SANTA FE RULES [142-2.5]

By: STUART WOODS

Synopsis:

RAVES FOR SANTA FE RULES

"A whirlwind story with a plot that twists more than Chubby Checker.
Even the veteran mystery reader will be dazzled .... Santa Fe Rules is
a delight."--L.A. Life

"Long on heart-stopping suspense .... The plot has mote twists than the
Grand Canyon."--Palm Beach Post

"Slam-bang action... Woods weaves an intricate web of intrigue and
deceit in this his ninth mystery novel."  --Bookpage

"With its mysterious homicide, spunky characters.."  and steamy
sexuality, Santa Fe Rules is thoroughly entertaining."  -- Santa Fe New
Mexican

"Distinctly readable--told with speed and glamorous flourishes."  ,
--Chicago Tribune "Guaranteed to keep you guessing."--Detroit Free
Press

"Whether you ar a mystery fan or not, this book will keep you reading
until you've finished--no matter the hour.."  it undoubtedly is headed
for the top rung of the bestseller lists."  --Richmond-Times Dispatch

"Santa Fe Rules is a 'mystery fan's guilty pleasure.."  you just keep
turning the page."--BladeCitizen'Preview

"The writing is slick.."  impossible to stop reading."  --Boston Sunday
Herald

"Santa Fe Rules Could be the basis of a sizzling movie script.  Woods
takes you through a wonderful, dark maze of dicey characters and
subplots.."  a must read for thriller fans."  --Plain Dealer

"Santa Fe Rules... is confident, often quite funny, and works very
effectively."--Boston Globe

"A breakneck pace and a tight plot with several good twists, including
a truly magical one close to the end."--Booklist


Harper Paperbacks

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BOOKS BY STUART WOODS

Fiction Swimming to Catalina* Dead in the Water* Dirt* Choke* Imperfect
Strangers* Heat* Dead Eyes* L.A. Times* Santa Fe Rules* New York Dead*
Palindrome* Grass Roots White Cargo Under the Lake Deep Lie* Run Before
the Wind Chiefs

Travel A Romantic's Guide to the Country Inns of Britain.and Ireland

Memoir Blue Water, Green Skipper

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STUART

WOODS

ANTA FE RULE

Harper Paperbacks A Division of HarlxrCollins/tdd

This book contains an excerpt from the upcoming hardcover edition of
L.A. Times by Stuart Woods.  This excerpt has been set for this edition
only and may not reflect the final content of the hardcover edition.

If yol purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that
this book is stolen property.  It was reported as "unsOld and
destroyed' to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher
has received any payment for this tripped book."

This is a work of fiction.  The characters, incidents, and dialogues
are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as
real.  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

Harper Paperbacks A Division of HarperCollins Publish

10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022

CopYright 1992 by Stuart Woods

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in
any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles
and reviews.  For information address HarperCollinslublishers,

10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022.

A hardcover edition of this book was published in 1992

by HarperCollins Publish

Cover illustration by Jim Warren

Cover photography by Herman Estevez

First Harper Paperbacks printing: June 1993

Printed in the United States of America

Harper Paperbacks and colophon are trademarks of HarperCollins
Publish

20191817 16 15 14 13 12

This book is for Chris Connor

CHAPTER

W lett remembered too late that Flaps had always had a cold nose.  Now
it found the back of his neck, and with a girlish shriek, Wolf sat bolt
upright in bed and regarded her with bleary eyes.  There was only a
faint glow of daylight from outside.  Got me again, didn't you?"  he
said to her.  Flaps grinned.  This grin had always been one of her
great charms, and it did not fail to do its work now.  Wolf melted. 
"Time to get up, huh?"  Flaps laid her head in his lap and grinned
again, looking up at him with big brown eyes.  "Right now?"  he asked,
teasing her. Right now, she replied, thumping her tail agast the bed
for emphasis. "All right, all right."  He moaned and swung his legs
over the side of the bed.  Flaps celebrated her triumph with a little
golden retriever

STUART WOODS

dance, throwing in a couple of squeals of happiness.

"Okay," Wolf said, standing up, "but me first."  He headed for the
bathroom, but somehow one leg seemed shorter than the other; he missed
the bathroom door and bumped into the wall.  '%Vhoof," he said to
Flaps.  "What did I have to drink last night?"  He shook his head and
stretched his eyes wide open, but the dizziness, not an unpleasant
sensation, remained.  He groped his way into the bathroom, using the
walls for support, and peed, holding on to the toilet with one hand.

Flaps rewarded him with a little kiss on the ass.

"Jesus!"  he screamed, jumping away and grabbing the.  sink for
support. "You really know how to wake a guy up, don't you?"

Flaps grinned and did her little dance.

"Just a minute, all right?"  He splashed some water on his face,
brushed his teeth too quickly, and tossed down a couple of vitamin C's
with a glass of very cold water from the tap.  He grabbed a bathrobe
from the hook on the door and headed back to the bedroom in search of
slippers.  He was navigating better now, but as he proceeded out of the
bedroom and across the living room' he found himself moving slightly
sideways, crablike, in order to maintain his course.  Light was
creeping across the valley below the house, across the suburbs of Santa
Fe, but the interior of the house was still dimly lit, and in the
kitchen he turned on the lights, squinting against the glare.

Flaps waited impatiently for him to get coffee started, then watched,
rapt, as he poured her a dish of dry dog food.  She ate daintily, as
befitted her gender, while he got an English muffin into the toaster
and rounded up butter and jam.  He drank directly from a plastic
container of fresh orange juice and returned it to the refrigerator,
sighing as the sweet juice made its way down.

"Want to go out now?  he asked her.  To his surprise, she trotted
across the room and scratched on the door that led to the guest wing of
the

"That's not the back door, dummy," he railed at her, shaking his head.
"It's this way, remember?  The way out every day of your life?"  She
scratched on the guest wing door again.  Wolf kept that part of the
house closed and unheated (until a guest arrived.  "I think you must be
as hung over as I am this morning."  He slapped his thigh and whistled
softly.  :. Reluctantly, Flaps followed him to the outside kitchen door
and, when he opened it, bounded outside.::.  Wolf left her to roam the
hillside, sniffing for coyote i:.  markings among thepifionsand
returned to his breakfast.  He ate slowly and with a nearly blank mind.
He did not think of the night before, did sot try to remember what he
drank, did not think of anything much until he remembered that he had
to go to Los Angeles this morning.  He looked at the clock on the
microwave: just after seven.  He ' calculated the time to the airport,
time for the trip, time for the ride to the office. He'd be in L.A. by
eleven; time for a sandwich at his desk before his meeting at two.  It
was Tuesday; he'd get six or seven hours of work in with the editor
today and a full day tomorrow, then on Thursday he and Julia would have
Thanksgiving dinner with their friends the Carmichaels.  Flaps, her
ablutions completed and her survey of the property concluded, scratched
on the back door.  He let her in, and she went straight to her
cedar-shavings bed and settled in for her morning nap; she was as much
a creature of habit as he.  Wolf shaved in the shower, using the
mist-free mirror, ;

then toweled himself dry and used the hair blower on his thick, graying
hair.  He still felt a light buzz, felt oddly free of worry; they were
approaching completion of the new film, and he was usually nervous as
hell at this point in a production, but today he couldn't think of
anything to worry about.  He was on automatic pilot as he dressed,
doing the things he did every day.  He slipped into freshly starched
jeans and into the soft elks king cowboy boots that added an inch and a
half to his five-foot-nine-inch frame.  He was the same height as Paul
Newman, he told himself automatically, as he did every morning of his
life, and, he reminded himself, the same age as Robert Redford.  He
wondered for a moment whether he would rather be the same height as
Redford and the same age as Newman.  It was a close call.  *

He slipped into a silk shirt and a cashmere sweater and, on his way
back to the kitchen, retrieved a sheepskin coat from the hall closet.
It would be a chilly morning, but he would shed both the outer garments
before arriving in L.A. He took along a light blazer for the city.

As he came back into the kitchen Flaps hopped out of her bed and went
again to scratch on the guest wing door.

"What could you possibly want in there?"  he demanded, and got a grin
for an answer.  "Listen, you," he said, shaking a finger at her, "I'm
leaving Maria a note telling her you've already been fed, so don't try
and get another breakfast out of her, you hear?"

Flaps looked suitably guilty, but she knew very well she'd be fed again
by the housekeeper, who melted at the sight of her.

"Be good," he called out to her as he left by the kitchen door, "and
don't eat the mailman."  If an intruder ever actu got into the house,
Wolf knew her plan would be to him to death.

He opened the garage door, tossed the blazer onto the iiilassenger seat
of the Porsche Cabriolet, then eased into the ear.  It was like
climbing into a deep freeze.  He started i'!: the engine, and as he let
it warm up, he thought of going 'baCk into the house and seeing what
the dog wanted in the guest wing; it was unusual for her to display an
interest in ') 'that part of the house when there were no guests on
board.  Oh, the hell with it, he thought.  He backed out and started ,i
down the driveway, taking it slowly, since there was still 'mOw there
from the last bit of weather they'd had.  The 'i four-wheel drive of
the car kept it nicely in the ruts of the i: driveway, and the main
road out of Wilderness Gate had ?  been plowed days before.  He lssed
through the gate of i the subdivision and headed down into the town.

, There was little traffic at this hour of the morning, and Santa Fe
looked beautiful with the low sunlight on the adobe houses and shops.
Everything was adobe in Santa Fe---or, at least, stucco painted to look
like adobe--and it reminded him a little of an English vlage in which
all the houses were built of the same stone.  The common building
material gave the little city a certain visual harmony.

Wolf always felt grateful that he had chosen Santa Fe as a second home
instead of Aspen or one of the other movie-colony favorites.  It was
harder to get to from L.A.; but that kept out the riffraff, and anyway,
he had his own airplane to get him there and back faster than the
airlines could.  Never mind that Julia didn't like the single-engine
airplane and usually insisted on taking the airlines, when she couldn't
hop a ride on somebody's jet; he liked flying alone.  Today he would
think about L.A. Days, the latest Wolf Willett production, written and
directed, as usual, by

Jack Tinney.  The film wasn't right yet, and, since shooting had ended
and the sets had been struck, it was going to have to be fixed in the
editing, as it nearly always was with Jack's films.  As he drove, he
used the car's telephone to get a weather forecast from FAA.  Flight
Services and to file an instrument flight plan from Santa Fe to Santa
Monica Airport.  He always flew on instrument flight plans, even in
clear weather; it was like being led by the hand, especially when
arriving in L.A. airspace, which was always smoggy and crowded.  Santa
Fe airport was virtually deserted at this hour of the morning.  He
drove along the ramp to his T-hangar, opened it, parked the Porsche
behind the airplane, and pulled the airplane out of the hangar with a
tow bar, then locked up.  Normally, during business hours, he would
simply call ahead and Capitol Aviation, the F.B.O. (fixed base
operator--a name left over from flying's barnstorming days), would
bring up the airplane for him, but today he was too early for them.
Anyway, he liked the idea of the Porsche being locked in the hangar
instead of being left in the airport parking lot for days on end.  The
airplane was a Beechcraft Bonanza B-36TC--a six-passenger,
single-engine retractable with a 300horsepower turbocharged engine.
He'd owned it for three years and had nearly six hundred hours as pilot
in command.  It would do two hundred knots at twenty-five thousand
feet, and Wolf wore the aircraft like a glove.  He gave it a quick but
thorough preflight inspection, checked the fuel for water or dirt, then
climbed aboard and started the engine, workiig his way through a
printed checklist.  Noting the wind direction, he taxied to runway 33,
then did a run-up, checking the operation of the magnetos.  He checked
the for other aircraft that might be landing and, finding announced his
intentions over the Common Traffic Frequency.  He lined up on the
runway, did a check of everything, then took off, turning west when
reached five hundred feet.

Once airborne, he called Albuquerque Center on the received his
clearance.  He was cleared as filed--Grand Canyon, direct Santa Monica,
though he approached L.A. airspace, they'd vector all over the place in
order to sequence traffic for Santa onica and keep it clear of LAX--Los
Angeles big, busy airport just next to Santa He tuned Grand Canyon
Airport into the Loran set the required course, and relaxed.  Then he
mbered that he'd forgotten to 'lJiek up a New York from a machine on
the way, and he had nothing to aboard.  the airplane reached its
assigned altitude of :)aelve thousand feet and was automatically
leveled off by ii its autopilot, he leaned the fuel mixture, ran
through the checklist, then relaxed, forgetting his resolution to
i?qoncentrate on L.A. Days.  Instead he switched on the CD player and
punched in a Harry Con niCk Jr."  album.  He injoyed the singer piano
player; the young man played the music he'd always liked best--the pre
rock musical theater ambers that Wolf felt were the best American music
ever written--none of the lectronic noise that passed for music these
days.  He hummed along with "It Had to Be You" and let his mind drift. 
He was still curiously unable--or unwilling--to recall the past
evening.

The song reminded him of his childhood; it was one of the first things
his mother had taught him to play on the piano.  He had been born in
the small Georgia town of

Delano, to a music-mad piano teacher and a soldier from nearby Fort
Benning.  She had named him after her favorite composer: his birth
certificate read Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Willett, a name which would
subject him to years of the torture of schoolmates and the amusement of
others.  This began to abate when he captained the high school tennis
team, and because he hit the ball so hard for a smallish fellow, he
earned the nickname Wham, which was almost his initials.  His mother
called him Wolfie (Wolfgang when she was angry with him), but when he
entered the university, he was able to shorten it to Wolf, and that had
stuck through law school and military service.  He'd received a Naval
ROTC.  commission and been sent to flight School, where he'd earned his
wings.  Then he'd stupidly allowed himself to be hit hard in the left
eye with a tennis ball during a base championship match, and the
resulting injury had washed him out of flying before he'd ever had a
chance to land an aircraft on a carrier.  A contact lens in that eye
corrected his vision, but that wasn't good enough for Navy flying. 
He'd been transferred to administrative duties, and his first job, for
which he had been totally unqualified, was to make a film about carrier
operations for his unit.  This allowed him to stay with his flight
school class as they trained in the Pacific, and it had introduced him
to the only man aboard the ship who knew how to operate a movie camera,
one Jackson Tinney, a skinny, Tennessee-born good of' boy who was,
unaccountably, a wizard with a 16mm Arriflex.  Together, the young
ensign and the even younger able seaman had put together a cinema ver
it account of life aboard an aircraft carrier that was still shown to
Navy it had been put into general release and had won an ' Award
nomination for best short subject.  "When the documentary had been
completed, Jack had transferred to a shoreside film unit and Wolf to
other duties aboard ship.  It would be years before saw each other
again.  After being discharged from the Navy, Wolf, who had to love
California while briefly stationed in San traveled to L.A. and began
looking for a job in a law while studying for the state's bar
examination.  No law firm displayed much interest in a University of
School graduate who had not risen to the top class, but Wolf had been
invited by an old Navy play tennis at a Jewish country club, and there
he met and begun playing twice a week Owith a top agent senior vice
president of the William Morris Agency.  he had a job as a legal
assistant at the, agency and, he had passed the bar exam, was promoted
to staff

Some years later, after Wolf had risen to head the Morris legal
department, Able Seaman J.ck Tinney in his office with four cans of
film under his and studio space, he had shot a of his own, and when
Wolf had run it in the William screening room he had thought it rough,
but the fun-thing he'd seen in years.!  Wolf had rented a cutting room,
and together the twoioim had gotten it into shape.  Wolf played jazz
piano, and I '" and some musician friends, with whom he jammed once
week at a Santa Monica bar, had recorded a sound track, ?  after months
of work they had found themselves with a mpleted feature film. i'Wolf
had then taken the biggest risk of his life.  He went to his patron,
the senior vice president, and resigned from his job; then he hired the
man as his and Jack's agent and dragged him down to the screening room
to see Rough Water, as they had named the film.  Their new agent had
loved it.  Within a week, they had nailed down a distribution deal at
Centurion, one of the big studios, and within a year, Wolf and Jack had
each earned better than half a million dollars. The film was still
making money on late-night television and video rentals.

Twenty-five years and eighteen films later, Wolf Willett and Jack
Tinney were still in business together.  Jack wrote and directed the
movies, and Wolf, their agent having died fifteen years before,
produced, negotiated contracts, and oversaw every aspect of production.
They had an in-house production deal with Centurion, and Jack had long
been established as the Woody Allen of the West Coast.  His films never
lost money and usually did quite well, though they had never been
blockbusters--not so far, anyway.  They were shot on tight budgets,
with big-name stars who were happy to play pas for small money just to
get into a Tinney film.

All this had earned Wolf a house in Bel Air, another Santa Fe, a nice
little airplane, and the assorted cars, boats, pools, and tennis courts
that went with a seven-figure income.  He earned, in fact, even more
than he spent, and he had even managed to put away something for his
old age, which wasn't as far away as it used to be.

Wolf was brought abruptly back to the present by a red light on the
instrument panel before him.  Red lights were not good.  This one said
LOW VOLTAge.  He started looking at gauges.  Alternator failure. He
switched on the backup generator.  Nothing happened.  Backup generator
failure.  He started turning off electrical gear and consulted

He'd never make it to L.A. on battery power, and he didn't want to fly
in L.A. airspace without radios.  Grand Canyon Airport looked good for
repairs.

Wolf switched off the autopilot and began hand-flying the airplane.

CHAPTER

T eastern end of the Grand Canyon was in sight when the instrument
panel went dark.

"Shit!"  Wolf yelled.  He tried switching things on and off, but
nothing worked; the battery was too low to operate anything.  He had a
hand-held radio somewhere in the airplane; he didn't use it often.  He
began rummaging through the pile of charts, manuals, and other debris
behind the passenger seat, while trying to hold the airplane straight
and level with his free hand.  He unearthed the small radio, found the
adapter wires that allowed him to plug his headset into it, turned it
on, and tuned to the Grand Canyon control tower frequency.

"Grand Canyon, November one, two, three, tango foxtrot."  "Aircraft
calling Grand Canyon, please say again.  Your transmission is weak."

Shit again; his hand-held's batteries were nearly dead, too.

"Grand Canyon," he said, enunciating carefully, "November one, two,
three, tango foxtrot.  I am a Bonanza B-36, estimate fifteen miles east
of the airport.  I have electrical failure and am using a hand-held
radio."  "Roger, November one, two, three, tango foxtrot; runway
two-six is active; wind is two-seven-zero at eight.  You're number two
behind a Grand Canyon Airways twin now on final."  "Tango foxtrot."  He
rested the small radio on top of the panel.  What now?  Get the landing
gear down.  He hoped to hell there was enough battery power left for He
pulled out the gear lever and pushed it down.  The red IN TRAsrr light
came on and drag on the airplane was increased.  Was it down?  Two
miles ut he called in again.  "Grand Canyon, I will fly doxn the nway
at one hundred feet.  Please tell me if my gear is locked

"Roger, tango foxtrot."  "I..  Wolf tried (he flaps; they didn't work,
either.  He reduced power slowly and got the airplane down to 120 knots
for his low pass down the runway.i.: "Tango foxtrot, Grand Canyon. Your
landing gear appears to be partly down, but not locked.  What are your
intentions?"  "Goddamn it!"  Wolf screamed, but not on the radio. :;. 
Grand Canyon, I'll try to crank it down."  He had never ii done this
before, although he had been trained to do it.  The hand crank was
behind the passenger seat where all his junk was.  He began throwing
stuff indiscriminately into backseat.  Finally the small crank was
exposed.  He began cranking.  How many turn?  Seemed he had been told
fifty.  On the twentieth turn, the gear-down lights came on: all three
wheels down and locked.  Wolf heaved a sigh of relief; he was sweating
heavily from the tension and the effort of cranking the gear down.
"Grand Canyon, gear down and locked," he said into the radio.  "One,
two, three, tango foxtrot, cleared to land, runway two-six."  With no
flaps to slow him, Wolf had to make a fast approach, but there was
plenty of runway length, and he got the airplane down smoothly.  He
cleared the runway and taxied to the maintenance hangar.

"Well," said the shop foreman, wiping his brow, "you got a dead
alternator there, all right.  Dead standby, too.  I haven't got either
in my stock."  "How soon can you get replacements?"  "Day after
tomorrow," the man replied.  "Can't you call the manufacturer and get
the parts overuighted in?"  "Tomorrow's Thanksgiving," the foreman
said. "I'll call today, but Fed Ex won't deliver till Friday."  ""This
is Tuesday," Wolf said, relieved that the man had got his days wrong.
"Thanksgiving isn't until day after tomorrow.  You can have the parts
here tomorrow, and I can be on my way."  The foreman turned to the
mechanic waiting beside the airplane.  "What's today, Charley?"
"Wednesday," the man replied..  "Thanksgiving's tomorrow," the foreman
said to Wolf.  "No, no... "Wolf looked at the day and date displayed on
his wristwatch.  "It's .. ."  He stopped and stared at his wristwatch.
"That can't be," he said, shaking his head.  "Sure can, Mr.  Willett.
It's Wednesday, and tomorrow's

I can have the parts here by ten-thirty Fridaymorning, and we'll have
'em installed by early afternoon."  Wolf rubbed his forehead. 
Something was terribly here.  "Okay, where can I get a room' "Try the
lodge. Rent yourself a car at the terminal over and follow the signs. 
It's real nice, and they won't be this time of year."  The lodge, a
huge place, had a room for him.  He why he didn't have any luggage, and
a bell-took him upstairs.  He immediately called the Bel house and got
a recording of his own voice.  He Julia could never remember to play
the meson the machine anyway, so leaving a message be a waste of time. 
He didn't have his address with him, and the Carmichaels' "'umber was
He telephoned his office, but got a recording that it was closed until
Monday for the giving holiday.  He didn't remember giving I everybody
Wednesday, but when he hadn't shown up for work yesterday, Jack had
probably given them the ii iday off; Jack was too softhearted.  r'l 'if
He hung up' the phone and walked to the window.  He a fine view of the
canyon, and it was truly grand, but he hardly noticed.  Try as he
might, he could not remember the ii past twenty-four hours.  He
remembered going to bed, buti that must have been on Monday.  He picked
up the Tucson newspaper that came with the room and checked the date be
sure.  Wednesday.  : He had lost a day out of his life.  And it wasn't
the first

Wolf woke up the next morning feeling horny and reached for Julia.  She
was not there, of course; she was in L.A. At least he thought she was.
He had rung the Bel Air house a dozen times and gotten only his own
recording.  He had rung Jack's house, too, and gotten no answer.

He and Julia had been married a year.  It was a second marriage for
him--he had been widowed for more than twenty years but the first for
her.  She was twenty-six at the time, and an actress.  Two kinds of
women he'd promised himself he'd never marry--a woman in the business
and somebody half his age.  It had gone well, though, had exceeded his
expectations.  Julia was wonderful company, and she had revived his
nearly dormant sex life.  She made him feel eighteen again, and he
would always love her for that.  God knew, she was too friendly with
other men, and she was making a career out of shopping, which drove him
nuts, but she was beautiful and shrewd, two qualities that had always
appealed to him.  She would probably leave him on his sixty-fifth
birthday, but if she lasted that long, it would be worth it.

He reached for his wristwatch."  nearly noon.  He never slept that late
what was the matter with him?  He stood in the shower long enough to
wake him, but when he got out, he still felt fuzzy around the edges. He
shaved with the razor the hotel had lent him and got dressed, squirming
in the damp underwear and socks that he had rinsed out the night
before.  There was still no answer at the Bel Air house. Downstairs, he
asked for a New York Times.

"Sorry, sir," the young thing at the desk said, "we don't get any
papers at all on holidays.  Will you be having Thanksgiving dinner with
us?

It Was that or McDonald's in the village, he thought."  "Yes, of
course."

He ate hungrily, having slept through breakfast; he nearly a bottle of
wine with lunch, feeling sorry for for being alone on Thanksgiving,
then had a long nap in his room.  Later, he forced himself to go a walk
along the rim of the canyon, but he had seen it times before, and it
wasn't working its charm today; was too depressed.  Here he was on his
favorite holiday, from wife and friends, stuck with no way out until
the tomorrow.

He went back to the hotel, bought a paperback novel in and tried to
read it.  He was asleep again by nine.

He was wakened in broad daylight by the sound of sliding under his
door.  He raised a sleepy head: York Times!  At least he could start
thdday with the He glanced at his watch: noon.  He ordered breakfast
room service, then retrieved the newspaper" scanning front page.  He
was about to open the paper and look when a small article in the lower
right-hand corner front page caught his eye:

FILM DIRECTOR AND TWO OTHERS IN TRIPLE DEATH

Oh, God, he thought, it's going to be somebody I know.  He read on
quickly.  It was somebody he knew.

The film director Jack Tinney of Los Angeles has been

found dead in circumstances that police sources are describing as
murder.

Wolf dropped the newspaper and put his head in his hands He took deep
breaths, trying to get hold of himself.  He tried not to believe it,
and he tried not to think of the consequences.  He picked up the paper
again, read the same sentence twice, then looked at the masthead.  It
was truly the New York Times; it was not a joke newspaper; this was cot
some horrible gag somebody was pulling on him; this was really
happening.  He swallowed hard, tried to quiet the pounding in his
chest, and read on.  What came next nearly stopped his heart.

Tinney, 48, was found in a guest bedroom of a house in Santa Fe, New
Mexico, belonging to his longtime business partner and producer, Wolf
Willett.  He appeared to have been killed by a shotgun blast.

He immediately thought of Flaps and how she had wanted to get into the
guest wing.  But Jack hadn't even been in Santa Fe, he thought
desperately.  He read on.

Also found in the room were the bodies of Willett, 53, and his wife
Julia Camden Willett, 27, an actress.  They appeared to have been
killed in the same manner.

This got him breathing hard.  He read the words again.  They still
didn't make any sense.  He continued.

The bodies were discovered by a housekeeper, Maria Estavez, who had
been alerted to their presence by a dog in the house.  The apparent
murder weapon, an expensive twelve-gauge shotgun made by Purdey, the
famous gun makers of London, England, was found in the room.  The Santa
Fe Police Department has issued a statement saying that the murders
were committed sometime Tuesday evening and that so far they have no
suspects.  Obituaries on page B 14.

onto the bed, his head reeling.  He closed and clutched the covers,
trying to lie as still as possible-fighting nausea.  Gradually he
restored his breathing like normal.  Then he tried to think.

come up only with this: His wife and business and some other
unfortunate human being were they had been killed in his house with his
shotgun, of a matched pair; they had been killed at a time when
obviously present in the house.  And he could of that day or night.

wasn't much, but it was enough to scare the shit out

CHAPTER

Wf resisted the impulse to immediately bolt from the hotel, primarily
because he had no place to go.  He drove to the airport and paid his
repair bill, then returned to the hotel and spent the afternoon
fighting an overwhelming feeling of guilt for what, he was not quite
sure: By the time it got dark and dinner had arrived from room service,
the guilt had become localized.  He must have been responsible for what
had happened.  He tried to dredge up his reasons.

He had been drunk, of course-else, why would he not remember?  Or were
his deeds on that lost day so terrible that his mind simply could not
cope with them?  Sex was at the root of this, of that he was sure.
Since meeting Julia he had lived with the fear that he could not
satisfy her, that she would turn to another man to supplement or--God
help him--replace his attentions.  She had always been insatiable, but
she had always had the talent of keeping lo aroused.  He had been
keeping up with her, but just and he had lived in fear of what might
happen if nudged him some night in bed and he wasn't up to it.
disturbing of late was that Julia had begun to an interest in more than
one sex partner.  This had him when she had first broached the subject,
excited him when he had realized that her interest another woman in
bed, a longtime fantasy of both times in Santa Fe, Julia had
successfully another woman.  They had been nights to Even now recalling
it, he found himself stimu-Both women ad satisfied him beyond his
fantasies, had turned to each other, and he had been held rapt sight. 
Then he had suspected that all this was,a pre to inviting another man
into their bed.  " This thought seemed to point to what might have
hap-He got drunk, Julia took Jack and another man.  to be had caught
them and, in a drunken fit of jealousy, the shotgun on them. As he
thought about this see-he realized that he had to find out exactly what
had First, he had to see the room where the thre then he had to find a
way to penetrate the shield own memory.  He had an idea of how to do
that.  waited until after dinner before leaving the hotel. Fe Airport
closed at ten ?.M."  and after that it a ghost of a landing field.  He
knew, because once landed at a quarter past ten, his car battery had
and he had nearly frozen before he had found a and gotten some
assistance.  was just after nine when he took off from Grand and headed
east; this would put him at Santa Fe ten forty-five.  He had filed no
flight plan, and he to eleven thousand five hundred feet before
leveling off; this altitude would give him some westerly tail wind
without requiring oxygen.  He sat immobile in the airplane for nearly
an hour, numb with grief, guilt, and fear.  Then his eye caught
something in the New York Times on the seat beside him: "Obituaries on
page B14."  His curiosity got the better of him.  There were only three
obituaries on the page: his, Julia's, and Jack's.  Jack's occupied the
whole of the page above the fold.  There was a detailed analysis of his
career, his childhood in Tennessee, his four marriages, his many women,
and anything else that could be found out about him by a shrewd
newspaperman.  It was obvious that the piece had been written well in
advance.  Such care was not present in Wolfs obit.  There was a brief,
fairly accurate summary of his life before the William Morris Agency,
then this statement:

Wolf Willett's subsequent career was so wrapped up in Jack Tinney's as
to be nearly invisible.  Certain{y, he devoted himself to relieving
Tinney of the minutiae surrounding any filmmaker, allowing the director
the time to polish his scripts and perfect his editing.  Indeed, that
may have been Wolf Willett's chief, and perhaps only, contribution to
American film.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"  he yelled into the roar of the airplane's
engine.  Was that what the world thought he did?  Relieve Jack Tinney
of' the minutiae surrounding any filmmaker"?  Did not the New York
Times, in its artistic wisdom, know that he had browbeaten and cajoled
Jack, who hated to write, into writing--then had edited, cut,
compressed, and rewritten his scripts until they squeaked of economy
and wit; that Jack had hardly ever entered an room?  That he knew next
to nothing about music and recording?  That Wolf had paid his bills,
his divorce settlements, forced him to file tax co signed his
borrowings, invested his meager (and savings, paid off the paternity
plaintiffs, 'and him up a couple of times a year after Jack's
monu-binges?  And after that, because it worked better in and
newspapers and the Academy, allowed Jack home the credit and the
Oscars?  Jesus fucking if Jack's obituary had infuriated him, Julia's
shook to his core.  It was not as brief as his own.

who called herself Julia Camden before she

Miriam Schlemmer, daughter

German-Jewish pawnbroker, Solomon Schlemmer, in Ohio, some seven years
before her claimed date.  During her high school years, she was
arrested occasions, usually for shoplifting or joyriding cars with boy-
friends.  After moving to New York the late 1970s, she served two brief
terms in the Detention Center on Riker's Island for prostitu-extortion,
and trafficking in cocaine.  In 1985, she up in Los Angeles with her
new name and an faked resume as an actress in off-Broadway pro-and soon
found work in the film business, at least in a pornographic movie.  It
was when she appeared in Tinney's film Broken Charms--ironically,
playing a she met the man who would become third husband.  Previously,
she had been married to a York taxi driver who dabbled in procurement
of and drugs and to a man described by police as a

In her new existence as Mrs.  Wolf Willett, she became active in {'din
charities, and in Santa Fe became a follower of psychiatrist and
"wholistic psychotherapist" Mark Shea, who had previously been arrested
in New York for practicing medicine without a license.

Mrs.  Willett is survived by a younger sister who is serving a five- to
eight-year sentence for the involuntary manslaughter of her husband, a
diamond dealer in the New York jewelry district whom she had attempted,
with an accomplice, to rob.

It was a good thing the Bonanza had a working autopilot, because for
some minutes Wolf was incapable of flying the airplane.

CHAPTER

found Santa Fe Airport as deserted as he had

Md.  He taxied past Capitol Aviation down to the T,"s, put away the
airplane, drove the Porsche out of mgar, and locked up.

[ took Rodeo Road and Old Pecos Trail, avoiding as of the downtown as
possible, and it was just past n when he reached the entrance to
Wilderness Gate.  isubdivision was on the outskirts of the city, in the
low mountains to the south.  The area was zoned for lots of a maximum
of five acres, and the houses built there were msive.  Three years
earlier, Wolf had bought a mountain-lot so steep that his building
costs had run an additional ity percent just to hang the house on it. 
The drive in from a point nearly level with the house and made '{plete
circle around it.  Ie drove past the drive, looking for any sign of
life--a car, maybe--then turned around and came back.

He stopped at the entrance to the short drive and looked at the house.
It hung there, its angular shape standing out in the moonlight against
large areas of pristine snow.  No light was showing.  When he rolled
down the window and listened, no sound came from the house, only the
yip and howl of a coyote somewhere up the mountain.

Wolf slowly accelerated, then switched off the engine and let the car
coast down the slight incline to the small, concealed service parking
area behind the house.  He left the car where it stopped of its own
accord, taking a flashlight from the glove compartment.  He did not use
the light yet.

He was surprised to learn that a hook had been driven into the jamb of
the kitchen door, a wire run from it through the door handle, then
fastened with ale ad seal.  A sign was posted on the door, which he
could just read in the moonlight:

CRIME SCENE.  NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMISSION OF THE

DISTRIC'r ^ORNE OF S^NT^ FE COVN.

No doubt the front door would be similarly posted and fastened.  He was
sealed out of his own house.  Well, nearly, anyway.  He fumbled along
the wall on the dark side of the house and came to a window.  Thank God
Maria, the housekeeper, was always concerned about getting enough fresh
air; the window was open a good four inches.  That explained a lot
about his recent heating bills, but he silently thanked her.

Wolf hoped to God the police had not left a guard.  He pushed up the
window and climbed silently through into the utility room, catching a
whiff of laundry detergent and starch.

He switched on the little flashlight and found his way the kitchen,
half expecting to be met by Flaps.  But the i was gone.  Wolf hoped
someone was taking care of her, i charmed by her grins.  He turned now,
reluctantly, to the guest wing.  There another seal affxed to the door.
The hell with it, he turning the doorknob.  He opened the door as far
wire would allow, then pushed his shoulder firmly nst it; the wire
snapped.  He stopped, holding his ieath.  Why did he feel the need to
be quiet?  He moved down the hallway, looking into doors: There were
four guest rooms, and they had often been d. On the door of the last,
at the end of the broad hanly, was another seal.  He paused.  Did he
really want to this.  He really did.  He performed his seal-breaking
itneuver once more, then fearfully switched on his flash'lght' The
king-size bed was a horrible mess, soaked with blood, which had turned
black.  The headboard and the behind it were spattered, and there were
the effects of shotgun blasts--two in the headboard and one in the
above it.  One of the victims had apparently stood up the bed when
confronted with death.  Until that moment, they had been in bed
together.  There was blood: the Navajo rug, too, and he remembered that
he had 'id $25,000 for it.  The rest of the room was orderly, touched,
except for splotches of a black powder here He turned the flashlight on
his hands. Powder too.  They must have been looking for fingerprints. 
He had had enough of this.  He left the room, closing him, and let
himself out of the guest wing.  silently down the hall, then through
the living and into the master bedroom.

His room was neat; Maria had obviously done some of the cleaning before
discovering the gory contents of the guest wing.  He sat on the bed and
thought for a minute.  He longed to climb between the freshly starched
linen sheets and go to sleep, but he could not let himself spend a
night in this house.  Who knew who might arrive in the morning?  He had
seen what he had come for.."  but there was something else.  What was
it?

Clothes.  Of course.  He went into his dressing room, closed the door,
and turned on the light in the windowless room.  He changed his
clothes, dropping the dirty things into a hamper, then chose a large
leather zippered bag from the matched set of Italian luggage and began
putting things into it, including his travel toilet kit.  When he had
enough for a week, he switched off the light and went back into the
bedroom.  What else did he need?  His laptop computer, maybe?  He
wouldn't be getting any work done for a while.  Money: He would need
that.

He left the bedroom, carrying his bag, started toward his study, then
stopped.  There had been a noise: papers being shuffled.  More noise,
then a light came on in the study.  Wolf felt the thrill of fear
associated with disturbing a burglar, only this could be
anybody--policeman or thief.

Wolf moved as quietly as he possibly could until he was at the wall
between the living room and the study.  Consumed with curiosity, he
overcame his fear and inched along the wall until he was at the door.
Around the corner, not six feet away, was.."  somebody.  He wanted
desperately to know who.  Shifting his weight, he craned his neck and
sought the crack at the door hinges; as he found it, the light went
off, leaving him with no night vision.  Footsteps retreated; he stepped
into the room, blinking.  A shadow of movement at the other door, then
more footsteps down hall.  He followed as quickly as he could without
making a sound.  Then he heard the kitchen door open and the intruder
must have broken the seal--and then mt steps crunching on the gravel of
the drive, moving and the back of the house.  Abandoning caution, he
ran to the kitchen window and bked out."  No one.  An engine started
behind the house, the back of the circular drive.  He'd head the car
off at pass.  He ran back down the hall and through the living from,
and fumbled with the catch on the sliding doors to ;- deck, which gave
him trouble it always had.  He got the for open and stepped onto the
cedar deck.  Far below, the pet of Santa Fe lights winked back at him,
like a mini!g,.  viewed from Mulholland Drive.  i' The car was just
disappearing down the drive--a fourilieeler of some kind--Jeep, Bronco,
who could tell?  here were thousands of the breed in the city.  He lost
sight of it at the end of the drive, heard it turn right, then v its
dim outline and headlights as it drove purposefully toward town.  i Who
was the son of a bitch?  Wolf went back into the study and played his
flashlight bOut.  Nothing much disturbed; the usual mess on his k. What
could anybody want in here?  He remembered why he had headed for the
study in he first place.  He walked to a wall and pressed a panel, eh
swung out to reveal a small safe.  Cursing because he Nd not remember
the combination, he went to the file ' i'/binet where he had taped the
piece of paper, memorize he numbers again, and returned to the safe.
There was a uple of thousand in cash inside twenties fifties, a few
mndredsand some foreign currency he kept for travel--iunds,
francs--probably a couple of thousand more.  He took it all, stuffing
the dollars into his pockets and the foreign stuff in the bag.

