Santa Fe Dead 03

by Stuart Woods

  “The car registration and insurance card are in the center armrest, along with a nontraceable cell phone, prepaid for a hundred hours of use, no GPS chip, blocked for caller ID. I went to the pawnshop in San Diego where you shopped last year and got the gun and silencer you wanted and a box of ammunition. There’s ten thousand dollars in mixed bills in the bag, too.”

  “You’re a dear, do you know that?”

  “Sweetheart, this is the most fun I’ve ever had; I’ve loved every minute of it. I took the letter you sent me and used it to transfer the money into your Eleanor Wright account, so you’ve got a little over two hundred and fifty grand in there. You can write me a check for the ten grand, plus eighteen grand for the car, plus the twenty-five grand I paid the documents guy.” He handed her a checkbook, and she wrote the check and handed it to him.

  “Oh, there’s another bag on the seat, too, with the auburn hair dye and the book on spas you wanted. Everything you stored in my garage is in the backseat, but it will probably need pressing.”

  “Jimmy, you’re a dream. Now you’ve got to get home before the cops show up. They’re missing me at the courthouse by now.”

  “Here’s the hotel,” he said. “I’ll get out and hop a cab. You just drive away.” He stopped the car.

  She got out, gave him a hug and a kiss and got back into the car.

  Jimmy leaned through the window. “The car has twenty-two thousand miles on it, it’s just been serviced and the gas tank is full. Good luck, kiddo.”

  “I’ll be in touch when I can,” Barbara said. She put the car in gear and drove away, careful to obey all traffic laws. At the first opportunity, she pulled into a fast-food restaurant and ordered lunch from the drive-thru.

  When she had eaten, she went through her new ID and put everything into the wallet in her handbag, then restowed her luggage in the trunk. Finally, she took the book on spas and began to read. It took her twenty minutes to find just the right place, called El Rancho, secluded on a mountaintop overlooking Palm Springs. She used her new cell phone to call.

  “Good morning. El Rancho,” a woman’s voice said.

  “Good morning. My name is Eleanor Wright, and I’ve just had a sudden urge to get away from it all. Do you have any accommodation available?”

  “Let’s see, we have a small suite at twelve hundred dollars per day and a double room at nine hundred. The suite has the better view, and the price includes all meals and drinks. No liquor is served. We offer a full range of spa activities, a beauty salon, tennis and golf half an hour’s drive away.”

  “I’ll take the suite, please. Would you schedule me for a two-hour massage at five P.M. and make an appointment with the hairdresser and a colorist for tomorrow morning?”

  “Of course. May I have a credit card number to hold your reservation?”

  Barbara gave it to her and got driving directions from the interstate. On the way she stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of good bourbon whiskey.

  AS SOON AS she had checked into her suite, Barbara unpacked, then went into the bathroom and used the auburn hair dye, cleaning up after herself carefully. She left her hair wet and combed it back. Tomorrow, she would have a better job done by a professional. She had her massage, then dinner in her room, along with a couple of large scotches, then settled down to watch the TV coverage of her escape. Finally, she fell asleep.

  SHE WOKE THE following morning to learn from the TV that she had been acquitted of second-degree murder. “Holy shit!” she said aloud. She hadn’t figured on that.

  3

  ED EAGLE NEARLY choked on his eggs. “Susannah!” he yelled.

  She stuck her head around the bathroom door. “Yes?”

  “Barbara was acquitted!”

  “What?”

  “I’m not kidding; she got off!”

  “What does this mean, Ed?”

  “It means that all they’ve got on her now is escaping from the courthouse. She can’t be charged with the two murders again.”

  “Anything on where she is?”

  “Nothing; she’s very, very good at disappearing.”

  “Do we have anything to worry about?”

  “Well, given that she’s already tried to kill us once, I’d say yes.”

  “Are we okay here in the hotel?”

  “You will recall that here is where she tried to kill us last time. We should get out of here. Are you done in L.A.?”

