by Stuart Woods
“All right. What are you going to do?”
“I have some business with Vittorio to take care of. I’ll see you later. I’ll be on my cell, if you need me.” He turned to Vittorio. “Let’s go see that man,” he said.
Fifty-five
EAGLE WALKED QUICKLY ALONGSIDE VITTORIO TOWARD his suite. Vittorio had been right: he had been in denial. He had underestimated Barbara at every turn, but now she had gone too far. The police could take it from here.
Vittorio stopped as they were entering the large courtyard with the fountain. “You don’t need me for this,” he said. “And I have something else to do. I’ll check with you later.”
Eagle nodded and continued toward the gate guarded by two policemen. “Good morning,” he said to them. “My name is Ed Eagle, I’m an attorney, and I occupy the suite next door to your crime scene. Please tell the investigating officer in charge that I wish to speak with him, that I have information that may be helpful.”
“Just a minute,” one of the officers said. He went inside for a moment, then returned. “Please go in, Mr. Eagle, and ask for Lieutenant Charles Vickers. And don’t touch anything.”
Eagle thanked the man and entered the suite. He recognized Vickers immediately as a detective who had testified in a case he had tried in Los Angeles some years before.
Vickers came over and shook his hand. “Morning, Mr. Eagle. What brings you to see us?”
“I think we’d better sit down, Lieutenant; I have a lot to tell you, including, I believe, the name and location of your perpetrator.”
The lieutenant led him to a chair in the suite’s living room. “All right, let’s hear it.” He produced a notebook.
“I have reason to believe that your perp is my ex…, my estranged wife. She’s traveling under the name of Barbara Woodfield.” Eagle gave the detective a summary of her background, her prison record and her absconding with his money, while Vickers took rapid notes in shorthand. “I believe she’s staying at Château Sunset.”
VITTORIO PARKED IN FRONT of Château Sunset and walked into the lobby to the front desk. He flashed a wallet that contained his California carry license and an LAPD badge he had bought from a badge catalogue years before, which bore the rank of sergeant and the number 714. It was Joe Friday’s Dragnet badge, but nobody ever noticed. “I need to speak with your guest Barbara Woodfield,” he said. “Just give me her room number and don’t call her.”
“I’m afraid Ms. Woodfield checked out a couple of hours ago,” the desk clerk said.
“Do you have a forwarding address?”
“No, and she didn’t say anything about her destination.”
“How was she traveling?”
“Well, she turned in her rental car, and someone picked her up.”
“A limo service?”
“No, I believe it was a gentleman in a BMW, black. Seemed to be a private car. She got into the front seat.”
“Has her suite been cleaned yet?”
The man consulted his computer. “No.”
“Then I’d like to see it, and keep the maid out until I’m done.”
“Of course, Sergeant.” The clerk gave him the room number and a key card.
Vittorio went upstairs and opened the door to the suite. It was a mess, with empty shopping bags from Rodeo Drive shops and wrapping paper everywhere. He went over the place quickly, looking for anything that might give him a clue to her destination, looking particularly for hotel notepads that might contain airline flight information or other information. There was nothing.
He returned to the front desk and gave the clerk the key card. “Thank you,” he said. “There’ll be other officers here soon.” He returned to his car.
BARBARA GOT OUT of the BMW, and a bellman took her bags. “Jimmy, you’re a sweetheart to drive me,” she said, giving him a kiss.
“Glad to do it, sweetie. As I said, I have business down here anyway. I’ll pick you up at seven for dinner; you’re going to love this place. And I won’t mind at all if you wear that red suit again.”
“Maybe I will, baby. See you then,” she said, closing the car door.
EAGLE FINISHED GIVING his account of Barbara’s activities and watched as Vickers issued a stream of orders to his colleagues. He tried to relax. This was all going to be over soon, though he would, no doubt, have to testify at her trial. The police would have her in custody within minutes, and she wasn’t going to get bail from any judge in his right mind.
