Santa Fe Edge (4 page)

“We have to stop somewhere on the way to L.A. What’s an out-of-the-way airport?”

Jimmy shrugged. “How about Yuma?” he said to Barbara.

“Perfect. Tell him to file for there, then he can drop me and take you back to Santa Monica.”

Jimmy passed on the request and hung up. “Bart’s good with that,” he said.

“How well do you know him?”

“Very well. He’s worked on nearly all of my films as a stunt pilot, and ferrying around cast and crew. He can do just about anything, and I put money in his pocket all the time.”

“Good, then he won’t ask too many questions about me.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Tell him I live in Yuma, and my husband doesn’t know I’ve been in Mexico.”

“Okay.”

“Does he fly to Mexico a lot?”

“All the time.”

“Good. You can give him Alvarez’s pesos.”

The following morning they drove to the Acapulco Airport and onto the ramp, stopping next to the Beech Baron and depositing their luggage with Bart, who seemed to think nothing of taking on an unexpected passenger and dropping her in Yuma.

They took off and climbed to twelve thousand feet, and headed northeast. Barbara opened her suitcase and went through all her ID—credit cards, driver’s license and passport, all genuine, all in the name of Eleanor Keeler. Her last husband had been Walter Keeler, who had died in a car crash. She had been left a tightly controlled legacy and suspected Walter’s lawyer of having screwed her out of anything more. He had, no doubt, cut off payments when she had been convicted in Mexico, but she still had a fund of several hundred thousand dollars in a San Francisco bank. It would take some doing, but she would get her hands on that.

The airplane landed at Yuma later in the day, and Barbara handed the pilot her passport. “For some reason, they didn’t give me an entry stamp when I crossed the border,” she said.

“When did you cross?”

“Three days ago. I flew private into Acapulco.”

“It’ll probably be okay,” he said.

She and Jimmy waited next to the airplane. She was nervous, and she looked for a way out of the airport. There was a midsized jet parked next to them with the engines running. Maybe she could hide in the toilet.

Their pilot came walking across the tarmac with a uniformed customs official, scaring her half to death, but the official wanted only to inspect the airplane, which took no more than two minutes, then he left.

“We’re cleared,” the pilot said, returning her passport. “It was no sweat about your entry stamp, and you’re stamped into the U.S. now.” He got her bag out of the airplane for her.

She put an arm around Jimmy’s neck and kissed him. “I’ll be in touch, baby. You just go back to L.A. and live your life. You know nothing about me.”

“Gotcha, kiddo,” he said, climbing back into the airplane.

BARBARASPENT THE NIGHT in an airport motel, then, the following morning, rented a car and drove to Phoenix, ending up in Scottsdale at the Mondrian, a fashionable hotel full of beautiful people.

She had a new life to invent now, and a long shopping list of a car, an untraceable cell phone, clothes and luggage. She started with a day at the hotel spa, including a recoloring and cut of her hair.

That night, snuggling in bed with a business executive she had met at the bar, Barbara thought of Ed Eagle. He was still out there, in Santa Fe, waiting for her.

She wouldn’t disappoint him.

5

E
d Eagle stopped by the D.A.’s office and asked to see him.

Roberto Martínez rose as Eagle entered, then shook his hand, waving him to a chair. “I’ve been expecting you, Ed.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you, Bob,” Eagle replied with an easy smile.

“You ready for arraignment?”

“Oh, I don’t think we need to go that far, Bob.”

“ ‘That far’?”

“I think we should just settle this here, and get it over with.”

“Ed, are you already looking to plea-bargain? That makes me feel even better about our case.”

“Bob, I expect you haven’t had time to go over the case file,” Eagle said, starting to get up.

“Wait a minute,” Martínez said, waving him back to his chair. “I’ve had a look at the summary. It’s a good case.”

“Bob, Tip Hanks can account for every minute of his time between the hours of four A.M. and when he called nine-one-one. He was in Dallas, he couldn’t sleep, so he decided to get up and return home early. His wife wasn’t expecting him until noon.”

“So, he killed her earlier than planned,” Martínez said, leaning his chair way back and putting his feet on the desk.

