by Stuart Woods
Wolf had not been prepared for this. The sutures seemed a horrible violation of her body. The corpse was so white, when Julia had always been so tan. It might have been made of marble, yet it seemed shrunken, diminished. The large breasts had settled, like puddles of plaster. Two things heightened the familiarity: the brightly painted fingernails—Julia had always been careful with her nails—and the tattoo of the flower on her right breast, the bright colors of which stood out against the skin, now alabaster in death.
He wanted to pull the towel off her head and look at her face, but he reminded himself that there was no face. A strand of hair spilled from under the towel; it was clotted with something black.
Wolf nodded. “It’s my wife,” he said.
“You’re positive?” Warren asked.
His shoulders sagged. “It’s Julia.”
Carreras paused on the sidewalk in front of the hospital. “I’ve asked you this before, Mr. Willett, but I want to ask you again. Can you think of any reason why anybody would want to kill you, your wife, or Jack Tinney?”
“No, none,” Wolf said. “It just doesn’t make any sense. It must have been an intruder, somebody who was trying to rob the house or something. Several of the houses at Wilderness Gate are unoccupied a lot of the time—weekend or summer places. There have been break-ins before.”
“We know about that,” Carreras said. “It’s a possibility. Still, I’ve dispatched an officer to your place. We’ll keep a watch for a while.”
“Do you think that’s really necessary?” Wolf asked. He didn’t want to be watched, himself.
“Somebody has already attempted to kill you,” Carreras said.
Ed Eagle spoke up. “He has a point, Wolf.”
“Anybody who knew me would know it wasn’t me he was killing,” Wolf said.
“Not if he was a contract killer,” Carreras replied. “After all, the dead man generally matched your description.”
This was a possibility Wolf hadn’t considered. “All right, if you think it’s advisable to have a man up there,” he said.
“Will you ask him to keep the press out?” Eagle asked. “A television crew has already been there, and when it becomes public that Mr. Willett is alive, a lot more are going to show up.”
“Okay,” Carreras said. “I’ll tell my man no press.” He turned back to Wolf. “You understand, Mr. Willett, we don’t want you leaving Santa Fe.”
“I understand,” Wolf replied. “I have no plans to leave.” He thought of something, was ashamed he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “When can I have my wife’s and Jack’s bodies?” he asked Carreras.
“Did Mr. Tinney have any family?”
“No one, just some ex-wives. I’m his executor.”
“I’ll have the bodies released immediately,” Carreras said. “There are the personal effects, too.”
The two policemen shook hands with them and left Wolf and Ed Eagle standing on the sidewalk.
“I’ll make the arrangements with a funeral parlor, if you like,” Eagle said. “They’ll deliver the effects later.”
“Thank you,” Wolf replied.
“Do you have someplace to bury them?”
Wolf shook his head. “No. I think cremation is best. I’ll figure out what to do with the ashes later.”
“Wolf,” Eagle said, “it’s important that if you even consider leaving Santa Fe, you talk with me first.”
“Of course, Ed.”
“There’s something else I wanted to mention to you,” the lawyer said.
“What’s that?”
“I want to go to New York and interview Julia’s sister, the one in prison.”
“If you think it’ll help.”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to clear it with you before I travel at your expense. You’ve paid for my time, but there’ll be airline, hotel, all that.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“It’ll be sometime next week before I can get away. Call me if you need me in the meantime.”
“Sure, Ed. Thanks for coming today.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Ed, there’s something I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?”
“Why haven’t they arrested me for the murders? It seems to me I’m the only logical suspect.”
“Santa Fe Rules, Wolf. They haven’t arrested you because they’re scared shitless of me. I’ve tried more than a dozen capital cases in Santa Fe County over the past twenty-odd years, and they haven’t gotten a conviction yet. They don’t have any hard evidence against you, only supposition, but the minute they think they have a real case, they’ll come for you.”
“I see,” Wolf muttered.
“Don’t worry. If it happens, we’ll be ready for them.”
They shook hands and went to their respective cars.
Back at Wilderness Gate, there were two television vans and two other cars parked in the road near his gate. Several people, some with cameras, were talking to a uniformed policeman. Wolf pulled up to the gate and produced his driver’s license. “I’m Willett,” he said to the cop.
The policeman inspected the license and moved between Wolf and a television cameraman. People were shouting questions from behind the cop. “Go on in, Mr. Willett,” he said. “I’ll get rid of these people.”
Wolf hurried down the drive, thinking not about the reporters at his gate, but about Julia’s sister, in prison. He wanted to know what she knew.
CHAPTER
13
Maria arrived as Wolf was finishing breakfast, and tears began to flow the moment she saw him.
“Oh, Mr. Wolf,” she blubbered. “When I saw you on the TV I was so happy.”
He calmed her and listened to her story of finding the bodies. It told him nothing he didn’t already know. “Was there a policeman at the gate when you arrived today?” he asked.
“Yessir.”