Vickers came back to where Eagle was sitting. “I want to thank you Mr. Eagle,” he said. “The victims were a man named Ippolito and his girlfriend, from New York. He had serious Mafia connections, and without your help, we would have been chasing mob leads all over the place, wasting our time. And I’m glad Ms. Woodfield didn’t find you.”
“So am I, Lieutenant.” Eagle gave the man his card. “Let me know if you need me again. I’ll be here for another night, then I’m headed back to Santa Fe.” He put Vickers’s card into his pocket and went back to his own suite.
Vittorio was back at his own suite, wondering what his next move should be, when his cell phone rang.
“Yes?”
“Vittorio?” A woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“It’s Birgit, here.”
He smiled. “Hello, Birgit, how are you?”
“The question is being, how are you? Any infection?”
“No, you did a great job; I’m healing well.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in L.A.”
“Coming back this way any time soon?”
“I don’t think so, Birgit.”
“Maybe I can persuade?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, guess who I am just giving massage?”
“Beats me.”
“Your friend, Barbara.”
Vittorio’s heart leapt. “She’s back at La Reserve?”
“In the Pine Cottage, like before, and with lots of new clothes.”
“Sweetheart, I’ll be in La Jolla as soon as I can.”
“You won’t find her here tonight, though.”
“Why not?”
“Well, she’s going out to dinner; she asked me about the restaurant.”
Vittorio looked at his watch. It was after one o’clock. “Birgit, I’m going to drive down there right now. I’ll call you when I arrive.”
“Okay, I’m looking forward to change your bandage.”
“Oh, will you book me a room there? It will save me time.”
“Sure, I talk to desk. Bye-bye.”
“Use the fake name, remember?” Vittorio grabbed his bags and ran for his car.
TWO HOURS LATER, Vittorio was still stalled in a monumental traffic jam on the interstate, south of L.A., and the only way out was to get out of the car and jump over the railing to the ground. Vittorio had considered it more than once, but it was a good sixty feet, he reckoned. He’d have to sweat it out.
It was a little after seven when he arrived at La Reserve and checked in. He called Birgit.
“Good day,” she said.
“It’s Vittorio. Thanks for booking the room.”
“I am glad to.”
“Do you know where Barbara is now?”
“I have seen her in the hotel shop some minutes ago.”
“Where is the shop?”
“In the main building, but she is not there no more.”
“Where is she?”
“I am seeing her getting into black BMW for her dinner date.”
“Do you know where she is dining?”
“Yes, she is asking me about restaurant.”
“Which restaurant?”
“La Fonda.”
“Do you know the address?”
“Not exactly address. It is on the beach outside town.”
“What road?”
“The big main road; I forget the number.”
“Never mind; it doesn’t matter.” He would wait for her in her co
ttage.
“I am sorry. I have been to this restaurant once before. It is best in Tijuana.”
“La Fonda is in Tijuana?”
“Yes, on the road from Tijuana, on the beach. Is easy to find.”
That put a whole new light on things. “Thank you, Birgit.”
“We are having dinner, Vittorio?”
He thought about it. Why not? “You want to go to La Fonda?”
“Oh, yes.”
“How soon can you be ready?”
“Thirty minutes?”
That would give them time to settle down at the restaurant before he arrived. “I’ll meet you out front in half an hour.”
VITTORIO HAD TWO PHONE CALLS to make. First, he called the Bel-Air and asked for Ed Eagle.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Eagle, it’s Vittorio.”
“Yes, Vittorio?”
“I know where Barbara is, or at least, where she’ll be a little later this evening.”
“Tell me, and I’ll call the police.”
“I’m afraid that won’t help.”
“Why not?”
“She’s staying at La Jolla again, but she’s gone to Tijuana for dinner. I’m headed down there; do you want to be there when I confront her?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You have an airplane, don’t you?”
“Yes. The flight is less than an hour.”
