by Stuart Woods
“Movie producer?”
“Righto.”
“Motive?”
“She hired Cross to kill my client, Ed Eagle, and he very nearly got it done, cut the man’s throat. When Barbara heard Eagle was still alive, she killed Cross and burned her bridges.”
“Is Long involved in this?”
“I can’t prove that he knew she was going to kill Cross, but he certainly introduced the two, and he told me that he kicked her out of his house when he heard about the murder. Cross worked for him out at Centurion.”
“What can you prove?”
“I’m afraid that’s up to you and your guys, pal, but trust me, she’s your perp.”
“Any idea where she is?”
“As a matter of fact I do. Long told me she knows some people in Los Alamos, and my partner and I tracked her there this morning, saw her car parked at their guesthouse. Their name is Holroyd.” Cupie gave him the address.
“Cupie, I’ve been through the murder book, and we don’t have anything that can place anybody in that house on the night Cross was killed.”
“Well, you know somebody was there, Dave.”
“Sure, we do.”
“You need to go back to that house and find something—anything—that can put her at the scene. Her prints and DNA are in the system.”
“I can get that done,” Santiago replied.
“In the meantime, can you get a warrant and get her off the street before she makes another attempt on Ed Eagle’s life?”
Santiago was silent for a moment. “Cupie, I’d like to help you, but all we can prove is that she knew Cross, and that’s not enough for an arrest warrant. The D.A. would throw me out of his office.”
“I’ll give you odds she’s still got the gun,” Cupie said. “And that would be all you need.”
“Cupie, she’s in New Mexico.”
“I know that.”
“Haul James Long in and grill him. Maybe he’ll give her up.”
“Guy like that is going to lawyer up instantly.”
“I’ll bet you he’d sell her out for immunity.”
“It’s a thought. I’m going to have to get back to you, Cupie.”
“Make it soon, Dave. You’ve got my cell number.”
“Where are you now?”
“In Santa Fe, at Eagle’s house.”
“When I know something,” Santiago said, and hung up.
Cupie went back and reported to Eagle.
“All right,” Eagle said. “Now all we can do is wait: me for my guy, you for yours.”
Vittorio spoke up. “Ed, we’ve involved the U.S. government and the Burbank police in this, and that means that we can’t do anything, ah, extracurricular, to Barbara.”
“I understand that,” Eagle said, “and we’re all better off not being tempted.”
49
Barbara was watching Morning Joe on MSNBC, as Joe Scarborough, in a generous mood, was saying something nice about Barack Obama.
“Pinko!” she shouted at the screen as her cell phone rang. Barbara found it under a pile of clothes and picked it up. “Yes?”
“Barbara, this is Ralph Waters, in Palo Alto.”
“Yes, Ralph.”
“I’ve made some real progress here,” the lawyer said. “I’ve located Margie, the secretary, and she’s given me copies of the two pages that were changed in Walter’s will, along with copies of the two replacement pages. I’ve taken it to a judge, and he’s going to schedule a hearing as soon as he can appoint a new executor to represent the estate.”
“Why does he have to do that?”
“Because Joe Wilen was the executor, and Ms. Hight was the backup, and they’re both dead.”
“Oh. How long is this going to take?”
“I can’t say. I’ve pushed the judge as hard as I can to move this along, and I’ll call his clerk tomorrow to remind him.”
“Once the hearing date is set, how long will the process take?”
“If everything goes smoothly everything could be decided at the hearing, and I’ll ask the judge for expedited probate.”
“All right, Ralph. Call me the minute you know something.”
“Do you want to come to the hearing?”
“Not unless I have to.”
“No, you don’t. I can represent you.”
“Thank you, Ralph, and please continue to keep this quiet.”
“I’ll do the best I can.”
They both hung up.
She tried not to hope, lest she be disappointed. She watched television for another two hours and was about to get into a shower when her cell phone rang again.
“Yes?”
“Barbara, it’s Ralph Waters.”
