As she mounted him she caught sight of the bedside clock. She had been out of the house for a little less than half an hour. Now, using all her charms, she began establishing her alibi in a way he could never forget.
When they were done, he glanced at the bedside clock. “God, it’s four-thirty,” he said. “And I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
“Hush, baby, and go to sleep,” Barbara said, rubbing the back of his neck. Good boy, Jimmy, she said to herself.
Fifty-four
VITTORIO WOKE WITH THE CALIFORNIA SUN ON HIS FACE. The girl beside him, whom he had picked up in the Bel-Air bar after Eagle and his friend had gone to dinner, slept soundly.
He found his watch: half past ten, and he was hungry. He found the remote and snapped on the TV. “Hey,” he said, poking the girl, “what do you want for breakfast?”
She stirred. “Tomato juice, half a grapefruit and green tea,” she murmured.
Vittorio made a face: so that was what passed for breakfast in L.A. He got on the phone and ordered a western omelet, orange juice and coffee for himself, plus what the girl wanted. Then, as he hung up the phone, he heard the words Hotel Bel-Air from the TV. He turned to see video of two stretchers being loaded into an ambulance, with sheets covering two bodies, one tall, one much shorter.
The newscast went on: “The two murder victims have not yet been identified by authorities, pending notification of families,” the woman was saying. “This is the first time in the history of the very private and quiet hotel that anyone can remember a violent crime being committed in the hotel. The bodies were discovered just after nine this morning when a room service waiter arrived to deliver breakfast for two, ordered the night before. We understand from someone who spoke to the waiter that each of the victims received two gunshots to the head, and a police officer, who would not identify himself, said that it looked like a professional job. The other guests were unaware of any problem until the police arrived.”
“It was all very odd,” a woman was saying. “I looked out my window, and there were suddenly a lot of people here who didn’t seem to belong. Then I saw some uniforms, and the ambulance arrived. It was a long time before they brought out the bodies. I guess they were doing that crime scene thing you see on TV all the time.”
“We hope to have the names of the victims for the noon news,” the woman said, then a soap opera came back on, in mid-hysterics.
Vittorio had a queasy feeling in his stomach. He picked up the phone and called the hotel.
“Hotel Bel-Air,” an operator said.
“May I speak to Ed Eagle, please? He’s a guest here.”
There was a brief pause. “I’m sorry, at the request of the guest, we’re not putting any calls through to that room at this time. Who’s calling, please?”
Vittorio hung up. This was bad. He headed for the shower. By the time he was dressed and had roused the girl, breakfast had arrived, and his stomach hurt from hunger. He wolfed down the food and hurried the girl to get dressed.
“What’s the rush?” she asked, pouting.
“I have an appointment in fifteen minutes,” he lied.
VITTORIO ARRIVED AT THE BEL-AIR and gave his car to the valet. He crossed the bridge over the little creek, with its pair of swans and lush plantings, and entered the lobby. Then he changed his mind. The front desk was not going to give him Eagle’s room number. He decided to take a walk. He left the lobby and walked purposefully up one of the many paths, as if he belonged at the hotel. He met a bellman coming the other way and stopped him. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Tell me, in what room were those murders last night?”
The man looked around nervously. “We’re not supposed to talk about that.”
“I’m not from the press,” Vittorio said, pressing a fifty into the man’s palm, “I’m just curious.”
“You go straight ahead,” the man said, nodding in the direction, “cross the driveway, turn right, then left. You’ll see all the cops.”
Vittorio thanked the man and followed the directions. He stopped when he came to a large courtyard with a fountain and saw two uniforms standing guard outside a gate that, apparently, led to a smaller courtyard. He approached them. “Good morning,” he said to the cops.
Both nodded and looked him up and down. “Can you tell me the names of the victims of last night’s shooting?”
They shook their heads simultaneously. “You’d have to speak to the detective in charge,” he said, “and he’s going to be busy inside for a while.”
Vittorio thanked them and retraced his steps toward the lobby, this time taking another path leading in that direction. He went past the large swimming pool and into the garden restaurant, and then he saw a familiar face. He walked over to the table. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, Vittorio,” Eagle said. “Have you met Susannah Wilde?”
“How do you do?” she said, smiling at him.
“Very well, thank you.”
“Sit down,” Eagle said. “What brings you here?”
“I saw a television report that said two people had been murdered here,” Vittorio said.
“That’s true,” Eagle said. “And right next door to us. Our suite shares a front courtyard with another suite, next door. I’ve stayed in both many times. I’m glad the shooter didn’t mistake us for the people next door. We didn’t hear a thing.”
“May I speak with you alone for a minute, Mr. Eagle?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back, Susannah.” He led Vittorio a few yards away, then stopped. “What is it?”
“Maybe it was the other way around,” Vittorio said.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe the shooter thought she was shooting you and Ms. Wilde.”
“She? What makes you think that?”
“You remember I told you that Barbara shot me when I entered her cottage in La Jolla?”
“Yes.”
“The gun she used was silenced.”
Eagle blinked. “I don’t think she’d go that far,” he said.
“Then you’re in denial, Mr. Eagle. She shot Cupie Dalton in Mexico City; she pushed me off a ferry in the middle of the Gulf of California; and I know for a fact that she and/or her sister cut up a man in Puerto Vallarta some years ago. He was the nephew of a police captain there, and they’re still looking for her.”
Eagle shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Tell me, Mr. Eagle, do you have any insurance policies?”
“Yes, but…”
“Have you changed the beneficiary since Barbara absconded?”
Eagle’s face dropped. “I’ll do it this morning.”
“Good idea,” Vittorio said.
“But Barbara doesn’t know I’m in L.A..”
“My guess is, she does. I don’t know how, but she knows. But, as bad as this is, there’s an upside.”
“And what is that?”
“Now you can go to the police. We know where she’s staying, and we know she has a silenced gun. They’ll be all over her, and she’ll be out of your hair. Your divorce may take a little longer to accomplish, but so what?”
“You’re right,” Eagle said, taking out his cell phone.
“Don’t bother with that,” Vittorio said. “The officer in charge of the investigation is still in the suite next door to yours. Make your excuses to Ms. Wilde, and let’s go talk to him.”
Eagle went back to the table and Susannah and handed her the car keys. “You go ahead to your place and pick up whatever you want to take back to Santa Fe. If you can get it into the car, we can probably get it into the airplane.”