“She’ll be at a restaurant called La Fonda. It’s on the beach, west of the city. Any cabdriver should know it. I’ll be outside.”
“See you there.” Eagle hung up, and Vittorio began getting into his resort clothes.
Then he made his second phone call.
Fifty-six
EAGLE GRABBED A JACKET AND A FILE CONTAINING MORE copies of the divorce settlement. He walked into the bathroom, where Susannah was putting on her makeup.
“I’m sorry, but I have to fly to Tijuana. It’s to do with Barbara, and I hope we can wrap this up tonight. Do you mind dining alone?”
“Not at all,” she replied. “You go ahead. Will you be back tonight?”
“Yes,” he replied, “with any luck at all.”
EAGLE PICKED UP the phone and called Cupie Dalton.
“Hello?”
“Cupie, it’s Ed Eagle.”
“Good evening.”
“I have to fly to Tijuana right now to get the divorce settlement papers signed. Will you come with me for support?”
“Sure.”
“How soon can you be at Supermarine, at Santa Monica Airport?”
“Ten minutes.”
“See you there.” He hung up and headed for the parking lot. From the car Eagle phoned Supermarine and asked that his airplane be ready, then he called Flight Services and filed an international flight plan for Tijuana. His insurance policy already covered flights to Mexico. Then he made one more phone call. Half an hour later, he and Cupie were in the air.
VITTORIO AND BIRGIT LEFT La Reserve and headed south toward the border. Vittorio’s mind was racing, thinking ahead, trying to plan. Barbara was a very slippery lady, and he was determined to keep her from slipping through his fingers this time. Birgit sat quietly beside him.
At the border he chatted briefly with the guards, then was allowed to drive through. He had not wanted to cross the border armed, so he had not brought a weapon.
BARBARA AND JIMMY were shown to a table on the upstairs terrace, facing the sea. They sat down, ordered margaritas and gazed at the remnants of the sunset over the Pacific.
“So,” Jimmy said, “what are your plans, now that you’re divorced?”
“I’m not exactly divorced yet,” she said. “But soon.”
“Say, did you see the news on TV about the murders at the Bel-Air last night?”
“No, I haven’t looked at a TV all day,” she lied. “Who was murdered?”
“The police hadn’t released a name when I saw the report, but there were shots of two corpses being wheeled out of the hotel. Jesus, we were just there last evening!”
Barbara smiled. “What I remember about last evening was a lovely dinner and the best night I ever spent in bed,” she said. “I’ll never forget it.”
“Neither will I,” Jimmy replied. “Not any detail.” He raised his glass. “Let’s drink to that.”
They touched glasses. Barbara’s mind raced ahead. She’d stay at La Reserve for another week or two, then she’d call the insurance company, get the forms signed and claim four million dollars in insurance money. Once that was in the bank, she’d take the copy of Eagle’s will in her bag to Santa Fe and file for probate. She doubted very much if he’d bothered to change it yet. Then she’d move in to Eagle’s house, throw out the furniture and start over. She’d always loved Santa Fe, and now she could settle down there on her own terms. Even if he had changed his will, she could fight it. After all, as his undivorced widow, she was entitled to a big chunk of his estate.
VITTORIO, following Birgit’s instructions, drove west from Tijuana, then along the coast road. A mile or two further, the restaurant appeared, a large building on the beach.
“Tell me the layout of the place,” he said to Brigit.
“The bar is being downstairs, and the dining room is being upstairs. There’s a balcony to overlook the sea. I suggest to Barbara this is the best place for tables.”
As Vittorio pulled up in front of the restaurant, his cell phone vibrated.
“Hello?”
“It’s Eagle; I’m leaving the airport in a cab now, and Cupie Dalton is with me. Where are you?”
“I’ve just arrived at the restaurant,” Vittorio replied.
“Don’t go in until I get there,” Eagle said. “The driver says it will be less than twenty minutes.”
“As you wish, Mr. Eagle.” Vittorio hung up.
