Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Dead

Reese went back to his rental car, got in and waited. Ten minutes later, Soledad Rivera ran out of the apartment building, carrying a nylon duffel bag, got into a Volkswagen Beetle and drove away. Reese started his car and followed at a distance.

Soledad drove to a neighborhood that seemed to be completely Hispanic, judging from the signs on the storefronts and the people on the streets. She turned into the driveway of a small, neat house, got out of her car and ran inside.

Reese noted the address. “Soledad has run home to Mama,” he said aloud to himself.

ED EAGLE LANDED at Santa Monica Airport, picked up a rental car and drove with Susannah to her Century City apartment. Eagle called Don Wells at Centurion Studios.

“Ed? How are you?”

“Very well, thank you, Don. May we have lunch today?”

“Sure, why don’t you come out to Centurion, and we’ll go to the studio commissary.”

“All right.”

Wells gave him directions, and Eagle hung up.

“How long are we going to be here?” Susannah asked.

“One night, maybe two,” Eagle replied.

Susannah went to a wall safe behind a picture, opened it and held up a small semiautomatic pistol. “This goes into my purse,” she said.

“Good.”

EAGLE WAS GIVEN a studio pass at the front gate and directed to the commissary. Don Wells was waiting at a table inside. He stood up and waved.

Eagle made his way across the crowded dining room to Well’s corner table and sat down.

“Drink?” Wells asked.

“No, thanks, just some iced tea,” Eagle replied, accepting a menu from a waitress. They ordered lunch.

“So, anything happening with the Santa Fe D.A.?” Wells asked.

“Do they have any leads on the killer or killers?”

“They seem to be concentrating on you,” Eagle said.

“You mean Jack Cato?”

“You know about that?”

“He told me he and Grif Edwards had a visit from a Santa Fe detective.”

“Does that concern you?”

“Why should it?”

“It seems clear that the Santa Fe police are theorizing that you hired Cato and Edwards to kill your wife and son.”

“Listen to me, Ed…”

Eagle held up a hand to stop him. “Before you say anything else, let me explain something, Don. Hypothetically speaking, if a client tells his lawyer that he’s guilty of a crime, then when he is tried for it, the lawyer can’t put him on the stand.”

“Why not?”

“Because if the client, having told the lawyer he’s guilty, claims innocence on the stand, then the lawyer is suborning perjury, since he knows his client is lying. Do you understand?”

“Yes, and don’t worry; I’m not going to tell you I’m guilty.”

“Good. What is your relationship with Cato and Edwards?”

“Not much of one. They’ve both worked on a number of my pictures as stuntmen or extras, and they’re part of a group that plays poker at my office once a week when I’m in town.”

“Do you think that these two men are the sorts who would hire out to commit murder?”

“Beats me,” Wells said. “All I know about them is that Cato is hard to read at the poker table, and Edwards scratches his head when he draws good cards. Anything beyond that would be news to me.”

“Ever heard any rumors about either of them?”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Rumors about their hiring out for murder.”

“Nope. Stuntmen are a funny breed, though: a lot of swagger and big talk. It wouldn’t surprise me if one of them bragged about something like that, whether he did it or not.”

“From what you know of them, do you think they might become loose cannons if put under pressure by the police?”

“I honestly don’t know, Ed. My impression of Cato is that he’s the sort who’s steady under pressure; I’ve seen that in his stunt work. Edwards? Who knows?”

“Don, at the very least, the police investigation of these two men means that they are taking you very seriously as a suspect. Have you ever given either of these men sums of cash?”

“Yeah, after a poker game, but I think I’ve won it back.”

“You’ve said that you keep cash and Krugerrands in your Malibu safe, just as you did in Santa Fe. Is that money still there?”

“Yes, of course.”

“See that it doesn’t disappear. You may have to open that safe for the police, before this is over.”

“I get it,” Wells said.

Eagle hoped he did.

BARBARA WAS SOAKING in a hot tub when Jimmy knocked on the bathroom door.

“Come in,” she called.

Jimmy let himself into the bathroom. “There’s what looks like an unmarked police car parked near the end of the driveway,” he said.

“What kind of car?”

“A green Ford, I think.”

Barbara stood up, allowing soapy water to cascade down her still beautiful, naked body. “Well,” she said, “I think I’ll take them shopping.”

JACK CATO WAITED until the mailman arrived before leaving for work. He took the mail inside; among the overdue bills was a manila envelope. It bore no return address. He opened it and shook out the contents, a Ziploc bag containing two stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills. He stuffed the money into his jacket pocket, then got into his truck and drove to work. On the way, he stopped at a drugstore that took payments for the electric, gas and telephone companies and paid his bills in cash. He was now up-to-date on all his bills, and he intended to stay that way.

Once at the studio stables he found a pry bar and left the barn through a rear door. He looked around for spectators, and, seeing none, he opened the door of a prop outhouse, pried up some of the floorboards and, with his hands, scraped the loose dirt away, revealing a safe set in a concrete pad. He opened the safe and dropped the money into it, retaining enough for his day-to-day expenses. He closed the safe, raked the dirt back over it and hammered down the floorboards with the pry bar.

Soon he would have another fifty thousand dollars to add to his stash, and he had only ten days to accomplish his task. He had no doubt that this woman would make good on her threat to kill him if he didn’t fulfill his mission on time. He had no idea who she was, so she could walk up behind him anywhere and put a bullet in his head. He began planning his work for the coming weekend.

He called Tina López at work, on her cell phone. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself.”

“You up for a trip to Tijuana this weekend?”

“Listen, Jack, we had a cop from Santa Fe come see us yesterday. Soledad went nuts and went home to her mother’s house. She’s scared shitless, and she might crack if she’s pressed anymore.”

“That’s not good, sweetheart,” he said. “You need to talk to her and tell her to get a grip. The story will hold, if she doesn’t crack.”

“I’ll do the best I can. That’s all I can promise. What the hell are you doing that I have to cover your ass again?”

“You don’t want to know, Tina. Don’t ever ask me that again.”

“Look, we’ve got what we want. If you keep doing stuff, you’re going to blow the lid off this thing, and we’ll all go down.”

“This is my last weekend’s work,” Cato said. “Just get your ass down to Tijuana on Friday, and don’t come back until late Sunday night. There’s five grand in it for you.”

“You think I need five grand? I’m going to have more money than you could believe!”

“Yeah, but you don’t have it yet, and you’ve got rent and car payments to make, right? Five grand should tide you over until it can come through.”

She fumed for a moment. “All right, but this is the last time, you hear me?”

“I hear you. I’ll give you your money on Monday.”