  “I need another day to see my agent. We can go to my apartment; Barbara wouldn’t know where that is.” Susannah had a pied-à-terre in Century City.

  “I hate your apartment,” he said. “And your ex-husband knows where it is, doesn’t he?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure, but I haven’t heard from him for a while.”

  “That’s because you’ve spent most of your time in Santa Fe.”

  “We could move to another hotel.”

  Eagle sighed. “All right, let’s go to your apartment.” He pointed at her tray. “Have some breakfast, then pack and we’ll get out of here.” He began packing, himself, and he retrieved the small .45 pistol and holster he traveled with and ran the holster onto his belt. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  BARBARA WAITED UNTIL after nine o’clock, then phoned her lawyer in Los Angeles.

  “Good morning. Karp and Edelman.”

  “Richard Karp, please; it’s Barbara Eagle.”

  “Oh.”

  Karp came on the line. “Barbara? Where the hell are you?”

  “Richard, you don’t really want to know that, do you? Let’s just say I’m out of the country.”

  “Have you heard the news?”

  “Yes, and I have to say I’m surprised.”

  “Why are you surprised? I told you I’d get you off.”

  “And I believed you, Richard, right up until the moment when I climbed out that window.”

  “Well, now we’ve got an escaping-from-custody charge to deal with. I’m going to need a ten-thousand-dollar retainer.”

  “Richard, after all I’ve already paid you? How difficult can this be? I’m innocent in the eyes of the law.”

  Karp was quiet for a moment. “Give me a number where I can reach you.”

  It was Barbara’s turn to think. Jimmy had said there was no GPS chip in her new phone. “All right.” She gave him the number.

  “I’ll try to get back to you inside an hour,” Karp said, then hung up.

  AFTER A LONG look around the Bel-Air parking lot, Eagle got into the rented Mercedes, and Susannah got into the passenger seat. “Keep your eyes open,” he said.

  “Yeah, for a blonde.”

  “I very much doubt that she’s still a blonde.”

  “Okay, what should I look for?”

  “A woman with a gun.”

  “Oh.”

  He drove to Century City, sticking to the surface streets and being very watchful, then parked in the lot under her building. Susannah found a cart, and they wheeled their luggage into the elevator and upstairs.

  The place was spotless and not as cramped as Eagle had remembered it, when it was still full of unpacked boxes.

  “God, I have sixteen messages,” Susannah said, picking up the phone and pressing the Message button.

  Eagle took their luggage into the bedroom, which was nearly as cramped as he remembered it. When he came back she was still listening to messages, and she looked angry.

  Susannah hung up the phone. “One call from my agent, who canceled our appointment, and fifteen messages from my ex-husband.”

  “What’s his problem?”

  “His problem is, he’s still angry about the settlement he had to pay.”

  “Call your lawyer and let him deal with it.”

  “Every time I so much as speak to him it costs me five hundred dollars,” she said.

  “You’re not going to get any sympathy from me over your legal fees,” Eagle replied.

  “You lawyers are all alike.”

  “No, some of us charge a thou
sand dollars for a phone call. Does your ex have any sort of legitimate beef?”

  “Certainly not. He’s just nuts, that’s all.”

  “Then instruct your lawyer to get a temporary restraining order. That will stop him from calling you. Does he have your Santa Fe number?”

  “He doesn’t even know I bought the Santa Fe house—at least, as far as I know. My publicist kept it out of the press, and my number is unlisted.”

  "How many people in L.A. know you bought the house?”

  “Three or four, I guess. I told them all not to tell anybody.”

  "How often does that work in L.A.?”

  She picked up the phone and called her lawyer.

  RICHARD KARP PHONED Judge Henry Allman, who had presided over the Barbara Eagle case, catching him before he went into court.

  “Yes, Richard?”

  “Judge, I’ve heard from my client.”

  “And you’ll be surrendering her when?”