“Who was this?” Birgit asked.
“My client.”
“What is the work you do?”
“I’m a private investigator, and I’m working for Barbara’s husband. She stole some money from him and tried to have him killed.”
“I don’t believe this,” Birgit said.
“Birgit, last night, Barbara went to the Hotel Bel-Air in Los Angeles and murdered two people in the suite next door to her husband, thinking she was killing him.”
Birgit looked shocked.
“She’s also wanted by the police in Mexico for cutting off a man’s penis.”
Birgit’s jaw had dropped now. “A perfectly good penis?”
“A perfectly good penis.”
“Is a waste.”
“Well, yes.”
“What will you do here? You will kill Barbara? I don’t want this.”
“No, I will not kill her. I don’t even have a gun.” He showed her the file folder. “I will just get her to sign these documents, then I will be done with her, and we can have a good dinner.”
“This is all?”
“I promise you, I will not harm her.”
“Why are we not going inside, then?”
“I’m waiting for Ed Eagle, her husband, to arrive. He will be here shortly, and five minutes after that, it will all be over.”
“You are promising?”
“I am promising.”
Vittorio looked around but didn’t see anyone else. There should be people here. He punched a number into his cell phone.
“Sí?”
“This is Vittorio. I am at the restaurant; where are you?”
“Coming to Tijuana now. I will be thirty minutes, I think.”
“When you arrive, wait in her car. I don’t want to make a scene inside, and it will be best to take her when she leaves the restaurant.”
“As you wish, Vittorio.”
Vittorio hung up.
“And who was that?” Birgit asked.
“A friend,” Vittorio replied.
Fifty-seven
EAGLE’S TAXI PULLED UP IN FRONT OF THE RESTAURANT, and he and Cupie got out. Vittorio got out of a car and came toward them
.
“Good evening, Mr. Eagle, Cupie,” Vittorio said, shaking their hands.
“Evening, Vittorio,” Eagle said. “What is the plan?”
Vittorio held up the file folder. “My plan is that I go in there and get Barbara to sign these papers, then we leave.”
Eagle was silent for a moment. “That sounds way too simple,” he said. “I brought Cupie for backup.”
“Thanks for coming, Cupie, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“I’m missing something here, Vittorio,” Cupie said. “We couldn’t get those papers signed when we had her for days. What makes you think she’s going to sign now?”
“If you will just leave this to me, I promise I’ll get her signature.”
“What’s plan B?” Cupie asked.
“Tell you what, Cupie,” Vittorio said. “If she doesn’t sign the papers, I’ll call you and Mr. Eagle, and you can have a shot at her when she leaves the restaurant.”
“There’s something you’re not telling us,” Eagle said.
“Yes, sir, there is,” Vittorio replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turned and walked toward the restaurant, taking note of a black BMW with California plates.
Vittorio entered the building and, from the doorway, had a good look around the bar. He wanted surprise to be on his side.
A headwaiter approached. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’d like a table for two in about ten minutes, if that’s possible.”
“I’m afraid we’re fully booked in the dining room,” the man said, “but we can accommodate you in the bar.”
“That will be fine,” Vittorio said. “Do you mind if I have a look at the dining room? I’ve heard a lot about it, and I’d like to see it for myself.”
“Of course, sir,” the headwaiter said. “May I have your name?”
“Vittorio. My guest, a lady, will be arriving shortly.”
The headwaiter noted the name in his book. “Please have a look around, Mr. Vittorio.”
Vittorio walked up the stairs, and after a moment, as he neared the top, he stopped, with only his head above the railing, and surveyed the dining room.
It was a large room with perhaps fifty or sixty tables, stone walls, wide plank floors and a pianist playing a Spanish song. Half the tables were on the terrace Birgit had described. Vittorio surveyed the room, but did not spot Barbara at first, so he began a table-by-table viewing, starting with the indoor tables. Still no Barbara.