There was something else in the safe, something he'd almost forgotten
about.  He picked up the pistol, a small 9mm German automatic, and
weighed it in his hand.  Should he take it?  Did he need it?  He
stuffed it into a hip pocket of his jeans.  After all, somebody had
recently made an attempt on his life.  Shit, somebody had recently
killed him.

He left through the kitchen door--the seal had been broken anyway--and
drove away from the house.  He waited until he was at the entrance to
Wilderness Gate before switching on his headlights.

Now he headed for his next and last stop in Santa Fe.  At this one, he
hoped to get some answers.

CHAPTER

needed advice, and he did not have to think about where to get it.  He
drove through the center Santa Fe, went a couple of miles north on the
Taos then turned left onto Tano Road.  He drove west rapidly as the
dirt road would allow, dodging icy patches gritting his teeth when mud
splashed onto the Dirt roads were thought to be chic in Santa Fe, he
had never accustomed himself to what they did to

CleF.

The lights of houses became more widely spaced as the changed from
five-acre zoning to twelve and a half, most of the lights disappeared.
A mile farther on, he to the gate.  It was closed.  Wolf pulled up to
the rcom box and pressed the buzzer.  A moment later, a voice said,
"Yes?"

Wolf took a deep breath.  "Mark, it's Wolf."

There was a long silence.

"Mark, it's Wolf.  I'm not dead, I'm at your front gate.  Let me in'

Another silence, then a loud electronic beep, and the electric gate
slid open.  Wolf drove quickly down the long drive.  The compound was
set on sixty acres, a quarter of a mile from the road; the house was
dark, but a light burned in the little building next door, which Mark
used as an office.  As Wolf drove up to the building, an outside light
came on, illuminating the Porsche.  He got out, and as he reached the
front door, it opened.

Mark Shea stood just inside, a tall, bearlike figure, looking warily
out.  Then his face collapsed in astonishment.  "It is you, for
Christ's sake."  He stepped forward and gathered Wolf into his arms.
The two men embraced for a longer moment than usual, then Mark held him
at arm's length.  Tears were streaming down his face.  "And I thought I
was never going to see you again"

The tears didn't surprise Wolf; Mark was an emotional man, and he had
always wept when moved happy or sad.  "I'm sorry you had to go through
that, Mark," he said.

Mark pulled him into the room.  "I expect you need a drink," he said.

"That I do," Wolf replied, looking around.  The room was paneled in
oak, with bookshelves, floor to ceiling, along a long wall.  The
furniture was leather, masculine, welcoming.

"Can I force some bourbon on you?"  Mark asked,

reaching for a bottle in a concealed liquor cupboard.  "You can'

Mark handed him the drink, and his hand shook; he poured one for
himself.  He motioned Wolf to a chair in front of the fire, then took
the one facing him.  "Now," he said, "tell me what's happened."

"Christ, Mark, I don't know what the bell's happened.  I thought you
might."  "Of course; stupid of me.  I confess, your showing up has
rattled me to the core."  "I'm sorry about that, but I guess there was
no way to avoid shocking you."  Mark smiled.  "Nicest shock I ever had,
believe me.  Do you know anything at all?  "Only what I read in the New
York Times this morning."  Mark nodded.  "Then you know the worst.
About Julia and Jack, I mean."  He looked io the fire, his craggy face
sad.  "I'm glad, at least, that I didn't have to tell you that.  I'm
awfully sorry, Wolf.  I know how much you loved them both."  ' For the
first time since all this had started, Wolf lost control; he sat in the
big chair and sobbed.  Mark leaned forward, slapped a big hand onto
Wolfs knee, and squeezed.  "Go ahead, man, you need to grieve."
Gradually, Wolf got hold of himself.  "Do you know anything more about
this?  he asked.  Mark Fell back into his chair.  "I got a call from
the police a little after ten Wednesday morning, asking me to come up
to your place.  They wouldn't tell me what was going on, just said to
get up there.  When I arrived, the place was crawling with Santa Fe
cops, deputy sheriffs, and the state police.  They had obviously been
there for a while and had been through the place thoroughly.  The Santa
Fe District Attorney, Martinez, took me aside and told me what had
happened.  Your maid had already identified the bodies, but he asked me
to confirm.  God, I hated doing that."  "I saw the room," Wolf said,
and took a big gulp of the dark bourbon.  "You've been to the house?" 
Mark asked, alarmed.

"I just came from there.  For that matter, so did somebody else."

"What do you mean, somebody else?"

"There was somebody in the house while I was there.  I

never got a look at him; he left in a hurry."

"A policeman, maybe?"

"Maybe, It didn't seem like a policemang more like a burglar.  Go on.
What happened next?"

"Martinez took me into the room, shooed the photographer out, and
pulled back the sheet.  It was..."  he took a swig from his glass,
"indescribable."

"I can imagine.  Were they naked?"

"Yes.  Their clothes were scattered around the room."

"You were wrong about me; how did you identify Julia and Jack?

"Well, of course, I had never seen any of you naked before, and the
faces.."  the wounds were all to the head.  Jack was wearing that
enormous silver ring he bought from an old Indian on the plaza that
day.  We were with him, remember?"

"Yes.  And Julia?"

"The tattoo."

Mark nodded.  Julia had, before he had known her, had a tiny sunflower
tattooed onto her right breast, high enough that it would show when she
was wearing something low-cut.  It had always amused him; he remembered
how often he had run his tongue over it.  "There's no doubt about her,
then."

"I'm afraid not.  I hope I can be forgiven for thinking the other man
was you.  He was the same size and build, and his hair, what was left
of it, was thick and graying, like yOUI.

"A natural enough mistake," Wolf said absently.

"I told Martinez about that afternoon," Mark said Wolf looked up. "What
about that afternoon?"  just that I had a drink with you over there
around five, came horn.  The day of the murders."

"You had a drink at my house that same afternoon?"  "Well, of course;
you called me.  You were there alone.  you remember that.". "I don't
remember anything about that night, Mark, and about the day before."
The two men stared at each other for a moment, and fear seemed to pass
between them.  first.  "Tell me where you've been," he said, , voice he
had used when Wolf had been his patient.  Wolf told him about waking
alone in the house, about to the Grand Canyon, his ay there, the trip
back.  Mark said, when Wolf had finished.  "Who ever have thought to
look for you at the Grand

Who would have thought to look for me at allF' Wolf "After all, I'm
supposed to be on a slab somewhere."  : winced at the thought.  "Mark,
where.  is Julia?"  "At the county morgue, with Jack and.."  whoever. 
The won't be released until a postmortem has been con day or two, I
should think."  He paused.  you said you read the Times; did you read
the obitu-too?"  "Yes.  you know about Julia's... background."  "Yes. 
How the hell did they find out about that?  I never about it.  Why
would they put a thing like that in an for Christ's sake?"  i. "I
called a friend at the Times and checked that out," replied.  "A Times
reporter had interviewed Julia's sister in prison a couple of times. 
She was apparently trying to interest him in a book about her case. 
She told him about Julia's background when he called to tell her about
the murders."

"Mark, you were her analyst.  Did you know anything about that?"

Pain crossed Mark's face.  "Yes.  After a long time had passed.  I
sensed she was holding something back, and finally she came out with
it."

"The Times stuff was true, then?

"All of it, I'm afraid.  I hope you understand why I couldn't tell you,
Wolf."

"Sure, doctor-patient confidentiality, and all that."  "Exactly.  Julia
would never have told me anything if she'd had the slightest notion
that I might tell you.  I was in something of a quandary about it, but
I decided to go by the book."

"Of course."  Wolf remembered something.  "Mark, the Times said
something about your having been arrested in New York for practicing
medicine without a license."

Mark sighed deeply.  "It was accurate, as far' as it went.  When I was
in medical school at Columbia, I got a girl pregnant.  We were at a
lake house upstate for the week-end--I didn't know about her
condition--when she miscarried.  Our friends were out shopping in the
car, and there was no phone.  I helped her as best I could, then
sedated her and made her comfortable.  The other girl in the group,
when she returned to the house, thought I'd performed an abortion, and
turned me in.  When the girl recovered enough to talk to the police, it
was all cleared up, but charges had been filed in the meantime.  The
incident has haunted my medical career."

"I see," Wolf said.  "I knew it had to be something like knew you
couldn't have done anything unethical.". appreciate that, Wolf," Mark
said.  Wolf said, "I want you to hypnotize me."  had hypnotized him
half a dozen times a couof years before, to help him stop smoking; he
been a good subject.  looked down into his drink.  "I don't know if
that's good idea, Wolf."  Mark, I've lost a whole day; I want it back. 
I've got to happened."  "Wolf, if your mind refuses to remember, it's
for a really likely that you've suffered a trauma that you : handle. 
It's a protective function of the mind, like breaker that cuts out when
there's an electrical "I understand that.  I still want to know.  Maybe
I... was witness."  "If you couldn't handle it then, what makes you
think can handle it now?  You could end up catatonic."  "I'm willing to
take that chance.  I can't stand not know "You have to understand,
hypnotizing you now could me in a very dangerous situation, legally
speaking-for you, I mean.  There are limits to doctor-confidentiality,
and if I were subpoenaed " "I won't ask you to lie for me, Mark, but I
can't go on without knowing what happened that night."  Mark's
shoulders sagged.  "You're my friend, Wolf.  I'll you if I can."

When Wolf woke, Mark was gone from the room.  He up on the leather
couch and rubbed his face with his hands.  He felt a little
light-headed, but well rested; his exhaustion had left him.  He looked
at his watch: two He had been out for over two hours.

Mark entered the office with a tray of food.  Right behind him came
Flaps.  There was the usual two minutes of pandemonium that constituted
any reunion with the dog.

I'm glad to see you, girl," Wolf whispered into her soft ear.  She
grinned for him.

"Mafia was going to take her, but I thought she'd be happier here with
some land to romp on."

"Thanks, Mark, I really appreciate that."

Mark handed him a large glass of fresh orange juice.  "I had difficulty
waking you, so I just let you sleep it off naturally."

"Does that happen often with subjects?

"It's not rare; it's not common, either.  You needed the rest, I think!
and your unconscious knew that."

"I still don't remember anything.  What did I say when I was under?
.... "Wolf, you have to understand that what you said isn't necessarily
what happened."  "

"I did it, didn't I?"  Wolf sank onto the sofa again.

Mark raised a finger.  "The mind is strange, Wolf.  You've obviously
been worrying about this since you read the stoW in the Times, and your
mind may have.."  altered events, in order to expiate the guilt you
were feeling--a kind of self-confession, ffyou see what I mean."

"So this was inconclusive?"

"Yes, I think so.  Otherwise, I'd be in the position of having to
wonder whether I should call the police."

'3/why don't I remember what I said when I was under?"

"I instructed you not to.  It would have done no earthly good for you
to remember, and it may have done you a deal of harm.  You are
fortunate, I think, that this was not administered by a court-appointed
psy might not have been quite so well acquainted the nuances.
Incidentally, should it come to that, I'd you not to submit.  I should
think your best chance this would be to remain mute at your trial." 
"My trial?"

"Assuming it comes to that, of course," Mark said, look' away

Suddenly Wolf was ravenous.  He tore into the scrambled eggs and ham
that Mark had brought him.  When he finishddhe sat back and looked at
Mark, who had regarding him quietly.  "What am I going to do, ark?"

Mark sighed.  "I think your choices are very'4imited," he sadly.

"You think I should turn myself in' .

"Only after talking to the best possible criminal lawyer,"

said, raising a warning finger.  "Locally, that would be Eagle."

"The Indian guy?  .... "He's thought to be among the best in the
country.  Ed by what he calls Santa Fe Rules, and it works for him for
his clients.  I know him, and I'd be glad to call him

"What are my other choicest' Mark looked away.  "Run, huh?"

Mark looked back at him.  "There's always Mexico.

's looking for you; it's thought yu'e dead."

"A new life south of the border," Wolf mused.  "I wonder demand there
is for entertainment lawyers in Puerto

"Not much, I should think.  Wolf, I think you should see Ed Eagle, but
it's your choice; if you want to leave, even if only for a while, I'll
help you in any way I can.  I've got about thirty thousand in the bank,
and if you need more, there are some bearer bonds in my safety deposit
box--about two hundred thousand, I think."  "Thanks, Mark, but I'm okay
for money at the moment."  "I wouldn't cash any checks, if I were you,
or use your credit cards."  Wolf looked at the psychiatrist closely.
"You're assuming I'm going to run."  Mark smiled.  "You always had a
fear of authority.  That's why you chose your career as an independent
producer--so you could be as free as possible from the talent agencies
and the studios.  Frankly, I can't see you placing your trust in the
criminal justice system."  His smile faded.  "I wish' you would,
though."  'you know me well, Mark."  "I should, after two years of deep
analysis, don't you thinkS' "And you're a good friend, too."  Mark
shrugged.  "A psychiatrist isn't often called upon to be a friend. Lots
of other things, but not a friend.  To tell you the' truth, there are
some psychic rewards for me in helping a friend in trouble, so maybe
I'm just being selfish."  He rearranged himself in the chair and
slipped back into his role as analyst.  "Wolf, there was something that
came up in your analysis that you wouldn't talk about at the time.  I
didn't want to ask you about it under hypnosis."  "What was that?" 
Wolf asked, knowing the answer.  "There was another time when you lost
a day from your life."  Wolf looked into the fire.  "A day and a half,"
he said.

4o

"At the time of your first wife's death?

Wolf looked up at him.  "How did you know that?

"It was obvious.  I didn't want to press you at the time,

I will now.  I think it's important."

"You mean you think that blackout and this more recent may be
related?

Kit's possible.  "I,f they are related, we should know, Start t the
beginning."

Wolf looked back into the glowing embers.  "All ight," said.

CHAPTER

he fear came back.  The dread that he had fought for so many years
crept out of its banishment and seized him again.  He did not try to
fight it.

"Her name was Maggie.  She worked for a casting agent Jack and I used,
and she and I were in a lot of readings together.  I was impressed with
her judgment of actors, and she was extremely attractive, too.  We
began seeing a lot of each other."  He paused.

"Go on," Mark said gently.

"I was just trying to remember how long we saw each other before... Oh,
I guess it was seven or eight months, and after that long she was
spending so much time at my apartment--I had a condo in Beverly Hills
at the time--that we were practically living together.  Pretty soon, I
asked her to give up her place.  We had talked about marriage, and
agreed that neither of us had any business getting married.  She
thought that I was a workaholic, and I

knew she didn't want to give up her career--she wanted her own casting
agency."  He shook his head.  "She would have had it, too."  "What
happened to stop her?"  "She got pregnant."  "And what was your
reaction to that?"  "Panic.  No other word for it.  When she told me, I
had this flash forward of the next twenty years, and I didn't like it."
"What didn't you like about it?"  "The confinememll/the obligation to
somebody other than myself."  "That's honest.  What about the
obligations you had to Maggie already?"  "Whose either of us could end
at any time; it {was the sort of arrangement we had."  "Until she got
pregnant."  "Yes.

Then everything changed.  I couldn't just say, that's it, see you
around the casting sessions."" "Responsibility."  "Yes.  But you know I
never shied away from responsiI craved it)" "But only to yourself.
That's what you craved.  We worked all this out long ago, remember?"
"Sure, I remember."  "Did you ask her to have an abortion?"  "Not in so
many words.  I think I was as afraid of doing that as I was afraid of
having a child.  She brought it up.  "That's what you want me to do,
isn't it?  Kill him?"  She already had it in her mind that it was a
boy."  "How did you make your decision?"  "She put it to me bluntly;
she said she loved me, and she wanted us to be married and raise the
child, and have others.  But, she said, if I didn't want that, too,
then it was overmshe would have the child and raise it on her own, and
I would never see either of them again."  "How did you feel about the
prospect of not seeing her again?  "The thought of not seeing her
nearly killed me; I couldn't stand it.  That surprised me; I guess you
never really know how you feel about a woman until you face the
prospect of losing her."  I "So how did you deal with the problem?"  "I
made my decision. I told her that I loved her, and I wanted to marry
her, and I wanted the baby, and we would send him to Princeton, and
he'd make us proud of him."  "And was all that true?"  "Not all of it. 
I loved her, God knows, but I didn't want a child.  I was that
selfish."  "But you made the sacrifice to keep her?  "Yes.  We were
married, we bought a house.  I refused to go to childbirth classes on
the grounds that I was squeamish."  "And she accepted that?"  "Not
really.  Although I never admitted it to her, she knew how I felt about
the baby.  I think she thought that the first time I held my own child
in my arms, all my reservations would vanish and everything would be
all right."  "And was that true?  "Maybe, I don't know.  I do know that
if she had felt I wasn't adapting, she'd have left me and brought up
the child alone. She was a very determined girl, and she wanted that
baby."  "Did you see the baby as driving a wedge between you and
Maggie?"  Wolf leaned forward and put his face in his hands.  "God me,
I did.  I know now how stupid that was.  I think I knew it at the time,
but there didn't seem to be any-I could do about it."  "What happened
then?

"Maggie went into labor about a month early.  We ready for it--I
wasn't, anyway.  She called me from office--she was still working--and
I raced over to get and take her to the hospital.  At least, I think
that's how happened."

"What do you mean?

"It's how I reconstructed.itjater."

"You don't remember?"

"No.  I never have.  The car went over the center line on and hit a
truck nearly head on, on her side.

cops found me in a diner across the street, eating a for Christ's sake.
They told me later that

I was taken back to the wreck to identify Maggie, I

i out.  I woke up in the hospital, and I didn't remember r of it.  The
last thing I recalled was negotiating with an about an actor Jack and I
wanted for a picture, a day h half before."

"Did son part of you believe that you had deliberately to kill the
baby, so that you could have Maggie to

"A big part of me did.  But I couldn't remember any of events leading
up to the crash, so I've never known

I felt at the time."

"Did you seek any therapy after that?"

"No.  I just lived with it."

"Wolf, my poor dear friend; what hell you put yourself through."

Wolf turned and looked at him.  "I'm back in hell now," he said.

"We'll work it out together when this is over," Mark said.

"Over?  When will that be?  I'd like to make it be over."  Mark sighed.
"Wolf, you must remember that, while you are dealing with your problems
in analysis, you must also deal with the problems of your daily life.
You have to do both."

"So I should call Ed Eagle?

"I think you should.  I can't see any other way of resolving the
situation without causing the most profound damage to yourself."

"They have the death penalty in New Mexico.  That's pretty profound."

"There are worse things than dying, Wolf.  There are worse things than
being in prison."

"Name one."

"Just one?  The hell you were in after Maggie's eath.  The hell you say
you're in again."

Wolf was quiet for a moment.  "You're right about that, Mark.  Tell
Eagle I'll call him in a few days.  Don't tell him my name; just tell
him a friend of yours will call soon."  "Why not now?

"Because there's something I have to do.  And to get it done, I have to
stay dead a little while longer."

CHAPTER

' 7

flew into Los Angeles at dawn and landed at Monica Airport, having
given a false name on his plan.  He had one of the few private
T-hangars on the the result of years on a waiting list; he taxied there
exchanged the airplane for his Mercedes station wagon, locked the
hangar, and drove away.  The early-shift lineman at California Aviation
waved idly, taking no special note of him.  ApParently the lady either
didn't know who he was or didn't read the papers.  He drove up Bundy to
the freeway and headed north, exiting at Sunset Boulevard, then after a
few miles turned left onto Stone Canyon, into the plush Bel Air
neighborhood, and drove past the Bel Air Hotel.  No more breakfast
meetings there for a while, he reflected.  A couple of hundred yards
past the hotel, he turned into his driveway, using the electric opener
to roll back the gates, then again to open the garage door.  Julia's
new Mercedes 500SL convertible reminded him that she would not be
driving it again.  He remembered the fit of happiness she had pitched
when he had given it to her.  Since his initial outburst of grief in
Mark's office, his emotions had been strange--dead, like Julia.  He
felt guilty for not being wracked with grief.  He went directly into
the kitchen from the garage entrance.  The first thing he saw was
Julia. She was standing at the sink, wearing her green cashmere
dressing gown, washing something.  Hearing the door open, she turned
and looked at him.  Recognition and alarm widened her eyes for a
moment, then she fainted.  Wolf went and stood over her, trembling with
anger.  The woman was Bridget, the live-in maid, and "SI was wearing
Julia's dressing gown.  The bitch, Wolf thought.  She couldn't wait to
get into Julia clothes.  He filled a glass of water at the sink and
threw it into her face.  Then, as she sputtered to consciousness, he
realized that he needed her goodwill, at least for a while.  He bent
and helped her to her feet.  "Oh, God!"  she warbled.  "You're dead,
and you've come for me."  He sat her down at the kitchen table.  "Shut
up, Bridget," he said.  "I'm no deader than you are."  "Then I must be
dead, too," she said, tears starting down her cheeks.  "Am I in heaven
or hell?" "That's a good question, but I'm not in a position to give
you an answer.  Believe me, no matter what you've read in the papers,
I'm not dead.  Mrs.  Willett is, though, and the first thing I want you
to do is to get that dressing gown back into her closet, along with
anything else you might have taken from there."

"I only borrowed it," she whimpered.  "And Bridget, I don't want you to
leave this house for the next week, do you understand me?"  He had
learned long ago not to cajole the woman; she responded best to direct
orders.

"Yes sir, Mr.  Willett," she said.  "Good.  Now get yourself dressed
and go about your work.  If the telephone rings, you answer it and deal
with whoever it is.  Nobody, but nobody, in L.A. knows I'm still on
this earth, and I want to keep it that way for a while, do iyou
understand?"

"Yes sir, I do," Bridget sd.  The woman was bright; she the callers.

He had a thought.  "If somebody asks for Mr.  Amadeus,

I'll take the call."

"Yes sir," she said, then hurried herself from the kitchen.

He fixed himself a bowl of cereal and took it into his study.
Everything here was much the same as in the Santa

Fe house.  Wolf had discovered long ago that he was incapable of owning
a second home; what he had was two first hdmes.  He sank into the Eames
lounge chair, put his feet up on the ottoman, ate his cereal, and
thought.  When he had finished eating, he glanced at his watch--a
quarter to seven--then made a telephone call

Hal Berger, his business manager, inswered the phone himself; he was a
bachelor and had no servants.  Wolf had always wondered if he was gay.
"Hello," Hal said grumpily.

"You ought to get up earlier and get the worm, Hal."

There was a long silence, then: "I don't know who you are, putz, but if
you call me again, I'll have the cops on yon."

"I'm who I sound like," Wolf said, "and reports of my death have been
greatly exaggerated."

"Why should I believe that?"  Hal asked suspiciously.  "Gee, I don't
know, Hal, am I supposed to tell you you've got a wart on your ass that
nobody but me knows aboutY' Finally, astonishment.  "Wolf, it's really
you, isn't it?"  "Why don't you get over to Stone Canyon and find out? 
I might even tell you what's going on."  "I'll be there in fifteen
minutes," Hal said.  He lived up in Coldwater Canyon, not far away.
"Wait a minute," Wolf said, "I want you to call some people first."  He
needed his editor and composer.  "Get hold of Jerry Sachs and Dave
Martinelli and ask them to meet you here right away.  Tell them it's
something about my estate.  Urgent."  "Jerry left for Rome yesterday; a
job."  "The sonofabitch didn't waste any time, did heY' Wolf hadn't
worked with another editor for years.  "You know Jerry; he's always
short of money.  He didn't have the guts to call me until he was at the
airport."  Wolf thought for a minute.  "What's that kid's name who used
to be his assistant, then went out on her ownY' "The little looker?
Whatsher-name?  "Yes, that one."  "Jesus, uh... Darling, or something;
no, it's Dear."  "Deering, Jane Deering.  Have you got her number?"
"I'll find her."  "Don't break your ass getting over here, Hal.  Shave
and shower, have some breakfast.  I'll leave the gate open; you park
around back and come in through the kitchen.  Tell the others to do
that, too."

Berger was there in half an hour, shaved and He hugged Wolf.  "Man, am
I glad to see you!"  just didn't want to lose a client," Wolf said, hug
him back.  yeah, sure."  Hal held him at arm's length.  "Is alive, too?
And Julia?"  he added, almost as an shook his head.  "No, just me. 
I'll explain when the I don't want to go through it twice."  I
understand.  Jane and Dave should be here was the sound of a car
pulling up out back, then "Go meet them," Wolf said.  "Tell them I'm
alive; I don't anybody else fainting on me.  Bridget keeled right *
left, then came back a moment later with the editor shook hands with
them both, then waved them to

"I owe you both an explanation," he said, "Let's get of the way, then
I'll tell you why I asked you here."

"What about Jack' Dave Martinelli asked.

i "Jack and Julia and another man--I don't know who dead  They were
murdered in the Santa Fe house

I was stuck in a hotel at the Grand Canyon, waiting my airplane to be
repaired," he lied.  That would be for now.  "I'm awfully sorry, Wolf,"
Jane Deering said.  ' Wolf had forgotten how attractive she was--small,
dark, figure in tight jeans and a T-shirt; she never to wear anything
else the few times he had met you, Jane."

Dave Martinelli spoke up.  "It's bad enough losing your wife, but your
partner at the same time--that's terrible.  Why did they think the
other guy was you?"

"They were in my house.  A friend who knows us all well made the
identification.  The guy was apparently my size."

"There's no mistake about Julia and Jack?"

"None.  One mistake is understandable; he wouldn't make three."

"When's the funeral?"  Jane asked.

That gave Wolf pause.  It astonished him that he hadn't thought about
it.  "Not for a while," he said.  "There's something I haven't told
you.  Only five people, besides my housekeeper, know I'm alive.  You're
three of them."  There was a short silence.  "WVhy?"  Jane asked
finally.

"My lawyer and the Santa Fe police think it's better that way for a
while.  They want the killer to think I'm dead."  He didn't have a
lawyer yet, and the police thought he was dead, but what else could he
tell these people--that when it became known he was alive, he would be
the chief suspect?

"I see," Jane said gravely.

"How can we help?"  Dave asked.

"I've got to finish L.A. Days, and I've got to do it fast," Wolf said.
"Dave, where are you on the score?"

"I've laid down a piano track to the rough cut," the composer said,
"and I've had most of the scoring done.  I'll have to trim to the final
cut, of course."

"Once we get a final cut, how long before you can record?

"How pushed for time are you?"

"As pushed as I can get.  I want to get an answer print nturion as soon
as humanly possible.  If I don't,

liable t take it away from our company and cut it

Ouch," Dave said.  "They'd love to get their fat, sticky on it,
wouldn't they?"

already been on the phone," Hal Berger said.

told them I didn't even know where the rough cut was,

in Santa Fe."

'q?hat's good," Wolf said.  "Tell them it's in the Santa Fe

Jack and I were working on it, and the police sealed it for at least,
to weeks  Tell them you've

, tried to get in there and couldn't."

"How much time do you need to trim to my cut and

Dave?"

; Martinelli thought for a moment.  "If the final is close to present
cut, and you don't mind paying a hell of a lot overtime to musicians, I
can do it in three dayS."

ii "I think the final cut will be close, and you can have as overtime
as you want," Wolf said.

"I don't know about the overtime, Wolf," Hal piped up over budget as it
is."

'thanks for being a businessman, Hal, but I've got no

Jane Deering spoke up.  "What about me?"  she asked.

I help?

"I'd like you to cut the picture with me," Wolf replied.

"Jerry went to Rome, I heard," she said.

"Jane,.  if Jery were here, he'd be cutting it; we both

hat.  But he's not here, and if you can work night and for the next few
days, I'll back you with the union for screen credit.  I'll also pay
you what Jeny was getting.  Hal will show you his contract."

"That's good enough for me," Jane said.  "If I can get my sister to
stay with my little girl."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were married."

"I'm not married; I just have a little girl.  She's eight."  She got
up.  "I'll call my sister; can I use the kitchen phone?

"Sure.  And Jane, I'd appreciate it if you'd move in here.  You can
have the guest house."

"Okay, but I'm going to need an hour or two a day with Sara--that's my
daughter."

"Sure, whenever you like.  The other twenty-two hours are mine,
though."

"Deal," she said.  "I'll call my sister."

"Jane, I know you've got an agent, and I know he'll be pissed off if
you do this without your talking to him first, but I'd appreciate it
very much if you'd wait until we have the cut before calling him.  You
can trust me about the money."

She nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen.

Wolf turned back to the composer.  "Dave, I'll call you the minute we
have a final cut.  Why don't you go ahead and book studio time and
musicians for..."  He looked at the day on his wristwatch: Saturday.
'q/Cednesday of next week'

"Okay," Martinelli said.  "If you need more time and have to
reschedule, give me as much notice as you can.  It'll save money."  He
got up, shook hands with Wolf and Hal, and left.

"A good man," Hal said.

"Damn right."

"You think you and Jane can pull this picture together by Wednesday?

"We'll have to."

Hal looked at the carpet.  'vVolf, there's something more here than
keeping Centurion from cutting the pie isn't there"

Wolf nodded.  "There's the final payment, due on

I'm going to need it."

Hal looked as if he wanted to ask why, but Jane to the room.

we're on," she said.  "I'll go home every night six, make dinner for
Sara, and put her to bed."

"That's fine," Wolf said, relieved.

"Where are we going to work?"

"I've got a mo viola downstairs.  How long since you one?"

She smiled, revealing even, white teeth.  "Not as long as you she said.
"A girl can't afford all the latest stuff when just starting out on her
own.  Where's the rough cut?"

In my film vault at the office," Wolf replied.  "Hal, can run over
there and get it?  You have the combination."

"Sure," Hal said.

"While lads getting the stock, I'll run home and pack a

Jane said.

"Good.?

She left, and Hal spoke up.

"Wolf, you didn't say why-you needed the money.

in pretty good shape financially right now."

"Speaking of money, cut Jane a check for a third of her up front," Wolf
said, ignoring the question.

"Okay," Hal replied.

"And when Jane goes home at six to feed her kid, let's and I play some
tennis, okay?  You look like you could the exercise."  Hal looked at
him long and hard.

"Don't ask me too many questions right now, Hal.  I

any answers.

"I just have one question, Wolf," Hal replied.  "Am I---or Jane or
Dave-going to have any problems with the law?"

Wolf mustered all his credibility for the lie.  "No, Hal," he said.  "I
promise you."

He hoped to hell he could keep that promise.

CHAPTER

,ow do you want to do this?"  Jane asked.  "I mean, do you like to
work?"

"I'm a beginning-to-end man," Wolf replied.  "The t way I can keep the
whole thing in my head is to do in gequenceJack wanted to start the
titles after the setup of the first scene, then intersperse between of
the other setups."  The first scene was already on mo viola an editing
machine with two reels-one for picture and one for the sound track--and
a small screen.  He handed her another reel labeled

They both sat on stools, Wolf behind Jane and to her so they could both
see the screen.  There was a light scent from her--not perfume, but
something, maybe

He liked it.  They began work.

Promptly at six, they stopped.  They had about four minutes of film
done, Wolf thought, and that wasn't much.  Still, they were getting
used to each other.  He and Jerry Sachs had worked together for so long
that they had communicated in a kind of.  verbal shorthand of grunts,
sighs, and monosyllables.  Jane liked more detailed instructions, and
Wolf was having trouble expressing himself in complete sentences. 
Still, he was getting used to her ways, and he found that articulating
what he wanted helped to define it more sharply for himself.  Jane
stretched and rubbed her neck.  "You know what you're doing, Wolf." 
"Thanks," Wolf replied, warming to the praise.  He switched on the
overhead lights in the small room.  "You ever think of directing?"  she
asked, pulling on a cotton sweater.  , He caught a glimpse of flat,
bare midriff as she lifted her arms.  "You know that T-shirt
around-town--What I really want to do is direct'?"  She laughed a
deeper laugh than he would have expected from such a small woman.  "You
and everybody else, huh?"  "I've always been happy producing," Wolf
said.  "I guess I sort of made a career out of keeping Jack in line." 
"Fol ought to make careers out of themselves," Jane said.  Something in
her voice reminded Wolf of something.  "You a southerner?"  he asked. 
"Magnolia Springs, Alabama,"she said.  'Where's that?"  "Up a little
river off Mobile Bay; almost in the Gulf.  You're from someplace in
Georgia, I've heard."  "Little town called Delano; in Meriwether
County, about eighty miles south of Atlanta."

"Not as little as Magnolia Springs," she said.  What's the nearest
bigger town?"  "Fairhope, but that's probably not as big as Delano,
Mobile was the big city to us."  He walked her upstairs and to her car.
"You've been out long enough to lose most of your accent.  I didn't it
at first."  She stretched again.  Bout nine years, now.  It comes when
I'm tired, or drunk, or when I'm talking to my on the phone.  Your
accent is gone, too."  "I've been out here a lot lqnger than you.  L.A.
has a way Californians out of everybody."  "Not me," she said.  "If I
didn't love this work so much, I'd' be somewhere else.  Not much work
for film editors in Magnolia Springs, Alabama, or Butte, Montana." 
"Not much work for producers in Delano, Georgia, or Santa Fe, New
Mexico, either."  He opened the car door : for her.  I'll be back at
eight," she said.  "Don't wear yourself out on the tennis court."  She
drove away. Wolf walked down the path and through a hedge to the court.
Hal was waiting for him, stretched out on a bench.  "Be right with
you," Wolf called out.  He went into the little dressing house and
changed.  "The bank's been on the phone today," }Iai said when Wolf
joined him. "They've frozen your and Julia's accounts, of course;
that's usual in a death.  They want to talk with your lawyer or your
executor about disposition."  Wolf had been his own lawyer for his
whole adult life, and Julia was his executor.  "Stall them for a week
or two," he said. "Now, no more business; let's play."  It took them an
hour to finish a set.  Hal was a rangy, powerful player, about Wolfs
age, and in good shape.  Wolf always relied on cunning with Hal's sort
of player---chop shots and occasional hard second serves; passing
shots, when he could manage them.  Wolf won, 75.  "I don't think we've
got time for another set," Wolf called over the net.  "Coward!"  Hal
yelled back.  "Afraid I'll get even?"  "Come on, Bridget's making us
some.  supper."  They dined on cold roast lamb in the small dining
room.  Hal seemed unusually quiet. "I called the Santa Fe police this
afternoon," he said finally.  'Why? Wolf asked, concealing his alarm. 
"I wanted to get to them before Centurion did."  He sliced a piece of
lamb.  "They think you're dead, you know."  "I know," Wolf admitted. 
why'd you lie to me?  he asked calmly.  "I'm sorry about that, Hal,"
Wolf said, contrite.  "I'm trying to protect everybody else as well as
myself."  "I know enough about the law to be scared about this," Hal
said.  "I'm scared, too," Wolf replied.  Starting at the beginning, he
told Hal everything.  When he had finished, Hal was contemplative for a
minute or two, then he said, "You've got to finish this film before
they arrest you, isn't that it?" "That's it, buddy."  "So, I'm sitting
here in Bel Air, eating leg of lamb with a possible triple murderer,"
Hal mused.  "That's about the shape of it," Wolf said.  "I've known you
how long?"  "Twelve, fifteen years?"  "Closer to fifteen," Hal said. 
"You're an honorable man, Wolf. I don't deal with many of those out
here.  I don't it.  There's got to be another explanation."  "Thanks
for that, Hal," Wolf said.  "I wish I had the truth so you could
release it to the trades."

"The downside, of course, is that you did it whacked and this other
poor schmuck, whoever he is."  "That's the downside," Wolf agreed.

"Well, it surprises me a little, what I think about that."  "SVhat do
you think?"

"I think I don't much give a shit if you did whack 'em

Wolf turned to him in surprise.  "You don't care if I'm ale murderer?

"I'll admit, it's not much of a character reference, but I that if you
did do it, you either had an overwhelmingly reason, or else it was some
sort of temporary aberra-I guess I could live with either of those."
"You have a forgiving nature, Hal."

"Not really.  But you've been my friend almost as long as been my
client, and I need somebody around who first set from me the way you
just did.  Keeps me toes."  "Thanks, Harold."

"And since you're my friend, I'm going to give you the best advice I
can muster."

"Go right ahead."

"Get a lawyer right this minute and tart working on getting yourself
out of this mess.  I know a couple of hotshots."

"That's good advice, Hal, but no.  I'm going to finish this movie
first."

"You may be digging your own grave, pal."

"I may already have dug it," Wolf replied.

CHAPTER

four of them sat in Wolf's screening room and watched the cut and
scored print of L.A. Days.  Jane got up periodically and changed the
reels on the big 35mm projectors and Wolf took an occasional note. The
work had taken ten days--longer than Wolf had intended, but less time
than ever before, and he was pleased.  In the process, he and Jane had
learned to work together.  They had edited four minutes of the film on
their first day, and three times that on their last.