  “I’m sorry; I don’t know where she is. She says she’s out of the country.”

  “Then why are you calling me?”

  “Judge, the woman is absolutely panicked; that’s why she did what she did. I don’t think for a minute it was planned, she just went nuts and bolted.”

  “Well, get her into my court, and she can explain herself.”

  “Now she’s afraid for her life; she’s convinced that Ed Eagle will have her killed.”

  “That’s not my problem, until she’s in my court. I can send the police to get her, if you like.”

  “Judge, it’s my hope that you’ll drop the escape charge.”

  “Well, you can hope.”

  "The woman has spent a year in the L.A. County Jail, and she’s officially innocent. No one was hurt in her escape, and the incarceration has to count for something; she’s already served more time than she’s likely to get on the escape charge. I think, given the jury’s verdict, that she should be allowed to go and live her life without fear of arrest. She was in a very fragile state, mentally, and she needs to be able to recover without fear of being incarcerated again.”

  “Have you talked to the D.A. about this?”

  “No.” Karp could hear the judge’s fingers drumming on his desk. “All right, I’ll dismiss the escape charges. Write an order and messenger it over here. The D.A. will scream bloody murder, but she always does. Let’s get this thing out of the way.”

  “Yes, Judge, the order will be on your desk when you break for lunch; I’ll have the messenger wait for it.” Karp hung up and called Barbara Eagle.

  Barbara was in the colorist’s chair in the beauty salon when her phone vibrated. “Yes?” she said, warily.

  “It’s Richard. All right, you’re off the hook. I have to write an order and messenger it to the judge for his signature, but you’re a free woman.”

  “Thank God,” Barbara said.

  “No, thank Richard. And you owe me ten thousand dollars.”

  4

  EAGLE WENT INTO the bedroom to make some phone calls, then he took a shower, having left the Bel-Air in too much of a hurry for one. He laid his clothes neatly on the bed, along with the small .45 pistol. He was still in the shower when the phone rang once, then stopped.

  He stood under the torrent of water for another couple of minutes, then turned it off, grabbed a towel and dried himself before he stepped out of the shower. He walked back into the bedroom, got a fresh pair of boxer shorts out of his bag and was stepping into them when he heard the gunshot. He looked at his holster on the bed; it was empty.

  Eagle ran to the living room door and stopped. “Susannah?” he called. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Can I come in there without getting shot?”

  “I think so.”

  Eagle stepped into the living room, and then he could see where the gunshot had gone. It was in the chest of a man who was lying on the floor, just inside the front door. He walked over to Susannah and took the gun from her, then led her to the living room sofa and sat her down. “Just take some deep breaths,” he said, stroking her face.

  “The doorman called from downstairs,” she said. “He said Rod, my ex-husband, had walked right past the desk and taken the elevator up before the doorman could stop him. I went into the bedroom for you, but you were in the shower, so I picked up your gun and went to answer the door. When I opened it, he had a gun in his hand; he raised it, and I shot him.”

  “Just sit here quietly and compose yourself,” Eagle said.

  “I’m composed. Is he dead?”

  “I’m going to go find out right now.” He left her, walked to the door and felt for a pulse in the man’s neck. Nothing. There was a bloody hole just left of the center of his chest. “He’s dead.”

  “I thought he might be,” she replied.

  Eagle went back into the bedroom, got his address book and phoned the chief of police, who was a pretty good friend of his.

  “Chief Sams’s office,” a woman’s voice said.

  “This is Ed Eagle. I’m a friend of the chief’s, and I need to speak to him right now.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting. Can I have him call you?”

  “Please write a note saying the following: Ed Eagle is on the phone. He says there’s been a shooting, and a man is dead, and he needs to speak with you immediately. Have you got that?”

  “Please hold, Mr. Eagle.”

  Eagle sat and waited. And waited.

  Finally, she came back on the line. “Mr. Eagle, you’re connected with the chief.”

