Santa Fe Dead Read online

  “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 thousand 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.

  “I don’t need to lie down,” she protested.

  “Yes, you do, and the detectives want to question me alone.”

  “Oh, all right.” She stretched out on the bed, and Eagle went back into the living room and sat down. The detectives questioned him closely. Shortly, the crime scene investigator walked over.

  “Lieutenant, you want my preliminary report?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Cause of death, gunshot wound to the heart; time of death, approximately half an hour ago. We have the weapon, a.45-caliber, semiautomatic pistol.” He held up a plastic bag containing Eagle’s gun. “One shot fired, range three to four feet. A.38 revolver was on the floor beside the decedent in a position consistent with it being in his hand when he was shot. I’ll need to examine the woman’s hands for gunshot residue.”

  Eagle went into the bedroom and got Susannah, explaining what was to be done. She sat at the dining room table with the investigator. When he was done, she got up and went back into the bedroom.

  Rivera held up the gun. “Mr. Eagle, you said this is yours?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Do you live in this apartment with Ms. Wilde?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a license for this weapon in Los Angeles?”

  Eagle produced his carry license.

  “Where do you reside?”

  “In Santa Fe, New Mexico.” Eagle gave them the address.

  “How did you obtain this license?”

  “I filled out an application and sent it to Chief Sams.”

  “I see you’ve had it for some years,” Rivera said, checking the date on the license, then returning it to Eagle. “It’s an interesting gun,” he said. “Tell me about it.”

  “It was made by a gunsmith named Terry Tussey, who lives and works in High City, Nevada. One of his specialties is making small, lightweight.45s.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ve seen photographs of his work. How much does it weigh?”

  “Twenty-one ounces, empty. I would be grateful if you would return it to me as soon as your investigation will allow; it’s an expensive weapon, and I don’t want to lose it.”

  “I’ll see that you get it back as soon as it’s released.” Rivera handed the gun to Riley. “All right, Mr. Eagle. Our preliminary investigative conclusion is that this was a legal shooting, so we won’t be arresting Ms. Wilde, unless evidence to the contrary emerges.”

  “Thank you. I should tell you that Ms. Wilde and I plan to fly to Santa Fe tomorrow, where we both have residences.” He handed Rivera his card. “You are welcome to speak with her by telephone, through me. If you require her presence in Los Angeles, I’ll bring her back within twenty-four hours of the request. In the meantime, anything you can legally do to keep her name out of the press would be very much appreciated.”

  “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can. Mr. Eagle, do you always travel armed?”

  “I always have a weapon in my luggage, and sometimes I wear it. I fly my own airplane, so I don’t have to deal with airport security.”

  “Did you have some particula
r reason to be wearing it on this trip?”

  “Yes, I think my ex-wife wants to kill me.”

  “I read about the trial,” Rivera said. “It seems that, between you and Ms. Wilde, you have an abundance of murderous ex-spouses.”

  “An overabundance,” Eagle said, “until today.”

  The body was removed, and Eagle saw the two detectives out. The bloodstain on the carpet was the only evidence of what had occurred.

  Eagle went into the bedroom to check on Susannah. She was lying on the bed, sound asleep.

  5

  BARBARA EAGLE/ELEANOR WRIGHT regarded her new auburn-colored, artfully streaked hairdo in the salon mirror and nodded. Even if she was no longer wanted by the police, she thought it a good idea to have a different look. Half the country had watched her trial on Court TV and the evening news, and she had no wish to be recognized. It was time to learn whether she would be.

  She left the salon, went into the very chic El Rancho shop and tried on bikinis, selecting two, along with some suntan lotion. Her new, slimmer figure was shown to great advantage by the tiny swimsuits. She went back to her suite, got into a bikini, grabbed a robe and headed for the pool. It was nearly lunchtime, and she was getting hungry.

  She selected a chaise at poolside, and a waitress materialized a second or two later. “May I bring you something, Mrs. Wright, or would you prefer to choose from our low-fat buffet?” she asked, indicating the setup at the end of the pool.

  “Thank you,” Barbara replied. “I’d like a turkey club sandwich on rye toast with real, honest-to-God bacon and mayonnaise and a Bloody Mary.”

  “Of course, ma’am, but I’m afraid it will be a virgin Mary, since we don’t serve alcohol.”

  “All right, all right,” she said, and the young woman vanished.

  There were some magazines on the table next to her chaise, and she had begun leafing through a Vanity Fair when she saw a man come from the direction of the rooms and drop his robe on a chaise two down from hers. He appeared to be in his late forties, but his hair was almost entirely gray; he was tanned and fit-looking, with a flat belly and well-developed musculature.

  Barbara pointed her eyes at the magazine and used her peripheral vision. The man walked past her to the diving board, stretched a little, then performed a perfectly executed dive into the pool. He surfaced and began swimming laps, moving easily and gracefully through the water.