Hal, who had never seen any of the film, had laughed aloud throughout.
"Jesus," he said, "it's fucking wonderful.  It's Jack's best work."

Wolf and Jane exchanged an amused glance.  "I'm glad you like it, Hal,"
Wolf said.

"I'll take it to Centurion tomorrow," Hal said.

"Hang on, we're not ready yet.  I've got some notes for Dave and Jane."
Wolf held up a pad.  "Ready, Dave?"

i "Ready," Dave replied, producing his own pad.

"In scene sixteen I'd like you to wait a couple of seconds the strings
come in--just at the point where she her wineglass."

"Good idea," Dave said.  "I can do that and trim without g. What
else?"

Wolf consulted his notes.  "That's it."

"That's it?"  the astonished composer asked.

"The score is un improvable Wolf said with satisfaction.

besides."

'"Jesus, thank you, Wolf," Dave said.  "I've never had an like this on
a film.  Maybe we ought to work this all the time."

"God forbid," Jane said.  "Now, what have you got for

Wolf consulted the stopwatch in his hand.  "I want you take four
minutes out of the film without fucking up score.  We haven't got time
to rerecord."

"Four minutesP" she wailed.

"Centurion would ask for it anyway, and they'd be right.

It moves just a hair too slowly, and four minutes will trim it it to an
hour and forty-five minutes exactly.  The distributors exhibitors will
love us for it they can turn over the house every two hours on the
hour--I bet we'll pick up an extra fifty screens on first release."

"Okay," Jane said resignedly.  When do we start?"

"You can start now," he said.  "I've got to be somewhere."

"By myself?."  Jane erupted.

"You can do it," Wolf said, squeezing her hand.  He didn't let it go.
"You know this movie as well as Jack or I do by now, and you've got
great instincts."

"By myself," she muttered.

'When you're finished, hand-carry the print to the lab and stand over
them until you've got an answer print you can live with."  He turned to
Hal.  "Then you can take it to Centurion.  And don't leave without
their signed acceptance."

When the others had gone, Wolf sat in his study and stared at the
telephone.  Last chance, he thought.  Tell Hal to raise all the money
he can, then.  get in the airplane and head for Mexico--no, Central
America, maybe even Brazil--someplace with no extradition treaty.
Finally he heaved a deep, fearful sigh and picked up the phone.

"The Eagle Practice," a woman's voice answered.  "I'd like to speak to
Mr.  Eagle," Wolf said.  '%Vhom may I say is calling?"

"A friend of Mark Shea.  I believe he's expecting my call."

There was a moment's pause and a deep, rich voice drawled, "This is Ed
Eagle."  The tones were the pure, oddly accentless speech of the
American Indian, almost regardless of tribe.

"Mr.  Eagle, I believe Mark Shea called you about me."  "He did," Eagle
replied laconically.  "Who are you?"

"I would prefer not to give you my name until we can meet and see if we
can establish a client-attorney relationship," Wolf said.

"Well, sounds like you're a lawyer," Eagle said.  "When do you want to
come by hereY'

"I don't think it's wise for me to come to your office at the moment.
Could we meet somewhere else privately?  After office hoursF'

"Why don't you come out to the house this evening?  Say, about
seven?"

Wolf looked at his watch: a little before five, and L.A. was an hour
earlier.  "I'm not in Santa Fe at the moment,"

he said.  "I don't think I could make it there much before eleven."  He
didn't want to reach the city until after dark.  "That'll be all
right," Eagle replidd.  "I'm usually up late.  You know where I live?" 
"No." "You know Tesuque?"  He pronounced it TehSOOkee.  "Yes."  "Drive
past the Tesuque Market, and take your first right.  I'm about four
miles up the road in the hills.  You'll see the sign on your left." 
"I'll get there earlier if I can."  "See you this evening, then, Mr. 
Wfilett." "Goodbye, Mr.  Eagle."  Wolf had already hung up before he
realized that Ed Eagle had known his name.

CHAPTER

landed at Santa Fe Airport half an hour after the field closed.  Once
in the Porsche he became downright paranoid, working his way to the
north side of town by back roads and side streets, nearly fainting when
a police car pulled up beside him at a traffic light, then ignored
him.

He turned right after the Tesuque Market, as instructed, and farther up
the mountain found the sign, which turned out to be a life-size bronze
sculpture of an eagle, its wings spread wide, a writhing rattlesnake
gripped in its claws.  The drive climbed for another half mile until
the road leveled out at a broad, graveled area before a sizable adobe
residence.  As Wolf stopped the car, floodlights illuminated the front
of the house.  He climbed the front steps, but before he could ring the
bell, the large carved door made a clicking sound and swung open.

"In here!"  a deep voice called from Wolf's right.  He the door and
walked down the wide central hallway.  round table sat at its center, a
big arrangement of desert and doors opened to the left and right of it.
"Come in," the voice called, and Wolf turned right into large study,
lit only by a fire in the wide hearth.  Ed Eagle i. rose from one of a
pair of huge wing chairs arranged the fireplace.  He was slender,
dressed in faded a chambray shirt, and expensive boots--lizard.  He
extended a hand.  "May I call you Wol .f?"  He towered over his guest.
Wolf allowed his hand to be enveloped.  "Sure."  The guy must be
six-five or six-ix, he thought.  "I'm Ed.  I'm six-foot-seven, plus
another couple of inches for the boots.  Everybody always wonders."  He
waved Wolf the other chair, smiling a little.  "I expect you can use
drink.  I'm having a very nice single-malt Scotch whisky."  "I'll have.
the American equivalent," Wolf said, sinking grateffilly into the
comfortable leather chair "One Wild Turkey coming up.  Rocks?  "Please.
Nothing else."  '. Eagle went to a serious bar tucked into a corner and
came back with the drink, handed it to Wolf, and sat down.  "Good
flight?  "Very nice."  "Sun at your back.  The light must have been
marvelous this evening."  "It was.  How did you know I flew in?  "You
came from L.A. You own an airplane--a Bonanza, I believe."

"A B36."

"Ah, the turbocharged version.  I've got a Malibu Mirage out at Capitol
Aviation."  "How did you know I was in L.A.?"

"When a man runs, he usually goes someplace he knows."  'vVhy do you
think I was running?"  '3grhy do you need a criminal lawyer?"  "I'm not
sure I do."  "Sure, you're sure.  Let's not tap-dance, Wolf; it's
tiring."  He took a sip of his whisky and waited "Well," he said
finally, "why don't you tell me about it?  And you may consider this
conversation privileged.", "I hardly know where to start."  "At the
beginning, please."  "I don't really know where the beginning is," Wolf
said, sagging into his chair.  He didn't, Christ knew.  At the
beginning of his life?  When he met Jack?  When he met Julia?  "Start
the night of the killings."  "I have no memory of that night; none
whatever."  "Is that what you're going to say to a jury?  "You've
already decided to put me on the stand?"  Wolf asked, incredulous.  "I
don't defend against murder charges unless my client will testify.  I
reckon it's more in his interests for him to lie to a jury, if he feels
he has to, than to refuse to talk to them.  In my experience, juries
think that's kind of standoffish."  "I see."  "You will, as we get
further along with this.  And you'll agree.  What's the first thing you
remember after the killings?"  Wolf started with waking up that
morning, told Eagle about the dog, about the flight to the Grand
Canyon, about the newspaper, about the day missing from his life. 
Eagle listened in silence, sipping his Scotch, nodding encouragement
now and then.  When Wolf had finished, he was quiet for a time.  "Tell
me something," he said at last.  "How well did you know your wife?"

Wolf laughed ruefully.  "Not as well as I thought I did."

"I read the Times piece; did you know about any of that?"

"None of it.  I met Julia in a casting session.  We were married four
months later.  Apparently everything she told me about herself was a
lie."

"Well, you probably had no reason to doubt her.  Most people believe
what they're told, if it's at all credible, until they have some reason
to think they're being lied to.  I take it she was credible."

Wolf nodded.  "She was.  Julia always seemed such an open person.  I
never caught her in a lie--not even a littl one.  If anything, she
seemed obsessive about not lying.  I remember once, some people asked
us to dinner--some people she didn't like much---and she could have
said "We already have plans," that sort of thing, but she said to the
woman--I was sitting right there by the phone--"I think it '-would be a
waste of time for both of us, don't you?"  And ' she said it kindly,
sympathetically, as if she were doing the people a favor.  When she
hung up she saw me looking at her, and she said, "Life is too short to
tell anything but the truth.""

"An admirable attitude," Eagle said.  "One adopted by every con man
worth his weight in suckers: get to be known for telling the truth, and
the lies will go down like honey."

"Maybe so, but I never found Julia to be anything but an admirable
woman.  She was good-natured, considerate, do anything for a friend, do
anything for me."  Wolf rubbed his temples.  "I feel terrible that,
since I read the Times piece, I haven't let myself think about her for
more than a few seconds, and when I do, I don't seem to feel much."
"The first stage of grief is denial."

"But I don't feel any grief," Wolf said, shaking his head.  "I just
feel numb--dead at the center.  Since the day after I learned about the
shootings, I've been cutting a film--completely wrapped up in it--and
feeling a lot of affection for a woman I hardly knew a couple of weeks
ago.  I think I must be insane, or something."

"That's always a possibility," Eagle said.  "And it's not necessarily
an inconvenient one."

"You think I should plead insanity?"

"I think you should see a shrink; then we can talk about it.  Were you
ever a patient of Mark Shea?"

"Yes, Julia and I both were--me, for a couple of years."  "Good,
that'll shorten the process; we'll have an mi-nent psychiatrist who
knows your background and can testify to your state of mind over a long
period; Julia's, too.  That could be invaluable."

"What's this going to cost me, Ed?"

"A quarter of a million dollars, if we go to trial, and that's up
front.  I'll take a mortgage on something, if you've got an
unencumbered asset."

"What about appeals?"

"I've never had to appeal a capital case, so if it comes to that, it's
on the house."

"What's your opinion of my chances so far?  Could I beat a murder
charge?"

"Wolf, this is Santa Fe, and everything is done a little differently
here.  We're playing by Santa Fe Rules, and that dictates that the
first thing I should do is to see if I can work my way through the
system to keep you from even being charged.  Then we won't have to beat
it.  If I can manage that, it'll only cost you a hundred thousand. I'll
want that tomorrow."

"Okay, but you didn't answer my question."

Eagle shrugged.  "She was in bed with two other men," i he said.
"That's a hell of a motive.  Looks like you were in the house, too that
plenty of opportunity.  As for means--well, it was your shotgun, wasn't
it?"

"Yes, one of a pair of Purdeys.  What about the unwritten law?"

"The unwritten law doesn't exist .. "he managed a small smile, "except
in.  the minds of a jury--and at least some of them would think that
two lovers, present and active, would draw a thick line under the
unwritten law."  "So I'd have at least a chance, you think?"

"Well, let me put it this way," Ed Eagle said.  "If it's mjb against
the State of New Mexico, it'll be a fair fight."

CHAPTER

If woke in a pleasant guest room of Ed Eagle's house.  He found his
watch--just after seven a.m.--and struggled through a shave and a
shower.  Feeling better, he found his way downstairs.

Ed Eagle was reading the Wall Street Journal, surrounded by the debris
of a finished breakfast and a stack of other newspapers.  He looked up.
"Morning," he said.  "You feeling better?"

"Rested," Wolf replied.

"I hope you didn't mind staying over, but I don't think it's a good
idea to go back to your house just yet."

"I understand.  It hadn't occurred to me that I'd have to sleep
somewhere in Santa Fe.  I didn't want to expose Mark Shea, and I
couldn't have gone to a hotel."

"Exactly."  An Indian woman came into the room and waited expectantly.
"How about some breakfast' Eagle asked.  "Anything you'd like."

"Bacon and eggs, orange juice, toast, and coffee, please."  Eagle
nodded at the woman, and she disappeared into the kitchen.  When the
eggs came, Eagle put down his "Eat hearty," he said.  "At nine o'clock
we find out whether you're going to be arrested."  "How do we do that?"
"We visit the district attorney."  Wolf had trouble swallowing the
first bite of his breakfast.  "Something I need to ask you," Eagle
said. "Didn't think of it last night, and I don't want you to be
offended." "Shoot."  "Did you and your wife ever go to bed with anybody
else? Together, I mean."  Wolf nodded.  "We had a couple of threesomes.
Julia always arranged it."  "With another man or another woman? 
"Always with another woman, although I think Julia was angling for two
men."  "How did you feel about that idea?"  "Uncomfortable."  "Wot/Id
it have made you wildly jealous?  "I'm not a jealous person."  Eagle
nodded.  "So you wouldn't have exploded on finding Julia in bed with
Jack?"  "I don't explode much.  Anyway, I think that if I had found
Julia and Jack and this other guy, whoever he was, in bed together, I
would have thought it was bad manners on Julia's part, but I wouldn't
have reacted by using a shotgun on the three of them."  He managed a
short laugh. "Certainly not one of my Purdeys."  Eagle laughed, too. 
"I appreciate your delicacy; I hope the D.A. will, as well.  One more
thing, and I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

"Shoot."  "On the occasion of your pair of threesomes, were the third
partners different?"  "No, it was the same woman both times."  'o was
she?"  "Her name is Monica Collins."  "That rings a bell, but I can't
place her,".  Eagle said.  "She lives in Santa Fe; divorced from a
big-time independent movie producer named Franklin J. Collins."  "I've
got her now: blond, fortyish, Beverly Hills dental work."  "That's
Monica."  "Tell me about her."  "We knew them a little as a couple in
L.A."  had dinner once at their house.  It was shortly after that when
the divorce happened.  Story was, Monica got their Santa Fe house and a
few million--opinions vary on that--and Frank got the L.A. property and
the debts."  "And how did your.."  encounter with Ms.  Collins occur?"
"Julia invited her to dinner; the two of them cooked.  We had a good
deal to drink, ended up in the hot tub.  One thing led to another."
"Who did the leading?"  "At the time, I think I'd had enough to drink
to believe I was just irresistible to both of them.  But with
hindsight, Julia."  "Did you continue this out of the hot tub?"  'We
moved to a bed."  "Which bedroom?"  "One in the guest wing; the one
where..."  "I see.  And who chose that room?"  "Julia.  She said
something about the sheets not being fresh in our bedroom."  "What
about the second encounter?"  "It was pretty much like the first,
except on that occa siou, I think everybody knew ahead of time where
the evening was heading."  "Have you seen Monica Collins since then?" 
"A couple of times, at other people's houses."  "What sort of terms are
you on with her' "Good, I think; she was always cordial, seemed glad to
see me, as well as Julia."  "Did she ever make any reference to your
earlier encounters?"  "No, but then she wouldn't have had the
opportunity on those occasions."  . "One more thing: Would you say
that, during your sexual encounters, Ms.  Collins exhibited an equal
interest in you and Julia?"  "No.  I mean, she certainly seemed excited
with me, but once I was done in, she and Julia turned to each other,
and I'd say it was pretty clear that she was a lot more excited by
Julia than by me."  "On both occasions?"  "Yes.  It was pretty much the
same both times."  "How do you think Ms.  Collins would feel about
testifying about these encounters?"  "Well, I .. my impression of
Monica is that she's a good deal more uptight when sober than after a
few drinks--perhaps even a bit prudish.  My guess is that she would be
horrified at the thought of testifying."  "If I subpoenaed her, do you
think she'd tell the truth under oath?"  "Hard to say, but at the time
of her divorce from Frank Collins there was a lot of talk around that
during the trial, which was acrimonious, she lied repeatedly on the
stand."  "Oh," Eagle said.  They arrived at the state court building
precisely at nine o'clock, in two cars.  As they walked to the
entrance, Eagle spoke only once.  "Don't say anything unless I tell you
to," he said.  "And if I tell you to, tell the truth, but don't be
verbose."  Eagle gave his name to the district attorney's secretary,
and they were shown in immediately. "Hello, Bob," Eagle said, shaking
the man's hand.  "Hello, Ed," the man replied.  "This is Bob Martinez,
the district attorney," Eagle said to Wolf.  "Bob, this is my client,
Wolf Willett."  "Hello," Wolf said "How do you--" Martinez stopped
talking and looked at Eagle.  'qho?"  "That's right, Bob.  Mr.  Willett
is alive and well.  May we sit down?"  The amazed Martinez nodded and
sat down himself, rather heavily.  "Well, you're quite a surprise, Mr. 
Willett."  Wolf managed a smile, but said nothing.  "Bob," Eagle said,
"Wolf came to see me last night, referred by a mutual acquaintance. 
Wolf expressed his desire to offer the authorities any assistance
possible in the investigation of the murders at his house, and, being a
lawyer himself, naturally he thought he should have counsel.  He is, of
course, aware of his constitutional rights, and I would like to point
out for the record, before we begin, that he is here voluntarily to be
of help."  "I take your point, Ed" Martinez said.  "Mr.  Willett, do
you have any objections to answering some questions?"  "None at all,
Bob," Eagle said.  "Wolf has nothing to hide."  Martinez picked up the
telephone.  "Virginia, come in here with a tape recorder and your pad,
please."  When the stenographer was ready, Martinez began.

Q 0 0

an hour of intense questioning, Martinez sat back in chair.  "Just one
final question, Mr.  Willett," he said.  have you waited so long to
report to the authorities still alive'

Wolf leaned forward earnestly.  "Mr.  Martinez, I run a company that
employs some twelve people a full-time basis and many others part-time.
Before death, my partner, Jack Tinney, had completed on a film for
which we both had high hopes.  learned of the killings, I had no idea
what my... the authorities might entail, whether I be able to work. It
was vital to the health of my and the continued employment of my people
the film be completed and submitted to the studio which it was made.  I
went to Los Angeles for that only, and as soon as work on the film was
com-I returned to Santa Fe.

"I know very well that you would have liked to hear me sooner, and I
hope I have not impeded your investigation in any way.  If I have, I
apologize.  I assure you that was hot my intention.  I am most anxious
to learn who murdered my wife and my partner, and I want that person
brought to justice."

Ed Eagle spoke up.  "I think you can see, Bob, that Wolf really has no
information relevant to your investigation, since he has no memory of
the night of the killings.  It's my belief that he may have been
drugged."

"Of course, it's too late to learn that for sure," Martinez said
accusingly.  "Too much time has passed."

"Too much time had already passed when Wolf learned of the killings,
what--forty-eight or more hours later?  And that doesn't include the
time it would have taken him to return to Santa Fe from the Grand
Canyon.  My sources tell me that a drug test would have been negative
at that

"Mmm," Martinez muttered.  "Maybe so.  Well, it's a remarkable story
your client tells, Ed."  "I don't believe there's any evidence whatever
to contradict his account," Eagle said blandly.  Fishing expedition,
Wolf thought.  "Not so far," Martinez said, bring.  "The shotgun had
been wiped clean."  Eagle nodded as if he had known this all along. 
"Of course, Wolf will be very willing to assist in any way he can at
any time, with a view toward developing further evidence."  He leaned
back in his chair.  "In the meantime, there doesn't seem to be any
reason to detain Wolf further, and he hopes it will be possible for you
to release his house from evidence now."  "Already been done," Martinez
said.  "The cleaning lady barged in and cleaned up everything anyway,
but we had already finished with it, so no harm done."  Bless Maria,
Wolf thought.  Her entry would account for the broken seal on the door.
"Do you have any plans to leave Santa Fe, Mr.  Willett?"  Martinez
asked.  "None," Eagle replied before Wolf could speak.  "Wolf will be
available to you at all times until your investigation is complete." He
stood up and stuck out his hand to Martinez.  "Will you let me know
when that is, Bob?"  "All right," Martinez said.  "I'll want Mr.
Willett to formally identify the bodies, of course.  The Santa Fe
Police Department will be in touch about that."  "Of course."  Eagle
herded Wolf toward the door.  "Of course, I'd like the courtesy of
being present if you should have more questions," he said over his
shoulder.

i "Sure, Ed," Martinez said.  "I'll be in touch."  ii Eagle took Wolf
by the elbow and steered him out of building.  "That's it?"  Wolf
asked, a little dazed.  "Not on your life," Eagle said "When Martinez
has from the shock of finding out you're alive, he'll all over you, and
so will the Santa Fe cops and the state But at least we've bluffed him
into not arresting

"Thank God for that," Wolf said.  "I wasn't looking for to the prospect
of jail."  "Of course, if they come up with anything even
remote-incriminating, they'll lock you up in a hurry, but we might be
able to make bail even then."  Wolf produced his checkbook and wrote
Eagle a check a hundred thousand dollars, grateful that he had the i*
money.  "My bank still thinks I'm dead," he said, handing over the
check.  "Give me a couple of days to get my , account working again
before you deposit that."  '

"Sure," Eagle replied, pocketing the check.  "What do I do now?"  he
asked.  "Go home, live your life as normally as possible.  Go grocery
shopping, go out to dinner, be seen around.  But wait until tomorrow;
it won't hit the New Mexican until then, and we don't want
acquaintances screaming at the sight of you.  The TV stations will get
it from the wire services, if not sooner, and they'll be on your
doorstep quick.  Say you can't talk about it until the investigation
has been completed, and refer thegn to the district attorney's office.
Be regretful; don't appear to be ducking them.  Do you have an unlisted
phone?"  "One of my two lines is unlisted."  "Good.  Don't answer the
other one for a while; that'll slow them down."  Eagle stuck out his
hand.  "Call me, night or day, if you need anything, and especially
when you hear from Martinez or the police."

Wolf gave him the unlisted number, then shook his hand.  "Thanks,
Ed."

The two men parted.  Wolf got into the Porsche and headed for the house
in Wilderness Gate.  The car seemed to know the way; it was just as
well, because Wolf was somewhat disoriented to be in Santa Fe and still
a free man.

CHAPTER

van from an Albuquerque television station was waiting behind the house
when he got home.  The Albuquerque stations kept units in Santa Fe to
cover the statehouse.  Still, Wolf was astonished; no more than fifteen
minutes 'had passed since he had left the district attorney's office.
Somebody there must have a direct line to the press, he reckoned.

An incredibly young girl got out of the van with a microphone as soon
as she saw him.  A cameraman followed, buckling on a battery pack.

Wolf held up a hand.  "Hang on," he said to the breathless young
woman.

"Just a few questions, Mr.  Willett," she puffed, sticking a microphone
into his face and glaring at the cameraman, who seemed to be having
trouble with his equipment.

"There are two ways we can do this," Wolf said in a reasonable tone.

"How's that?  she asked.  "My way, or not at all," Wolf said.  "What's
your way?  "I'll make a brief statement on camera, and I won't answer
any questions.  And if you try to ask me any, I won't talk to you
again--ever."  "We'll do it your way."  She sighed, turning her
attention to the cameraman.  "Have you got the fucking thing going
yet?"  "Up and running," the man said.  "Shut it off," Wolf said to
him. The man looked at the reporter.  She nodded.  He switched it off. 
"Now, I'll stand here, with my back to the tree, and I'll say my piece.
When I say "That's all," you cut.  Understood?"  "Okay, okay," the
girl replied.  Wolf positioned himself and nodded to the cameraman, who
gave him a thumbs-up.  "I just want to say," he began, directing his
gaze to the reporter off camera, "that I have just left District
Attorney Bob Martinez's office, where he and I 'have discussed at
length the murders of my wife and my business partner.  I've told him I
have no idea who the other victim was, and that, of course, I will do
everything in my power to cooperate with him and the police in their
investigation.  Mr. Martinez and I both want the murderer brought to
justice at the earliest possible moment."  He took a deep breath.  "Mr.
Martinez and I agree that it will be most helpful to the investigation
if I do not speak to the press about recent events or answer any
questions relating to the investigation until it is complete. 
Therefore, this will be my only statement on the matter until that
time.  Thank you very much. That's all."  He waited for a beat, then
looked at the cameraman and drew a finger across his throat.  "We're
off," the cameraman said.

Wolf spoke to the reporter before she could speak to "What's your
name?"  "Sheila Jacks on ."  "Miss Jackson, I'd like you to go now and
spread it your colleagues that you have an exclusive and that am not
going to talk to anybody else.  If you do that, and bother me again,
then when this business is over, I'll an interview.  If I hear from you
before that time, give it to your rival station.  Understood?"  Her
shoulders sagged.  "Understood."  She and the cameraman piled into the
van and left.  Wolf was unlocking the door when plain sedan pulled iup
and two men got out.  "Mr.  Willett," a trim-looking Latino said,
producing a badge.  Captain Joe Carreras, of the Violent Crimes Section
of the Bureau of the Santa Fe Police Department."  He indicated his
colleague, a tall, weathered Anglo.  "This is Major Sam Warren of the
New Mexico State Police Special Investigations Unit.  We'd like to
speak with you, please."  "Of course.  Come into the house."  Wolf led
them into the living room and seated them on a sofa.  "Gentlemen, I'm
happy to cooperate with you in any way I can, but I'd like my attorney
to be present.  Will you excuse me while I call him?"  "Yes sir,"
Carreras said..  "Can I get YOu something to drink?  Coffee, a soft
drink?  "No, sir.  We'll wait while you call Ed Eagle."  Eagle was
there in ten minutes.  "Did you say anything at all to them?"  "I
offered them coffee; they declined."  He told Eagle about his
television statement. "That was the way to handle it," Eagle said. 
"Now let's go talk to the cops.  I'll stay out of it, unless you start
getting yourself into trouble."

It was clear to Wolf that any astonishment at his being alive had
passed and that he was now a prime suspect in a murder investigation.
Carreras and Warren bored into him for over an hour, covering every
step of his movements since the murders and looking very doubtful when
he told them of his memory loss.  'v'ho was the other victim, Mr.
Willett?"  Warren asked, as if he expected an answer.

"I have no idea," Wolf said.  "WVe'd like you to try to make an
identification of him," Carreras said.  "Gentlemen," Ed Eagle
interrupted.  "Dr.  Mark Shea, who knows Mr.  Willett very well, was
unable to give you an accurate identification of the body.  I
understand most of the face is missing.  Were there any sort of marks
or tattoos that might mean something to Mr.  Willett?"

"None," Carreras said.

"Then I fail to see how putting Mr.  Willett through this could help
you."

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist," Carreras said.

Wolf spoke up.  "It's not an unreasonable request," he said.

"When would you like to do this?"  Eagle asked.

"How about right now?"  Carreras said.

"Where are the bodies?"  Eagle asked.

"Well," Carreras said, "normally we would have moved them to the morgue
at the office of the state medical examiner in Albuquerque, but because
the M.E. has been ill, the autopsies were performed in Santa Fe, at St.
Vincent's

Hospital, and the bodies are still there.  If we wait until tomorrow,
you'll have to come to Albuquerque for the identification."

"Let's get it over with," Wolf said.

SANTA FE IULES

At the St.  Vincent's morgue, Ed Eagle took charge.  wait here," he
said, pointing at a chair in the waiting He turned to the policemen. "I
want to see them he said.  Carreras shrugged and led Eagle out of the
room.  They couple of minutes later.  "All right, Wolf," Eagle said.
Wolf was suddenly afraid.  His mouth went dry and he had swallowing;
his knees felt watery.  He followed the men into a room lined with tile
on three walls and rows of stainless steel drawers on the other.  Three
of the drawers stood open, and sheets covered the three bodies.  "Over
here first," Carreras said, motioning to the drawer the right.  He took
hold of the sheet and pulled it off, exposing the entire naked body of
a man.  A towel had ben draped across the face; Carreras did not remove
this.  "I had them cover the faces," Eagle explained.  "It them."  Wolf
stepped up to the table and looked at the body.  At first his attention
was fixed to the stitching that had followed the autopsy; then he
forced himself to consider the body.  It was about his size and build,
he thought.  The hair on the chest was graying, like his, the feet
larger than his.  He could see, though, how Mark might have mistaken
the man for him, under the circumstances.  "There's a significant scar
on the inside of the left wrist," Carreras said, picking up the
corpse's hand and exposing the wrist.  An ugly scar about three inches
long was exhibited.  "Suicide attempt?"  Eagle asked.  "Probably not,"
Cat, eras replied.  "It's too jagged.  When people slash their wrists,
they usually do it with a razor blade or something else sharp, so they
won't cause them

selves too much pain.  They usually do both wrists, too."

"I've never seen the scar," Wolf said.  "I don't know the man."

"You're sure?"  Warren asked.

"As sure as I can be under the circumstances," Wolf said.  "Without
seeing a face."

"There is no face," Warren said.  "Is there anything else about him
that looks familiar?"

Wolf shook his head.  "Nothing."

Carreras led him to the next table and removed the sheet.  Jack's body
lay before him; there was no doubt.  "It's Jack," Wolf said.

"How can you be so immediately sure?"  Warren asked.  "I knew him for a
long time," Wolf replied.  "We've shared hotel rooms, houses; I've seen
him naked dozens of times.  When he came to my house to swim, he wou4d
never wear a suit.  It'sJack's body."

"One more," Carreras said, stepping to the other drawer and removing
the sheet.

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
finger-nails--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.

' Warren asked.  shoulders sagged.  "It's Julia."

paused on the sidewalk in front of the hospital.  asked you this
before, Mr.  Willett, but I want to ask Can you think of any reason why
anybody would kill you, your wife, or Jack Tinney?"No, none," Wolf
said.  "It just doesn't make any sense.  It have been an intruder,
somebody who was trying to the house or something.  Several of the
houses at Gate are unoccupied a lot of the time--weekend summer places.
There have been break-ins before."  "We know about that," Carreras
said.  "It's a possibility.  I've dispatched an officer to your place. 
We'll kep a for a while."  "19o you think that's really necessary?" 
Wolf asked.  He 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 killing,"
Wolf said. "Not if he was a contract killer," Carreras replied.  "After
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.  'qhen 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," Carr eras 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
cemation 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."

SAI4T& FE RULES

there's something I don't understand."  that?

haven't they arrested me for the murders?  It to me I'm the only
logical suspect."

anta Fe Rules, Wolf.  They haven't arrested you they're scared shitless
of me.  I've tried more than capital cases in Santa Fe County over the
past and they haven't gotten a conviction yet.

have any hard evidence against you, only sup but the minute they think
they have a real case, 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.

at Wfiderness Gate, there were two television vans two other cars
parked in the road near his gate.  Several some with cameras, were
talking to a uniformed Wolf pulled up to the gate and produced his
license.  ""Tm Willett," he said to the cop.

The policeman inspected the license and moved Wolf and a television
cameraman.  People were questions from behind the cop.  "Go on in, Mr.
"he said.  "I'll get rid of these people."

Wolf hurried down the drive, thinking not about the at his gate, but
about Julia's sister, in prison.  He wanted to know what she knew.

CHAPTER

aria 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 listeed 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.  "Yes sir."

"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 years before, and had
not heard from them since.  Now was desirable company, it seemed. Well,
what the hell, Ed had told him to go out.  He phoned the R.S.V.P. hum
and left an acceptance on an answering machine.  As soon he hung up,
the phone rang.  Wolf let his answering

, 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 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 se
twice 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, UCLA.
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
cut."  iI'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
being Jack Tinney's heir.  The fax machine rang; the will : He heard
voices from the kitchen, and a moment later, ; burst into the room and
was all over him.  Mark Shea her in.  "Caught you on TV," he said,
smiling broadly.  "Thought like to see the pup."  Wolf stroked and
calmed the dog.  Then the sound from the , 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 Eagleis 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 i patient in
twenty minutes.  I just wanted to bring Flaps home and make sure you
were all right."

"I

the bodies yesterday.  I can see how you might : 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 Eagleis 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.  was another incoming call, and he picked that up thinking,
too. "Good morning, Mr.  Willett.  This is John Harvey at ' and Sons
Funeral Directors."  "Hello, Mr.  Harvey."  The county released the
bodies of Mrs.  Willett and Mr.  to us this morning.  Mr.  Eagle said
you were interin cremation."  "That's right.  I'd like both bodies
cremated as soon as and without ceremony."  "I can arrange that for
tomorrow in Albuquerque," said.  "Would you like to b present?"  "No,"
Wolf replied. "You may deliver the ashes to my 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 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

ane 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."

"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, ii 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.

"Srqhat 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."

"Thank you, Bob.  I'll draw up an assignment of powers and get it to
you in a day or two."

"All right.  Wolf, is there anything else I can help with?  I mean, are
you in need of any other legal help at the moment?  The question was
heavy with meaning.  "No, Bob, but thanks for the thought."  "Call me
if you need anything."  Wolf thanked him and hung up.

Jane was hanging up the other line.  "Okay, they'll deliver to Hal on
Monday."

"Great.  And thank you for doing such a terrific job."  "It was my
pleasure."

"Well, let's find you a room, shall we?"  He grabbed her bags and led
her to the guest wing, choosing the room from the murder scene.  "I
hope you'll be comfort-here," he said, placing her bags on the bed.
"The heat be a little slow taking hold; it comes from pipes under
floor, and it has to heat the stones."

"I'll be fine," she said.  "I'd like to have a shower.  That'll me
up."

"Go ahead.  I'll book us a table for dinner somewhere."  "Fine."

"Dress casually; Santa Fe is like that."

"Okay.  What's the hot dress for?"

"Oh, that's tomorrow night; dinner with the D & D."  "Who?"

"The Duke and Duchess of Kensington."

"Whatever you say," she said, shaking her head.

He left her and went back to his study.  Another reading of Jack's will
provided no dues to the director's state of mind.  Jack had never
mentioned the new will to him, but he had always been embarrassed about
discussing personal

He rang Santaeaf, his favorite restaurant, and booked a table for
two.-.

The owner, Jim Arno, greeted Wolf warmly at the door, and on the way to
their table they passed three groups of people Wolf knew.  Some greeted
him; others waved halfheartedly.  He didn't introduce Jane to any of
them.

"Friends?"  Jane asked archly as they sat down at their table and
picked up menus.

"That remains to be seen," Wolf said.

"They looked surprised to see me with you," she said.

"Fuck 'em," Wolf said lightly.  "I can recommend the smoked pheasant
spring rolls or the Chinese dumplings to start; the fish is always
good, and I'm fond of the duck."  "Surprise me," she said.  "Seems only
fair," he replied.  "You've been surprising me for the past two weeks."
"Oh?  How?"  "Well, you were always just the editor's assistant before;
I had no idea you were so good."  "Why did you ask for me, then?"  "I
wanted a cutter--a technician; I didn't expect more than that."  "I
like to give people more than they expect," she said.  "A good policy,"
he replied.  "Tell me, how did you become a single mother?"  "The usual
way," she said dryly.  He laughed.  "That wasn't what I meant.  Why
didn't you marry the guy?"  "And compound my error?  He was an
out-of-work actor--still is--and it was just a roll in the hay.  I was
on the pill, but I guess it didn't work."  "Has having the baby a tough
decision?"  "Not really.  I had two strong feelings: one, I didn't want
to have an abortion, and two, I wanted a baby.  No conflict."  "Has it
been tough?"  "Not as tough as you might think.  My sister, who's
single too, has been great.  She lived with me until Sara was old
enough for school; otherwise, it would have been really tough."  "No
disadvantages to being a single mother?  Jane shrugged.  "Not many. 
Not much time for things other than work and Sara, I guess."  "So
you've been a social recluse for the past eight or nine years?"  "Well,
not entirely; but I found myself turning down invitations that were
just dates.  There didn't seem to be time for anything that didn't have
more meaning."

"Does her father see anything of Sara?"

She shook her head.  "She gets a birthday card from him most years;
sometimes it comes with twenty bucks inside.  He's in New York was on a
soap for a couple of years, but now he's at liberty again."  She looked
down at the tablecloth.  "Actually, I prefer having him in New York; I
wouldn't want to share Sara with him.  I'm too selfish.  You were
married once before, weren't youY'

He nodded and told her about the accident, skipping his blackout.

"That must have been tough."

He nodded again.  "You get over these things," he said.  "In fact, I
think I'm getting better at getting over them."

She looked at him oddly but didn't question him further.

When they got back to the house in Wilderness Gate,

he said goodnight at the door to the guest wing.  They didn't touch.

iii

CHAPTER

Eagle drove through the open gate and down the drive toward Mark Shea's
house.  As directed, he turned off to the little building where Shea
received patients.

As he parked the car, the door to the office opened and he made his
goodbyes to a tall, very beautiful woman Eagle recognized immediately.
He had, in fact, seen her latest film the week before and had thought
her brilliant.  He was struck with an unexpected reluctance to make eye
contact with her, and he waited until her car drove away before he got
out of his.  On his way to Shea's front door he analyzed his reaction.
Was it timidity?  Probably not; hardly anybody made him feel timid
anymore.  Tact, that's what it was, he decided.  She wouldn't want to
be seen leaving her psychiatrist's office, so he hadn't seen her.

"Morning, Ed; come in," Mark Shea said, smiling and shaking his hand.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"If you'll join me, Mark."  Eagle had known Shea since psychiatrist had
come to Santa Fe some years before,

were not close friends.  Still, he was grateful for the ion al referral
of a client--especially one like Wolf he liked the man.  He'd heard
that Shea had a cult figure in the community, drawing wealthy from all
over the country, some of whom had taken residence in Santa Fe to be
near him.  Given Shea's and intelligence, this did not surprise the
lawyer.

Shea poured their coffee and settled into a chair oppo Eagle.

It was much like the arrangement in his own study,

reflected: cozy, friendly, and designed to draw out the visitor.  "I
want to talk with you about Wolf Willett, Mark," he said.  "I have his
permission to do so; you can call him, if you like."