  “Joe?”

  “Hello, Ed. What’s this about a shooting?”

  “I’m at the home of a friend of mine, Susannah Wilde, an actress.”

  “I know who she is.”

  “Her ex-husband has just come to her apartment in Century City, armed, and he was shot. He’s dead.”

  “Did you call nine-one-one?”

  “No, you were my first thought.”

  “Call nine-one-one, and let’s get that on the record. They’ll refer the call to a detective in the precinct that covers Century City, and I’ll speak with the watch commander. Don’t touch anything; wait for the detectives.”

  “Thank you, Joe. I’ll call nine-one-one right now.” Eagle hung up and called the emergency number.

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  “A man has been shot in Century City.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “No.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “He has a hole in his chest, he’s not breathing and he doesn’t have a pulse.”

  The dispatcher asked for his name, phone number and address. “Someone will be there shortly.”

  Eagle hung up. “What’s the number for the front desk?”

  Susannah gave it to him.

  Eagle phoned it and told the doorman that the police were on the way and to send them upstairs without delay, then he hung up and went to check the body again for signs of life. Still nothing. There was a snub-nosed .38 revolver on the floor beside it. That was good. He went into the bedroom, grabbed some clothes and went back into the living room, dressing as he spoke to Susannah.

  “Tell me what happened when you opened the door.”

  “I opened it and stepped back at the same time.”

  “The gun was in your hand?”

  “Yes, but I held it behind me; I didn’t want to seem to be threatening him.”

  “Did you see his gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where was it?”

  “His hand was in his pocket. He said, ‘You filthy bitch,’ and he pulled the gun out of his pocket and began to raise it. That’s when I shot him.”

  “All right, when the police get here I want you to answer their questions truthfully.”

  “All right.”

  “Are the messages still on your answering machine?”

  “Voice mail. I didn’t erase them.”

  “That’s
good. Did Rod seem angry?”

  “Yes, but it seemed like a cold anger; there was no expression on his face. It felt as though he had already made the decision to kill me.”

  The phone rang, and Susannah picked it up. “Yes? Thank you.” She hung up. “The police are on the way up.”

  Since the door was already open, Eagle didn’t have to answer it. Two detectives appeared, their badges displayed. “Are you Ed Eagle?” one of them asked.

  “Yes.”

  The two men briefly examined the body, then turned back to Eagle.

  “I’m Detective Lieutenant Rivera. This is Detective Sergeant Riley.”

  “Thank you for coming. This is Susannah Wilde. I’m acting as her attorney, but she’s willing to answer your questions.”

  “Good. Mr. Eagle, will you go into the bedroom with Sergeant Riley? He will question you there.”

  “No. I’ll have to be present while you question Ms. Wilde, so that I’ll know what she says to you.”

  “As you wish. When we’re done questioning her, I’ll question you separately. There’ll be a crime scene team here shortly, so let’s get started.” The two detectives took chairs opposite the sofa, and Eagle sat down next to Susannah.

  “Mr. Eagle, do you mind if I record this interview?”

  “No,” Eagle replied.

  Rivera placed a small recorder on the coffee table and switched it on. “Ms. Wilde, my name is Lieutenant Rivera, and this is Sergeant Riley.” He noted the date and time and read Susannah her rights. “Are you willing to answer our questions?”

  “Yes.”

  “For the record, you are represented by counsel, Mr. Ed Eagle.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you acquainted with the decedent? The dead man?”

  “Yes, he is my ex-husband. We were divorced about ten months ago.”

  “Can you give me his name, age and occupation?”

  “His name is Rodney Spearman, he’s . . .” She thought for a moment. “He’s forty-five, and he’s a film producer at Centurion Studios.”

  The questioning continued for ten minutes, until the crime scene team arrived and were briefed, and then it began again. When the detectives had finished questioning Susannah, Eagle took her into the bedroom and made her lie down.