“No, Bob, whoever she was in bed with shot her, and before Tip’s car pulled up to the house, because Tip never heard the shot. The killer heard Tip’s car door slam and beat it out of the bedroom door opening to the terrace, then ran down the hill to the dirt road where he’d parked his car. Tip heard him leave, and when he looked out the back door he saw dust, but the car was already around the bend and out of sight. If you can get the investigating officers to put down their comic books long enough, they might be able to get some footprints and tire tracks before it rains or the wind blows them away.”

“You want me to dismiss the charges on nothing more than that story?”

“Both sides of the bed had been slept in, but she was on the left side of the bed, where Tip slept. Somebody had moved her there while he was screwing her. I expect her ex-husband will testify to that sleeping habit of hers.”

“What else?”

“We don’t need anything else. You’re postulating that Tip walked into his house, went to the bedroom, took his gun out of the bedside table and shot his wife in the head, then called nine-one-one. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It didn’t have to happen that way,” Martínez said.

“The staff at the FBO at the airport will testify to Tip’s arrival time. They log in every aircraft that lands, and his was probably the first of the day. Drive the route from the FBO to his house and walk in. You’ll see there was no time for him to make love to her and have an argument before killing her. I think it likely that the medical examiner is going to discover somebody else’s DNA inside her.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Even if the killer used a condom and left no trace, the M.E. will say that she had sex with somebody, and Tip’s DNA won’t be inside her.”

“Maybe he used a condom.”

“He knew she was on the pill. There was no need for him to do that.” Eagle was making this up, but he could see Martínez begin to show signs of folding.

Martínez put his feet back on the floor and leaned over his desk. “What evidence do you have that she was having an affair?”

“She has a history, Bob. Tip was screwing her while she was still married to her last husband. I expect that if I send an investigator to Dallas to talk to other members of the tour and their wives and girlfriends, we’ll find that she had a reputation among the camp followers. This is an old story, Bob, and it will embarrass everybody concerned when the news desks pick it up from the sports pages. You really want to stir that up?”

“Maybe they’ve been fighting. Maybe we’ll turn that up among their friends.”

“So what? Every couple fights, but they rarely murder each other. Now, do you really want to arraign him? If you do, then I’ll get him released on his own recognizance and he’ll go back to playing golf for a living, and the whole thing will drag on for weeks before I get a dismissal. Do the right thing, here, Bob.”

Martínez opened a file on his desk and made a show of reading it, while Eagle sat mute, occasionally crossing and recrossing his legs just to let him know he was still there.

“All right, I’ll drop the charges for now,” Martínez said, “but if we turn up anything else—anything at all—I’ll have him rearrested.”

“That’s fair, Bob. Now, will you please fax over a release order to the jail, so I can drive the boy home? He’s got some grieving to do.”

Martínez buzzed his secretary. “Type up a release order for one Terrence Hanks,” he said. “I’ll sign it, and you can fax it to the jail.”

Eagle stood up and offered his hand. “Thank you, Bob,” he said. “You won’t regret doing that.”

Eagle left the office, got into his car and drove back to the jail, phoning ahead to let them know he was coming and to have his client processed out. He had only a few minutes to wait before Tip Hanks appeared, taking his belongings out of an envelope and stuffing them into his pockets.

“Is it time for the arraignment?” he asked as he shook Eagle’s hand.

“You’re not going to be arraigned,” Eagle said. “I persuaded the D.A. to drop the charges.”

Hanks looked at him incredulously. “How did you do that?”

“He hadn’t even read the case file thoroughly,” Eagle replied, leading him out the front door. “Once he did, he reconsidered, after I had pointed out how weak his case was.”

They got into the car, and Eagle turned toward Las Campanas. “By the way,” he said, “I told him that your wife was on the pill; I hope that’s true.”

“It is,” Hanks replied.

“Here’s my theory of the case: Your wife was having an affair, and she didn’t expect you home before noon today. Her lover had already shot her, for reasons of his own, when you pulled up, and he ran. Maybe they’ll find DNA, maybe not. He could have used a condom. But they won’t find your DNA in her, right?”

“Right,” Hanks said.