"That won't be necessary, Ed.  Wolf has already spoken to me about
it."

"A little background: When did you first meet Wolf?"."

"About three years ago, shortly after he built his house here."

"Did he come to you at that time for treatment?"

"No.  We first met at a dinner party, and he called me some weeks
later."

"What did he feel his problems were at the time?"

"He initially came to me for help in stopping smoking,

and we fixed that, but Wolf felt he had difficulty forming close
relationships with other people--both men and women--although he seemed
to be better with women than with men.  He was also going through a mid
life reassessment of his existence: Did his work mean anything?  Did he
deserve his success?  Was there any reason why anyone should love him? 
His concerns vere typical of an intelligent, reflective, rather decent
middle-aged man,

and lacking a full relationship with a woman, he was without the
support that a good marriage can bring.  He needed some reinforcement."
"Is that what a psychiatrist does?  Reinforce?"  Shea smiled.  "There
are nearly as many opinions about what a therapist's role is as there
are psychiatrists.  Many regard themselves as objective observers who,
merely by listening to their patients, offer them a means of sorting
themselves out.  I do that with some patients, but on the whole, I lean
toward a more activist view."  "What role did you take with Wolf?." 
"I'm beginning to think this is more an examination of my technique
than a conversation about Wolf."  "I'm sorry, but it's important for me
to know his mind as well as a lawyer can, and it would be helpful if I
understood how you worked with him."  "Wolf came to me a very
self-sufficient man who had the dual burden of running a business and
propping up a rather.."  ah, undisciplined partner.  There were times
when he felt inadequate to the job especially the second role--and one
of the things he needed from me was someone to tell him that h was all
right, that he was doing a good job.  I offered him that support.  He
deserved it."  "What other sorts of support did you offer him?" 
"Mainly someone to talk with openly.  I regarded Wolf then as a stable,
self-aware human being who was coping well.  He just didn't seem to be
enjoying his life enough.  I found him relatively free of neurosis,
and--" "Relatively' "None of us is free of neurosis; we all have our
quirks."  "What were Wolfs quirksY' "He was having some moderate
difficulties with impotence; he wasn't enjoying sex much."

SANTA F P. Ut.  ES

"How did you treat his impotenceS' "I prescribed a drug which is
gaining a reputation for 'ss.  It's based on an old herbal remedy, and
it ms to dilate the blood vessels that carry blood to the s and cause
an erection."  "What do you mean, 'seems'?"  "The effect may be that of
a placebo--who knows?  As as I'm concerned, an effective placebo is as
good as a cure "Did it work for Wolf?."  "Hard to say.  He met Julia
about that time, and she may had a greater effect than the drug.  He
was capable again, anyway, and enjoying himself."  "What other quirks
did he have?"  "The only thing of any importance was something he.
wouldn't talk about for a long time, something he really would talk
about only after the murders."  "What was that?"  "His first wife, who
was pregnant, was killed in an auto- t mobile accident while Wolf was
driving her to the hospital for delixery."  "Did he have guilt feelings
about that?"  "Of course; who wouldn't?"  "SVhat effect did this guilt
have on him?"  "Depression, of course, for quite a long time.  And--"
Shea suddenly looked grave--"something else."  Eagle leaned forward.
"What else?"  "He blacked out.  He told me that after the accident the
police found him in a restaurant across the street, eating a
cheeseburger as if nothing had happened.  He had obviously suffered an
enormous emotional trauma."  "How much time did he lose?"  "A day and a
half, he says."

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"Have you talked with him about what happened the night of the
murders?"

"Yes."

"What do you think happened?"

"I don't know enough to draw any conclusions."

"Come on, Mark, you're not on the stand here.  Help me out."

"I think he may have discovered the bodies.  Or .. ."  Shea stopped.

"go on."

"Or, it's possible he may have .. . been present at the time of the
murders."

Eagle sat back in his chair.  "Mark, you choose your words carefully;
have you ever testified at a trial--as an expert witness?""

"No."

"All right, let's have a little psychodrama here.  You're on the stand.
The defense has already questioned you and elicited that Wolf is a
normal person with few neuroses.  You've conveyed to the jury that you
have a high opinion of him.  Now, I'm the prosecutor.  Remember, you're
under oath; you have to tell the truth.  But be brief; I'm a
sonofabitch of a prosecutor, and since you're a witness for the
defense, you don't want to give me any gratuitous information."

"All right," Shea said.  He shifted his position and crossed his
legs.

"Don't cross your legs; don't do anything that might lead the jury to
feel that you're defensive or contemptuous of the prosecutor.  Don't
give smart-ass answers.  You're trying to be helpful, even if this guy
is attempting to nail your patient with the death penalty."

Shea uncrossed his legs.  "All right, I'm ready."  "Dr.  Shea, is Wolf
Willett a sane person?"  "Sane is ale gal term, not a medical one."
"Don't get defensive; answer the man's question."  "I believe Mr.
Willett to be in full possession of his

"So if Mr.  Willett murdered his wife and his partner and person, he
knew exactly what he was doing?

Shea froze.

"Answer the question."

"It's possible for a normal human being to have a moment when he
doesn't know what he s dmng.  "You mean temporary insanity?"  "Yes, you
could call it that."  "Mr.  Willett isn't pleading temporary
isanit)he's pleading just plain not guilty.  You're his psychiatrist.
Is Wolf Willett capable of murder?"  "Only to the extent that anyone is
capable of murder, that you yourself might be capable of murder."  "Is
it psychologically possible that Wolf Willett committed three murders?"
, '

"It is unlikely in the extreme.

"But is it possible?"  "Sir, it is possible that the judge cmnmitted
these murders, but that is also unlikely in the extreme."  Eagle
laughed.  "Wery good.  You'll be hard to corner."  "Thank you.  Is Wolf
going to be tried for these murders?"  "I hope not.  I'm doing
everything in my power to prevent it, but if he is tried, we have to be
ready.  I take it you'll testify?"  "Of course."  "Mark, if we call you
as an expert witness, the state will be entitled to have a psychiatrist
of their choosing examine

Wolf, too.  Do you think another man might be able to find something in
an examination that would reflect badly on Wolf?"."

"Another psychiatrist, on hearing that Wolf can't remember the night of
the murders, would immediately ask if he had ever had another such
episode.  He might try to make something of Wolfs previous experience."
"I think I could handle that," Eagle said.  Shea smiled.  "I'm sure you
could."

Ed Eagle left Mark Shea's place feeling that Shea knew more than he was
telling about Wolf Willett, but he wasn't terribly bothered by that. If
the psychiatrist was trying to protect Wolf, he would protect him from
a prosecutor, too.  And he was smart; he wouldn't be lured into
damaging his friend.  Eagle felt a little better about his case.  He
would feel even better, he thought, when he knew more about Julia
Willett's background.

CHAPTER

A dark lump swam up on the horizon.  Wolf pointed.  "See that?  The big
rock in the distance?"  "What rock?"  "There."  "Oh, ye.  It doesn't
look so big."  "That's because we're forty miles away from it.  Wait a
few minutes."  They had been flying for three-quarters of an hour,
northwest from Santa Fe toward the Four Corners, where New Mexico,
Arizona, Colorado, and Utah meet.  Chaco Canyon was behind them, its
ancient ruins snowy and still in the winter sun.  "That's Ship Rock,"
Wolf said. "So called because the settlers on the wagon trains thought
it looked like a big sailing ship from a distance."  "Now it looks
impressive," Jane said, squinting.  "How tall is it?"  Wolf glanced at
the aeronautical chart in his lap.

"About two thousand feet above the surrounding terrain."  "It just gets
bigger and bigger as we get closer."

They passed the big rock and flew on west, over a high ridge etched
with little canyons," then over a broad plain.

"What's that in the distance?"  Jane asked, pointing ahead.  "In a few
minutes you'll know," Wolf replied.  He pointed below at a circular
structure.  "Lbok down there; that's a hogan, a Navajo dwelling."

"They still live in those?"

"There's a more modern house just next to it, but the hogans are still
used."

Wolf reset the altitude selector on the autopilot and the airplane
began to descend.

"Are we landing?"

"Not quite.  We're just going to fly low for a while."  Another ten
minutes passed.

Jane peered at the formation before them.  "I know what it is!"  she
exclaimed delightedly.  "I've seen it so many times--in a hundred
movies, I'll bet, and in most of John Ford's!"

Monument Valley loomed ahead.  Soon they were five hundred feet above
the valley floor, flying among the ancient towers of red sandstone.

Jane was busy with her camera.  "This is fantastic!  What a sight!"

Patchy snow covered the ground for as far as the eye could see, and
crowned the monuments with dashes of white.  "I often wonder what the
first settlers who saw this place must have felt," Wolf said.

"It has an almost religious quality, like a cathedral," Jane replied.
"I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Wolf threaded the airplane among the monuments for another quarter of
an hour, then turned toward the southwest and climbed to ten thousand
five hundred feet.

"Wow!  Where to now?"

"Someplace else you'll recognize."

Half an hour later Wolf pointed ahead to a large lake and, from it, a
narrow cut in the stone.  "Recognize that?"  "No.  What is it?"

"Wait and see."  He turned south over the narrow gorge, began to widen
out.

"I

I can guess," Jane said.  "It's starting to look but it's still too
small."

The Grand Canyon widened before them, and as the flew over the north
rim, it seemed that the bottom had fallen out of the world.  The late
afternoon sun strnek the mesas and valleys of the enormous gulley,
casting long i: shadows and turning the earth red.

"I thought airplanes couldn't fly over the Grand Jane said, snapping
pictures furiously.  "Only in certain zones; that's where we are.  You
used to be able to fly in the Canyon, until a helicopter and a
sightseeing airplane collided.  Then the rules were changed."  They
reached the south rim, and Wolf turned east again, glancing- at the
airport, remembering his last visit there.  Jane read his mind. 
"That's where you were when .. ."  Her voice trailed off.  "Not
exactly," Wolf said.  "I was in the hour.  At least, I think I was." 
He began to tell the story again.  He was becoming practiced now, and
telling it hurt less than it had before.  When he had finished, Jane
was quiet for a while.  "Well," she said finally, "it sounds as though
you're telling me you may have killed Jack and your wife."  "I don't
know," he said truthfully.  "I know that anybody is supposed to be
capable of murder," she said, "but I can't bring myself to believe that
you had anything to do with it."

"I'm glad you feel that way," he sighed.  "There's got to be some other
explanation."  "I hope so."

They flew east toward Santa Fe in silence.

CHAPTER

An off-duty policeman glanced at their invitation, then allowed them
through the high gates of the Kensington estate.  "Exactly who are
these people?"  Jane asked.  "He is aid to be one of the richest of the
English dukes," Wolf replied, "and that's rich.  The current duchess is
his fourth wife, and I hear they are socially jealous of our other D &
D, the Bedfords, who have a place in Tesuque.  That's all I know about
them."  Jane looked around at the lighted grounds as they drove down
the drive.  "I wouldn't want their electricity bill," she said.  "Or
any of their other bills."  Wolf laughed.  He lo old around, too. 
"They seem to have about five acres walled in.  Apparently the Duchess
has spent a fortune planting and watering an English garden.  Pity it's
cold weather and we'll miss the blooms."

Their car was taken away, and they were met at the front door by a
uniformed butler, who asked for their invitation.  Wolf could see the
Duke and Duchess waiting farther down the entrance hall.

The butler braced up and announced loudly in a broad Scottish accent,
"Mr.  and Mrs.  WolfWillett!"

"Oh, Christ," Wolf muttered, then he corrected the man.

"Mr.  Wolf Willett and Miz Jane Deering!"  the butler yelled,
unabashed.

The D & D stood waiting, smiles frozen onto their faces.  Wolf looked
farther down the hall and saw a flash of blond hair and a face he would
rather not have seen disappearing into the living room.

"Mr.  Willett, how very nice to see you," the Duchess said, extending a
tiny hand.

"Yes, yes," the Duke echoed, offering a hand nearly as small.  "Jolly
nice."

"May I present Ms.  Jane DeeringY' Wolf said.  "So very nice," the
Duchess said to Jane.  "Jolly nice," the Duke said.

"Please do go through and have a drink," the Duchess said, dismissing
them and turning toward her next arriving guests.

Wolf took Jane by the elbow and steered her toward the living room.

"I thought he was rather sweet," she said.

"No one knows for sure," Wolf said.  "She does all the talking for both
of them."

They paused at the entrance to the enormous living room to peer inside,
and as they did so, they stepped into a spotlight that had been trained
onto the broad doorway.  A

hundred and fifty heads turned, and the room went suddenly quiet.  Wolf
stood there, momentarily stunned, then recovered himself and led Jane
down the short steps into the room.  Conversation in the room
continued; Wolf knew exactly what the topic was.  "That was very
weird," Jane said. Wolf nodded.  "Once, I was in a London restaurant
not long after the Manson family murders in L.A."  and Roman Polanski
walked into the room.  Exactly the same thing happened."  Mark Shea was
making his way toward them.  "Wolf, good to see you out," Mark said,
shaking his hand warmly and looking at Jane.  "And who's this' "This is
Jane Deering, the editor of our new film," Wolf saic, feeling suddenly
defensive. Mark turned his attention to Jane.  "Jane, welcome to Santa
Fe.  Is this your first visitS' "Yes," she said, immediately warming to
Mark, "and I think it's wonderful."  "I can see this'-won't be your
last trip," Mark said, smiling.  "And how is work going on L.A. Days?" 
"Work was completed just yesterday," Jane replied.  "Congratulations to
you both.  You must feel an enormous sense of relief, having it in the
can."  "I certainly do," Wolf said.  "Got something new to move to the
front burner?"  "It's being cos ted right now," Wolf replied.  He
glanced across the room and saw Ed Eagle, head and shoulders above the
crowd, making his way toward them.  A waiter appeared with tall flutes
of champagne on a tray.  Wolf snagged two, passed one to Jane, and
managed to get a long swallow down before Ed Eagle arrived.

"vening, Wolf," Eagle said, smiling slightly.

"Evening, Ed.  Let me introduce you to Jane Deering, who is the editor
of our new film."

"Miss Deering, it's a great pleasure to meet you," Eagle said,
enveloping her small hand in his giant one.  He turned back to Wolf.
"Could I have a brief word with you?"

"Sure.  Mark, would you take care of Jane for a moment?  "Of course."

Eagle steered Wolf toward a sliding glass door and ushered him out into
the frigid night air.  He turned to face his client.  "Are you out of
your fucking mind?"  he asked pleasantly.

Wolf was baffled.  WV hat  I thought you said for me to go out, to be
seen."

"I didn't tell you to be seen with a beautiful woman in a killer dress,
two weeks after your wife was murdered," Eagle said.  His voice was
perfectly modulated and friendly.  There was, if anything, a note of
regret.

"Oh," Wolf said helplessly.  "I see your point."

"I wish you had seen it a couple of days earlier," Eagle said.  "The
first bit of gossip I heard when I arrived here was that you were at
Santacaf last night with a woman, and now you turn up here with her.  I
suppose you went to meet her in Albuquerque."

"Yes."

"You're not supposed to leave town; that's a violation of what I
promised the D.A."

"I'm sorry about that," Wolf replied.  It didn't seem like the best
moment to mention the airplane trip with Jane to Monument Valley and
the Grand Canyon.

"Martinez is going to know about this evening before he even has his
coffee tomorrow morning, and it's just feasible, should you, God
forbid, come to trial, that one or more of the people here tonight
might be on your juy.  I don't suppose you considered that."  "Not for
a moment, I'm afraid," Wolf said sheepishly.  "All right.  It's done,"
Eagle said.  "Now I want you to go back into that rOOm, take that girl
by the hand, and introduce her to every single person you know here.
There's nothing to do but brazen it Out.  Be sure to be among the last
to leave."  He opened the sliding dOOr and waved Wolf back into the
rOOm.  Wolf, feeling abashed, had hardly stepped into the warmth again
when he saw a blur of blond hair and gold dress, and Monica Collins
stood before him trembling with anger.  "GOOd evening, Monica," Wolf
said uncertainly.  "You bastard," Monica said, winding up to deliver a
blow across his face.  Mark shea's hand snaked between them and caught
the slap before it could land.  In one swift motion, he swung the woman
around and swept her from the rOOm.  "Now, Monica," he was saying, "you
must behave yourself."  Wolf stood traiasfixed, trying to keep an
expressionless face.  Everyone seemed to have noticed what had
happened.  He forced himself to move toward Eagle and Jane.  "You all
right?"  Jane asked, peering closely at him.  Ed Eagle spoke up.  "I
take it that was Monica Collins."  "Yes," Wolf said.  "I don't think
we'll seek her testimony," Eagle replied.  "I guess not."  Wolf sighed.
"Come on, Jane, I want you to meet some people."  .. "Who the hell was
that?"  Jane asked under her breath as they moved into the crowd.  "A
friend of Julia's."  "Such nice friends."

On the way home, Jane shook off her shoes and braced her feet against
the dashboard.  "Whew," she said.  "I never knew you were such a social
lion.  Was there anybody we didn't talk to?"

"I hope not," Wolf replied wearily.

"Who was the tall Indian againY' she asked.  "His name is Ed Eagle."
"The hotshot lawyer' "You've heard of him?"

"Yeah, he got that actor, what's-his-name, off a rape charge in L.A.
last year, remember?"

"Is he your lawyer?"

"And he wasn't very pleased to see me with you tonight, was he?"

"No, but that's not your fault; it's mine.  I've been be hawing as if
nothing has happened, when one hell of a lot has happened.  I think
it's just hit me for the first time."  "Julia's death."

YNo.  I've been dealing with that.  I've just realized that, no matter
what happens now, nothing is ever going to be the same again--not my
social life, not my work, not the way people look at me or think of me.
Nothing."

"I think maybe you'd better put me on the first plane to L.A. tomorrow
morning."

"You're right," he said.  "It's not what I want, but it's the only
thing, under the circumstances."

"It's not what I want, either, if that helps."  She put her hand on
his.

"It helps," he said.

CHAPTER

d Eagle drove north from New York to Poughkeepsie and turned off at the
sign for the correctional ' facility for women.  The road was slushy
from a snowfall the night before, and light flakes were still coming
down.  Eagle had visited a lot of' such places in his time, and this
one was no different from the dozens of other low-security prisons
around the country; the only difference was that it held what the
courts regarded as hard cases.  Apparently the state felt that
hard-case women didn't need high walls, guard towers, and vicious dogs
to keep them inside.  He presented his card to the man at the gate, who
checked his appointment on a list, then waved him to a parking area. 
He walked through another gate and to the administrative office.  "I'm
here to see Hannah Schlemmer," he said to a uniformed female clerk. 
"Take a seat," the woman said, then made a phone call.

Eagle sat on a hard chair and waited ten minutes, his overcoat in his
lap.  Finally another woman in uniform appeared and ushered him to a
small, nicely furnished sitting room, with a window overlooking a
wooded area at the rear of the prison.  The room had obviously been
arranged to make visitors feel at ease.  A moment later, a strikingly
beautiful woman walked into the room.  She was tall--five-ten or
-eleven, he reckoned--something that had always appealed to him.  She
was dressed in tight designer jeans and a blue work shirt that had been
knotted at the waist, covering ample breasts but revealing a couple of
inches of flat belly.  Her hair was cut short--dark with highlights of
red; her nose was long and straight, her lips full, her eyes large,
under lush eyebrows; the lashes were incredibly long.  Her skin was
perfect, and she wore little makeup.  "Mr.  Eagle, I'm Barbara
Kennerly," she said, sticking out a hand.  Her grip was firm and frank.
His own hand did not swallow hers, the way it did with most women.
"What happened to Hannah Schlemmer?"  he asked.  "I've just had it
changed; the system here hasn't quite caught up with the courts.  Won't
you sit down' She might have been an elegant housewife entertaining a
guest in her home, instead of a convicted felon.  Eagle took a
comfortable chair; Barbara took the sofa.  "Would you like a
cigarette.;?"  she asked.  "Thank you, I don't smoke."  She smiled a
little.  "I've given it up, myself, but cigarettes are legal tender
here, so I always keep a pack in my pocket."  Eagle couldn't imagine
how she could squeeze a nickel into one of her pockets, let alone a
pack of cigarettes.

can I help you?"  she asked.

a lawyer, Miss... Kennerly, and--"

know who you are, Mr.  Eagle; I read the papers."

representing Mr.  Wolf Willett--your sister,

husband.  I'm trying to get to the bottom of what

, to her."

i She laughed again, something she seemed to do easily.

mean Julia.  She changed her name long before I did."

"Yes, Julia."

"Has Mr.  Willett been charged with anything in connec

Iulia's death?"

"No.  As I say, I'm just tqAng to get to the bottom of the "You're not
exactly a private detective, Mr.  Eagle.  If Mr.  has hired you, it
must be for a defense."  "There is no charge to answer at the moment."
"You're just being prepared, in case there is?"  "I don't anticipate a
charge."  He was not exactly con this conversation.  "I'm impressed
that you came all this way yourself, when you could have sent
somebody," she said, looking him in the eye.  "Frankly, if I'm going to
talk with you, I want to know what you're up to."  Eagle sighed.  "All
right, I'll be frank with you.  Wolf Willett had nothing to do with the
murders--I feel certain of that--but it's possible that the.  New
Mexico authorities might, if they can't solve the case, try to make a
victim of him."  "That's close enough to the truth, I guess," Barbara
said. "You're here to protect your client, and you hope I can somehow
help you."  "I'm here to find out the truth, because I believe the
truth will vindicate my client," Eagle said.

"Forgive me if I sound cynical, Mr.  Eagle; prison does that to you.
You're always looking for people's hidden motives, especially
lawyers'."  She shrugged.  "All right, I'll tell you whatever I can.
The truth can't harm me."

"Were you and Julia close?"

"I hadn't seen her for a couple of years when she was killed."

"What were the circumstances the last time you saw her?"

"She was in jail, at Riker's Island.  She wanted money for a lawyer."

"Did you give it to her?

"I managed to scrape up a couple of thousand.  I didn't want my husband
to know."

"Had you been close before that?"

Barbara Kennerly looked out the window.  "I don't know," she said.
"There were times when I thought we were close, but I learned that you
could never tell what

Julia was thinking.  She was like that from childhood."  "Was Julia
older than you?"  "Yes, by two years."

"And you grew up in Cleveland?"

"Yes.  Daddy had a pawnshop on the wrong side of the tracks.  Tough
neighborhood.  He tried to protect us from it, but Julia didn't want
protecting; she was always fascinated by the slick guys and fast
talkers.  I was the straight arrow--good grades in school, all that.
It's ironic that I ended up in prison, just like Julia."

"Did Julia have anything to do with that?"

"No.  I was married to a man who had a diamond distribution business on
West Forty-seventh Street in New York.  I fell in love with another
man--really in love, head over heels--and he convinced me that the only
way we ever going to be together was to rob my husband and get out.  I
got him into Murray's office--there was quite an elaborate security
system--and the minute he got his hands on the diamonds, he shot
Murray.  I was stunned.  He forced me to go with him.  They caught up
with us in

Florida, just as I was about to try to sneak out and turn myself in."

WV hat happened then?"

"I turned state's evidence, pled to involuntary manslaughter.

I got five to eight; I'm up for parole next year."

"And the man?"

"He got life.  Broke out of prison last year; they still haven't caught
him.  That's partly why I changed my name; I don't want him ever to
find me."

"After you saw Julia at Riker's Island, did you ever hear from her
again?"

"Yes.  She'd write a postcard now and then.  When she got married to
Wolf Willett, she sent me a phone number, and I called her a couple of
times.  She was going to help me when I got out."  She laughed. "That's
funny.  Julia was always in trouble, always came to me for money.  Now
the tables were going to be turned.  I, the conventional married Jewish
lady, stable home and all that, needing the help of my sister with the
criminal past."

"Did you ever get the feeling that Julia was working some sot of con
with Willett?"

"No.  If anything, she seemed to have changed.  Whenever I talked to
her, she always seemed happy as a clam.  I guess she got the things
honestly--more or less--that she had been trying to get dishonestly for
all those years.

""More or less'?"

"Oh, I think Julia would always have conned people to get what she
wanted.  But lots of women do that to marry the right man."  "Did she
love him, do you think?"  Barbara frowned.  "That might be stretching
things a little far.  Julia mostly loved herself, but she seemed to be
working at being a wife when I talked to her.  I think she was trying
to live some sort of normal life."  She laughed again.  "Mind you, it
was normal life with houses in Bel Air and Santa Fe--hot and cold
running Mercedes, that sort of thing.  Julia could get used to
that--for a while, anyway.  Nothing and nobody ever lasted very long
with Julia.  She always had ants in her pants."  "Do you think that
Julia had any friends in L.A. from her old life?"  Barbara shook her
head.  "I think she made the break.  The last thing she would have
wanted was somebody from her past turning up."  "From what I read in
the New York Times, she didn't break from her past right away when she
moved to Los Angeles.  There was mention of her making a porno movie."
"She was flat broke.  She told me about it."  "That would open her up
to blackmail, wouldn't it?"  "It never did.  She would have told me. 
She used yet another name, of course."  "Barbara, something I don't
understand."  "What's that?"  "When the Times reporter was up here to
see you, you told him about Julia's past.  Why would you do that, when
it might threaten her new position in life at a time when she was going
to help youY' Barbara sighed.  "He'd reported on my case when I was
convicted, and he said he wanted to do a book about me,

g that might be made into a movie.  He'd made a of trips up here, and
he was coming again.  I heard Julia on the news the night before, and,
well, I it couldn't hurt her for me to tell him, and it might me by
keeping him interested.  I certainly didn't it to turn up in the paper
the next day.  I guess I was

'Is he going ahead with the book' '5Veil, as I figured, when he heard
who Julia was married to, he got all excited.  He's taking it to
publishers now, he says.  Thing is, I don't think I want the book
anymore, what with my parole coming up.  I think I'd rather just fade
into the sunset, get a job somewhere."  "Do you have any skills?"  "I
was a secretary before I married, and during the first couple of years
I helped Murray with the business.  I know how to run an office--word
processing, bookkeeping, all that.  And I worked in a restaurant when I
was single."  "Is there anything else you can think of that might shed
any light on Julia's murder?  Was there anybody who might want to kill
bev?  Some enemy from the old days, maybe?"  Barbara looked thoughtful.
"I didn't know a lot of the details of Julia's life, but I can't think
anybody would want to kill her.  She had a way of making people like
her--even when she'd done them wrong.  Daddy helped her until the day
he died--even left her some money--and God knows, she'd made his life
hell since she was twelve."  Eagle stood up.  "Well, I'd better be
going."  He produced a card.  "If you think of anything else, I'd
appreciate a call--collect, of course."  He felt sorry for the woman,
and he was attracted to her.  "And if I can help, let me know."  " She
accepted the card.  "Thanks, but I don't know if I'll get that far
west."

"I know a few people in the East, too."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Eagle shook her hand again.  "Thank you, Barbara, for your help."

"Not at all.  If I ever need a lawyer, I'll call you."

He was at the point of telling her to call him anyway, but he stopped
himself.  Now that he was middle-aged, he was trying not to follow his
cock around quite so much.  "Goodbye, then, and good luck."

"Thanks."  She gave him her large, strong hand again.

Driving back to New York, he tried to forget how she had looked in
those jeans, about the full breasts under the work shirt.  It wasn't
easy.

He'd asked her every question he could think of, but the answers hadn't
helped much.  He wondered for a moment if there was something she
hadn't told him, but he discounted that.  He was a damned good reader
of people, and he reckoned she had been open with him.

CHAPTER

Wn Ed Eagle awoke the following morning in his room at the Pierre, he
found that his mind had been at work during the night, something that
often happened, and he felt uneasy about his interview with Barbara
Kennerly, ne Hafinah Schlemmer.  He picked up the phone and dialed a
friend in the office of the district attorney of New York County.

"Brian, this is Ed Eagle.  How are you?"

"I'm good, Ed.  You in town?"

"Yeah.  I'm flying back this afternoon, and I need some information
from your office."

"What sort of information?"

"I'd like to see the prosecutor's notes on a case your office tried."

"How long ago?"

"A couple of years."

"Those files would be stored in County Records.  We only keep that
stuff until there's a disposition of the case.  You're talking about a
week or ten days to unearth it; they're always backed qp over there."
"I see.  Maybe I could talk to the prosecutor."  "What was the case?" 
"A diamond merchant named Murray Rifkind murdered by his wife's lover
during a robbery attempt."  "Hang on a minute.  I'll ask around." 
Eagle toyed with a piece of toast from the remnants of his breakfast
while he waited.  "Okay, the case was tried by a guy named Herbert
Stein, a senior prosecutor.  I'll transfer you.  You still leading the
bachelor life out West?"  "You bet."  "Lucky bastard.  Hang on."  There
was a series of clicks on the line, followed by a ringing.  "This is
Herbert Stein."  "Mr.  Stein, this is Ed Eagle."  "Hi.  What can I do
for you?" "You tried the Murray Rifkind case?"  "That's right."  "Can
you tell me in general about it?"  "Rifkind's wife had a lover with an
armed robbery record.  He got her to let him into Rifkind's office,
where he blew the guy away.  The two of them decamped with a couple of
pounds of diamonds.  They were arrested in Miami, but the guy had
already fenced the goods."  "What was the disposition?"  "The killer
his name was, let me see--Grafton, James Grafton--got life; Rifkind's
wife cooperated, copped to involuntary manslaughter, got a
five-to-eight."  "You remember the woman?"

"Do I!  She was a knockout!"

"How much help was she?"

"Gave me everything I asked for.  Got up and said her piece in court. A
stand-up lady.  Grafton was a nasty piece of work, too, a slick guy,
con man, but with a violent streak."

"He's out, I hear."

'rOut?  No way.  He'll do twenty years before he comes up for parole,
and since we never recovered the diamonds or any money, he's not likely
to get it."

"I saw .. Mrs.  Rificind yesterday.  She says he broke jail."

"News to me.  I wouldn't put it past him, though; he was a piece of
work, that guy."

"Do you remember a sister of Mrs.  Rifkind being around the case at
all?

"Nab.  She didn't seem to have anybody.  A public defender, some kid,
handled her plea."

"Do you remember what Grafton looked like?"

"Yeah.  Medium height, slim, late forties, dark hair going gray, good
dresser."

"Thanks very much, Mr.  Stein, I appreciate your help."  "Anytime."

Eagle hung up, then dialed the district attorney's office in Santa
Fe.

"This is Martinez."

"Bob, it's Ed Eagle.  How are you?"

"Okay, Ed."

"Bob, did you run the prints on the John Doe you thought was Wolf
Willett?"

"Sure, Ed.  You think we're slack around here?"

"Yes.  You didn't bother until Wolf turned up alive.  Did you make
him?"

"Maybe."

"Don't be coy, Bob.  Who was the guy?"  He could hear Martinez
shuffling papers.

"I don't know that I'm required to give you that information, Ed."

"Mind if I take a wild guess?"

"Suit yourself."

"Grafton, James.  A record of armed robbery.  Escaped from a New York
state prison."

There was a stunned silence.  "How the fuck did you know that?"

"I don't know that I'm required to give you that information, Bob."

Eagle was laughing as he hung up the phone.

CHAPTER

'lr lrolfll sat and stared at the two containers on the kitchen
table--all that remained of the two people he had loved most.  Or had
he?  He thought about it.

Jack was easiest.  He'd loved Jack.  Nobody could have put up with what
he had endured from the man without loving him; Jack had been like an
alternately errant and repentant child.  The money they'd made together
wouldn't have been enough to hold together the relationship.  Wolf knew
that his partner hadn't had an evil bone in his body, and if he'd
needed proof, then Jack's will was the final evidence.  Wolf missed
him.

Julia was another matter.  He thought about what she had given him for
the past year, and he knew it wouldn't seem like much to an objective
observer; it boiled down to sex, one way or another.  Certainly Julia
had been a responsive and inventive lover, but there was more to it
than that.  She had come into his life when it was gray and empty,

except for his work, at a time when he thought he would never sleep
with another woman.  She'd made him love sex again, and crave it, and
he'd loved taking her places where other men could envy him.  But love?
Too strong a word.

The personal effects were spare--of Julia's, only her wedding and
engagement rings; of Jack's, some money, a wristwatch, a wallet, keys,
a large silver ring.

He made himself move.  He got into a coat, gathered up the two urns,
and put them into the Porsche.  He drove aimlessly for a while, then
started up the mountain road to the Santa Fe Ski Basin, tall evergreens
rising around him.  He stopped at an overlook and got out of the car.
The ground fell away sharply into a forest of winter-bare,
silver-skinned aspens; beyond lay Santa Fe to the northwest, and far to
the north, visible in the clear mountain air, a peak he had been told
was in Colorado, more than a hundred miles away.  The wind gusted,
tearing at his coat.  He buttoned it and shoved his hands into its
pockets to protect them.

Finally he took an urn he didn't know if it was Julia's or
Jack's--unscrewed the top, and when another gust came, tossed the ashes
into the air.  He repeated the task with the other urn and watched the
remains lift and spread, disappear into the trees.  Then, with all his
strength, he threw the urns after them.  He got back into the car with
a feeling of completion, as if an era of his life had ended.

On the way back down the mountain, he thought about Jane Deering, now
back in L.A. That wasn't over, not by a long shot--not if he could stay
out of prison.

There was a car--a four-wheeler of some sort--in the rearview mirror.
It had been there on the way up the mountain, too, he thought.  He put
it out of his mind.

Wolf took the slow way home, turning toward the plaza at the heart of
Santa Fe.  The streets were crowded with

Christmas shoppers, the Indians selling silver jewelry on the sidewalk
in front of the eighteenth-century Palace of the Governors huddled down
into their blankets to defeat the gusty wind.  If Julia were alive,
they'd be there shopping; she had a gift for picking out the best stuff
from among the run-of the-mill pieces the Indians brought to town.  He
missed Christmas shopping.  He had no one to shop for.  The short day
was ending when he got back to the house.  Ed Eagle was standing on the
back steps writing a note.  "Hello, Ed," he called, getting out of the
car.  "Hello, Wolf.  I thought I had missed you."  "Come on in."  Wolf
led him into the study, took his coat, and offered him a drink.  "You
like single-malt Scotches, as I recall.  I've got some Laphroaig."
"That would be very good."  Wolf poured them both a drink, lit the
fire, and sat down.  "I'm just back from New York," Eagle said.  "Did
you see Julia's sister?"  Eagle took a sip and nodded.  "Quite a
striking gid." '"well, she's Julia's sister," Wolf said.  "Did she help
out at all' " "She was very cooperative, but I'm not sure how much she
helped.  Do you know somebody named Grafton?  James Grafton?"  Wolf put
down his drink.  His hand was trembling.  Eagle leaned forward.  "Wolf,
are you all right?"  "Yes, I think so," he replied.  "It's just... "he
stopped. "You do know Grafton, then?"  "No.  At least, I don't think
so.  But the name just did something to me.  It was like being kicked
in the stomach."  "Can you remember him at all?"  Wolf calmed himself
and tried to remember.  "No, I can't.  I'm sure I don't know anybody by
that name."  Sweat was leaking from his armpits now.  "I don't
understand this.  Who is James Grafton?"

"He's the man in the morgue; the one they thought

Was yOU."

"How did you find out'

"Julia's sister told me, sort of; at least, she gave me enough to go
on, and I figured it out."  He explained the relationship between the
sister and Grafton.

"And he came here after breaking out of jail?  WhyS'

"I don't know exactly, but I think Julia's sister must have told him
about Julia's marrying you.  He might have thought Julia was a good
target for blackmail."

"But how would he have ended up in bed with Julia and Jack?  This
doesn't make any sense at all."

"No, it doesn't.  We'll have to know a lot more before it does."

"Do the police know about this guy?"

"They know who he is; they don't know about the connection to Julia.
I'll have to tell them, though.  I don't want Bob Martinez yelling
about obstruction of justice; it's better to be aboveboard with them.
The relationship between Julia's sister and Grafton can't reflect on
you, since you didn't know either of them existed."

"I can't prove that, though."

"They can't prove otherwise.  That's what's important."  Wolf stood up.
"I need another drink; let me get you one."

Eagle handed him the glass and waited for him to return.  "When was the
last time you saw Julia?  Alive, I mean."

Wolf thought back.  "In L.A. The editing on the new film wasn't going
all that well, and I wanted a break a few days in Santa Fe.  Julia
didn't want to come with me; she didn't like the airplane much.  I was
supposed to be back there for Thanksgiving dinner with some friends,
the Carmichaels."

"Did you see Jack around the same time?

"No.  Jack had a way of disappearing right after shooting on a picture
was completed, while I worked with the editor."

"You have no idea where Jack went after shooting was completed?

"Mexico, probably.  He had a place in Puerto Vallarta; he could go down
there and drink and screw without my being on his back about it.  He'd
come back sober, though--usually, anyway."

They drank in silence for a few minutes.

"Christ, I don't know," Eagle said finally.  "I've never had anything
like this to deal with."

Wolf made them both another drink.  When he came back he asked, "Is it
unusual for you to go to interview somebody like Julia's sister?"

"N t really.  I often interview potential witnesses myself.  I don't
have that big a staff--just two associates and some office workers.  It
is unusual for me to go as far as New York, but I had an idea that the
sister might have some answers.  Tutus out she didn't even know she had
the one answer she had the one about Grafton."

"You think she told you the truth?"

Eagle sipped his Scotch and nodded.  "She seems to be a truthful
person; the prosecutor who handled her case thought so, anyway."