“Hello again, Ralph.”
“I’ve got something incredible to tell you: The judge has appointed a new executor. He’s an underemployed crony of the judge, who will do whatever he’s told. We’ve got a hearing tomorrow, and Margie is going to be there with the original pages of the will!”
“That’s fantastic, Ralph! I don’t know how you got this done so quickly!”
“It was a matter of knowing which judge to take this to,” Waters said.
“What about the other heirs?”
“There’ll be no dispute there. They’ll inherit as per the will, so they’ll have no beef. The only entity that will lose on this is Walter’s personal charitable foundation, and Walter’s old secretary is the head of that. What sort of relationship did you have with her?”
“I met her only once, and we got along very well. After that, I spoke to her when I was calling Walter, or he was calling me, and that’s all.”
“Then I hope she won’t be a problem,” Waters said. “One thing:
The judge wants you at the hearing, and I think your testimony will be valuable.”
“I’ll be there. If the hearing goes our way, do you think you can get the new executor to release Walter’s airplane for my use?”
“I’ll try, Barbara.”
“You call me the minute that hearing is over, Ralph. What time is it set for?”
“Eleven A.M. The judge is a late sleeper.”
“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” Barbara said, then hung up and fell to her knees. “Dear God,” she prayed, “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad person, but if you’ll let me have this money, I’ll never kill anybody again, not even Ed Eagle!”
IN TRES CRUCES, Pedro Alvarez was sitting at his desk, speaking to his bookie about a soccer game in Mexico City that weekend, when there was a knock on his door.
“Come in!” Alvarez shouted, and went on with his conversation. The door opened, but he paid no attention. “One hundred pesos on Mexico City,” he was saying.
“Capitán,” the female guard said.
Alvarez turned and looked at her, and there were two men in suits and a federal police officer standing next to her. “I’ll call you back,” he said to the bookie, and hung up.
“Capitán Alvarez,” the taller of the two civilians said. “I represent the minister of justice.”
Alvarez’s mouth dropped open. This did not sound good, and the presence of the policeman was even worse. He got to his feet and saluted. “Good morning, señor,” he said. “How may I be of service?”
The man handed him a document. “This is an order, signed by the minister of justice,” he said. “It demands that you produce your prisoner Barbara Eagle forthwith.”
Alvarez’s mouth went dry, his head began to spin and he fainted. He woke up when someone threw a glass of water in his face. He raised a hand to wipe away the water and discovered that it was handcuffed to his other hand.
ED EAGLE ANSWERED his ringing phone. “Hello?”
“Ed, it’s Bob Abbott, in Washington.”
“Hello, Bob. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
“I spoke to my friend in the Mexican foreign ministry after you called, and he spoke to his contact in the Ministry of Justice. Apparently, there was a J
ustice official in Acapulco for a conference, and yesterday morning he and an associate visited the women’s prison in Tres Cruces and confronted the warden, a Captain Alvarez.”
“That’s good news, Bob. What was the outcome?”
“They demanded that he produce Barbara Eagle, and he passed out on the floor.”
Eagle laughed. “That must have been a rude shock for the man.”
“Apparently so. When they revived him he confessed that he had not reported her escape because he was embarrassed.”
“I expect he was.”
“In any case, the official called Mexico City, the minister of justice signed an arrest warrant for Barbara Eagle on a charge of escape from prison, and he faxed the warrant to me. I have it in my hand.”
“That’s wonderful news, Bob. What’s the next step?”
“I have to messenger this over to the attorney general, who will issue an order to the director of the FBI, directing him that the U.S. government has acquiesced to extradition. The director will then instruct the agent in charge of the Santa Fe office to see a federal judge and apply for an extradition warrant. Once that’s signed by the judge, then agents will go to the address in Los Alamos and arrest her. There’ll be an extradition hearing soon after that.”
“I don’t see how she can beat extradition,” Eagle said.
“Neither do I. It’s going to take several days to penetrate all these layers, but I’ll move it along as well as I can.”