“You’re wondering who she was having the affair with?”

“Yes.”

“Any ideas?”

“Could have been anybody,” Hanks replied. “She liked sex more than any woman I ever met, and she wanted it regularly. Normally, she’d have been in Dallas with me, but she’s missed a couple of tournaments lately, saying she wasn’t feeling well enough to go. She was a terrible hypochondriac.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Eagle said.

“What are the chances that they’ll catch the guy?” Hanks asked.

“Fifty-fifty, I’d say. A lot better if there’s DNA.”

Hanks put his head back against the headrest and sighed. “She didn’t deserve this,” he said.

“Are you scheduled to play next weekend?”

“No, I passed on the next one. The week after, though.”

“That’s time enough to get your head together,” Eagle said. “Go out and practice as you usually do; look sad, don’t laugh at anybody’s jokes; keep any conversations about her to an absolute minimum. People are going to be watching your reactions. Same thing when you rejoin the tour.” He followed directions to Hanks’s front door, and the young man got out.

“I’ll send you a check. What do I owe you?” he asked.

“I get ten grand for getting out of bed,” Eagle said. “I’ll send you a bill.”

“Fair enough.”

“If the evidence doesn’t go your way and Martínez has you rearrested, I’ll apply it to my retainer.” Eagle reached into his glove compartment and found a card. “This is the number of a service that cleans up crime scenes,” he said. “Don’t call them until the police let you know they’ve released the scene. Take care.”

Eagle drove away, thinking he’d done a good day’s work.

6

B
arbara spent a day shopping in Phoenix and Scottsdale, and found a used, low-mileage Mercedes station wagon within her budget. By the time she had finished shopping she still had twenty thousand dollars of Alvarez’s money in her new purse. She employed her old, legal identity as Eleanor Keeler, which would be all right as long as Warden Alvarez didn’t report her escape.

She found a branch of her San Francisco bank and arranged a wire transfer of cash from her account, and they issued her a new checkbook. None of her credit cards had expired.

After a room-service dinner and a movie in her room she called Canyon Ranch, in Tucson, a top-notch spa resort, and booked herself into a suite for a week. Then the following morning she drove there and checked in.

It was a beautiful place, and her little cottage was near the dining room and classrooms. She didn’t need to lose any weight, but she took the opportunity to tone up and pamper herself with facials and massages.

A couple of days after she checked in, as she sat down for dinner in the crowded dining room, an attractive couple asked if they could join her.

“We’re Hugh and Charlene Holroyd,” the man said, and she shook both their hands. “Eleanor Keeler,” Barbara replied. She had no qualms about using the name, because, according to Jimmy, the AP reports of her arrest and trial in Mexico had used the name Barbara Eagle.

Everyone got on together immediately, and they hadn’t been sitting at her table more than five minutes before Barbara knew what they had in mind, which was fine with her, because she hadn’t had enough voluntary sex for nearly three months, and she missed it.

After dinner they invited her back to their cottage, which was larger than hers, and everybody had a drink. Fifteen minutes later the three of them were in bed together.

Later, when they had exhausted themselves, Hugh asked, “Where do you hail from, Eleanor?”

“San Francisco,” Barbara replied, “but I’m thinking of making a change. How about you two?”

“We have a ranch near Los Alamos, in New Mexico,” Hugh said. “You should come for a visit. It’s nice around there.”

“What a kind invitation,” Barbara said, kissing Charlene again. “I just might take you up on it.”

“You girls play,” Hugh said. “I’ll just watch, until I, ah, catch my breath.”

TIP HANKS SHOWED the cleaners out of the house. They had made his bedroom as new and replaced the bedding and mattress. He was all right, really, except that he was still angry with his wife, and he was glad for the cleaners to take away garbage bags full of her clothes and other belongings. Now there was nothing left of her in the house, and he wanted it that way. He’d kept her jewelry, which was locked in the safe.

The phone rang, and he answered. It was his caddie, Mike Pat-rick. “Hey buddy,” Tip said.

“I heard about it on TV,” Mike said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m getting past it,” Tip replied. “I’m going to start practicing again tomorrow.”