"I'm going to fix myself a steak.  Will you join me?  "Sure, why
not?"

Wolf got up.  "Let's move into the kitchen."

"Sure."  Eagle got up.

"You know," Wolf said, "Julia seemed to be a truthful person, too."

CHAPTER

hey were in the living room now, each stretched out on one of the
facing sofas before the fire, a bottle of cognac on the coffee table
between them.

"That was a very fine burgundy," Ed Eagle said.  His speech was even
slower and more deliberate than usual.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Wolf said, trying hard to pronounce the
words clearly.  They had drunk two bottles of it with their steaks.

"What was it again?"  Eagle asked.

"Uh... La Tache, Domaine de la RomanCe Conti, '78."  "Right.  La
Tache." "Right."

Wolf reached for the brandy bottle and nearly fell off his sofa.  "I
think we have to keep the cognac just a little bit closer to me than to
you," he puffed, rearranging himself on the sofa.  "You have a great
advantage in reach."

"Right."

Long pause while both men sipped.  'you ever play any basketball, Ed?"
"Yup.  Arizona State, four years.  On a scholarship."  'Vere you any
goodY' "Good enough to keep the scholarship.  I never made All-American
or anything, and I wasn't good enough for the pros.  I was better on
defense than offense."  He chortled to himself.  "Harbinger of things
to come."  Wolf found this wildly funny.  "Jesus," he said when he had
brought his laughter under control, "you're a sketch, Ed."  "I am,"
Eagle solemnly agreed.  "I always thought of Indians as being a little
short on humor.  What tribe are you from?"  "Ashkenazi," Eagle said.
"You mean Anasazie."  The Anasazies--which meant "the old people"--had
occupied the area a thousand years before, leaving hundreds of
elaborate ruins before they inexplicably died out.  "Nope, I mean
Ashkenazi."  "They're rot from around here, are they?"  "Promise to
keep this to yourself, Wol .f?"  "Keep what to myself?."  "This ." 
"Oh. Sure."  "Scout's honor?"  "And cross my heart."  "I'm from the
Ashkenazi tribe."  What the hell are you talking about7' "It's one of
the twelve tribes of Israel.  Ashkenazi."  "You're drunker than I
thought."  "That's true, but I'm still Ashkenazi."  "You're not making
any sense."

"I'm making perfectly good sense."  "But that would make you Jewish."
"Right."  "A Jewish Indian?"  "Nope.  Just Jewish."  "What are you
talking about, Ed?"  Eagle reached for the brandy bottle and poured
himself a generous slug.  "Let me see if I can clear this up for you,
Wolf.  I'm not an Indian.  I'm a Jew."  '"what the living fuck are you
talking about?"  "I think I'd better start at the beginning."  "I don't
see how that could possibly help, but go ahead."  "Okay, I'll start at
the very beginning.  I was born in the Williamsburg section of
Brooklyn, New York."  "What the hell kind of Indian is born in
BrooklynY' "Well, there were some Mohawks, but I wasn't one of them." 
Wolf sighed.  "This isn't making any sense, but go on."  "My parents
were Hassidim--that's a very strictly orthodox Jewish sect."  "I know
what Hassidim are, for Christ's sake."  "Well, I was one--at least
until I was fourteen."  "Then you changed into an Indi anY "No, not
yet.  I started to play basketball." '"wait a minute, I'm getting a
deja vu here.  Isn't this a Chaim Potok novel?"  "That was softball or
something; I played basketball."  "Why?" "Because I loved doing it.  It
drove my parents nuts, though, because there weren't any Hassidie kids
good enough to play with me.  I wanted to go to public high school and
play basketball."  "So you went to an Indian high school?"

"There aren't any Indian high schools in Brooklyn."

"So, anyway, what happened the nY

"Big family crisis.  I moved in with my Uncle Harry and Aunt Nellie,
who had also left the Hassidim, and I went to public high school and
played basketball."

"SVhat does all this have to do with Indians?"

"There was a Mohawk kid on the team, name of Marry.  There's this
Mohawk settlement in Brooklyn--they're all steelworkers on
buildings--up high, you know?"

"I think I read something about it once."

"Anyway, Marry and I were the best players on the team, and people got
to calling us Big Chief and Little Chief.  I wasn't an Indian, of
course, but nobody knew that.  My name sounded Indian, and in this
particular school, which had a lot of Irish and Italian kids, tough
customers, it seemed like a better idea to be an Indian than to be a
Hassidic Jew.  So I kept my mouth shut and became an Indian.  I had a
prominent nose and sort of dark skin, but I never actually claiasd to
be an Indian; the other kids did that for me.  Marry thought it was
funny as hell, so he kept his mouth shut, too."

"Ed, you're drunk."

"Sure.  Well, four years of high school went pretty well; Marry and I
made MI-City, and the colleges started sniffing around.  Marry was too
short, but I got some offers--N.Y.U. wanted me--even Fordham.  Then
along came Arizona State, and I saw an opportunity to get out of New
York for good, so I accepted."

"Were you an Indian at Arizona State, too?"

"It was effortless.  There were a bunch of Indians in the school, but I
ran around with basketball players, mostly, who thought I was pretty
exotic.  I refused to talk about my background, and that made me
mysterious, started a lot of rumors.  The consensus was, I think, that
I was a Mohawk who had gotten too tall to work on high buildings."  "So
how did that get you into practicing law in Santa FeY' "It didn't,
exactly.  I came up to Santa Fe with a girlfriend a few times when I
was at Arizona State, and I liked it; the Indian thing seemed to work
very well here.  I got into Yale Law School, and Uncle Harry put me
through.  When I graduated, the best offers were in New York, but I
didn't want to go back there, so I came to Santa Fe, put out my
shingle, and hung around the courthouse looking for work.  The rest, as
they say, is history."  "And everybody thinks you're an Indian' "Right.
Remember, though, I never said I was an Indian."  "What about the
Indians?  They buy it' "Seem to.  I haven't met many, really; only had
one for a client.  Their crimes aren't usually big enough for my kind
of help, and anyway, they can't afford me."  "So you're not an Indian."
"No, Wolf.  I'm a Jew."  There was a long silence while Wolf considered
this.  "Ed, what are you talking about?"

CHAPTER

Ed Eagle waited a week before he told the district attorney how he had
known who James Grafton was.  A few days passed, then Martinez called
him back.  "Ed, are you trying to fuck with me, or what' "What e you
talking about, Bob?"  Eagle asked, genuinely puzzled.  "I'm talking
about the Schlemmer woman."  "What about her?"  "I sent a man to New
York to interview her, Ed."  Martinez sounded thoroughly exasperated. 
"Good move, Bob," Eagle replied sarcastically.  "And I'll be willing to
bet you he didn't get any more than I did."  "You know damn good and
well he didn't get anything."  "I'm only guessirg, Bob; you make it
sound like I queered your man's interview."  "What interview?"  "Bob,
you're not making any sense."

"She wasn't there, Ed."

"Schlemmer?"

"Right.  She was paroled last week."

"Oh.  I didn't know that.  She said she was coming up for parole soon,
but she didn't say that soon."

"Ed, do you swear to me you didn't know she had been paroled'

"I swear I didn't.  And anyway, I didn't know you were sending a man
east."

You re sure.

"Bob, I promise you.  Listen, if she was paroled, she must have had an
address.  Didn't they give him her address?

"Sure they did.  Turned out to be her old house, where she lived with
her husband.  His mother was there, said she hadn't heard a word from
Schlemmer."

'ell, I'm sorry you had to go to all that trouble, but I really told
you everything she had to say."

"All right, then, tell me if she was in something with

Graf ton."

"Bob, they were convicted at the same time; they were in different
prisons.  It would have been pretty tough for her to be in something
with him, wouldn't it'

"I don't like coincidences."

"Who does?  I told you, my theory is that somehow from Schlemmer or the
papers, or something--he found out that Julia Willett was Schlemmer's
sister, operating under a new name.  Grafton was just the kind of slime
who would try for a blackmail score on Julia.  Doesn't that make some
kind of sense?"

"Maybe."

'Well, it's all I've got to offer.  If I think of something new,

I'll call you.  I'm not obstructing your investigation, Bob, I

really want to help.  So does Wolf Willett, but he's in the ,.

box you and I are in: He read about the sister in the newspaper.  That
was the first he knew of her, and he never heard of Grafton.  That's
what he told me, and I believe him."

"All right, Ed, we'll leave it at that.  But ffyou hear from the
Schlemmer woman, I want to know about it, you understand?"

"Bob, I haven't the slightest reason to think that she will cross my
path again, but if she turns up, you'll be the first to know, I
promise."

Martinez hung up, and Eagle sighed.  That was that, and he was pleased
that the district attorney had never gotten to the woman; it would have
been embarrassing if he had turned up something that Eagle had
missed.

His secretary stuck her head in the door.  "Excuse me,

Ed, but there's a Barbara Kennerly in reception.  She says you know
her."

Eagle put his face in his hands and whimpered.  "Christ, Martinez is
never going to believe this."  He sat back and sighed.  "Send her
in."

Barbara Kennerly walked into the room wearing a Chanel suit and looking
like a million dollars.  "Good after-nooh, Mr.  Eagle," she said.

Eagle stood up.  "Good afternoon, Ms.  Kennerly.  Have a seat, and call
me Ed, please."

"Call me Barbara," she said, sitting down and crossing her long,
beautiful legs.

"You're out on parole, Barbara?"

"That's right, Ed."

"Then I think we have a little problem, here."

"What's that?"  she asked, looking surised.

"It's customary when a prisoner is released on parole for him-or
her--to report regularly to a parole officer, to have a fixed address,
and, most important, to remain in the jurisdiction."

STUAIIT WOODS

She smiled broadly, revealing perfect teeth.  "Oh, that.  I was
unconditionally released."  "Now, why would the State of New York do
that?"  Eagle asked skeptically.  "I got lucky.  Shortly after your
visit, a federal judge ruled that several state prisons were
overcrowded and that the populations had to be reduced immediately.  I
was only a few months away from my parole hearing, and I was a model
prisoner, so they brought it forward."  "But why was your release
unconditional?"  "Half a dozen other prisons had to release prisoners
early, too, and the numbers apparently placed a heavy strain on the
parole system.  The parole board gave unconditional release to those it
felt were unlikely to be repeat offenders.  Since I had no previous
record and had cooperated at my trial, I was one of them."  She spread
her hands.  "I'm a free woman."  "Congratulations," he said.  "Now--"
"Why have I come to see youY' she interrupted.  "Well, in all the time
I was in prison, you were the only visitor I had, apart from the Times
reporter, and I have kissed him off, refused to cooperate further on
the book.  The only people I knew in New York were friends and
relatives of my late husband, and they would not have been pleased to
see me.  I wanted a new start in a new place, and you did, after all,
say to call you if you could be of any help."  Eagle laughed.  "That's
right, I did say that.  All right, Barbara, how can I helpS' "I need a
job," she said.  "As I told you, I've had experience at running an
office, with bookkeeping and computers; I'm smart, pretty, and I'd be
an asset to any office."  "I believe you would."  "How about your
office?  You need somebodyY'

Eagle shook his had.  "No, we're training somebody new right now, and
she's, working out well.  I'm afraid we're staffed."  I'm also afraid,
he thought, that if you came to work here, I'd soon find myself banging
you on my desk.  "Oh," she said, crestfallen.

"Do you have any other work experience?"

"Well, before I was married, I worked in a restaurant as a hostess."

"I know a few restaurateurs around town," Eagle said.  "Let me make
some calls."

She rewarded him with another dazzling smile.  "Thank you," she said.

"There's something I want to ask you first," he said.  "Shoot."

"When was the last time you communicated with James Grafton?"

She looked surprised.  "How did you know his name?  I never mentioned
it, did I?"

"No.  I did my homework."

"Communicated," she said, looking at the ceiling.  "I suppose we
6ommunicated at the trial; he stared daggers at me through the whole
thing."

"Did you speak to him or write to him or send him any messages while
you were both in prisonY'

"Certainly not."  She snorted.  "I don't think he would have been glad
to hear from me, after I testified against him, and I wanted to forget
the bastard existed.  To answer your original question, the last time I
communicated with Jimmy was in the moment b4fore the police burst
through the door of our hotel room in Miami.  I was telling him that I
was going to turn myself in, and he was telling me that he'd kill
before he'd let that happen."

me

"Did Grafton know Julia?"

"I think you asked me that when you visited me in Poughkeepsie.  No."

"Did he know about Julia?"

She looked thoughtful.  "He knew she existed.  Once, he saw some
photographs I had of Julia and me together."

"When Julia got married to Wolf Willett, were there pictures in the
papers?"

"I saw it mentioned in some gossip column in the New York Post, but
there was no picture.  Listen, why all this sudden interest in Jimmy
GraftonY' She suddenly looked alarmed.  "He hasn't turned up in Santa
Fe, has he?"

"You might say that.  He turned up at Wolf Willett's house and got
himself shot gunned for his trouble.  He's on a slab in Albuquerque
right now, missing most of his head."  'qrVhat ?"

"At first they thought he was Wolf.  They eventually identified him by
his fingerprints."

"My God."  She sighed, shaking her head.  "This is bizarre."  "It
is."

"Do you think he saw Julia's picture in the papers and .. ."  she
paused for a moment.  "I'll bet he tried to blackmail her about her
record."

"That's my best guess."

"He'd do that.  The man would stop at nothing to get money."

"Speaking of money, the diamonds he stole from your husband were never
recovered: What happened to them?"  "Jimmy got rid of them before we
even left New York."  "And what happened to the money he got for
them?"

"I don't know, but I never saw any of it.  The police said he only had
a few thousand dollars when we were arrested,

but what he took was worth more than a million wholesale."  "So Grafton
had the money stashed somewhere?"

"He must have.  He didn't have time to spend it, and he

]idn't give it to the United Way."

"If he was flush when he got out, why would he rush off to blackmail
Julia?

"Money didn't last long with Jimmy; he was a big-time lambler."

I'm sorry to be grilling you like this, but it'll be good practice for
you.  The local district attorney is very anxious to talk to you about
Grafton."

She looked alarmed.  "Does he know my new name?"  "I don't think so."

"Well, that's a relief.  If I'm going to start some sort of new life
here, I don't want the local law breathing down my neck all the time.
Do I have to see him?

Eagle shook his head.  "No, but I'll have to tell him I've talked with
you.  I said I would."

"Oh."  She looked depressed.

"Tell you what.  Call him, say you talked to me and that you want to
help if you can.  Tell him the truth, and tell him if he needs to get
in touch with you he can call me."  She brightened.  "All right."

He dialed the number for her and listened while she talked at length
with Martinez.  Finally she wound up the conversation.  "If you need to
reach me, call Mr.  Eagle, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."
She hung up.  "God, I hope that's the end of that."

"So do I," Eagle said.  "Where are you staying?

"I found a nice bed and breakfast off Canyon Road."  Eagle thought
fast. This woman was not his client, she was not a suspect in the
murders, she was square with the D.A. No problems here.  '"would you
like to have dinner one night soon?"  he asked.

She flashed her smile.  "I'd love it."

CHAPTER

T week before Christmas, the weather did the right thing.  In the
middle of the night snow began to fall in Santa Fe, and by the time
Wolf woke up there was a soft coat of white on the mountainside at
Wilderness Gate.  When he saw it, he remembered Christmas.

Wolf had been working nonstop on Jack's last screen-play--editing,
rewriting, tightening.  He'd gotten it down to a hundred and ten pages,
then sent it to Hal Berger in L.A. for revised costing.  In the normal
course of events, he'd have been in preproduction in a week, ready for
casting by the new year and shooting in February, but not now.  All he
could do was get the script right and wait.

Wolf had spent the last Christmas in Santa Fe with Julia, who hadn't
liked Christmas much, except for the gifts he gave her.  She wouldn't
have a tree in the house--claimed she was allergic to them, so they had
just gone to a few parties and had slept late on Christmas morning.

Thinking back, he realized he hadn't had a proper Christmas since the
death of his first wife, and he had always loved the holiday.

Glancing at his watch, he picked up the phone and called Jane
Deering.

"Hello," the sleepy voice said.

"Come on, it's eight o'clock.  How come you're still in bed?"

"Oh, hi.  Sara's out of school for the holidays, and we're both
sleeping in."

"What are your plans for the holidays?"

"Oh, not much.  We're sticking close to home."

"I've got a better idea.  Why don't you pack a bag for yourself and
Sara, get on a plane this afternoon, and come to Santa Fe for the
holidays'

There was a long silence at the other end.

"I know what you're thinking," he said.  "How's it going to look? Well,
I know I screwed it up when you were here before, but this time we'll
lie low, take drives in the desert, stay home a lot."

"Wolii I don't know."

"Sara will love it here.  It's snowing; we're going to have a white
Christmas."

"Kids are funny about Christmas.  I don't want to upset her by yanking
her away from home."

"Talk to her about it, see what she says, and call me back."

"Okay, give me an hour."

Wolf hung up, went to the kitchen, and made himself some breakfast,
nervous about what her answer would be.  If she couldn't come, then
he'd be stuck in the house by himself.  He'd been turning down
invitations to parties, even one for Christmas dinner with friends, and
now he realized, too late, that he didn't want to be alone.  The phone
rang; he grabbed the kitchen extension.

"Okay, you're on.  We're arriving in Albuquerque at four o'clock."

"That's terrific!  I'll meet you."  The hell with not leaving Santa
Fe.

"I assume I don't need any hot dresses this time?"  "All you need is
jeans and a warm coat.  It's cold here."  "See you at four."

Wolf hung up the phone, elated.  He had one hell of a lot to do before
his guests arrived.

By lunchtime, he had filled the Porsche with presents and Christmas
tree decorations.  The plaza was alive with shoppers, and he had
exchanged greetings with a dozen friends and acquaintances.  Every shop
and house was decorated for the season; he had forgotten how lovely
Santa Fe could be at Christmas.

By one o'clock, he was shopped out and starving.  He pointed the car
toward Santacaf, and miraculously found a space in the parking lot. The
place was jammed, and as he squeezed through the front door, he was
greeted with a sight that struck him like a blow: standing at the
reservations booth, talking on the telephone, was a woman who looked so
much like Julia that he at first thought he was hallucinating.  True,
her hair was dark, where Julia's had been sandy blond, but everything
else--her gestures, movements, and above all her smile--were Julia's.

From behind, a large hand took his elbow and steered him into the bar
alcove to his left.

"Hello, Ed," Wolf said, looking up at the lawyer.

"Hello, Wolf," Eagle replied, grabbing a barstool and it under his
client's backside.  "I'm glad I ran into you.  I've got something to
tell you."  Wolf was barely paying attention, craning his neck to sight
of the front door.  "There's a woman out there 'who looks enough like
Julia to be her twin," he said.  "Wolf, it's Julia's sister."  Now Wolf
gave him his whole attention.  "I thought she was in prison."  "She was
unconditionally released last week.  She turned up in Santa Fe and came
to see me--I had offered to help her, never believing she would turn up
here.  I gave her a and she got a job here; she's keeping the books the
restaurant and working the lunch shift at the desk."  "Jesus Christ,
she gave me a start," Wolf said.  His pulse was starting to go down. 
"I'm sorry about that.  I was going to call you about her.  I really
had no idea the resemblance was so strong."  "It's uncanny," Wolf said.
"I'd never even seen a photograph of Julia, so I didn't know.  I'm
sorry if it upset you."  "It lidn't exactly upset me; it was more of a
disorientation, like going back in time--Julia here, in this
restaurant, where she had been so many times."  "I understand.  Again,
I apologize for not letting you know about her sooner.  I don't really
have a good excuse."  "It's okay, Ed.  I'm fine."  "I was on my way
back from the men's room when I saw you.  I'd better get back to my
lunch group."  "Sure, go ahead."  Eagle stopped.  'vVolf, would you
like to meet her?"  Wolf considered that for a moment.  "I don't think
this is a good time, Ed.  After all, she's working."  In fact, he was
terrified of meeting her, of being anywhere near her.

"Sure, I understand.  Another time."  "Sure.  What's her name?"  "She's
known as Barbara Kennerly.  She seems like a decent person, in spite of
her past."  Eagle explained the circumstances of her imprisonment.  "I
think she was just caught up in something she couldn't control.  She
had some therapy in prison; she's all right now, I think."  Wolf
nodded. "I hope so, for her sake."  "In my experience, the most
ordinary people can get caught up in something extraordinary.  Half the
people I defend are just folks."  "Like me," Wolf said.  Eagle smiled. 
"Like you.  And like her, too.  Try not to hold her past against her." 
Eagle excused himself and went to join his party.  Resisting the urge
to leave, Wolf forced himself to order some lunch at the bar and tried
to keep his mind on it.  He was still disturbed, though, and when he
left the restaurant, he was glad she wasn't at the desk.

CHAPTER

Eagle checked the contents of the refrigerator,

then spent a couple of minutes arranging things.  He took a head of
romaine lettuce from the icebox, rinsed it, and set it aside to drain.
He got down a wooden salad bowl from a cupboard, separated two egg
yolks from the whites, and opened a can of anchovies.  He looked
around; everything else was at hand.

The headlights of a ear flashed briefly by the kitchen window.  Eagle
rinsed his hands and walked to the front door.  Barbara Kennerly was
just getting out of what looked like a brand-new Jeep Cherokee.

"Hello," he called.

"Hello, yourself," she replied, reaching back into the car for
something and coming out with a large bunch of flowers, t'

"Come into the house before you freeze."

"I like the cold weather."

"Then you've come to the right place."  He laughed, closing the door
and helping her off with her coat.  She was dressed in flannel slacks
and a heavy, long-sleeved silk blouse.  She was not wearing a bra, he
noted. "It's supposed to go down to ten degrees tonight."

"Fine with me," she said.  "Have you got something I

can put these in?"

He led her into the kitchen and found a vase, then watched as she
expertly arranged the flowers.  "They're beautiful," he said.  "Thank
you for bringing them."

"WVeI1, if you're cooking, it was the least I could do.  I

would have brought some wine, but it probably would have been the wrong
thing."

"Don't worry, we're well fixed for wine.  Would you like a drink, or
can I force some champagne on you?"

"Oh, yes, please, force me."

He got out two crystal flutes and opened a bottle of Schramsberg blanc
de no irs

She raised her glass.  "To freedom," she said.

He clinked his glass against hers.  "I'll drink to that."

"Mmmm," she said, savoring the wine.  "It's delicious.  French?"

"Californian.  The best, I think; equal to a lot of the French
stuff."

"And the glasses--they're Baccarat, aren't they?"  "You have a good
eye."  "You have good taste, sir."  "Thank you, ma'am."

"I'm not old enough to be called 'ma'am,"" she said solemnly.

"You're right.  How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm thirty-two.  Do you always ask women their age?"

"Always.  It's an important question."

Why is it important that you know a woman's age?"  "Knowing her age is
not important.  What's important is he will tell you her age.  You
passed the test."  She laughed.  "I'm glad."

"So, no more ma'ams; I'll call you Barbara."

}:!: "I'd like that better.  I'm still getting used to it, you know.
There's a girl at work named Hannah, and I have a tendency to turn
whenever somebody speaks to her."

"Why did you change your name?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," she said.  "But it wasn't just
to get away from the ex-convict label.  I simply didn't want to be
Hannah Schlemmer anymore.  I didn't like what she had become, and while
i was inside I made a point of becoming somebody I liked better."

"So how do you feel about Barbara Kennedy these days "By the time I got
out, I was liking her a lot.  She's changing, though.  She's
reinventing herself, now that she has her freedom."

Eagle took some beef tenderloin from the refrigerator and began
expertly trimming and slicing it.  "Something I don't understand," he
said.

"What's that?  Barbara Kennerly is an open book; she'll answer any
question."

"You just arrived in a new car."

"And I found an apartment today, too.  It's been a big day for
Barbara."

"How does Barbara afford all this?"

"Ever the inquisitor.  I don't mind telling you.  I didn't get anything
from my husband's estate--under the circum-stances--but Murray was a
generous man, in some ways.  He was in the jewelry business, and he
gave me a lot of jewelry.  When I got out, I went to New York and sold
some of it."  She pulled back her hair to reveal a very nice diamond
earring.  "Not all of it, but some.  I'd been around the diamond
business enough to know how to go about selling it without getting
scalped, so I have enough of a nest egg to get me going again."

"Now, that's very interesting," Eagle said.  "But you.  had a public
defender at your trial.  If you'd sold the jewelry then and used the
money to hire a good lawyer, I don't think you'd have done any time at
all."

"You know a lot about my case, don't you?"

"Do you mind that I knowY'

"No, I don't.  Like I said, Barbara is an open book.  I'll tell you
straight, I didn't do that because I was stupid.  It wasn't until I was
in prison that I learned from my... new colleagues what the score was,
and by that time it was too late.  And I'll tell you something: I don't
regret what I did."  "You don't regret going to prison?"  She sipped
her champagne and shook her head.  "I don't know what I would have done
if I'd walked after the trial.  I needed to get my head on straight
again, and prison did that for me, gave me a chance to think about what
I'd done wrong and what I was going to do to fax myself."

"That's what prison is supposed to be for, I guess."  "Well, it worked
with me.  I'm never again going to break any law--I'm not going to
speed, I'm not going to get a parking ticket, I'm not going to
jaywalk."  "That's a good resolution."  "And I'm keeping it forever."

Eagle dropped the sliced meat into some clarified butter and saut(l it.
While that was happening, he took the salad bowl, crushed some garlic
in it, added a few anchovies, pureed them with a fork, added the egg
yolks, and began dripping off into the bowl as he whipped the
combination into a froth.  He seasoned it with salt and pepper, added a
spoonful

SANTA FE RULES

coarse Dijon mustard, then grated fresh Parmesan cheese the mixture,
whipping it up with a fork.  What is it?"  Barbara asked.  He dipped a
finger into the bowl and offered it to be She sucked the dressing from
his finger, and he 7 she did it.  :' "Mmmm," she said.  "I hate
anchovies, and I got worried I saw them go in, but this is terrific? 
He tore the romaine lettuce into bite-sized pieces and them into the
salad bowl, tossing them until they lightly coated with the dressing. 
: "Caesar salad!"  she said.  "I've never seen it made ordered it in
restaurants."  He sprinkled some croutons on the salad and served ilz
Tl,y ate at the counter, while he kept an eye on the cooking' And
what's that going to go?"  "Beef Stroganoff," he replied.  "God, I
haven't had that in years!"  He moved them to the smll dining table in
the kitchen and served the food.  A bottle of red wine stood open and
waiting.  This is wonderful," she said, sipping the wine and looks; ing
at the label.  "Clos duBois Medot," she recited.  "One of my favorites,
and not very expensive."  "Murray liked sweet wines," she said.  "He
was very Jewish."  "But you're Jewish, too."  "Yeah, but I'm sort of a
civilian.  Not that Murray was religious, but he was culturally more
Jewish than I was.  He liked to eat and drink the traditional things
his mother had brought him up on."  "And did you learn to make matzoh
ball soup and gefilte fish?  "Not on your life.  We had a cook who did
all that.  ;

Murray knew from the beginning I was never going to be any good at
cooking."

"What sort of life did you have with him?  "Confined.  We never saw
anybody socially but his family, who hated me because I wasn't Jewish
enough, or his clients, who always wanted to grope me."  "I can see how
you might have wanted out."  "I didn't, consciously, until I met Jimmy.
"Then I began to see another world."  'qhat sort of world?"  "Oh, Jimmy
was very smooth.  He told me he'd made money in the stock market, and I
believed him.  He loved the best restaurants, the best seats at shows,
expensive ears, the hundred-dollar window at the track.  For a naive
kid like me, it was like being in a movie, instead of real life.  It
was a while before I began noticing that everybody he knew seemed to
have an angle.  We'd bump into people at the track that I couldn't
believe he was friendly with.  "She stopped talking for a moment. 
"Listen, I hope you don't mind, but this is starting to get to me.  I'd
rather not talk about that life anymore; I want to put it behind me." 
"Of course, I understand.  I shouldn't have pried."  "I'll still tell
you anything you want to know."  She put her hand on his.  "I know
enough," Eagle said, leaning over and kissing her lightly.  She kissed
him back.  "I think it's time I did a little questioning myself," she
said.  "Okay, shoot."  "How old are you?"  'vVell, uh..."  "Your age
isn't important, but it's important that you're willing to tell me." 
He laughed aloud. "Forty-eight."  "Ever married?"

"Nope."

'why not?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

She burst out laughing.  "What do you have against marriage?"

KNot much.  I just think marriage is something you should do when it's
the only alternative, when you can't stand it if you're not married.
That never happened to me.

Not at the same time it happened to the girl, anyway."

"You never found the perfect woman?"

"Once, I think."

Wqhat happened?"

"She was looking for the perfect man."

She laughed again.  rhat's a very old joke."

"It's an old question."

They finished dinner and moved into the study, settled on the big
leather sofa.  The fire was their only light.  She kissed him.

Things moved quickly after that.

'. In the middle of the night, Eagle got up to go to the bathroom. When
he came back, he stopped and looked at Barbara.  In the moonlight she
seemed startlingly pale, sprawled across the bed, her hair in her face,
her arms thrown out, her breasts free and beautiful.

Eagle bent over to kiss her and was stopped by an oddly familiar sight.
Tattooed onto the inside of her right breast was the shape of a flower
he didn't know which one; he was lousy at flowers.  The colors were
bright, and even the moonlight failed to wash them out.

CHAPTER

came back from Albuquerque crammed into the Porsche, the three of them
and a lot of Christmas presents.  Wolf had watched the rearview mirror
all the way, but the police didn't seem to be on his tail.  He relaxed
when they crossed the county line.

Sara, tucked into one of the tiny rear seats and walled in by packages,
pointed at everything, asked about everything.

"You're talking too much," her mother said to her.

"I know, but I can't help it," Sara said.  "I like it here."  "You're
going to like it even more in Santa Fe," Wolf said.  "It's like
something out of a picture book."  He avoided the strip-city called
Cerillos Road and detoured through the East Side Historic District.

Kit looks real old," Sara said, pressing her nose to the car window and
taking in the adobe houses.

"It is," Wolf replied.  "There was an Indian settlement here centuries
before the Spanish founded the town in 1610.

is the oldest state capital in the United States."

"What's the Santa Fe Trail?"  Sara asked.  "There was a on television
called that, with Ronald Reagan, but t didn't say much about the
trail."

Wolf laughed.  "The Santa Fe Trail was one of the main west for the
settlers," he replied.  "It started in St.  Missouri, and ended right
here, at the plaza.  There's at the end of it."  He turned a corner.
"In fact, the Old Santa Fe Trail right now."

Sara looked around at the restaurants and shops.  "It doesn't look much
like a trail to me."

"I guess it doesn't now, but it was once filled with covered wagons and
trail herders, all making their way here.  In some parts of it, east of
here, you can still see the t' the wagons made, and there are rocks
with the settlers' names carved on them."  He pointed at a small adobe
house.  "Look, see the sign?  That's the oldest building in the United
States, put up about the year 1200."

Sara did a quick calculation.  "That's almost eight him&ed years
old."

"That's right."

"Why are all the buildings made out of mud?"  she asked.

"People made their houses of mud because there were too few trees for
building, and mud was the most available and cheapest material.
Nowadays, houses are made of stucco, then painted to look like mud.  A
real adobe house has to have a new coat of mud every year, and that's
too much maintenance for most families."

"Don't you get dirty living in a mud house?"  Sara asked.

Wolf and Jane laughed aloud.  "Nope," he replied.  "It has a regular
inside, just like a house in Los Angeles."

They were climbing up to Wilderness Gate now, and Sara took in the
view.  "You sure can see a long way," she said.  "Why don't you get to
have any smog' "Well, there aren't as many people and cars here as in
L.A."  and we're also about seven thousand feet up in the Sangre de
Cristo Mountains," Wolf explained.  "The mountain air is so clear that
on some days you can see over a hundred miles."  When Wolf opened the
door to the house, Flaps was all over them.  At the sight of a child,
the dog went berserk.  The feeling, apparently, was mutual; the
eight-year-old burst in, hugged the dog, and the two of them ran from
room to room, Sara asking questions about everything, while Jane tried
to quiet her and Wolf laughed at her questions.  She found the
Christmas tree immediately.  "But it's not decorated," she complained. 
"That's your job," Wolf said.  "Yours and your mother's.  The
decorations are in those boxes."  By dinnertime the tree was
magnificent, and all the presents were tucked under it.  Jane fed Sara
early and put her to bed, protesting; Flaps wouldn't leave the child's
room.  Wolf made pasta and a salad, and they sat at the kitchen table
and ate slowly.  "I've missed you," Wolf said.  "I've missed being
here," Jane replied.  "Life has seemed dull."  "Have you been workingY'
"Not on a feature.  I cut two commercials that a friend shot.  That
pays the bills while I build a career."  "You're not going to have to
worry about a career when L.A. Days is released.  The phone is going to
be ringing off the hook."  She grinned.  "That would be nice."

"How do you feel about your agent?"  "Not so hot.  I seem to get all
the work myself; he just negotiates the contracts."  "Do you have an
out in your contract with him?"  "Thirty days notice."  "Call him
tomorrow and fire him."  "But then I won't have an agent at all." 
"You'll have an agent by the middle of January, I promise you.  There's
a young woman at the Creative Artists Agency who's doing great things
for people on the production side; I'll call her.  She'd be perfect for
you."  "It's scary being without an agent, even for a month."  You've
got to get that thirty days out of the way; you don't want him suing
you for breach of eoutraet later."  "All right, I'll do it."  "I like
it that you trust me so much," he said.  "I owe you a lot."  "You don't
owe me anything.  I owe you for the way you came through on L.A. Days."
"It was the kind of break everybody in this business dreams of."  "It
was a break for me, too," he said honestly.  "I'm glad you think so." 
"Sara is an amazing child."  Jane laughed.  "She's a handful, she
really is." "She's extraordinarily bright."  "She is that.  She drove
her teachers crazy for a while because she learns so fast; she's in a
special class for bright kids now."  "She also has the good fortune of
looking like her mother."  Jane laughed.  "When she's eighteen, I plan
to start passing her off as my sister."

"Good plan; it'll work."

"So how's work on Jack's script coming along?"  she asked.

"It's finished.  Oh, there'll be the inevitable changes as we get
closer to production, but I've taken it as far as I can, for the
moment.  It's lean now, and that'll give us a little room to get
creative during shooting."

'v'hat are you going to do for a director?"

"I haven't figured that out yet.  I can't go into production until this
mess is behind me, anyway, so there's nothing pressing about figuring
that out."

why don't you direct?"  she asked.

"Oh, no," he said, throwing up his hands as if to ward off an attack.
"That's not for me; I'd rather stay above it all and complain about the
director."

"You'd be a terrific director.  I know; I worked on L.A. Days with you,
remember?  You were always improving Jack's work.  You knew when the
camera should have been placed better.  You were right on target in
your comments on the performances."

"That's kind, my dear, but I don't even know if I could get the film
financed if I directed."

"You've got a deal with Centurion, haven't you?"  "Sure, but that was
with Jack directing."

"Listen, Centurion is yanking teenagers out of UCLA film school and
throwing money at them.  Why do you think they wouldn't go with
somebody as experienced as you are?"

"With Jack, we had the final cut; they'd never give me that."

"They might.  And even if they won't, they'll have to after your first
feature."

"You've got a lot of confidence in me," Wolf said.

"No more than you've got in me."  Wolf took a deep breath.  "This is
scary," he said.  "I mean, I've thought about this, sure, but not
seriously."

"Who were you thinking about to direct the new project?"  "Nobody,
really.  I didn't have a name in mind."

"You were thinking about you, that's what you were doing.  You just
wouldn't admit it to yourself."

"I'll think about it," Wolf said.  "But I don't think I'll do it.  It's
too much responsibility, producing and directing."

"No, it's not.  Dozens have done it, and most of them

'smarter than you."

"Well, I "The doorbell rang, causing Wolf to jump a foot.  "Excuse me."
He got up and walked to the back door, a few yards away.  When he
opened it, he recognized the two men immediately--Carreras of the Santa
Fe Police-Department and Warren of the state police; they had
interviewed him at the beginning, He felt sick to his stomach.

"Mr.  Willett," the Latino officer said, showing a badge, "you're under
arrest on a charge of triple first-degree homicide.  I'll have to ask
you to come with us, please."

Wolf tried to speak and failed, then tried again.  His bowels felt
loose.  "I'd like to call my attorney," he finally managed to croak.

"You can do that from the police station," the officer said.  "Get your
coat."

The two officers stood and as he went to a closet and got a coat.  He
came back to the table, where Jane sat, looking frightened.  "Jane," he
said, "I have to go down to the police station for a while.  Please
call Ed Eagle for me and tell him where I am.  The number is in my
address book in the study?

"Let's go, Mr.  Willettthe officer said.

Wolf stood his ground.  "If for any reason I can't get back tonight,
I'll have Ed call you and explain."  He put his car keys on the table.
"Use the house as your own, and the car.  Show Sara some of the town;
there are some guidebooks in the study."  "Mr.  Willett?"  the officer
said.  "Jane, don't worry about this.  It's going to be all right. 
Just call Ed Eagle, all right' She squeezed his hand.  "Of course,
Wolf. Don't worr about us.  We'll be all right."  He smiled at her and
left the house with the two officers.  He heard a clink of metal, and
handcuffs were produced.  "You won't need those," he said.  "Sorry, Mr.
WilieR, it's policy."  His hands were drawn behind his back, and he
felt cold steel encircle his wrists.  As they walked toward the police
car, Carreras began reading Wolf his rights.