“Thank you, Bob,” Eagle said. “I owe you a very nice vacation as my guest in Santa Fe, just as soon as this is over.”
“I’ll take you up on that, Ed.”
Eagle thanked him again and hung up. “Susannah!” he shouted. “Good news!”
50
Ralph Waters called Barbara back half an hour later. “I’ve spoken to the executor, and he’s released the airplane for the roundtrip. I’ve spoken to the FBO, and they can have the airplane in Santa Fe by five o’clock, at Santa Fe Jetcenter. You’ll be home by dinnertime.”
“Wonderful!” Barbara said. “See you tomorrow morning!” She packed everything and called the live-in maid at the San Francisco apartment and warned her of her arrival. She then announced her departure to the Holroyds, who were sorry she was leaving and invited her back anytime. She was at the airport by four thirty and watched the beautiful airplane land and taxi in.
The captain came into the FBO, introduced himself and directed the loading of her luggage. There was no need to refuel, so he escorted her aboard the airplane immediately.
Barbara stood in the aisle and looked around her at the gleaming leather and walnut interior. “It’s wonderful,” she said to the stewardess. “What kind is it?”
“It’s a Gulfstream Four,” the young woman replied. “Haven’t you flown on it before?”
“No. Walter had a CitationJet when we were married, and he bought this airplane immediately after that. He died before we could fly in it together.”
The stewardess helped her choose a seat and brought her a drink and a snack while they were taxiing to the runway. As the big airplane roared down the runway Barbara smiled and thought to herself that this was the only way to travel.
They landed at San Jose two hours later, after bucking a headwind, and the FBO had arranged a car to meet her. An hour later she walked into the San Francisco apartment and found it exactly as she had left it. She ordered dinner and began going through her wardrobe to select the perfect courtroom outfit.
THE JUDGE CALLED the court to order and asked Ralph Waters to present his case.
“I call Mrs. Walter Keeler,” Waters said, and Barbara took the stand and was sworn. She was wearing a black Chanel suit and appropriate jewelry.
“Mrs. Keeler, how long did you and Mr. Keeler know each other before you were married?”
“Only a few weeks,” Barbara replied. “We fell in love almost on sight.”
“Do you remember the day Mr. Keeler died?”
“Very well.”
“Can you tell us what occurred that day before his death?”
“We had breakfast together on the terrace. Walter said that he wanted to go down to Palo Alto to close up his old apartment, and that he wanted to see Joe Wilen and make a new will.”
“Did he tell you what would be in the will?”
“Yes. He told me he had a few bequests to make, including one of a hundred million dollars to his foundation, and that the rest would come to me. In fact, he had made notes to that effect, and he showed them to me.”
“And after Mr. Keeler’s death, when did you hear from Mr. Wilen?”
“He called me that afternoon to tell me about the accident, but I had already heard about it on television. He said he needed to see me and made an appointment for the next day.”
“And what did he have to say to you at that time?”
“He told me that my inheritance was use of the apartment and a monthly allowance for life, nothing else. He also told me that Walter had put a clause in the will saying that anyone who contested it would have their inheritance reduced to one dollar, and he advised me not to contest it. I told him what Walter had said to me the previous morning, but he said that was not what was in Walter’s mind. He gave me a copy of the will and showed me the relevant pages.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Keeler,” Waters said. “That concludes my questioning. Your Honor, do you have any questions for my witness?”
“No,” the judge said.
Waters called the secretary, Margie, to the stand and asked her to give her version of events on the day Walter Keeler had died.
“Mr. Keeler had come into the office that day to sign the will that Mr. Wilen had prepared from his telephone instructions,” she said. “He also instructed Mr. Wilen to disperse funds to pay for an airplane he had bought.”
“Did Mr. Keeler read the will?” Waters asked.
“Yes, and very carefully. He took his time, then he signed it and Ms. Hight, another office worker, and I witnessed it, and I notarized his signature.”