“Please take him a Thermos of coffee.” That would get her busy and out of his hair. Maria had brought the morning mail. He didn’t get much mail in Santa Fe, but this morning there were two invitations, both for dinner. The first was from neighbors he didn’t particularly like—he would beg off. The second interested him more. It was from the Duke and Duchess of Kensington, English nobility who lived for part of the year on a large estate out on Tano Road, near Mark Shea. He had met them once at a dinner party at an actor’s house two years before, and had not heard from them since. Now he was desirable company, it seemed. Well, what the hell, Ed Eagle had told him to go out. He phoned the R.S.V.P. number and left an acceptance on an answering machine. As soon as he hung up, the phone rang. Wolf let his answering machine pick up, then he heard Hal Berger’s voice.
He picked up the phone. “Hello, Hal.”
“Wolf, you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“You square with the cops?”
“For the moment. Listen, will you call my bank and let them know I’m alive? I’ve written a check for a hundred thousand dollars, and I don’t want it to bounce.”
“Sure.”
“What’s happening there?”
“The office is on an even keel. The L.A. stations picked up the report from Santa Fe in time for the eleven o’clock news last night, so the employees know you’re alive and kicking. It gave them a lift, I think; things had been pretty uncertain around here. Anything you want me to tell them?”
“Tell them it’s business as usual. Give Jack’s new script to Bob in production and tell him to start costing it. It’s not ready for that, really, but it’ll give him something to do.”
“Okay. The Academy has been on the phone wanting to do a memorial service for Jack. They had been thinking of a service for the two of you, but the TV report fixed that.”
“Hold them off for a while, will you? I can’t leave Santa Fe right now, and I want to participate in the service when it happens.” He had a thought. “Hal, will you look in the safe—top shelf, right-hand side, I think? Jack’s and
my wills are in there. I’m his executor, so I guess I should do something about it.”
“Want me to do it now?”
“Yes, I’ll hold on.” He would be handling Jack’s affairs in death, as in life, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Hal came back on the line. “Got it. Want me to break the seal?”
“Yes, go ahead.”
“Okay, it’s dated last month.”
“Last month? I wrote a will for him a couple of years ago; I didn’t know he’d done another one. Give me the highlights.”
“Let’s see. A few small bequests—the Academy, U.C.L.A. film school, some others.”
“Nothing much has changed, then.”
“Who got the bulk of his estate in the last will?” Hal asked.
“He divided it equally among the ex-wives—four of them.”
“Not anymore,” Hal said. “Everything goes to you.”
“To me?” Wolf was stunned.
“Everything. His half of the business, his house, cars, furnishings, savings, everything.”
“Jesus Christ,” Wolf said. “I wonder why he did that.”
“It says here, ‘In gratitude for his friendship, professional partnership, and wise management of my affairs.’”
“I’m floored,” Wolf said, and he was.
“At least you won’t have to struggle with the ex-wives to run the company.”
“That’s true. I’m grateful to him for that.”
“You want to enter this for probate?”
“There’s no reason to delay, I guess; go ahead. And fax me the will, Hal. I want to read it.”
“Sure. Anything else?”
“Have you got an answer print from Jane Deering yet?”
“Oh, I forgot. She called yesterday and wanted to talk to you. Shall I give her the Santa Fe number?”
“That’s fine.”
“I think she’s having some last-minute nerves about the final cut.”
“I’ll talk to her. Anything else?”
“That’s it. Keep in touch, you hear?”
“I will.” He hung up and tried to grapple with the idea of being Jack Tinney’s heir. The fax machine rang; the will was coming through.
He heard voices from the kitchen, and a moment later, Flaps burst into the room and was all over him. Mark Shea followed her in.
“Caught you on TV,” he said, smiling broadly. “Thought you’d like to see the pup.”
Wolf stroked and calmed the dog. Then the sound from the kitchen of dry dog food hitting a plastic bowl lured her away.
“How are you?” Mark asked.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Had a chat with the police yet?”
“Yeah, last evening. Ed Eagle is holding them at bay for the moment. Thanks for recommending him. How about some coffee?”
Mark glanced at his watch. “Wish I could. I’ve got a patient in twenty minutes. I just wanted to bring Flaps home and make sure you were all right.”
“I saw the bodies yesterday. I can see how you might have thought it was me.”
“Thanks. I’ve been feeling badly about it.”
“Don’t. Anybody could have made the same mistake.”
“What are you going to do about a funeral?”
“Nothing at the moment. The Academy wants to hold a memorial service for Jack later. I haven’t decided what to do about Julia.”
“I see.”
“Mark, Ed Eagle is going to want to talk to you about me; he’s looking ahead to the possibility of a trial. I told him it was fine with me. I hope it’s okay with you.”
Mark started to speak, then stopped. “I’ll do whatever you want, Wolf,” he said after a moment.
“I think he’s most concerned with my psychiatric history, and since you’ve been my analyst, you could testify about that. Julia’s, too. Tell him whatever he wants to know.”
The psychiatrist made no reply.