CHAPTER

T two policemen drove Wolf to the Santa Fe County Detention Center, a
low adobe structure on Airport Road.  Wolf had passed it dozens of
times on the way to and from his airplane, never thinking that he might
one day end up there.

A seegeant booked him.  He was tld to empty his pockets, and his
wristwatch and belt were taken away; he was allowed to keep a quarter,
then everything else was sealed in an envelope and he was given a
receipt.  During this process he stood between a very dirty drunk who
could hardly stay on his feet and a short, wiry Latino who, although
bleeding copiously from an apparent knife wound to his arm, remained
handcuffed, while cursing all those around him, including Wolf, who
tried to meet all this new experience with numbness.

Carreras led him down a hallway and stopped before a pay phone. "Okay,"
the officer said, "you can call your lawyer---or whoever you like."

Wolf thought for a minute.  Jane would already have called Ed Eagle; he
put the quarter in the phone and dialed his own number.

"Hello.  Jane said, sounding anxious.

"Hi, it's me.  Did you get hold of Ed?"

"He was out.  I left a message on his answering machine,

and I called his office and left a message on the machine there,
too."

"He's probably at dinner.  We'll hear from him soon.  Are you all
right?"

"Of course, but what about you?"

"I'm fine.  Don't wory about me."

Carreras broke in.  "Okay, that's it.  You'll have to hang

"I'm being paged," Wolf said.  "Talk to you soon."

"I'll keep trying Eagle," she said.

He hung up the telephone.  "All right, now what?"  He did his best to
sound calm, but he was seething with fear inside.  His attempt at
numbness wasn't working.

"Follow me," Carreras said.  He led the way, while the silent Warren
followed Wolf.  They entered a small, windowless room that stank of
stale tobacco smoke; a steel table and four matching chairs were the
only furniture, and a tape recorder was on the table.  "Have a seat."

Wolf sat down.

Carreras produced a pack of cigarettes.  "Care for one?"  "No, thanks."
"Mind if I smoke?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

This brought Carreras up short.  He thought about it, then put away the
cigarettes.  "Sure," he said.  "Look, Wolf---can I call you Wol .f?"

"If you like."

"I'm Joe, and this is Sam.  I want to keep this on a friendly basis."

"Okay with me, Joe, Sam."

"You mind if I tape-record our conversation?"

"I thought this was going to be friendly."

"It's for your protection.  That way we can't claim you said something
you didn't."

"Okay, turn it on."

Carreras turned on the machine and spoke into one of the microphones.
"Questioning of Wolf Willett conducted by Captain Joe Carreras and
Major Sam Warren at the Santa Fe City Jail."  He added the date and
time, then read Wolf his rights again.  "Do you understand these
rights?"

"Yes," Wolf said.

"Have you been given an opportunity to call your lawyer?"

"Yes."

"Are you willing to answer our questions at this time?"

"Wolf was starting to feel better now, more confident.  "All right.
I'll let you know if I change my mind."

"You do that.  State your name and address for the record."

"Wolf Willett, Wilderness Gate, Santa Fe."

Carreras loosened his tie; "Okay, Wolf, what we want to do is clear
this thing up once and for all."

"I'd be very happy ffwe could do that," Wolf said sincerely.

"During the time since Sam and I talked with you the last time, a lot
has come out."

"I'd be interested to hear about it," Wolf said, leaning forward.

"Well, let's just say that what's come out hasn't backed up your story.
In fact, everything we've learned has contra-dieted what you've told
us."  Wolf felt a sting of alarm.  They obviously knew something he
didn't.  "I don't see how that's possible," he said.  "I've told you
the truth right down the line."  The truth as he knew it, he reminded
himself.  What truth did they know?  Carreras shook his head sadly.
"You told us you didn't know one James Grafton."  I don't.  I'd never
heard the name until Ed Eagle mentioned it to me."  "Come on, Wolf,
we're wasting time here.  We've got witnesses who can put you in a Los
Angeles restaurant, having lunch with Grafton.  A very friendly and
intense lunch--just the two of you."  Wolf was stunned.  "What's
ridiculous.  What restaurant.  When?"  "Don't worry, it'll all come out
at your trial.  We've also got a witness who can put you in that
bedroom that night, when your wife and Grafton and Jack Tinney died."
'qYhat?"  He was terrified now.  His worst nightmare was coming true.
"And you didn't tell us that Jack Tinney made a will a couple of months
ago that leaves you everything."  "I didn't even know that the last
time I saw you," Wolf said, twing not to hyperventilate.  Carreras was
angry now, and his voice began to rise.  "That stuff about not
remembering anything just isn't going to work, Wolf.  We know too much,
and let me tell you, you sonofabitch, we're going to nail you for these
three murders.  You're going to get the needle."  Before Wolf could
speak, Warren broke in.  "Hold it, Joe," he said, placing a hand on the
officer's shoulder.  a;o why don't you go have a smoke and let me talk
to

Carreras glared at Wolf.  "Okay, Sam, but you better talk sense into
this guy, or when I come back I'm going to him apart."  He got up and
left.  He pointedly lit a at the door and blew the smoke back into the
I mom.  "Take it easy, Wolf," Warren said, leaning back in his t chair.
"It doesn't have to be as bad as all that.  Would you like some
coffee?"  Wolfs mouth was dry.  "A soft drink, maybe."  "Sure."  Warren
got up and left the room.  He came back a moment later with a diet
cola.  "Hope this is all right," he said.  "The machine was out of
everything else."  "It's fine," Wolf said gratefully, sipping the
drink, thankful for the icy wetness against his parched throat.  Warren
leaned forward.  "Now, look.  I'm afraid you're zipped up on all sides
here. Let me explain something to you that your lawyer may not have
told you."  "All right."  '"New Mexico has the death penalty."  "I'm
aware of that, but it's only if a police officer is murdered, isn't
it?"  That thought had given Wolf the only peace he had had with regard
to what might happen to him.  "I'm afraid not," Warren said.  "You can
also get the death penalty for killing a witness to a murder."  "A
witness?" Wolf asked weakly.  Warren nodded gravely.  "You see, when
you killed the first of those three people, the other two immediately
became witnesses."  He stopped and waited for this information to sink
in. Wolf gulped but didn't reply.

"Wolf, I want to help YOu if I can, and if you'll let me, I think I can
save your life."

"That would be nice," Wolf said.

"This is what I think I can do--I'll have to talk to the D.A."  of
course, but with my experience of him, I think he'll go along.  He
wants to clear this up as much as anybody."

Wqhat did you have in mind' Wolf asked.

Joe is right about the needle.  If you go to trial on this, with what
we've got, you'll be convicted of three counts of murder one, two of
them of witnesses, and in New Mexico that makes the death penalty a
certainty.  But that doesn't have to happen.  I mean, I don't think you
planned this thing.  Hell, it could happen to anybody.  If I walked
into a room and found my wife in bed with my partner and another guy,
I'm not sure I could answer for myself.  I might do just wlfat you did.
It's obvious to me that this was done while you were in a state of
sudden and intense anger, brought on by the worst kind of provocation.
And I'm willing to stand up in a courtroom and tell a judge just that,
put my whole professional reputation on the line to back you up."

"That's good of you, Sam," Wolf said, by this time grateful for any
kind word.

I'm willing to call up the D.A. right now and recommend that he accept
a plea of diminished responsibility and agree to, say, twenty-five to
life--no, I'll go further than that; I'll recommend five-to-fifteen--I
mean, shit, you were out of your mind with rage that night.  That would
mean you'd be eligible for parole in two and a half years, Wolf. That's
nothing, believe me.  You'd do it standing on your head, and when
you're a free man again, you can make a movie about the experience. 
That'd do big business, wouldn't it?"

Suddenly two and a half years in prison looked good to Wolf.  If it
would bring an end to all this, if it would get the pressure off, it
might be worth it.  He stopped himself.  This is awfully nice of you,
Sam, but I think I'd better talk to my lawyer."

"Sure, Wolf, you can do that," Warren said reasonably, "but you're a
lawyer; you're capable of handling yourself."

He paused.  "I've got a serious problem here he confided.  "What's
that?"

"Well, don't tell Carreras I told you this, but he's hot to trot.  He
didn't even want me to have this conversation; I had to talk him into
it.  If he comes back in here and we haven't come to an arrangement, I
don't know if I can hold him off."

Wolf was silent.

"You're a lawyer.  If you had a client in this position,

what would you advise him to do?"

Wolf still didn't speak.

"I have to tell you, Wolf," Warren continued, "I can't contain
Carreras.  This is his case, really; I'm just a state observer, and if
he won't go along with me, well, I can't go to the D.A. on my own. I've
got to have something to give Carreras when he comes back in this
room."  He leaned forward and lowered his voice.  Come on, Wolf, what's
it going to be?  Two and a half years--and I think I can get you into a
minimum-security joint, a country club--or a trial and a sentence of
death, and a year or two down the road, you watch them slip that needle
into your arm?  What's it going to be.

Wolf placed his hands on the table to keep them from trembling and
looked down at them.  "Sam, get Carreras back in here.  I've got
something to get off my chest."

Warren nearly knocked over his chair getting up.  "Sure,

Wolf.  I'll be right back."  He left the room.  When he came back,
Carreras was with him, looking expectant.  They sat down.  "All right,
Wolf, tell us," Warren said.  "Have you got paper and a pen?"  Wolf
asked.  "I want to write this down."  Carreras opened a drawer in the
table and took out ale gal pad, then produced a ballpoint pen.  Wolf
stared at the pad for a moment, then began to write, in firm, assured
strokes.  When he had finished, he signed and dated what he had
written, then pushed the pad across the table to Carreras.  "Would you
read this aloud for the tape recorder?"  he asked QUIETLY.  Can'eras
nodded.  "Sure, Wolf."  He arranged the microphone and held up the pad.
"To whom it may concern," he read, enunciating distinctly, "I write
this, being of sound mind, and I would like to state, unequivocally and
olmy own volition, that I think that Captain Joe Carreras of the santa
Fe Police Department and Major Sam Warren of the New Mexico State
Police can, as far as I am concerned, go and fred a quiet place and
fuck themselves"--the ocer's voice began to trail off "or each other,
whichever they prefer."  Carreras reached over and turned off the tape
recorder.  "And that, gentlemen," Wolf said, "in addition to being my
fervent wish, is my full and complete statement If you have any more
questions you can put them to my lawyer.  This interview is over."
Warren's jaw was working.  "Lock him up, Joe," he spat.

CHAPTER

door slammed behind Wolf, and the noise echoed down the hallway.  He
had never known jail cells were so small.  He looked around the room.
Three walls, a folding sink in the corner that emptied into a
toilet--no seat--and tw.9 steel bunks attached to the wall.  The cell
was no more than six feet by eight and was lit only by the light of the
waning moon through a steel-slatted window.  He looked out the window:
a view of a row of barred windows across a yard.  The top bunk had a
sheet, an army blanket, and a pillow resting on it.  There was movement
in the lower bunk, and a pair of high boots swung over the edge and
landed on the concrete floor with a slap.  "Welcome to purgatory," a
hoarse voice said.  'rhanks," Wolf replied.  The man stood up and
stretched.  Wolf made him to be at least six-four and two hundred and
fifty pounds.  He was dressed in his boots, greasy black jeans, and a
studded leather vest.  No shirt.  Biker, Wolf thought.  Oh, shit.  '5
ho are you," the man said.  It wasn't a question.  "My name's Wolf." 
The biker burst out laughing.  "I like it, I like it!"  He stuck out a
hand.  "I'm Spider."  Wolf shook the hand and found it softer and
gentler than he'd feared.  "I like it!  The Spider and the Woltq."  He
indicated the lower bunk.  "Take a pew, Wolf.  Let's talk; it's been
three days since I talked to anybody but a screw."  Wolf was tired, but
he didn't like the thought of sitting next to Spider on a bunk.  He
walked to the window and turned, leaned on the wall.  "Thanks, but I've
been sitting for the last hour.  I need to stretch."  "Sounds like they
been talking to you."  "Right."  "What you in for, Wol .f?"  Wolf
hesitated, then realized this might be his best card.  "Triple murder,"
he said.  "No shit!"  Spider said, awed.  "Did you do it?"  "The two
guys I just talked to think so."  "They offer you a deal?"  "Yeah." 
"Did you take it?"  "No."  "Smart, like a wolf."  Spider laughed. 
"Never take a deal; that's my policy.  Tough it out' "What're you in
for, SpiderY' "Aw, they say I hit a guy upside the head with a bike
chain a few times.  It's a bullshit rap.  If I'd hit the guy head with
a bike chain, he wouldn't have a head more.  "They offer you a deal?" 
i "Sure, sure, second degree assault, down from assault ,a deadly
wvapon.  One to three, they said."  il "What'll you get if you're
convicted?"  ii "Two to five, since I've got no priors.  Oh, I been
busted, I never done no time.  Don't worry, I won't do none neither." 
"How comeT' Wolf was interested.  He'd never met any' who was
experienced with the system in this way, let biker.  "Because when they
talk to the guy, he's not going to me.  "They haven't talked to him
yet?  I thought you said in here three days."  "Oh, yeah, but last I
heard, the guy hadn't come around

"Come around?"  Wolf was baffled.  "Regained consciousness," Spider
explained.  "Ii'he going to come around?  "Oh, sure.  I didn't hit him
that hard."  "WVhy did you.."  ah, why did this guy get hit?"  "He was
messing with my old lady, you know?"  Wolf didn't know.  What kind of
idiot would mess with this guy's girlfriend?  "Oh."  "Can't let a gUY
get away with that, can you?"  "Let me give you some advice, Spider.
Never tell anybody in jail what you've done."  Spider looked hard at
Wolf.  "You some kind of fin kY "If I was, I wouldn't be giving you
that kind of advice, would I Spider nodded.  "That makes sense, I
guess.  You'd be amazed how guys talk to each other in the slammer."
"you mean they confess to each other?"  "All the time, man.  I guess
they just need somebody to talk to.  I'm glad you're here; I haven't
had nobody to talk to for three days."  "You live in Santa Fe?"  Wolf
asked.  "At the moment.  I'm a free man, you know?  I go where the bike
takes me."  "What kind of bike?"  "You kidding?  A Hog--a Harley, you
know?  that's all there ks."  "Somebody taking care of the bike for
you?"  "The old lady.  She can't pick it up if it falls over, and she
can't kick-start it, but she can ride the motherfucker!"  Wolf laughed
at the thought.  "She sounds like she's okay."  "Fuckin' A, man."
Spider paused.  "Tell me something, man, what'd those dudes say they
got on you?  I'd like to knOW."  "Oh, they said they've got a witness
who saw me having lunch with somebody I never heard of; they said
they've got another guy who saw me in the room where three people were
killed."  "That sounds familiar," Spider mused.  "What' "That second
witness.  There's a guy in here told me he saw something like that.
Said it was going to get him on the street."  "In jail?  Here?"  "Yeah.
I was out in the yard this morning; there's this guy, oh, one of them
spic names, you know?  Makes out to be some kind of cat burglar.  I bet
he'd stumble over his own feet.  Anyway, he was telling me this shit,
says he's to beat a burglary rap with what he saw."  "That's very
interesting.  I think my lawyer would like to about that."  "Who you
got for a mouthpiece?"  "A guy named Ed Eagle."  "That Indian dude?  I
hear he's hot shit.  How'd you get

"Friend of a friend."  "Well, Wolf, you got some kind of friends out
there.  What line are you in?".  "I make movies."  "No shit!  Anything
I might have seen?"  Wolf rattled off half a dozen titles.  Spider
looked puzzled.  "I don't know any of them ones.  You made any movies
with Arnold Schwarzenegger?"  "Nope."  "I like that dude!  He knows how
to kick ass!"  "Yeah, I guess he does, at that.  He kicks some ass at
the studios, too."  "Yeah, I heard he's got 'em by the balls out there
in Holywood.  They have to pay him whatever he wants."  "That just
about sums it up," Wolf agreed.  "Do you know any movie starsF' "A few,
I guess," Wolf replied.  "Nobody as big as Sehwarzenegger, though." 
"You know Madonna?"  "I met her once at a party after an
opening--didn't really talk to her, just shook her hand."  "No shit? 
You know MadonnaF' "Not really, Spider.  I just shook her hand."  "I'll
be fucked; my cellmate shook Madonna's hand.  Christ, I'd like to stick
it in her!"  "A lot of guys would, I guess."

Spider laughed.  "Crystal would cut my pecker off, though, if I did
that.  She wouldn't care if it was Madonna or not."  "Your old lady
sounds like a tough cookie."  "You better believe it!  She don't take
no shit from nobody, not even me!  You know, when I hit that guy, I was
sort of protecting him; Crystal would have cut his fucking heart out,
if I'd let her at him.  Oh, forget I said that."  "It's forgotten."
"Well, I'm going to get some shut-eye, I guess," Spider said, swinging
his boots back onto the bunk.  "Good idea.  I think I'll try it, too."
'"you need any help getting up top, Wol .f?"  "I can manage, Spider.
Thanks anyway."  "Sure."  Wolf spread the sheet and blanket, then
hoisted himself up on the bunk.  He didn't bother undressing; he was
exhausted.  Wolf wondered where the hell Ed Eagle was, and what he was
going to do about this.  But right now he didn't care; he just wanted
to sleep.  He was almost out when Spider spoke up again.  "Hey, Wol
.f?" "Yeah, Spider?"  '"you're an okay guy, for an educated dude, and
all that."  "Thanks, Spider."  '"you know that spic?  The cat burglar?"
"Hmmm, yeah."  Wolf was nearly gone.  "I think I'll have a word with
him in the yard tomorrow morning."  Wolf didn't reply.  He was out.

No

CHAPTER

awake with something heavy on his chest.  opened his eyes and saw his
cellmate staring at him; , hand was shaking him.

Breakfast,

Wolf," Spider said.  "I would have woke you you looked like you needed
the sleep."

There was an amazing amount of noise in the jail: People yelling at
each other in English and Spanish, some-was singing, there were half a
dozen radios tuned to stations.  He was surprised he'd slept through it
all.  The cell door slid noisily open.

"Let's go, buddy," Spider said.  "They don't let you sleep breakfast
here."  Wolf followed Spider out of the cell, and they joined a ii long
line of prisoners shuffling down the hallway.  They emerged into a
large room that wasn't very different from the school cafeteria at
Wolfs high school; he wasn't sure exactly on which facility that was a
comment.  He picked up a steel tray and followed Spider through the
line, watching, appalled, as white-suited servers covered his tray with
dollops of polenta, beans, a slice of half-cooked, streaky bacon, and a
serving of green Jell-O.  At the end of the line he was handed a paper
cup of coffee and a packet of cream and two sugar cubes.

Spider picked a table, and a couple of men got up to give him room.
Indicating that Wolf should sit beside him, Spider sat down and
immediately began to stare fixedly toward the food line.

Wolf followed his gaze to a stocky Latino who was just picking up a
tray when he realized Spider was looking at him.  The man stood frozen
for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights, then dropped his tray
and left the room.  WV hat was that all about?"  Wolf whispered.

"That's the dude going to testify against you t your arraignment this
morning," Spider replied.  "I just gve 'ira the look."

"Arraignment?"

'3leah, sure; that's what they do when they charge you with murder. You
gotta be arraigned."

Wolfs practice of law had not included arraignments, but he realized
that Spider was right.

'qfou didn't know that?  Spider asked.

"I should have, but I didn't," Wolf admitted.

"You'll be okay with that Indian dude.  Just keep your mouth shut and
let him do the talking."

"Right.  What was that about a 'look'?"

"That's the look.  You gotta have a look to keep these spies in line,
you know?"

"Oh."  Wolf looked around the dining hall and realized that eighty or
ninety percent of those present were Hispanics.

"Otherwise, a white guy has got no chance in a place like

You gotta give 'em the look, and you better be able to it up, too.
"Course, with me, the look is just about enough.  Cons are scared
shitless of bikers; they know a shit.  I don't have to do much
fighting."  not surprised," Wolf said.  He was thinking about
arraignment now, and what the he'll he would do if Ed didn't show.
"Spider, my lawyer may not know I'm in here.  What I do if he isn't at
the arraignment?"  you got three choices," Spider said, slurping up
beans.  "You can ask for a postponement of the arraign-but then they
put you back in here.  You can ask for a a public defender but you'll
either get some still wet behind the ears, or some old rummy can't Or
you can represent yours el i!  "What do you do in those circumstances?"
:; "Oh, I always take the P.D. See, I know what's going on, in there,
and if he drops the ball, I pick it up."  Wolf picked at his food and
tried to remember what Went on at an arraignment.  He hadn't thought
about that the second year of law school, and he was embarrassed to ask
Spider.  Ain't you hungry?"  Spider asked, eyeing Wolfs tray.  "No, I'm
not," Wolf said, "Do I have to eat it?"  "I'll do it for you," Spider
said, stacking Wolfs tray on top of his empty one.

"Don't mention it," Spider replied, tucking into the polenta.

After breakfast, they were taken back to their cell.  "Hop up on your
bunk a minute, will you, Wol .f?"  Spider asked.

Wolf got out of his cellmate's way.  Spider spread his blanket on the
floor and started doing push-ups, counting aloud.  Wolf watched,
fascinated, as Spider did fifty pushups, then as many sit-ups.  He did
a hundred deep knee-bends, then ran in place for ten minutes.  When he
finished, he was drenched in sweat.  "It's shower day for me," Spider
said, "so it's okay to break a sweat."  The cell door suddenly opened,
and a guard appeared.  Villett, you're up for arraignment.  Let's go.
Spider offered him a hand down and a fnma handshake.  "Good luck, Wolf.
You ever need any help, just phone me up at a bar called the Gun Club
and leave a message.  I'll get back to you."  "Thanks, Spider."  He
thought of giving the bike his own number, but shuddered at the thought
of Spider coming to call.  He began to regret that one of his phone
numbers was in the Santa Fe directory.  "Let's go, Willett," the guard
said, dangling a pair of handcuffs.  Wolf got into his coat and allowed
himself to be cuffed with his hands behind him, then followed the
guard.  In a vestibule before the last barred door, he was handcuffed
in tandem with seven other men, and they were marched outside and into
a van.  The cold air bit hard, and since both his hands were handcuffed
to others, Wolf was unable to button his coat.  The van pulled out onto
Airport Road, then turned left on Cerrillos and headed into town.  All
the men were quiet.  Nobody met anybody else's eye.  The only view out
of the van was to the rear, through a heavy steel screen.  Santa Fe was
going to work.  Twenty minutes later the van halted, and a police
officer the rear doors.  The eight men were hustled out into a rear
door of the Santa Fe County Courthouse.  entered a room furnished with
benches, and one by their handcuffs were unlocked, then refastened with
hands in front of them.  Wolf remembered that he the toilet that
morning.  Wolf sat in the room for nearly two hours.  He was taken a
men's room and allowed to urinate once, but not to other business.  He
was hungry now.  A guard came into the room, looked at a clipboard, and
Shouted, "Willett!"  i Wolf stood up, and his handcuffs were removed.
his wrists, he followed the guard to the door I found himself in a
large courtroom.  He looked around, Lgle, who was nowhere to be seen.
"People versus Willett, arraignment," the bailiff called.  Wolf looked
around and saw District Attorney Bob Martinez at a table in the well of
the court.  "Is the defendant represented' the judge asked "His
attorney of record is not present," Martinez replied.  ""Bring up
Willett," the judge called.  A guard led Wolf into the well of the
court, before the bench.  "Mr.  Willett, you are represented by..." 
the judge con-suited a paper on his desk, "ah, Ed Eagle," he said. 
"Where is Mr.  Eagle?" 'our honor, I was arrested last night without
warning, and I have been unable to reach Mr.  Eagle," Wolf said. 
"Well, Mr.  Martinez, you and I both know what kind of hell Ed Eagle
will raise if we arraign his client in his absence.  Do you have a
suggestion?".."  "I suggest we return Willett to the city jail, Your
Honor," Martinez replied.  "I tried to reach Mr.  Eagle last evening
and failed."

"I see," the judge said.  "Well, Mr.  Willett, it looks like you're
going to have to be the guest of the county until Mr.  Eagle turns up.
Unless you'd like a public defender?"  Wolf wanted desperately not to
return to that cell, but he hung on.  "I'd like to wait for Mr.  Eagle,
Your Honor," he said.  "Wery well' "Your honor, Mr.  Willett's counsel
is present!"  The voice came from the rear of the courtroom.  Wolf
turned to see Ed Eagle striding down the aisle and into the well of the
court.  He came and stood next to Wolf.  "Your Honor, I apologize for
my tardiness, but I was in Los Angeles when I received both Mr. 
Martinez's and Mr.  Willett's messages late last night.  I have only
just returned.  May I have a moment to consult with my client?"  ' "Of
course, Mr.  Eagle, and welcome back.  Mr.  Martinez, let's continue
with the next case while Mr.  Eagle and Mr.  Willett consult."  Eagle
took Wolf by the arm and led him out of the courtroom and into a small
anteroom.  "I am terribly sorry about this, Wolf," he said.  "It was
midnight when I got Ms.  Deering's message and returned her call, and
there was no way to get word to you."  "I'm just glad you're here, Ed,"
Wolf replied.  "Martinez did call, but he didn't say what it was
about--just said to call him.  I think he's playing games with us; he
waited until he knew I was away before arresting you.  Did the police
pump you last night?"  '2es."  Wolf gave Eagle a complete account of
his interview with the two detectives.  Eagle laughed aloud.  "That's
very good," he said.  "I'll have to remember that one."

didn't seem very good at the time.  I'll admit, their sounded pretty
good for a minute or two."  "You're not going to need any deals," Eagle
said.  're in the very best of hands, believe me."  "I believe you." 
"So they're claiming witnesses, now?"  "That's what they said.  My
cellmate last night thinks he one of them.  The guy's in for burglary
and he's been people he's going to get off by testifying against , he
saw while attempting to burglarize a house."  "This sort of thing
happens all the time when the police got enough.  Word gets around the
jail about a and somebody decides that being a witness will do some
good.  I'm more worried about this business of being seen with Grafton
in L.A. Are you absolutely didn't know him?  This is important, Wolf." 
"Ed, I have lunch in L.A. restaurants every day of my when I'm there,
but I swear I didn't know Grafton."  i All right, I'll handle that. 
The main thing in this to get bail.  If we can get it, my guess is it's
" to run high. How are you fixed for cash?"  "Pretty good.  rye just
been paid by the studio I release I've got some investments, too. 
Also, I've got Santa Fe house to put up.  There's no mortgage."  The
house is good."  A guard opened the door.  "The judge is ready for you,
Eagle."  We're on, Wolf," Eagle said.  "Just relax and leave it

"I'll leave it to you," Wolf said, "but I'm not going to relax until
I'm out of here."

CHAPTER

2,9

Martinez," the judge said, "do you wish to address the court?"

The district attorney rose.  "Your Honor, this is a preliminary hearing
in the matter of the State of New Mexico versus Willett, comprised of
three counts of first degree murder."

"Do you wish to call any witnesses?

"Your honor, the state calls Captain Joe Carreras."

Carreras, whom Wolf had not noticed, rose from a spectator seat, took
the witness stand, and was sworn in.

Martinez addressed Carreras.  "State your name, rank, and
occupation."

"Captain Joe Carreras of the Santa Fe Police Department.  I command the
Investigations Division."

"Captain Carreras, would you outline your career history for us
briefly, please?"

"I have served in the Santa Fe Police Department for years as a
detective, following four years service the Albuquerque Police
Department as a patrolman supervisor."  "During your time with the
Santa Fe Police you handled many homicide cases?"  "Most of them, I
believe." Eagle leaned over to Wolf and whispered, "Murder is rare in
Santa Fe. This case is the first this year."  "So are a experienced
homicide detective?"

"Yes, sir, I believe so."  "Did you arrest the defendant, Willett, last
evening?"  "Yes."  "Did you have an arrest warrant?"  "Yes."  '%.  Wolf
leaned over and whispered to Eagle.  "He never served me with a
warrant."  , Eagle nodded.  - "On what evidence did you base your
request for a warrant?"  Martinez asked.  "The three victims were
murdered in Mr.  Willett's house at a time when he was present; they
were murdered with a shotgun belonging to Mr.  Willett; one of the
victims was Mr.  Willett's wife, and she was in bed, naked, at the
time, with his business partner and another friend of his; I am not
satisfied with Mr.  Willett's account of his actions; Mr.  Willett has
lied to me with regard to his presence in the house at the time of the
murders and with regard to his knowledge of the third victim, James
Grafton.  I have a witness who can place Mr.  Willett in the room where
the murders occurred on the night of the murder; I have a witness who
can confirm Mr.  Willett's intimate knowledge of Mr.  Grafton, Mr.
Willett has withheld knowledge from the state that he was the principal
beneficiary of his partner's will.  As a result of my investigation,
and based on my experience as a homicide detective, I believe that Mr.
Willett's motive was jealousy over his wife's extramarital affairs and
greed for his partner's estate, and I believe that he had opportunity
to commit these crimes, since the murders occurred in his home at a
time when he was present."

"No further questions, Your Honor," Martinez said, then sat down.

Ed Eagle was on his feet.  He walked to within a couple of paces of
Carreras and faced him.  "Captain Carreras," he said.

"Yes, sir?"

"You say you have a witness who can place Mr.  Willett in the room
where the murders occurred on the night of the murder?

"Yes, I do."  Carreras permitted himself a small smfie.

"Tell me, is your witness presently an inmate of the Santa Fe County
Jail?"

The smile disappeared.

Martinez stood.  "Objection; irrelevant."

"This is most relevant, Your Honor, and I will demonstrate why."

"I'll permit it," the judge said.  "Answer the question,

Captain Carreras."

"Yes."

"Is your witness awaiting trial on a criminal charge?"

Eagle continued.

"Yes."

"Has your witness been offered a reduction of sentence or any other
inducement to testify?"

Carreras looked uncomfortable.  "Yes."

"Captain Carreras, on what occasion did Mr, Willett tell

SANTA FE llULES

else, for that matter--that he was not pre in the house at the time of
the murders'

Carreras seemed to search for an answer.

"In

Mr.  Wilier told you that he had no memory of didn't he?

"Yes."

"So if he told you he had no memory of that evening,

is not a claim of his whereabouts, is it?"

"I suppose not."

So your ease so far is based on the testimony of an felon who is
bargaining for his freedom, and on Willett's statements, which you have
just--shall we be the court."

"There's also the matter of his denial of knowledge of of the victims
and the matter of Jack Tinney's will,"

"I'll address those points, Captain Carreras.  Tell me,

did you learn of Mr.  Willett's alleged knowledge of "Mr.  Grafton?"

Carreras seemed eager to explain.  "I visited Los Angeles iixi-the
course of my investigation, and I received statements from a head
waitress and a waiter at a restaurant that Willett had had lunch in the
restaurant in the company lr.  Grafton."

"And, since Grafton was dead at the time, how did these witnesses
identify him?"

"By a photograph."

"Can the state produce this photograph?"  Eagle asked.

Martinez stood and shuffled through his files.  "Here is the
photograph, Your Honor."

Eagle took the photograph, looked at it, and placed it on the defense
table.

Wolf picked it up and looked at it.  A slim, graying man holding a
placard with a number on it stared back at him.  Wolf stopped
breathing. Eagle continued with Carreras.  "A prison photograph, was
it?"  "Yes." "A good likeness?"  "Good enough for the witnesses."  Wolf
stood up. "Excuse me, Your Honor, but I request permission to speak to
my attorney for a moment."  Eagle looked surprised.  "May I have a
moment, Your Honor?  "Yes, but be brief, Mr.  Eagle.  I have a full
morning." Eagle walked to the defense table.  "What is it, Wolff?" 
Wolf tapped the photograph on the table.  "I know him," he said.  Eagle
froze for a moment.  "I'm going to put you on the stand in a moment. 
Tell the truth."  He turned back to Carreras.  "Fhank you, Judge.  I
have but two more questions for this officer."  "Proceed, Mr.  Eagle." 
"Captain Carreras, did you at any time show this photograph or any
other photograph of Grafton to Mr.  Willett?"  Carreras looked
suspicious. "No," he said.  "One final question, Captain Carreras.  You
say you had an arrest warrant for Mr.  Willett?"  "That's right." 
"Then why didn't you serve it on Mr.  Willett when you arrested him? 
Carreras winced. "I, uh' "No further questions, Your Honor.  The
defense calls Wolf Willett to testify:" The district attorney, who was
halfway to his feet, sat down heavily.

The judge peered at Eagle.  "You realize, of course, that

Willett's testimony in this hearing can be used against a trial?"

"Of course, Your Honor.  The defense has nothing to

Wolf took the stand and was sworn in.

"Mr.  Willett, let's first address the issue of Mr.  Tinney's

Were you Mr.  Tinney's personal attorney?"

"I was, for many years."

"And did you ever draw a will at his request?"

"I did, about two years ago."

"And who, in that will, would have received the bulk of

Mr.  Tinney's estateY'

"His four ex-wives.  Apart from some small bequests, the bulk of the
estate was to go to them."

"At the time of Mr.  Tinney's death, did you believe that still be in
force?"

"I did."

'hell did you learn that Mr.  Tinney had drawn a new

"A couple of weeks after his death, when our business manager sent me a
copy."

"And was that will drawn by an attorney different from yourself?"

"Yes, it was."

"And you had no knowledge whatever of this will until two weeks after
Mr.  Tinney's death?"

"That is correct."

"Mr.  Willett, in his will did Jack Tinney give any reason for leaving
you the bulk of his estate?"

"Yes."

"What was his reason?"

"He stated in the will that he was making the bequest in gratitude for
my friendship and my wise management of his business affairs."  "Now,
Mr.  Willett, I will show you a photograph and ask you if you are, or
were, acquainted with this man."  He handed Wolf the photograph of
Grafton.  "Yes, I knew him as Clan O'Hara."  "How did you meet?"  "My
wife asked me to meet with him.  She said he was a friend of a friend
of hers from New York."  'why did she want you to meet him?"  "Mr. 
O'Hara, as I then knew him, had written a screenplay and was anxious to
have it produced.  I read the screenplay."  "Did you then meet with
this O'Hara?"  "I did.  I took him to lunch at a restaurant called
Mortons, in Los Angeles."  WV hat was the substance of your
discussion?"  "He asked my opinion of the screenplay; I told him I
thought it was very good.  However, I had no wish to produce it myself
it was about a prison break, and it was not the sort of thing that Mr. 
Tinney and I undertook.  I offered to call someone I knew at Warner
Brothers who might be interested, and I later did so.  I believe Mr. 
O'Hara entered into a contract with that studio to produce the film." 
"Did you ever see this O'Hara again?"  "No.  He did telephone to tell
me the outcome of his talks with Warner Brothers and to thank me for
sending him there.  I recommended a lawyer to negotiate the contract
for him."  "And that was your only contact with him ever again?"  "It
was."  "One final question: Why did you tell the district attorney and
the police that you did not know James GraftonF'

"I had never heard that name before.  When I saw his at the county
morgue, it had no face.  I had no idea Grafton and O'Hara were the same
man until I saw here this morning."  wi have nothing further, Your
Honor.  The prosecution question my client."  Martinez hesitated, then
said, "I have no questions for at this time, Your Honor," he said.  The
judge spoke up.  "The witness is excused.  Mr.  you have a motion?"
"Yes, Judge.  I move that the charges against Mr.  Willett for lack of
evidence."  i "Mr.  Martinez?"  Martinez rose.  "The prosecution
opposes the motion asks that Mr.  Willett be bound over to a grand
jury."  ' The judge thought for a moment.  "Motion denied," he said. 
"Do you have a request for bail, Mr.  Eagle?"  "I do, Your Honor.  I
request that Mr.  Willett be bail in the amount of one thousand
dollars." Martinez was on his feet again.  "Your Honor, may I point but
that this is a heinous crime?  That three people :' have been brutally
murdered? The prosecution vehemently I opposes bail."  "Mr.  Eagle?" 
the judge asked expectantly.  "Your Honor, I would like to point out
that the case for the prosecuti n is flimsy at best.  Mr.  Willett is a
reputable citizen with high standing in the community and in his
profession.  He has been devastated by this horrible crime, losing both
his wife and his business partner of many years.  He has cooperated
fully with the investigation and has voluntarily remained in the
jurisdiction in order to be of further help.  He has no intention of
fleeing--on the contrary, he is most anxious for the murderer or
murderers of his wife and friend to be quickly brought to justice and
will do anything in his power to further aid the investigation." 
Martinez stood again.  "Your Honor, I would like to point out that Mr. 
Willett has already fled the jurisdiction once and might well do so
again."  Eagle spoke up.  "Judge, when Mr, Willett left the juris~
diction, it was without knowledge that the murders had even occurred. 
When he learned of the murders, he went to Los Angeles briefly to
conduct vital business to protect the health of his business and the
livelihoods of the dozen people he employs.  At the earliest possible
moment, he returned to Santa Fe and offered his help to the district
attorney.  If he was going to flee, he could easily have done so
immediately following the murders, since the district attorney, in his
wisdom, had not bothered to cheek the fingerprints of the victims and
did not even know that Mr.  Willett was still alive.  He could have
remained dead, if he had wished, to avoid prosecution.  I submit that,
since that time, his every action has been that of an innocent man. 
And, Your Honor, the defense will overlook the improper arrest of Mr. 
Willett in the interest of speedy justice.  I reaffirm my request for
bail."  The judge thought for a moment.  "The defendant will be
released on bail of one hundred thousand dollars," he said.  "Next
case?"  Eagle took Wolf by the arm.  "Let's get out of here," he
said.