“What did you do with the will at that point?” Waters asked.
“I made two copies for Mr. Keeler and his wife, and I put the original in our safe, at his request.”
“Can you give us a brief summary of Mr. Keeler’s bequests in the will?”
“He left bequests for his alma mater and several friends, and a bequest to his personal charitable foundation. The remainder of the estate he left to his wife, Eleanor Keeler.”
“How much was the total of the bequests left to others?” Waters asked.
“Approximately four hundred million dollars,” Margie replied.
“And how much was the residue left to Mrs. Keeler?”
“Approximately one billion two hundred million dollars in liquid assets,” she said, “plus the San Francisco apartment; the Palo Alto apartment, which he planned to sell; the new airplane he had just bought; and several pieces of commercial real estate, including a hangar with an apartment in it at San Jose Airport.”
“What was Mr. Keeler’s mood during his visit to your law firm?”
“He was quite cheerful and happy. He had just been married, and he was very happy about that.”
“What time did Mr. Keeler leave the firm?”
“Around three in the afternoon,” she replied. “He wanted to beat the rush-hour traffic back to San Francisco, and he took the two copies of the will with him.”
“And do you remember what happened after that?”
“Yes, vividly. Half an hour after he left the office, someone had a local TV station on our office set, and they reported that a car driven by Walter Keeler had collided with a gasoline tanker truck on the interstate, and that he had been killed and his car destroyed by the flames.”
“What happened then?”
“Joe Wilen called Ms. Hight and me into his office and read us a letter from Mrs. Keeler’s ex-husband, which said some bad things about her. I didn’t think much of it, since people who’ve been divorc
ed often say terrible things about each other, but Mr. Wilen took it very seriously. He told us he had shown the letter to Mr. Keeler and urged him not to leave so much to Mrs. Keeler, but that he had refused to even read it and said the will reflected his desires, something he also said when the witnesses were sworn.”
“What happened next?”
“Mr. Wilen told Ms. Hight and me that he despised Mrs. Keeler and was determined to see that she did not get the bulk of Mr. Keeler’s estate. He told us about his plan for doing her in and asked if the two of us would cooperate with him. He warned us that what he was doing was unethical, and that if it was ever found out, all of us might go to prison.”
“What was the reaction of Ms. Hight and yourself?”
“Ms. Hight agreed immediately, as she shared Mr. Wilen’s opinion of Mrs. Keeler, but I was reluctant because although I had met her only once, I thought Mrs. Keeler was a very nice lady.”
“But you agreed to join them in this?”
“I felt under a great deal of pressure,” Margie said. “I had worked for Mr. Wilen for more than twenty years, and he had been very kind to me, so, to my regret, I went along.”
“Tell us how the will was changed, please.”
“It was very simple: Mr. Wilen removed the two pages of the will that dealt with bequests and dictated changes to me which reduced Mrs. Keeler’s inheritance to the use of, but not the ownership of, the San Francisco apartment, and an allowance of fifty thousand dollars a month, both for life. I typed up the new pages and Mr. Wilen forged Mr. Keeler’s initials on them with the same pen he had used to sign the will, and he instructed me to destroy the original pages.”
“Did you do so?”
“I did not. I could foresee a time when I might have to reveal what Mr. Wilen had done.”
“And did you do so?”
“Yes. Mr. Wilen was murdered a couple of weeks later, and a few weeks later Ms. Hight was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. She died a couple of months later. Since they were both gone, I felt I should reveal what had been done to the will, so I wrote to the Ethics Committee of the California Bar Association and told them what had been done to the will.”
Waters picked up four pieces of paper from his table and handed them to Margie. “What are these papers?” he asked.
Margie held up two pages. “These are the original pages from the will, as Mr. Keeler had instructed them to be drawn.” She held up two pages with her other hand. “These are the two pages that Mr. Wilen dictated to me, eliminating nearly all of Mrs. Keeler’s inheritance.”