“I don’t think you need to go into the hypnosis—unless he brings up the idea.”
Mark nodded. “Want to have dinner one night soon?”
“Sure. Ed says I should be seen around town. Speaking of that, the D & D have asked me over.”
“Tomorrow night? I’ll be there, too.” He waved from the door. “See you there.”
The phone rang, and Wolf picked it up without thinking. “Hello,” he said, annoyed with himself for answering.
“It’s Jane. Hal said I could call. Is this a bad time?”
“No, no, it’s fine; I’m glad to hear from you. What’s up?”
“I’ve got a final cut, but I want you to see it before I give an answer print to Hal.”
“I trust your judgment, Jane.”
“Thanks, but it’s too important for me to approve on my own; you might think it’s sort of…radical. I want to Fed Ex you a videotape.”
He had a thought. “I’ve got a better idea; bring it.”
“To Santa Fe?”
“There’s a noon flight from LAX. I’ll meet you at the Albuquerque airport.”
“I’ll have to see if my sister can stay with my daughter.”
“Do it. I’ll be glad to see you. And bring a hot dress; there’s a dinner party tomorrow night.”
“I’ll call you back.”
He hung up, and for some reason, he felt a lot better. There was another incoming call, and he picked that up without thinking, too.
“Good morning, Mr. Willett. This is John Harvey at Harvey and Sons Funeral Directors.”
“Hello, Mr. Harvey.”
“The county released the bodies of Mrs. Willett and Mr. Tinney to us this morning. Mr. Eagle said you were interested in cremation.”
“That’s right. I’d like both bodies cremated as soon as possible, quietly and without ceremony.”
“I can arrange that for tomorrow in Albuquerque,” Harvey said. “Would you like to be present?”
“No,” Wolf replied. “You may deliver the ashes to my home when it’s done.”
“Would you like to choose the urns?”
“Do it for me, please. Something simple. Bring me a bill for your services with the ashes.”
“Would five o’clock tomorrow afternoon be convenient for delivery?”
“That will be fine.” He gave the man his address and hung up, feeling like a shit for ducking the occasion.
Jane called back. “You’re on. How long will I be there?”
“Allow a couple of days, in case we have to make changes.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll meet the plane this afternoon.”
“See you then.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
CHAPTER
14
Jane arrived in the terminal smiling, carrying all her luggage. Wolf bundled her into the Porsche with her bags and headed north on the interstate.
“So, what have you done with my movie?”
She took a deep breath. “I took your four minutes out of the middle third.”
He looked at her, surprised. “I would have chopped little stuff throughout.”
“I know you would have, but I got this idea, and I want to see if you think it works.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’d rather show you.”
Jane pointed the remote control at the VCR and stopped the tape. “That’s it. The rest is the same as before.”
“I’m amazed,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”
“I figured that by quick-cutting from Helen’s to Joe’s plot lines in the middle I could cut more than a minute out of each of the three long scenes.”
“It worked. Call the lab and tell them to print it.”
With a triumphant laugh, she leapt up and hugged him. “I knew you’d let me do it.”
He liked the hug. “Then why didn’t you go ahead and make the answer print?”
“Well,” she said, “there was always a chance you’d be in a bad mood and not spot my brilliance.”
&n
bsp; “I spotted your brilliance.” He pointed at a phone across the room. “Phone the lab; use line two.”
She went to the phone, and Wolf looked idly around for something to interest him while she talked. His eye fell on the fax machine; he hadn’t read Jack’s will. Leafing through the pages, he found it simple and straightforward. Jack had gone to another lawyer to have the will drawn. Wolf knew Bob Marx well enough—they had played tennis in the old days, and Marx had a successful entertainment practice. He punched the other line and dialed Marx’s office.
“Wolf, is it really you?” Marx sounded truly uncertain.
“It is, Bob. I’m still around.”
“I heard about your television interview,” Marx said.
“Bob, Hal Berger just faxed me Jack Tinney’s will, which was in our office safe.”
“You knew his intentions, of course.”
“No, I had no idea. I drew a will for him a couple of years ago that left everything to the four ex-wives. As far as I knew, that one was still in force.”
There was a brief silence before Marx spoke again. “That was not my information,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Jack told me he was going to tell you about it.”
“Well, he didn’t. Why did he change his will? Did he tell you that?”
“He stated his reasons in the text.”
“I read that, but it sounded like boilerplate.”
“Well, Wolf, I’m sorry you disapprove of my writing style, but Jack liked it. That was what he wanted to say.”
Wolf looked at the document again. “I’m still his executor,” he said.
“That’s right. He didn’t see any reason to change that.”
“Well, there might be some reason to change it now.”
Marx didn’t respond.
“I mean, this might not look good to some people—Jack’s being murdered in my house, and my being his beneficiary.”
“I take your point,” Marx said blandly. “How can I help?”
“I think, under the circumstances, I’d like to assign my executor’s powers to you, since you drew the will.”
“I’ll be glad to handle that as a courtesy.”