CHAPTER

$0

Wfand

Ed Eagle left the Santa Fe County Jail, collected his belongings taken
from him

' the night before.  They got back into Eagle's large BMW,

and Eagle produced an electric razor from the glove compartment.  I
'expect you'd like some breakfast," Eagle said, pulling out into
traffic.

"How'd you know?"  Wolf asked, checking his shave in the sun visor
mirror.

"Most folks have to spend longer than a night in our local slammer
before they're willing to eat the food."

"You're right about that," Wolf said with feeling.  "Do you know what
they gave us this morning?"

"Polenta, beans, fat bacon, and green Jell-O."

"How'd you know that?"

"They've been serving the same breakfast for as long as anybody can
remember.  They change the color of the Jell-O at lunch and dinner,
though."  Eagle turned in to

1;7

Guadalupe Street, drove a few blocks, and found a parking spot.  He led
Wolf across the street and into the Zia Cafe, then ordered him a big
breakfast.

Wolf tore into the food.  "God, this is good," he said.  Your first
meal out always is.  I'm sorry you had to go through that, but even if
I had been here I couldn't have prevented it.  They wanted a shot at
you, and they got it, for what it was worth to them.  We're lucky that
this guy Carreras put himself on the case.  He's sloppy about his work,
and that makes my job easier."

"Can you believe he forgot to serve the warrant?"

"Yes.  It's one of my favorite stalling tactics, to make them rearrest
my client, but in this case I didn't want to lean on a technicality. If
we go to trial we're likely to have the same judge, and I didn't want
to annoy him."

"I was amazed he didn't dismiss the chasges when you finished in
there," Wolf said, stuffing a sausage into his mouth.

"He didn't want the.  D.A. to look too bad, but I can tell you, if that
had been their whole case at a trial, you'd have walked without its
ever having gone to a jury."

Vill he go for the indictment now?

"Maybe, but he'll probably wait until he feels he's got a stronger
case.  I expect Carreras instigated the arrest just so he could get you
in his jailhouse."

"I think I have a better understanding now of why so many people
confess to crimes they haven't committed.  Just the experience of being
locked up is so demoralizing that the police have you at a tremendous
disadvantage."  "Did they do the 'good cop, bad cop' routine?"

"Yes, and it was surprisingly effective.  It took me a few minutes to
grasp what was going on."

"I see you've got Ms.  Deering back on the scene."  KNow, look, Ed, I'm
not flaunting her presence.  She daughter are here for Christmas,
that's all."

but no public places, no dinners at the you hear me?

"All right, agreed."

Wolf finished his huge breakfast, and they left.

"Now," Eagle said as he turned toward Wilderness

"remember that I've now promised a judge that you the jurisdiction.
That means you can't leave the not even to take Ms.  Deering to the
Albuquerque returns to L.A. Get the lady a taxi."

"All right," Wolf said, beginning to feel trapped.  "I'll

,ick close to Santa Fe."

"Don't cross the county line, you hear me?  I wouldn't put it past
Carreras to put a tail on you, in the hope that you might jump bail and
give him a chance to arrest you

"I hear you, Ed."

"There's something I want you to do, now that the police have made a
move."

"Sure."

"I want you to call or write to everybody you know who is somebody--all
those movie people who have public names--and get character references.
Absolutely anybody you think might be of any help.  Also, any
politicians you may know, and any clergymen."

"That's kind of embarrassing, asking people to do that.

Is it really necessary?"

"It is.  If it embarrasses you, ask somebody you know to write to them
for you.  And there's something else that isn't going to be easy for
you."

"What's that?"

"If we go to trial, I'm going to put Julia's sister on the stand."

That for?

"I'll want a jury to know the kind of person Julia had been, her record
of arrests, all the sleaziness.  If worse comes to worse and the jury
starts thinking you might be guilty, I want them to have somebody else
to blame, and Julia's ideal."

"Yeah," Wolf said.  "Julia won't be there to defend herself.  That'll
make me look just swell."

"Don't hand me that.  I know enough about her now to know that the
woman was a slut and a con artist, and that she never gave a fuck about
anybody but herself.  What you have to get used to is that she never
gave a fuck about you, eider."

"I don't believe that," Wolf said stubbornly.

WV elI just look at the newest wrinkle in all this," Eagle said.  "She
sent Grafton to you--an escaped convict, an armed robber, a con man, a
murderer, for Christ's sake, and she snookered you into having lunch
with the guy and helping him sell his screenplay."

"It was a good screenplay," Wolf said.  "Crude, but that never put off
a major studio.  Anyway, Grafton must have been blackmailing Julia."

"How do you know that?  For all you know, she could have welcomed him
with open arms.  I have it on good authority that he was an absolute
ace in bed."

"Oh, thanks for that, Ed, that really helped."

"I hope it helped you to understand what Julia was.  I deal with people
like her every week of my life; I see what they're capable of and how
they always blame somebody else when they get caught.  Now, I'm telling
you it is critical to your defense to make you look as good as possible
and to make Julia look as bad as possible, and we're lucky that it
won't be hard to do.  Julia gave us that, anyway."

"All right, Ed, do what you have to do to get me free of but I don't
want to hear about it until I'm in a court unless it's absolutely
necessary."

"You're giving me a free hand, then?"

"Yes, a free hand."

Eagle pulled into Wolfs driveway.  "I'm sorry this is so for you, Wolf,
but I said I'd get you off; I didn't say it going to be fun."

"All right, Ed."  Wolf sighed.  "I understand my position."

Eagle pulled to a stop at Wolfs door.  "No, you don't.

grasped yet."

"Not something else' Wolf groaned.

"Yes, and something important.  Even if you're acquit even if you walk
out of that courtroom a free man, a bstantial percentage--maybe even a
majority---of the you now know and later meet are always going to if
you committed those murders.  An acquittal isn't exoneration."

"So how do I become exonerated?"

"The only way I can do that is by proving that somebody did it."  Eagle
looked away.  "And considering the facts this case--or rather, the lack
of them--that may not possible."

Wolf slumped.  "I see," he said.

"Take care of yourself.  Call me day or night, if you need me."

"Thanks."  Wolf got out of the car and trudged toward the door.  As he
turned the knob, the door opened before him.  Jane rushed to him and
put her arms around his waist.  "Boy, am I glad you're here," she
breathed into his ear.  "I was wondering if I would ever see you
again."

He hugged her back.  "So was I, love; so was I."

CHAPTER

Whe '

n Wolf awoke, someone was in bed with him.

He opened his eyes, and Jane was there, asleep, wearing a sweater and
jeans.

He turned to face her, and she opened her eyes.  "How long have you
been there?"  he asked.

She looked at her wristwatch.  "About half an hour."

"Oh," he said, disappointed.  "I wish you had been there longer."

She laughed.  "I got up and made breakfast for Sara and Flaps.  They
went out to build a snowman, so I thought I'd look in on you.  You were
sleeping like a child; I couldn't bring myself to wake you."

He leaned over and kissed her.

"Unshaven!"  she said, rising to her knees.  "Okay, out of bed and
serape that face.  I'm not kissing whiskers this early in the
morning."

He got out of bed and staggered into the bathroom for a and a shave.
She had breakfast on the kitchen table he surfaced.  "Yesterday was
nice," she said.  "Thank you for the tour; liked it, too."  Tonight
we'll take a different kind of tour and look at the Is it all right for
Sara to stay upY' i' We wouldn't be able to get her to bed before that
time, She's a coiled spring on Christmas Eve.  What's on

"If you don't mind, I'd like t spend some time working some stuff Ed
Eagle asked me to do.  I've got to write letters and make some calls."
"Okay.  We'll amuse ourselves."  "Why don't the two of you take the car
and do some shopping?

"Sounds good.  I've got one or two last-minute things to I'd just like
to lie around and read for a while, too."  "My library is yours.  Maria
is coming tomorrow to cook s dinner for us.  I thought I'd ask Mark
Shea over, if he hasn't got plans."  "He's the shrink I met at the D &
D's party" "Right.  He's probably my closest friend in Santa Fe, and
think you'll like him when you've had a chance to sit down with him for
a while."  "If he's your friend, he can't be all bad."  Wolf finished
his breakfast and glanced at his watch.  "I'll call him now, before he
starts with patients."  He went into the study and dialed Mark's
number.  "Mark Shea."

"Oh, Wolf," Mark replied, sounding tired.  "I've been wondering how you
were.  I'm sorry I haven't called, but I've been swamped."

"Jane Deering and her daughter are in town, and Maria's cooking us a
big Christmas dinner tomorrow.  Why don't you join us' "Thanks, Wolf,
but I'm committed to something.  I ... I would like to talk with you,
though.  Listen, do you think you could come around here late tomorrow
afternoon?"  "Sure.  Can I bring Jane and Sara?"  "I'd really like to
talk to you alone.  Do you mind' "No, not at all.  What time?"  "Around
six?"  "Fine.  Mark, are you all right?  You sound a bit.."  weary."
"Well, a lot has been going on; that's what I want to talk with you
about.  I've got some explaining to do, Wolf, and I'm looking forward
to getting it off my chest."  "What on earth are you talking about?"
"I'll tell you everything tomorrow.  See yot* at six.  Oh, and Merry
Christmas."  "You too, Mark."  Wolf hung up, got his address book, and
started to make a list of people who would be good for character
references.  He had a hard time concentrating; Mark had sounded
depressed, and he was never depressed.  Well, he reckoned, he wasn't
the only one with problems.  He'd hear about Mark' tomorrow.  After
dinner, he drove Jane and Sara around downtown Santa Fe and the East
Side Historic District.  "What are all those little lights along the
tops of the houses?"  Sara asked.  "They're called farolitos," Wolf
replied.  "You take a paper bag, put some sand in the bottom to weight
it, then stick a candle in the sand and light it.  Presto] Afarolito!
Then you line them up along the roof."  "They're beautiful," Sara said,
pressing her nose to the window.

"Of course, these days a lot of them are plastic and elec but it's the
thought that counts."  They drove slowly through the narrow streets of
the east Traffic was heavy--everybody went out on Christmas in Santa Fe
to see the lights.  "What's that nice smell?"  Sara asked.  "It's like
incense,

"That's pifion smoke," Wolf replied.  "All the adobe have fireplaces,
and everybody burns pifion wood.  short, gnarled pine trees that you've
seen all

"It's lovely," Jane said.  "It seems to fit right into the Santa Fe
atmosphere."  "We'll burn some ourselves when we get home."

By the time they got home, Sara had fallen asleep ia her mother's lap.
Wolf carried her into the house, and Jane got her tucked in.  Flaps
climbed onto the bed, tail thumping, and laid her head across Sara's
small body, then gave them all a goodnight grin.  Wolf and Jane tiptoed
from the room.  Wolf lit a fire in the study and poured them a brandy.
"I've never seen her fold so completely on Christmas Eve," Jane said.
"It's Flaps," Wolf replied.  "She's never had her own little girl
before; the two of them wore each other out today."  "You're good with
her," Jane said.  "I like her.  I haven't spent a lot of time around
children, but I feel very comfortable with Sara."  "She feels
comfortable with you, too," Jane said.  "That hasn't always been the
case with the men in my life."  Wolf reclined on the sofa and pulled
her head onto his shoulder.  They kissed, then began to move against
each other.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Wolf said.

"Maybe not," she replied, "but I'm willing to find out."

They made love on the flOOr in front of the fire until only glowing
coals were left.

"Best Christmas I ever had," Wolf sighed.

CHAPTER

Wn Wolf woke on Christmas morning, Jane was--!": under the covers with
him again, this time without clothes.  But they were not alone; Sara
was jumping up and down on the bed, screaming "It's Christmas!  It's
Christmas!"  and Flaps was on the bed too, dancing and barking.  i "All
right!  All right!"  Jane cried.  "Just give us a minute!  ' We'll meet
you at the tree!"  The little girl and the dog bounded from the room. 
"What was that?"  Wolf said sleepily.  "A terrorist attack' "That was a
little girl and a dog on Christmas morning," Jane groaned.  "And if we
don't get up and get in there right now, they'll be back, I promise
you."  Wolf struggled out of bed, crawled into some clothes, and
moaned.  "Do I have time to brush my teethe' "Not a chance," Jane said,
zipping up her jeans.  "We'll be attacked again.  Come on."  When they
arrived at the tree, Sara was separating the presents into three piles,
while Flaps helped by sniffing everything carefully.  Sara's was the
biggest pile.  She tore into the packages, shrieking with delight at
each gift, no matter what it was.  She danced around the room wearing
Wolfs gift, a small sheepskin coat and matching snow boots.

"Those are for when you're in Santa Fe," he said.  He opened one of his
own presents--a photograph of the three of them with Flaps and the
snowman that had been taken only the day before.

"That's for when we're not here," Jane said.

Maria cooked a grand Christmas dinner, and they ate for-really in the
dining room, stuffing themselves with the traditional dinner.  After
lunch, Wolf and Jane left Sara playing with her new Nintendo game and
Flaps methodically removing the skin from one of her new tennis balls.
They napped for most of the afternoon, and when Wolf woke, it was time
to visit Mark Shea.  He got out of bed, taking care not to wake Jane;
he was on his way out of the house when the phone rang.  He grabbed it
before it could wake Jane.  "Hello?"  he said.

"Wolf, it's Mark.  I want to ask a favor."

"Sure, Mark."

"I remember your telling me you owned a pistol."  "That's right."

"May I borrow it?  Would you bring it with you?"

Wolf was very surprised.  Mark was a vigorous opponent of the right to
handgun ownership; he and Wolf had argued many times about the gun
control laws.  Wolf resisted the urge to tease him now about his stand.
"All right, Mark.  I'll bring it with me."

He went to the study, opened the safe, checked to be

the pistol was loaded, put it into his coat pocket, and the house.

New snow had fallen during the night, and Wolf drove through the nearly
deserted streets.  Everybody what he had been doing, he reckoned
sleeping Christmas dinner.  He drove north through town and onto the
Taos Highway.  When he turned left onto Road, he noted how few tire
tracks had marred the snow; by the time he reached the turnoff to
Mark's there were only the tracks of a single car.  It was as he swung
through the open gates to Mark's com-and his lights illuminated the
single set of tire had turned into Mark's place.

The only light in the compound was from the outbuilding was Mark's
professional suite, and Wolf turned toward at the fork in the drive.
The big house, off to the right, empty, haunted.  The tracks preceding
him stopped to Mark's Range Rover, which was covered in a fluffy of new
snow, but there was no other car.  Wolf left the and trudged to the
front door, following another set that seemed to be going the other
way.

Wolf rapped sharply on the door and opened it.  "Hello?  Mark?"

Music was quite loudly.  Vivaldi, The Four Sea,on&

in the air, too, a familiar scent.

Wolf was swept back in time; he was twelve or thirteen.  gotten his
first gun, a .92 rifle, for Christmas, and he was out in the woods at
the edge of his hometown of Delano, looking for rabbits.  First,
though, he'd wanted some target practice.  He'd found some bottles and
lined them up against a mud bank then fired his new rifle for the first
time.  The smell of gunpowder had filled the woods, a smell he came to
associate with afternoons in the fields and mountains around his home,
hunting with a friend and a dog.  The smell was here now and was
entirely pleasant, until he realized it was out of place.

Wolf looked around and saw no one.  The music became an irritant, and
he went to the stereo in the bookcase and switched it off.  It was then
that he heard the noise, and it made his hair stand on end a rasping
groan.  He walked around the sofa and found Mark Shea, lying on his
side, trying to get up.

"Mark!"  Wolf managed to say.  He went to his friend and turned him
over onto his back.  The front of his white shirt was a mass of blood,
and turning him over revealed an expanding pool of red on the carpet.

Mark's mouth moved, but no sound came out, except the rasp.

"Hang on, Mark," Wolf said, grabbing for the phone.  With one hand he
dialed zero, while with the other he loosened Mark's shirt collar.

"Operator."

"Get me the police; this is an emergency."

The operator was matter-of-fact.  "May I have the number you're calling
from?"

Wolf struggled to remember the number and couldn't.  "I can't remember
it.  Please connect me with the police no, with the sheriffs
department."  Mark's house was outside the city limits, in the county's
jurisdiction.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I must have the number."

Frantic, Wolf looked at the telephone in his hand, but there was no
number on it.

"Listen to me, you stupid bitch," he said, "a man is badly hurt, and I
want the sheriffs department right now, do you hear me?"

"All right, keep your shirt on," she said sourly.

At the moment he was connected, Wolf remembered number.  "Sheriffs
department."  "Hello, I need an ambulance and the police here right r.
A man has been shot."  He recited directions to house.  'four name and
number?"  the deputy said.  "My name is Willett."  He rattled off the
phone number.  and get here."  "Is the man badly hurt?"  Wolf wanted to
say that he was probably dying, but he want Mark to hear that.  "Yes,
very."  "We re on the way.  Wolf hung up and turned his attention back
to Mark.  eyes were glazed.  "Mark, can you hear me?"  he asked." 
Mark's eyes came back into focus, and he seemed to Wolf.  He nodded. 
"Can you tell me who did this?"  : Mark's mouth moved, but no sound
came out. Wolf couldn't read his lips.  "Try, Mark, try hard.  I can't
do anything to help you, I have to know who did this."  Mark did try
harder, and this time Wolf could understand the words.  "She... did...
"he managed to say.  %Vho, Mark?  Who did it?"  Mark tried again and
failed.  His eyes began to lose their focus.  He jerked in a sharp
breath and it came out in a rattle.  Wolf saw his pupils dilate.  Mark
Shea was dead. Wolf could hear a distant siren--no, two sirens.  He sat
back on the floor and took his friend's hand.  He was still sitting
there when the sheriff and the ambulance arrived.

CHAPTER

:1 Eagle was dozing when the phone rang.  He groaned with the effort of
answering it.  "Hello?"  "Ed, it's Wolf Willett."  "Merry Christmas,
Wolf."

"Not anymore.  I'm at Mark Shea's place, and he's been shot."; "How
bad'

"Dead.  He was alive when I got here; he died a couple of minutes
later."

"Were you first on the scene?"

"Yes.  We had an appointment at six o'clock."

Eagle glanced at his watch: ten past six.  "Have you called the
policeY'

"The sheriff.  I can hear the sirens now."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Eagle said.  "Wait until I

arrive before you talk to them."

"All right, but hurry."

Eagle grabbed a coat, headed for the BMW, then

I his mind and got into the Bronco; with new snow the ground he might
need the four-wheel drive.  He than he ever had in snow, and he nearly
lost it le of times.  It was dark now, and his headlights illuminated
the white road ahead of him.

Tano Road was treacherous, and he could see that other ahead of him had
skidded.  The sheriff's cars, he had been in a hurry too.  He skidded
through

Shea's gates and drove toward the flashing lights.

cars and an ambulance were there when he up in front of the
psychiatrist's office.

"Just hold it right there, Mr.  Eagle," a deputy said, moving in front
of the door and holding up a hand.

"Fuck you," Eagle said, shouldering the man aside.  "My in there."  He
strode into the office.  Half a dozen men gathered around the sofa at
the end of the room, all down.  Wolf Willett was one of them.  So was
the sher Matt Powers.  Eagle nodded at the man.  "Matt," he said. 
"What're you doing here, EdT' the sheriff asked.  "This a crime scene,
and you're not welcome."

"Let's start all over, Matt.  I represent Wolf Willett, and not talking
to you until I say so.  Am I still unwelcome?

The sheriff looked at the floor again.

"Yes, I am," Wolf replied.

"All right, Matt, Mr.  Willett is going to answer all your and I'm
going to be here while he does it."

The sheriff glowered at Eagle.  "Okay.  Let's all go sit over here." He
directed Wolf to a sofa at the other of the room.

Eagle ignored them for the moment and went to look at

Mark Shea's body; he was appalled at the amount of blood on the floor.
He turned and joined the sheriff and his client.

Wolf began telling his story, and Eagle listened closely,

ready to keep him out of trouble, if necessary.  It was not necessary;
Wolf was lucid and articulate.  He stopped at the point when he called
the sheriffs office.  "So," the sheriff said, "Dr.  Shea said that 'she
did it'?"  "Not exactly," Wolf replied.  "I said, "Mark, who did this?"
and he replied, with some difficulty, "She did."  There was a pause
between the two words; he was struggling to say it."  Eagle broke in.
"So he didn't actually say that a woman shot himY' "Sounded like that
to me," the sheriff said.  "Mr.  Willett asked him who did it, and he
said, "She did."" "Maybe," Wolf said.  "How can we be sure exactly what
he meant?"  "Why were you coming to see Dr.  SheaY' the sheriff asked.
"We talked yesterday, and Mark asked me to come over at six; said he
wanted to talk to me alone."  "Did he give you any indication what he
wanted to talk about' "He said he wanted to tell me some things, wanted
to get something off his chest, words to that effect.  He sounded
worried and depressed.  That was very unusual for Mark."  "Sheriff?"."
The group on the sofa turned and looked at the deputy standing in the
doorway; he was gingerly holding a rifle.  "We found this in the snow,
a few yards off the front walk; looks like somebody slung it over
there." "Bring it over here," the sheriff said, and watched the deputy
as he approached.  "Looks like an old Winchester," he said, looking at
the rifle without touching it.  "It's a Model 73," Wolf said.  "Mark
bought it late last year--a Christmas present to himself, he said." 
The deputy sniffed the barrel.  "Been fired," he said.  The sheriff
turned back to Wolf.  "Mr.  Willett, do you any objection to a test to
see if you've recently fired a "None at all," Wolf said.  "Under the
circumstances, I'd ask for such a test."  "We'll do that in a few
minutes," the sheriff said.  "Do know if Dr.  Shea owned any other
firearms' "No, he didn't--not to my knowledge, anyway.  He had absolute
hatred of handguns; he signed ads in the New Times, he wrote letters to
Senate committees--he Was very strong on handgun control."  "And yet he
bought a rifle."  "It was only a decoration to him, I think.  I doubt
if he ever fired it; I'm astonished that he would even have ammunition
for the thing."  "He owned a rifle, but he didn't shoot," the he riff
said, as if such a thing were unheard of.  "Lots of people in Santa Fe
have western rels--like i that," Wolf said, pointing.  The others
turned and looked at an old silver-trimmed saddle, resting on a
sawhorse across the room.  "He didn't ride, either," Wolf said..

"I see," the sheriff replied.  Wolf spoke again.  "There's something
else."  What's that?"  "Just as I left the house to come here, Mark
called and asked if I still owned a pistol asked me to bring it with
me."  "Did you ask him whyS' "No.  I planned to when I got here."  "Did
you bring the pistolY' Wolf dug the automatic out of In pocket and
handed it over.  The sheriff sniffed at the barrel.  "Doesn't seem to
have been fired recently."  "It's never been fired at all," Wolf said.
"I bought it at a gun shop out on Airport Road right after I built my
house here.  I've never had occasion to shoot it."

The sheriff expertly field stripped the weapon and checked it
carefully; he reassembled it and handed it back to Wolf.  "It's as you
say. There's still some packing grease in the barrel.  How did Dr. 
Shea know you owned a pistol?"

"We were arguing about gun control once, and I told him I owned one,"
Wolf said.  "But there's something else: When I drove out here, there
was only one set of tracks ahead of me from the time I turned onto
County Road 84.  The tracks turned into here, and there was a set of
footprints between the parking place and the front door."

"Let's have a look," the sheriff said.  He led the group outside and
played a flashlight around.  "Shit," he said.  There were now many tire
tracks and footprints around the house, where his department's cars and
men had left them.

Wolf took the flashlight from the sheriff and pointed it at Mark's
Range Rover.  "Look over here," he said, leading the group to the
parking area.  He pointed.  "The tracks weren't to the house, they were
from the house.  Somebody walked out of the house only one set of
footprints--got into a car parked here, and drove away."

The sheriff took the flashlight back.  "We've got a good print right
here, from when he got into the car."  He called out to a deputy.
"Jack, get over here and take a cast of this footprint, and measure it.
I want one of the tire track, too."  He turned to the others.  "I got
me a good footprint man."

Eagle spoke for the first time.  "Matt, it looks like whoever did this
spent the night here--or most of it, anyway.  It started snowing at my
house just after midnight, and it stopped around seven this morning,
while I was having breakfast.  That means your man--or woman--got here
before it started and left after it stopped; otherwise,

be tire tracks coming and going.  Wolf, is there a in the office
building?"  "No," Wolf replied.  WV ait a minute, there's a back door a
walk leading to the main house.  Maybe there are there."  The group
walked back into the office and Wolf led to the back door.  He switched
on the outside lights opened the 'door.  The walkway leading up to the
main had been shoveled nearly clean.  I'll see if we can get some kind
of footprint from what's of the snow on the walk, and we'll go over the
main for fingerprints, too," the sheriff said.  :a They went back
inside, and a deputy met them.  Sheriff," he said, "we're making casts
of those prints but I can give you an idea right now."  "Shoot," the
sheriff said.  "Whe tires are Goodyear snow and mud tires; they're
standard on half a dozen different new four-wheel-drive
vehicles--Cherokees, Broncos, etcetera and every tire shop in town
carries them.  The footprints are from some kind of snow boot; I've
seen 'em before, and they're common.  too "Man or woman?"  the sheriff
asked.  "They're about nine and a half inches long, so the size would
work for either a large woman or a man.  I stood next to them and
compared 'em with the depth of my tracks; they're shallower--I weigh a
hundred and eighty; whoever wore the boots, I'd put at one-thirty to
one-sixty."  "Good work, boy."  "Oh, and something else; the Winchester
had been wiped real good.  No prints."  The sheriff nodded.  "Mr.
Willett, how much do you weigh?"  "A hundred and sixty pounds." 
"Uh-huh. Let me have a look at your shoe soles."

Wolf displayed aleather boot with a Vibram sole.  "Uh-huh, a different
boot from the print."

Another deputy called the sheriff aside and spoke with him briefly.

The sheriff returned.  "Your story checks out with a lady at your
house," he said to Wolf.  "About the time you left, I mean. Considering
what time you called us and the time we got here and the car tracks and
footprints, I think we can rule you out as a suspect, Mr.  Willett." 
"I'm glad to hear it," Wolf said.  "So am I," Ed Eagle echoed.

"I'll admit, I'm kinda disappointed," the sheriff said.  "You looked
real good there for a while, considering you've already been charged
with three other murders."

"Matt," Eagle said, "I'd like to point out that the murders at Mr.
Willett's place have a similarity to this one, in that both were
committed with weapons already on the premises assuming that the
Winchester was the weapon used here."  "That's a good point, Ed."

"Can I speak to you in private for a moment, Matt?"  Eagle took the
sheriff aside.  "Are you entirely satisfied that Willett is not a
suspect in this murder?"

"I believe I am," the sheriff replied.  "Of course, there could have
been an accomplice who left Willett here after the shooting, but that
doesn't really make much sense."

"I'd like to point out that Shea was one of Willett's closest friends;
Willett had been his patient at one time, and Shea had already told me
that he'd be happy to testify on

Willett's behalf, if he's tried on the other murders."

"No apparent motive, then," the sheriff said.

"What I wanted to talk to you about is, when you start talking to the
press about this, I'd appreciate it if you'd go out of your way not to
imply that Willett is suspected.  I

want the papers to crucify an innocent man."

"All right, Ed, I'll be careful talking to the press."

"Thanks."  Eagle rejoined Wolf.  "Sheriff, is Mr.  Willett to go
now?"

"I guess he is," the sheriff replied.  "I may want to talk to again,
though."

"He'll be available at 'all times," Eagle said.  He shook with the
sheriff and led Wolf to his car.  "Go on and relax; you're out of this
one."

Wolf got into his car, then rolled down the window.  He thoughtful;
"Ed, three of the people closest to me been murdered now.  What do you
think is going on?"

Eagle shook his head.  "I wish the hell I knew, my friend.

I'll tell you this: I think you ought to have somebody up i the house
with you.  I can get some]ly to do that."  Wolf thought about it, then
shook his head.  "No, I don't

SO."

"All right, whatever you say, but I Think it might be a good idea to
keep that gun of yours handy."

Wolf nodded, then seemed to think again for a moment.

WEd, have you seen Julia's sister recently?.;'

A little chill went through Eagle.  "Yb.  Last night, in.

fact.  She was at my house."  "What time did she leave?"  "Around
midnight, I think."  "Had it started to snow yet?"

"No."

"I just wondered," Wolf said.  He started the car and drove away,
leaving Eagle staring after him.

Barbara Kennerly was a big girl, Eagle remembered-five ten and a
hundred and thirty-five, maybe; she drove a Cherokee; and when he had
kissed her goodnight, she had been wearing snow boots.

CHAPTER

drove back to Wilderness Gate on automatic pilot, numb with shock and
grief.  He pulled up at the house, and Jane greeted him at the door.

"What's going on?"  she whispered, indicating that Sara, who was
setting the kitchen table, should not hear."

"I'll tell you later, when we're alone," he whispered back.

Jane had dinner in the oven, and Wolf was surprised that it Was after
nine o'clock.  He picked at the food while trying to make cheerful
conversation with Sara.

When they had finally tucked the little girl into bed and left Flaps to
guard her, Wolf poured them a drink and took Jane into the study.  He
took a deep breath.  "There's been another murder: Mark Shea."

Jane nearly choked on her drink.  "Is that what the sheriff's office
was on the phone about?"

"Yes.  I arrived at Mark's house and found him dying."

%Vho did it' "I don't know.  Nobody knows."  "Wolf, what is going on
here?  I mean, how many more friends are going to die before this is
over?"  "I don't know, but I think it would be best if you Sara were on
the noon plane from Albuquerque "I don't want to go and leave you in
this state."  "Thank you, love, but we don't want Sara to know about
and to tell you the truth, I don't think I'm going to be company for
anybody until this is over."  Jane looked sad.  "I'm sorry I can't
help."  "I wish you could help, but nobody can until we find out who's
doing this and why.  Believe me, I hate to see you go; few days have
been the happier-I've had since I left in L.A."  "I'm glad to hear it,"
she said, kissing him.  "I don't know what I'd have done without you,
being in this house alone at Christmas.  I'm going to hate being alone
again, too."  "Well, just as long as you miss the hell oft of me."  "I
will, I will."  He pulled her into his arms.  In the middle of the
night, Wolf woke and couldn't go back to sleep.  He extricated himself
from Jane's arms and, careful not to wake her, got into a robe and
slippers and went into the study.  The moon was high, and there was no
need for a light.  He poured himself a brandy and stretched out in the
Eames lounge chair, looking down over a snow-covered Santa Fe gleaming
in the moonlight.  He hadn't said anything to Ed Eagle, but he felt
strongly now that Mark Shea had known more about the murders of Julia,
Jack, and Grafton than he had previously been willing to say.  There
was nothing else the psychiatrist could have meant when he said he had
some things to tell Wolf, things to get off his chest.

Who would have wished the deaths of, first, his wife and his partner,
then his friend and doctor?  He wrestled with this for a long time,
then gave up.  He knew no one who was the enemy of any of them, no one
who would profit from the death of any of them, let alone all of
them.

He had to consider, too, whether he himself was in any danger.  After
all, Grafton may have died because somebody thought he was Wolf
Willett.  Suddenly he was frightened again.  He went to the hall closet
and retrieved the pistol from his coat pocket, then slipped it into the
pocket of his robe.  It weighed heavily there, felt odd, unnecessary.
He had bought the thing while in some paranoid delusion of having to
defend the house, and now t looked as though he might need it to defend
his life.

He poured himself another brandy and sat down.  The moon had set now,
and only the quiescent lights of the town could be seen.  He was tired
and thought of going back to bed; instead, he dozed.

Some time later, he jerked awake.  A noise had woken him--or had he
dreamed it?  He reconstructed the sound from his memory; it had come
from the kitchen door.  He got up and padded into the kitchen.  The
noise came again, but fainter this time.  His hand closed on the
pistol.

He tiptoed to the door and peeped out through the glass pane next to
it.  He could see nothing; he heard only the sound of a light wind
through the pifion trees above the house.  He grasped the knob and
turned it as silently as he could.  Slowly, he opened the door and
stepped outside, the pistol before him.

A shock sent him back through the door; he had into loose snow on the
doorstep.  He walked out avoiding the pile; it hadn't been there when
he'd i returned to the house earlier.  The wind blew again, and a
handful of snow went down neck.  He danced around, pulling at the cord
of his dressing gown, shaking the snow away.  Then he looked up.  A
limb of a ponderosa pine extended over the kitchen The wind had blown
off its load of snow and deposited on the doorstep; that was the sound
he had heard.  He walked QUIETLY back through the house, still
squirming from the cold dampness on his back and' in his slippers.  In
the bathroom he dried himself with a towel, then crept back into bed
with Jane.  She accepted him as if he'd never left, came into his arms
and rested her head in the hollow of his neck.  The only sound he heard
before falling asleep was a tiny groan of contentment from her.

The following morning, he put Jane, Sara, and a great many shopping
bags into a taxi and sent them to Albuquerque Air-port.  He watched the
cab.  disappear down the road to Santa Fe.  He had never felt more
alone.

CHAPTER

Eagle was up early the day after Christmas.  He had breakfast, then got
into the Bronco and drove into Santa Fe.  The snow of Christmas Eve had
frozen solid, and the streets were icy.  Those drivers who had ventured
out drove with exaggerated care, and so did Eagle.  He made his way to
the east side, through the warren of streets with their adobe houses,
some of them antiques, the others designed to seem antique.  He found
the little apartment house where Barbara Kennerly lived, parked the
car, and walked through the archway toward the staircase that led up to
her apartment.  As he approached the stairs, Barbara came down, wearing
a heavy coat over a nightgown and snow boots.  "Well, good morning,"
she said, surprised.  She picked up a newspaper and brushed the snow
off it.  "Good morning," he replied.  "I was in the neighborhood.  Will
you buy me a cup of coffee?"

"Sure."  She smiled.  "But the place is a mess.  Come on He let her
precede him up the steps, which had not cleared of snow, and he looked
closely at the tracks The imprint of the soles was familiar.  She
opened the door and waved him in.  "You haven't my place, have you?" 
'No," he said, stepping inside.  He found himself in a living room; he
could see into the bedroom, only a steps away, and a tiny kitchen was
on the other side of apartment.  "I like it."  He sat down on the sofa.
"It suits me, for the time being," she said, shrugging.  s enough room
for one, and the furniture's not too I'm going to need some pictures,
though; I've already looking."  She busied herself in-the kThen and
with two cups of coffee.  "Listen, Ed, I'm sorry leaving you on
Christmas Eve, but I just felt like alone.  Can you understand thatY'
"It's all right, Barbara.  I'm accustomed to spending a lot of my time
alone.  I've made a point for a long time to Christmas Day by myself."
.... "I hope I didn't hurt your feelings."  "You didn't."  He changed
the subject.  "I like the boots Where'd you find theme' She held one up
for inspection.  "A Christmas present to myself.  I got them at the
Overland Sheepskin Company."  He knew the place; he'd bought boots
there himself.  "I like fur boots," he said.  "Do they have them in
men's sizes?"  She laughed.  "These are a man's size nine," she said. 
"I've got a big foot."  He was stuck for something to say.  "They look
warm," he managed.

"They are," she said, kicking off the boots.  "Just the thing for going
out in the snow for the papers."

"Yes."  A long silence.

"Ed, what brings you over here to see me so early in the morning?"

He shrugged.  "The office is closed today.  I just thought

I'd drop by."

"Come on, Ed" she coaxed "Somethin's your ,

g on mind; why don't you tell me about it?"  He couldn't bring himself
to question her as he had intended to, and he looked for another
subject.  "Barbara,

I;ve wanted to talk with you about Wolf Willett's trial."  "Is he going
to be triedY' "I expect so, and his case has become more complicated
with the death of Mark Shea.  Did you know Mark' She shook her head. "I
saw him at Santaeaf a couple of times; he came in for lunch.  I never
actually met him, though.  I heard about his murder on television last
night.  Have they caught anybody?"  She seemed innocent of any
knowledge of Shea, Eagle thought.  "Not that I've heard.  You know that
Wolf found him dying?"  "That was on the news."  She looked alarmed.
"He's not a suspect, I hope."  Eagle shook his head.  "No.  I was out
there, and I talked with the sheriff about it.  At least we don't have
to worry about that one."  "You're worried about the trial, thoughY'
"Yes.  Mark Shea would have been a principal witness for us.  He had
been Wolts psychiatrist, and he would have been good on the stand."
"I'm sorry," she said.  "I wish there was something I could do to
help."

"There is."

"What's that?"

"I'd like you to testify about Julia.  About her back I mean, and.."
her character."

Barbara was quiet as she thought about this.  "Oh, I

picture," she said.  "You want me to go into a and trash my sister in
front of a jury in order to client of."

"I want you to tell the truth about Julia; if that consti trashing her,
then so be it."

Barbara stood up and began pacing the room, sipping her coffee cup.
"You want me to stand up in public,

my own past, and help you make Julia the villain,"

"I can protect your identity; you can testTy as Hannah and I can ask
the judge to exclude the public the press during your testimony. Nobody
need find new name."

