Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Edge

“Not a bad turnout,” Cupie said. “I doubt if I’ll do as well.”

“There’s James Long,” Vittorio said, nodding toward the foot of the casket.

“Got ’im,” Cupie said.

They watched as the service concluded and the casket was lowered into the grave. People began walking back to their cars.

“Long is in the BMW,” Cupie said, “and he appears to be alone. Let’s follow and look for an opportunity to brace him. I don’t think this is the place for it.”

“Whatever you say,” Vittorio replied.

They got back into Cupie’s car and waited for Long’s BMW to pass them, then they fell in behind at a reasonable distance. Long headed in the general direction of Centurion Studios, then, after a mile or so, pulled into a gas station, got out and began to refuel his car.

“Now,” Cupie said, pulling into the station and parking to one side. He and Vittorio got out and approached Long, who was leaning against his car and talking on his cell phone while the pump did the work.

“Good morning, Mr. Long,” Cupie said. “Remember us?”

“I’ll call you back,” Long said, and closed his phone. “How could I forget?”

“We won’t take much of your time,” Cupie said. “We just want to inform you of some of the evidence against you that the police will soon be pursuing.”

“What are you talking about?” Long said, looking nervous.

“We can demonstrate to the police that you abetted the escape of Barbara Eagle from a Mexican prison, then flew her to Yuma in Bart Cross’s airplane,” Cupie said.

“I abetted no one in anything,” Long replied, but he didn’t move.

“We’ve got the pages from Bart’s airplane logbook, mentioning both your names and your destinations,” Vittorio said. “That, of course, led to an attempt on Ed Eagle’s life by Bart. You introduced Barbara to him, remember? Then, there’s the matter of Barbara’s murder of Bart. You’re up to your neck in all this, Mr. Long.”

“You guys are not cops,” Long said.

“I used to be,” Cupie said, “and I know lots of guys who still are, even one in Burbank who’s investigating Bart’s murder.”

“What do you want from me?” Long asked.

“We want Barbara,” Vittorio said. “And if we can’t find her ourselves, then we’ll just have to go to the police with our evidence, and they’ll start talking to everybody involved, including you. So, it’s down to you or Barbara. What’s it going to be? You can do yourself a favor by telling us now where she is.”

“I don’t know where she is,” Long said. “I threw her out of my house after I learned of Bart’s death. I don’t know where she went.”

“But you know where she’s going to end up, don’t you?” Cupie asked. “You’re her only friend in the world; you’ve helped her at every turn. You know what she’s up to.”

“She’s obsessed with Ed Eagle,” Long said. “I don’t have to tell you that. I drove her to LAX, so I assume she took a plane somewhere, probably to Santa Fe.”

“And once she gets to Santa Fe, where will she go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Looks like our next call is to the Burbank police,” Cupie said.

“She told me she met a couple at a spa in Tucson who live near Los Alamos,” Long said. “Name of Holroyd. That’s all I know. Maybe she’s there, but I can’t tell you for sure.”

“And how do you get in touch with Barbara?” Cupie asked.

“She uses throwaway cell phones,” Long said.

“Give me the number,” Cupie said.

Long recited a number while Cupie wrote it in his notebook. “This better be correct,” he said.

“It was working as recently as a few days ago,” Long said. “You’ll keep me out of this?”

“That’s not up to us, Mr. Long,” Vittorio said, “but if the information you’ve given us is correct, we won’t bring the police into it. The Burbank department has Bart’s logbook; they’ll be calling on you eventually. You’d better get your story straight and call your lawyer. Or take a prolonged vacation in Mexico.”

The gas pump stopped.

“Your tank is full, Mr. Long,” Cupie said. “Good luck.” Vittorio and Cupie walked back to Cupie’s car and got in.

“Well,” Vittorio said, “we’ve got more to go on now than we’ve had so far.”

“Too fucking right,” Cupie said, looking at his watch. “We can still make the six thirty flight to Albuquerque.”

Teddy Fay logged on to the Agency mainframe, apparently from Billings, Montana, and checked the mail for box 10001.

Message received and understood.

The e-mail was unsigned, but it was from Lance Cabot’s mailbox. Still, it was inconclusive: Was he off Teddy’s back? Or did he understand but not give a shit? This wasn’t good enough.

“Any news?” Lauren asked as she came from the kitchen.

Teddy showed her the message.

“That’s great!” she said.

“It could mean anything,” Teddy responded. “Lance Cabot, Holly’s boss, is a very tenacious young man, and at times, he can be reckless.”

“What’s your next move?” she asked.

“Well, it’s clear I’m going to have to make one. I can’t just sit back and wait to see what happens.”

“That sounds ominous,” she said.

“Not necessarily. I’m going to give Lance until tomorrow to communicate with his agent, then I’m going to go looking for young Todd Bacon.”

“What will you do when you find him?” Lauren asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Teddy replied. He went to the command level of the e-mail program and checked Holly Barker’s trash box. There were four discarded messages from Todd Bacon, and Teddy read them, chuckling at the report about the GPS tag he had placed on Teddy’s Volvo. The first message mentioned La Fonda.

Teddy then hacked into the central computer of the company that supplied rental cars to the Santa Fe Jetcenter and found that Todd had rented a red Taurus there, but Teddy hadn’t seen that car on the day when Todd was following him. He went further and found that La Fonda used the same company, and that Todd had exchanged the Taurus for a silver Toyota. He made a note of the license plate.

LATE THAT NIGHT, Teddy put a few things into a case, then drove to La Fonda, only five minutes away. He entered the hotel parking garage and began looking for a silver Toyota. He found two, and the second one had the correct plate number.

Teddy opened his case and removed a later version of the same tracking unit that Todd had placed on the Toyota. He fastened it in place under the car, then closed his case and left the garage. Back in his car, he turned on the handheld GPS unit and got a response from the Toyota.

Good, he thought. Now he could choose the time and place of his meeting with Todd.

TODD WAS, at that moment, in bed with Dolly in his hotel room, doing one of the things that she clearly loved most. After he had brought her and himself to a screaming climax, he lay back in bed with her head on his chest and ran his fingers through her thick hair.

“What’s become of your friend Ellie Keeler?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Dolly replied. “I haven’t heard from her.”

“That name is familiar. Is her first name Eleanor?”

“Yes.”

“How did you meet her?”

“She rented the guesthouse next door to Tip’s place when I was living in his guesthouse. She knocked on the door, and I gave her a drink.”

“I’ll bet that’s not all you gave her.” Todd chuckled.

She reached up and slapped him lightly across the face. “Behave yourself,” she said.

“I was thinking, why don’t we get together again? She was quite something.”