"I don't believe that for a minute," she said.  "It's bound out--I
could lose my job, and worst of all, lose the anonymity I've found in
Santa Fe."

"I'll do everything I can to prevent that happeniig."  "Srfhat really
gets me is that I thought you and I were some sort of relationship. Did
I dream that, or am fuck?"

Eagle stood up and took her by the shoulders.  "No, you didn't dream
it; you and I have come to mean something to each other.  That doesn't
have anything to do with the

"You're willing to expose me in Santa Fe to protect your client," she
said bitterly.  "A man who may have murdered my sister."

"The only thing Wolf ever did to your sister was take her out of the
criminal life she had always led and give her respectability and
everything she could ever have dreamed of having.  He didn't know he
was being lied to, of course.  I believe Wolf Willett is innocent of
any involvement in Julia's death; I think she may be a great deal less
innocent.  Who's the real victim hereY'

"But Julia can't defend herself."

"Could she defend herself if she were here?"  Eagle demanded.  "Could
she justify deceiving the man she married?  Did she have innocent
'reasons for forcing a sleaze like Grafton on him?"

Barbara looked surprised.  "What do you mean?"

"Julia talked Wolf into meeting Grafton and helping him with some
screenplay he had written--about a prison break--that's amusing, isn't
it?"

"Jimmy was in L.A.?"

"Yes, and I think he went out there to blackmail Julia, who was
eminently black mailable

"Jesus, that creep.  How could I ever have gotten involved with him?"

"That's a good question.  I've always believed you were an essentially
innocent person who was duped by a con man, and I'd like to go on
thinking that.  But you have to face the fact that your relationship
with Grafton is probably what launched the whole series of events that
ended in Julia's murder.  I don't know how, exactly, and I may never
know, but you are the connection between Grafton and Julia and Wolf,
and whatever brought them together in Wolf's house that night led
directly from that."

"So now you're blaming me for all this, is that itZ'

"I've already told you that I regard you as innocent, but surely you
can see how the consequences of your.."  your in falling for Grafton
have been disastrous for involved."  began to cry.  who did not know
how to deal with a weeping sat down opposite her and waited
uncomfortably pass.  His instinct was to sweep her into his arms, he
resisted that. Barbara composed herself.  "You're right," she "I
thought when I got out of prison it was over, but it got to go on
paying, haven't IF' Eagle put a hand on her cheek.  "It will be over
soon, I

"You can make that happen?  You can make it end?"  think I can bring
all this to a conclusion eventually, do it without either you or Wolf
gettifi'g hurt.  have to understand that New Mexico has the death and
as a decent human being, you have to do, what can to see that an
innocent man doesn't face that."  "But you don't know if he's
innocent," she said.  "You me yourself that he doesn't remember
anything.  Not g isn't the same as being innocent."  "Barbara, I've
represented a lot of people charged wi]a over the past twenty-five
years--some of them some of them innocent--and I think I've come to

"All right."  She snuffled, dabbing her nose with a "I'll do it."
"Thank you.  And I'll do everything I can to see that no connects
Hannah Schlemmer with Barbara Kennerly."  over and kissed her.  She
looked at her watch.  "Oh, God, I'll be late for

Eagle stood up, and she followed him to the door.  "Will you be all
right?"  he asked.

"Of course I will," she said.  "I just have to face the reality that my
past isn't going away."

'When this is over," Eagle said, "you can lead your life without any
fear of that.  The last link with the past will be broken."

She kissed him lightly.  "I wish I could believe you," she said.

Eagle walked carefully down the icy steps.  He stopped and looked back
at her.  "Ed," she called.  "Yes?"

"If I had refused to testiS, you'd have subpoenaed me, wouldn't you?"

' Yes," he said, "I would have.  I'm glad you didn't make it
necessary."

She nodded.  "I'm glad, too."  "Dinner to nightY "Sure."

"I'll call you later, and we'll figure out when and where."  She waved
and stepped back into the apartment.

Eagle crunched through the snow to his car.  As he was about to get
into it, he looked up and saw Barbara's Cherokee parked a couple of
spaces away.  He walked over to the rear of the car and looked at the
snow behind it.  One set of tracks led to the rear tires.  Goodyears.

Barbara Kennerly had come home after the snow had stopped.

CHAPTER

PA week, Wolf hardly left the house.  He tried to stay busy, making and
taking frequent calls from Hal Berger progress on the new film--if he
should ever be free it.  He began laying out the film scene by scene,
story boards and making lists of actors for roles..  He refused all
comment on Mark Shea's death, refer2'- callers to Ed Eagle.  He heard
through Eagle that some friends of Mark's were arranging a memorial
service, but no one called him about it.  He and Jane talked every
day--sometimes about the new film, sometimes about the editing jobs she
was doing on commercials and industrial films.  She had given her !"i
agent notice, and he had arranged for her to sign with the agent at the
Creative Artists Agency, who would henceforth handle her career.  He
assured her that she wouldn't be doing commercials much longer.  He
asked Hal Berger to find some charity to give Julia's clothes and
personal belongings to, and to have her jewelry appraised for a
possible sale.  He had reached a point where he wanted any vestige of
Julia gone.

On New Year's Eve, he had a call late in the afternoon from Hal.

"Wolf, I'm at your house in Bel Air, and I'm afraid things aren't right
here.  There are some big problems."  "What sort of problems, HalF'

"Let me start at the beginning.  You remember that when you and Julia
were married, she insisted on taking over the household accounts.  I
had been paying the household bills from the office, but she wanted to
do it."

"Yes, Julia seemed to want to run as much of my life as possible,
outside the office, anyway."

"Well, since her death, your housekeeper, Bridget has been forwarding
the mad from the house about once a week, and I've been paying the
bills from the office."  "That's what I asked you to do, Hal."

"I hadn't received any mail from Bridget for a couple of weeks, and
also, I wanted to get an idea of what things of Julia's you might want
to give away, so I came over here.

No one was answering the phone."

"What's happened there?"

"The house is a mess, for starters.  It obviously hasn't been cleaned
in weeks--probably not since you were here.  The place reeks of booze,
and there are a lot of dirty glasses scattered around.  Bridget was
nowhere to be found, so I went upstairs to check on Julia's things, and
I found the maid passed out, drunk, on the bed in the master bedroom,
wearing a dress of Julia's.  She's up there now.  What do you want me
to do about it?"

A wave of anger ran through Wolf; he should have gotten rid of that
woman a long time ago, he thought.  "Fire her,

Give her a month's pay so she won't have anything to about, and get her
out of the house today," "Consider it done, Wolf; I never liked her,
anyway, I have to admit."  "Neither did I. Julia hired her; I had
nothing to do it."  "That's not the only problem, though.  There's
worse to

"What else?"  "Bridget had apparently gone through Julia's dressing
looking for something--my guess is the jewelry--and he had ransacked
Julia's desk, too.  There were a lot of bank statements and other
documents, and I gathered them up."  "Her jewelry is 'in the safe in
the study; you've got the ombination.  You may as well take everytng to
the office," Wolf said.  "I suppose we had better go ahead and wind up
Julia's estate and close her bank account."  "Sure, I'll do that, but I
found something ele among the papers."  "What, Hal?"  "Are you sitting
down?"  . "Yes."  "Wolf, I found some c)rrespondence with your
stockbroker.  Did Julia have anything to do with your investments?"
"Yes, she had an interest in the market.  She read the Wall Street
Journal every day, and occasionally she would buy or sell something.  I
gave the broker a power of attorney so she could do that, but she
always checked with me first.  I believe she even made me some money."
"Maybe so, Wolf, but it's gone now."  "What do you mean?"  "I mean
Julia sold everything less than a week before she died."

Wolf sat down.  "Everything?"  he asked weakly.  "Everything--the
stocks, T-bills, those bonds you bought a couple of years ago, and your
Keogh and 401K retirement plans.  The total value was a little over
three million six hundred thousand dollars."

'"what did she do with the money?"  Wolf asked, trying to grasp what
Hal was saying.

"It went into her bank account first, then she wire-transferred the
whole amount, plus about thirty thousand dollars, to a bank in the
Cayman Islands."

"Three million six?"  Wolf asked, beginning to get a grip on what had
happened to him.

"That's right," Hal said.  "And that's not all.  Just over a million of
that was from the two retirement accounts; that means you're going to
have to pay tax on that amount come April 15th--that'll be, say, three
hundred and fifty thousand, plus a ten percent penalty for cashing in a
retirement account before you're sixty-five.  Your total loss is
looking like about four million dollars, plus tax on whatever profit
might have been made on the other stocks."

Wolf was breathing deeply, trying to keep a grip on himself.

"Wolf, I'm sorry.  I know what a blow it must be, but I had no
oversight of any of this, so I had no idea it was happening."

"Of course not, Hal; it's not your fault."

'"what do you want me to do?"

"Jesus, what can I do, Hal?  The money's out of the country, and
Julia's dead.  Is there any way I can get it back'

"I don't know.  There's an account number for the Cayman bank on the
wire-transfer receipt; I guess we can start there, but the Caymans have
a very secrelSve banking system."

"Christ, there must be something we can do."

"Wolf, I know this idea won't appeal to you, but I think ought to call
the police."

"You're right; that doesn't appeal to me."

"I think you have to do it to protect yourself.  It could be some of
the insurance you have might cover at least of this; I don't know that,
but I can check.  The first the insurance company would want is the
police in this."

"Hal, I don't know how that would affect my current in Santa Fe.  I
want to talk to my lawyer before we

"All right, what do you want me to do here?"

"Just take all those statements back to the office and see you can find
out anything else from them.  Tanto my too, and see if he has anything
to add.  And, Hal,

Bridget now.  Don't leave the house until she's gone,

sure and get her keys."

"Right.  Call me at the office after you've talked to your

Wolf hung up and called Ed Eagle..  "Yes, Wolf?."  Eagle said when he
came on the line.  "More complications," Wolf said, then told him what
had happened."

Eagle whistled.  "That lady was some piece of work,

wasn't she?"

"She was that," Wolf agreed.  "What is this going to do to my case, if
it comes to trial?"

"If we try to pretend this isn't relevant, and it comes out later, it
could reinforce the D.A."s case with regard to your motive--that is, he
could claim you killed your wife not only because she was sleeping with
other men, but because she was stealing from you."

STUART YOODS

"Swell."

"I do think you have to get the L.A. police in on this without delay;
call your man back and tell him to scream bloody murder to the COps."

"All right.  Ed, do you think I could get permission to go to L.A. and
look into this?"

"No, I don't think that would work; I don't think we should even ask
the judge."

"All right, whatever you say."

"One good thing about this, Wolf, though it may not be equal to four
million dollars."

"What's that?"

"It'll be the final nail in Julia's COffin, where her character is
concerned.  It'll make a jury more sympathetic."

"You're right," Wolf said.  "It isn't equal to four million dollars."

CHAPTER

Eagle rang Barbara Kennerly's bell at eight-thirty

Bill on New Year's Eve.  She greeted him wearing a dress that

he could only think of as sensational; it was tight, black,

B' and showed an entertaining amount of cleavage and her

' tattoo.  A diamond choker encircled her nee.k.

[ "You are beautiful," he said.  "So are you," she replied, kissing
him. "I love a man in a tuxedo.  Would you like a drink here before we
go?"

"We should probably move on," Eagle said.  "I think our hosts plan to
sit down for dinner at nine."

: Barbara produced a full-length mink coat, and Eagle helped her into
it.  "Something else left over from the marriage?"  he asked.

"I told you," she said, "my husband was a generous man--and he had a
brother in the fur business."

He opened the door for her.

"Just pull it shut and it'll lock itself," Barbara said.

She stepped out the door, and as she started down the stairs, Eagle
found the night-latch button and switched it off.  He closed the door
firmly and followed Barbara down the stairs.  "Tell me about these
people," Barbara said as he started the car.  "Torn and Susan Taylor,"
Eagle said.  "He's a trial lawyer, too, but on the civil side; he sends
me a lot of work.  Susan's a sculptor; she does quite well at it, I
think.  I'm not sure who they've invited, but there'll be quite a mob.
They do this every New Year's."  "Will I like them?"  "I like them;
we'll see if you do."  He drove out Camino del Monte Sol and turned
into the courtyard of a large adobe house.  They were greeted at the
door by the Taylors, and Eagle nade the introductions.  'You were
right," Barbara said, "there's a mob.  Oh, my God, it's that movie star
what's his name?"  "That's him," Eagle said.  "Would you like to meet
him?" "Absolutely."  Eagle introduced her to the man and relieved a
passing waiter of two glasses of champagne.

After a sumptuous buffet dinner, there was dancing to a small band, and
Eagle was relieved when the movie star asked to dance with Barbara.
"Good timing," he said to the man.  "I've got to go to the john,
anyway."  "Take your time," the movie star said, and Barbara laughed.
Eagle headed out of the living room, then left the house by a side
door; he got into his car and drove as quickly as he dared, considering
the cops were out in force on New

Year's Eve.  He parked at Barbara's place and let himself her
apartment.  She had left a light on, and he pulled the shades of the
living room windows.  Eagle wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he
mediately found something interesting; when going the chest of drawers
in her bedroom, he came across a gun, a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson
.38caliber revolver, meant for close work.  He checked the cylinder; it
loaded.  He wiped it and replaced the pistol exactly as he had found
it.  There was a hell of a lot of jewelry in a box on her dresser; he'd
expected jewelry, but not so much of it, and it was stuff.  The woman
should have a safety deposit He worked his way around the apament,
checking drawer and cupboard, even going through the kitchen
thoroughly.  Apart from the pistol and the unusually large amount of
jewelry, there was nothing he might not expect to find in a single
woman's apartment.  There was a diaphragm in the bathroom medicine
cabinet, but he had known about that.  The books in the bookcase were
mostly ppular novels and art books, some of them obviously acquired
locally, such as Santa Fe Style, the bible of southwesteTM design that
seemed to be on every coffee table in the city, if not the country. One
other book caught his eye, because it seemed so out of place.  It was
called Beautiful Girlhood, and the style of the cover placed it in
another era.  He opened it and checked the chapter titles: it seemed to
be a guide to maintaining virginity.  Written on the title page was the
name Leah Schlemmer.  It must have be-longed to her mother, he thought.
As he was about to replace the book, his fingers came into contact with
something protruding from the pages.  He opened the book again to a
page where two pieces of an old photograph had been inserted.  It had
apparently been torn in half, but when he tried to put the two pieces
together they did not fit.  Each of the two pieces contained a snapshot
of a girl, and, judging from a disembodied hand resting on the shoulder
of one of them, there had once been another girl between the two.  The
hairdos and clothes seemed to place the photograph around the late
sixties.  The two girls might have been twins; he could not tell which
one was Barbara.  Eagle replaced the photograph in the book and
returned it to the bookcase.

He stood in the middle of the living room and looked for some other
item in the little apartment that might give him further information
about Barbara, but there was nothing.  There was a lack of pictures on
the walls, as Barbara had mentioned, and the furniture seemed out of
the landlord's attic.

He raised the shades in the living room, opened the door, flipped on
the night latch, and closed the door behind him.  He drove quickly back
to the Taylors' house, let himself in through the side door, locked it,
anal returned to the party.

"There you are," Barbara said as he took a seat beside her on a cushion
before the fireplace.

"Here I am," Eagle said.  "I got into a discussion in the kitchen."

The movie star's wife had materialized and seemed to be relieved to see
Eagle.

"I hear you're representing Wolf Willett," the actor said.  "I know him
slightly; I did a walk-on in one of Jack's early films.  Are you going
to get him off?."

"I don't expect to have to," Eagle said confidently.  "He shouldn't
have to go to trial; Wolf is an innocent man, and the police were
willing to do their work, they would have / already found the real
murderer."  "I'm glad to hear that," the man said.  "I always liked He
turned to Barbara.  "You look a lot like Julia," he

Her eyebrows went up.  "Do I?"  "You could be sisters."  Eagle stepped
in.  "That's high praise," he said to "Julia was a knockout, by all
accounts."  "Thank you, kind sir," Barbara said to the movie star.  The
music stopped and there was a drum roll.  "Ladies and gentlemen, dear
friends," the host said, New Year?  Everybody sang "Auld Lang Sync" and
kissed.  Eagle a little jealous of Barbara's bussing of tfib-other man,
what the hell, he was a movie star.  Barbara kissed Eagle even more
avidly, then, raised her and looked him in the eye.  "To the New Year,"
she "and to new beginnings."  Eagle raised his glass.  "New
beginnings," he said.  He had the feeling that her new beginning might
be et short," hoped he was wrong.  She'd had a lot to drink; he'd aSk
her some questions later.

CHAPTER

bout halfway through New Year's Eve, Wolf started to hate Julia.  He
hadn't hated her until now, not even when he'd learned about her past
life; he'd had a certain amount of sympathy for her wanting a fresh
start, even if she had lied to him.

Now it was different; he had trusted her completely, and she had stolen
as much from him as she possibly could.  It had taken him twenty-five
years to amass his small fortune, and she had stolen it from him in the
blink of an eye.

He ate half the steak he'd cooked for himself and opened a second
bottle of wine.

What she'd stolen was enough for a girl to start over somewhere else
with a new name.  Only Julia had run into a shotgun before she could
bolt.  Maybe there was some 'justice, after all.

He drank the wine and tried to figure out what this was going to mean.
He couldn't direct the new picture, that was for sure.  If he tried to,
Centurion would beat him on his price, make him practically pay them to
let He couldn't afford that now, not unless he sold Air house; and if
he did that, if word got around he needed money, there would be blood
in the water, would tear him apart.

aloud.  He was thinking too far ahead.  How make the picture when he
might be spending the in a New Mexico prison?  He might even be them on
death row while the appeals sucked up dime he had left.  The best he
could hope for would seven years.  Then he'd be free again and
pen-nobody in the film business would ever take his again.

be worth it, if he could only know what the night Julia, Jack, and
Igrafton were tour the knowledge might kill him, but at least he'd Mark
Shea had been the only man, who might have him find out, and now he was
gone.  i, Wolf took the second bottle of wine into the study and on the
television, flipping through the satellite Suddenly a movie of his and
Jae's was on the Julia was there, playing her hooker--a role she so
well.  He and Jack were seated at a table at a side-cafe--it had been a
joke, a Hitchcockian walk-on--they gaped at her as she walked by. Tears
welled up.  had all been so happy on that shoot.  He switched off TV
and swiveled his chair to face the lights of Santa Fe.  People were
down there toasting the new year, whooping it up, having a good time.
Tomorrow they'd have hangovers, but they wouldn't be facing financial
ruin and prison; they weren't murderers who couldn't remember their
crimes; they weren't suckers with whores for wives, had everything
they'd earned stolen.

He remembered the pistol.  It lay on the coffee table before the
fireplace, ready for self-defense.  Or self-destruction.  He resisted
the urge to pick it up.  On the other hand, why shouldn't he?  Why
shouldn't he save everybody the trouble of dealing with him?  It would
be easier for Hal Berger to simply wind up his estate instead of trying
to help him hold the company together while the criminal justice system
dangled him from a slender thread.  Dead, maybe he could face Julia and
hear from her what had happened, what her plans had been, how she had
lost her life.

Was there some part of his life worth saving?  Something worth staying
alive for?  He thought about that, and he came up with Jane Deering.
Jane was worth it, and so was Sara, but what would he do to them by
going on living?  Sara was ignorant of his troubles now, but soon she'd
see his picture in the papers, being led to trial.  Supposff he was
acquitted?  Ed Eagle had said that a lot of people Wolf knew--his
friends would still think he had done it, and God knew, he might very
well have done so.  How would Jane and, most of 'all, Sara handle that?
The wounds he could hand out by staying alive might be worse than those
inflicted by his death?

The idea of death had always horrified him; he'd feared it, driven by
the Baptist upbringing his mother had given him.  Hell was out there
waiting, just as heaven was.  They had both always been real places to
him.  Who knew which he would find himself in?  Jtdia was in hell,
certainly; he might join her there.  She might have the last laugh,
after 'all.  He hated the idea of Julia laughing.

The phone rang.  He didn't pick it up.  No last-minute reprieves for
him; that was for the movies.  It rang three times more, then the
answering machine picked up.

"This is Wolf Willett.  Please leave your name and number, and I'll get
back to you."  Beep.

you're there; pick up the phone."

was Jane; he picked up the phone.  "You're right, I'm was at a party.
He knew that; she had told him she going.  He could hear people singing
in the back knew you'd be there alone, and I wanted you to know she
said.  "I love you, Wolf, and you and I are to face whatever happens
together, do you hear couldn't speak, so he nodded.  goddammit, say
something]" he managed to say.  "I love you, too.  I'm awfully
called."

New Year!"  she said.  "It's going to be; trust

"I trust you.  Happy New Year to you.  I love you, Jane, I

Sara loves you, too.  She told me so.  She's never said anybody else
but me."

"I love Sara, too; tell her for me."  '

"I'll tell her.  Now, I want you to put down your drink go straight to
bed.  I'll call you again in the morning make your hangover worse.

"I'd love that," he said, putting down his wineglass.  "I'll if you
promise to make my hangover worse."

"I promise."

"I love you, Jane."

"I love you, Wolf.  Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Wolf hung up the phone and went straight to bed.

CHAPTER

the morning of January second, Wolf left the house and went shopping.
He drove downtown and parked near the plaza, then combed through the
shops, looking for bargains on sale.  He couldn't afford it anymore,
but he bought a new leather coat and a good piece of pottery, and he
was looking at a picture in a gallery when a young woman ran into the
gallery and grabbed him by the elbow.

"Oh, Mr.  Willett, I'm so glad I found you," she said.  "I'm from Ed
Eagle's office."

"What's wrong?  Wolf asked.

"You have to call Mr.  Eagle right away, that's all," she panted.

"Why did he send you looking for me?  Why didn't he just leave a
message on my answering machine?"

"He got your maid on the phone, and she said you'd shopping, so he sent
me out looking for you.  Please him right away."

Wolf asked the gallery manager if he could use the then called Eagle.

"I'm glad we got hold of you, Wolf," Eagle said.

"What's up, Ed?"

"You've been indicted.  The police have already been to house with a
new warrant looking for you, and it's for appearances that you
surrender before they arrest you."

"I'm on the east side of the plaza now, at a gallery.  What t want me
to do'

"Stay where you are.  I'll pick you up in five rain And don't go out
onto the streets; I don't want you

"All right.  Ed, does this mean I'll ha veto go back..."  he glanced at
the woman behind the desk, who was taking an in his conversation, "back
where I was be foreS

"I hope not.  We'll talk about it when I see you."

"Fine, I'll wait here."  He hung up the 'phone and tried to appear
calm.  He went back and looked at the picture

"Tell me something about the artist," he said to the gallery manager.

Eagle drove quickly through the downtown sale traffic.  "What we do now
is, we turn you in.  I've already phoned the judge and asked for an
immediate hearing on continuance of bail."

"Are we likely to get it?"

"It depends on what the D.A. might have in the way of new evidence.
He'll have to tell the court, in general terms, what he's got.  He'll
certainly ask that bail be revoked, and he might get it.  At the very
east we'll have to come up with a higher bond.  I know your financial
circumstances have changed drastically, so I think we'll have to pledge
your house.  How much is it worthY'

"It cost a million and a half to build."  Wolf tried to calm his racing
heart.

"That should do it."  Eagle found a parking place at the detention
center, and as they got out of the car, Wolf looked up and saw Carreras
across the parking lot running toward them.

"Have a look at that, Ed," he said.

"Uh-oh, let's hurry," Eagle said.  They hurried into the building.
Eagle led Wolf to the high desk and said to the sergeant in charge,
"Mr.  Wolf Villett is here to surrender himself on a charge."

Carreras burst through the front door, panting.

"Good morning, Captain Carreras," Eagle said, beaming at him.

"You're under arrest, Willett," Carreras said, producing a warrant.

"Too late," Eagle said.  "He's already turned himself in, and the judge
is waiting for us now for a bail hearing."

Carreras glowered at Eagle, then turned on his heel and stalked off
toward his office.

They sat in the courtroom until the morning's arraignments had been
completed, then the judge looked at Eagle and said, "Any further
business?"

Eagle rose.  "Matter of continuance of bail for Mr.  WolfWillett,
following an indictment," he said.

"Bring your client forward, Mr.  Eagle," the judge said.  Martinez," he
said to the district attorney, "may I from you on this subject?"  "Your
Honor, the state requests that bail be revoked and that the defendant
now be incarcerated until his trial, have evidence placing him at the
scene of the crime on the day of the murders; we have evidence of a
fuit her motive.  The state believes that Willett is a dangerous man
and should be jailed immediately."  The judge turned to where Eagle and
his client now at the defense table.  "Mr.  Eagle?"  Eagle rose and
took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase.  "Your Honor, I would like
to present to the court nine letters from prominent figurein the film
industry, attesting to the good character of MrTWillett."  He handed
the letters to the judge, who began leafing through them.  Wolf had
written to fifteen people; he wondered who were the six who had not
come through.  Eagle continued.  "I would like to point out that Mr.
Willett has kept the terms set for his current bail, that he has not
left the jurisdiction, and that immediately on being informed of his
indictment, he voluntarily surrendered' himself to the authorities. Mr.
Willett has no intention of fleeing; he looks forward to a trial so
that he can clear his name.  I would also like to point out that the
state's case is no stronger than it was at Mr.  Willett's last hearing.
Mr.  Willett has never denied being in his own home, and I believe that
Mr.  Martinez's reference to a new motive is based on information that
will, in fact, strengthen Mr.  Willett's defense.  We are ready for
trial, and request an early court date."  He sat down.  The judge
continued reading the letters, then spoke again.  "I am impressed with
Mr.  Willett's references, and I

am pleased that he has kept the terms of his bail and that he
surrendered voluntarily.  I will continue bail; however, in light of
the seriousness of the charges, I will increase the amount to one
million dollars.  Can your client raise that sum, Mr.  Eagle?"  "He
can, Your Honor; he has already posted one hundred thousand dollars
cash, and he will offer his house in Santa Fe, which is unencumbered
and is worth well in excess of one million dollars."  "That will be
acceptable to the court.  I will release Mr.  Willett in your custody,
pending receipt of the deed to the house by close of business today." 
He flipped through a large desk diary.  "I have had a postponement of a
case, leaving a gap in the calendar, so I will set trial for January
tenth.  Is that acceptable to the state?"  He looked at the district
attorney.  Martinez rose.  "It is, Your HOhor."  "There being no
further business before me, this court is adjourned."  "Thank you, Ed,"
Wolf said when they had left the courtroom.  "Not at all.  Where is the
deed to your house?  "In the safe in my study."  "I'll drive you back
to your car, and you can have it delivered to the court later today." 
"Fine." When they were back in his car, Eagle raised another point. 
'olf, I want your authorization to hire two investigators.  I know a
good man who can look into Grafton's activities in Los Angeles--Julia's
sister gave me the name of a man Graton knew there who he might have
contacted."  "Fine, go ahead.  What's the other investigator for?"  "I
want to send a man to the Cayman Islands and see what he can find out
from the bank there."

"Aren't those banks very secretive?"  "Yes, but if we can present
evidence of a crime in connection with funds they are harboring, they
can choose to give us information.  I know a guy in Washington who
until recently was an investigator for the IRS."  and who has a lot of
experience looking into Cayman accounts.  He's a C.P.A. in Virginia
now.  He'll be expensive, but he's damn good."  "All right, go ahead."
"What are your resources following Julia's theft of your investments?"
"I'm pledging the Santa Fe house, of course, but there's the Bel Air
house, and my company has got some cash; I can draw on that, if I have
to."  "Good.  That should see us through."  "When did Julia's sister
become o cooperative?"  "I had a chat with her last week, and she
agreed to testify for us; then, when she had had a lot to drink on New
Year's Eve, I went over the Grafton business with her again.  I don't
think she had really been holding back, but she came through with the
name of a man in L.A. that Grafton had mentioned several times in' the
past.  We may have to spread some money around to get information." 
"How much money?"  "Will you authorize twenty-five thousand dollars?" 
"Yes, go ahead.  I'll have my office in L.A. wire-transfer, say, fifty
thousand to you today."  "That should cover eveqrthing."  Eagle stopped
the car next to the Porsche, and Wolf got out.  "Ed, keep me posted on
these investigations, will you?"  "Sure, I will; I know how anxious you
are." No, Wolf thought as he watched Eagle drive away, you don't have
any idea how anxious.

CHAPTER

pie Dalton sat in the tiny second bedroom of his small apartment in
Santa Monica, which served as his office, and worried.  He had earned
his nickname when he had been on the force, because he was plump, pink,
and resembled the prize dolls at carnival shooting galleries, and he
was worried because he had four dollars in the bank and his pension
check didn't come for another week.  "Please, God," he said aloud.  "I
need some work."  The phone rang.  "Dalton Investigations."  "Cupie,
it's Ed Eagle.  How are you?"  He tried not to sound excited.  "Okay,
Ed. YouY' "Not bad.  I need a guy looked into."  "Okay.  Who is he?" 
"His name isor rather, was--James Grafton, known as Jimmy, recently
known in L.A. as Clan O'Hara.  He caught the wrong end of a shotgun
around Thanksgiving in Santa Fe."

Cupie wrote down the names.  "Never heard of him."  "Armed robber, con
man, escapee, murderer.  He out of a New York prison earlier this year
and in L.A.; apparently sold a screenplay to Warner."  'That's cute.
You got anything else?"  "A name: Benny Calabrese, somebody he knew."
"I know him; a sleaze."  "SVhat did you expect?"  "So what do you need
on this guyY' "I want to know every move he made in L.A."  and any
think might interest me."  "You know my rates."  rates," Eagle said. 
"I don't have time for you to hours and an expense account.  This is
five grand straight, and anything you have to fcrk over comes out of
that.  I'll have a messenger there in an hour with cash."  "That would
be nice." "It's not a gift, Cupie; it's for results.  I want to hear
from you tomorrow, and I want to hear a lot."  "You got it, Ed."  "I
better have it, or this is the last you, ll see any of my money.  Call
me."  Cupie hung up and raised his eyes to the ceiling.  "Thank you,
God," he said.

When the messenger had gone, Cupie put four thousand dollars into the
cheap safe that was bolted to the floor in the bedroom closet, then
folded ten hundreds into his pocket.  Feeling lighter than air, he
strolled down to the parking lot and got into the elderly Continental
that he loved so much.  He took the freeway to Sunset and drove slowly
through Beverly Hills to the Strip.  Here he slowed even further and
began looking.  It took less than fifteen minutes to find Benny
Calabrese's red Camaro with all the stripes, parked in front of a
fast-food joint near the corner of La Cienega.  Cupie invented a
parking place and walked into the restaurant.  Benny was heavily into a
double cheeseburger, alone in a back booth; he had just taken a huge
bite when he saw Cupie.  He stopped chewing.  Cupie sat down and put a
hundred-dollar bill on the table between them.  "Now, listen to me,
Benny," he said.  "You and I ain't ever liked each other too much, so
this is going to be a brief meeting.  I'm going to ask you some
questions, and you have two choices: first, you can take the hundred
and talk to me good, or second, I can beat the shit out of you."  Benny
started chewing again.  Cupie had his attention.  "Now, by the time
youfiish chewing, you better be talking to me about a guy-named Jimmy
Grafton."  He held up a hand.  "Don't worry, this won't bounce back on
you; Grafton ate somebody's shotgun a while back.  Now, what's it going
to be?"  Benny swallowed hard.  "Jinmy's dead?  YOU ain't shitting me?"
"Grafton is in somebody's landfill by now.  Trust me, Benny."  Benny's
hand snaked out and snagged the hundred.  "Me and Grafton did some time
together--Riker's Island, a few years back.  We kept in touch, even
after I came out here."  Cupie made a beckoning motion.  "Don't pause
for breath, Benny; keep it coming."  "Jimmy was doing life in New York,
and he busted out, turned up here calling himself--" "Clan O'Hara,"
Cupie said, completing the sentence for him.  "I know just enough to
know if you're holding out on me.  "We did some drinking together.
Jimmy said he was writing a movie about busting out of jail.  He even
said he sold it to a studio--that's what he said, anyway; who knows'
"He must have had some other seam going.  What was it' "He never told
me about nothing else.  He had money; he didn't seem to be looking for
anything to do.  He was living in one of them suite hotels in West
Hollywood, off Melrose--a hundred and twenty a day, easy--but Jimmy
always had style."  "Was anybody with him?  Awoman, maybeS' "He said he
was all fixed ip in that department, no problem, you know?  But I never
saw him with a woman.  We'd meet at some bar in the late afternoons and
have a few, then he'd go off on his own at night."  "When was the last
time you saw him?  Benny screwed up his face and thought hard.  "End of
October.  Jimmy had some Lakers".tickets; and we went-the only time we
spent an evening together."  "You never saw him again?"  "Nope.  That
was the last time."  "Come on, Benny, there's something you're not
telling me.  Don't make me ask you the hard way."  Benny looked around
the restaurant as if he thought somebody might be watching him.  "This
goes no furtherY' , Cupie made a zipping motion across his lips "Jimmy
wanted some paper."  Cupie sat up.  "Counterfeit money' "No, no: paper.
Papers, like--you know, social security card, driver license,
passport."

"False documents."

"No, not false; he was very up-front about that.  Jimmy wanted the real
thing, stuff that would work, you know?"  "And where would he get
that?"

"Well, I had to ask around, you know?  It wasn't easy."  "So you worked
hard, Benny.  Where'd you send him?"

Benny looked around again.  "There's this guy in Venice."

"What guy, Benny?  I'm getting short-tempered."  "Around town he's
called Doc Don."  "What kind of name is that?  "Document Don.  Last
name's Dunn."  "Document Don Dunn."

"He's a photographer--you know, the wife and kiddies?  Passport
pictures?  Right along the beachfront.  I don't know the exact address,
biff I didn't hear from Jimmy, so he must have found it."

"So how does Doc Don produce the real thing?"

"He's got some system of getting hold of birth certificates and other
I.D."  so he can get real stuff instead of forging it; it's like you
buy a new identity, you know?  The real thing."

"Anything else, Benny?  Search your heart."

Benny thought.  "Nope, that's it.  I didn't see Jimmy after the end of
October."

"I found you this time, Benny; I can find you again."  "Honest,
Cupie."

"Honest," Cupie repeated, then he burst out laughing.  Honest?  From
Benny Calabrese?

2;6

CHAPTER

Russell Norris stepped oat of the airplane in George Town and into the
hot Cayman sun.  Sweat immediately broke out on his forehead and under
his arms, and he was glad he'd worn one of his old Brooks Brothers IRS.
suits instead of something better.  He'cbe soaked by the time he got
out of here.  He walked straight through the aiort and found a cab. It
was a measure of his confidence that he carded no overnight bag, only a
briefcase.

Norris had labored in the Internal Revenue Service vineyard for
twenty-five years, had retired with a pension that covered his mortgage
payments and basic expenses, and had promptly begun offering himself as
a hired gun against the auditors who had been his colleagues for lo
many years.  Mostly he represented taxpayers who had trod too near the
line and were being audited; he negotiated settlements that only a
former auditor could manage, and his clients loved him for it.

STUART iWOODS

For the last yea of his career, Rse[l orris had headed a seniee task
fore that had put the fear of Ood into Cayman ban.  He had begun simply
auting the hell out of anybody who had a Cayman account and prosecuting
those who had lied about such an account; this made many people
reluctant to deal with the banks, and finally, as a result, in 1986 he
had been able to negotiate a new treaty with the Cayman Islands
government which significantly altered the terms under which the banks
could surrender information to the American authorities, principally
the IRS.

Beyond that he had made himself personally felt in the Cayman banking
community in such a way as to enable him to successfully elicit
information not covered by the treaty--on a strictly confidential
basis, of course.  He had done this by force of person alit and by
implied threats--in fact, not always implied.

As he shuffled through the copies of bank statements and other
documents faxed to him by Ed Eagle, he recalled the past hoops through
which he had put this particular organization.  They would stand him in
good stead today.

The taxi stopped in front of the bank, and Norris got out into the
burning sun once more.  Tourists were paying thousands to experience
this climate in January, but Norris was warm of nature and could not
wait to get back to the chilly joys of a Virginia winter.  He walked
into the bank, marched straight through the customer area until he came
to a mahogany railing broken by an electrically operated gate.  He cast
an eye around the small sea of desks until he found a bank officer who
knew him, then stood quietly, burning his gaze into the fellow's face
until he caught the man's eye, The officer blanched, frowned, and
looked around for assistance.  Everybody else had busied himself work.
Forced to make a decision, the man pressed the button, and Norris
proceeded through the gate.  He kept straight on toward a paneled wall,
opened a walked past a secretary who had not been quick to halt his
progress, and stepped into a large, beau appointed office.  The
president of the bank, a Cuban named Rour, near bit through the Upmann
cigar clenched between his Norris waited a moment for the full effect
to set in.  was why he had worn the old suit, instead of one of more
recent ones from the Polo Shop; he wanted the in the man's mind to
match what he now saw--a no-nonsense civil service warrior.  Norris
over to the desk, sat down in a large chair, and out the stenographer's
shelUfrom the desk.  "Now," he said, opening his briefcase, "let's
begin."  "I thought you had retired," the astonished Cuban managed to
say.  "You don't believe everything you hear, do you, Mr.  Rour?"  He
took a sheet of paper from the man's desktop and wrote down a number,
then handed it to him.  "I want to see the records on this account," he
said.  "All the records."  The banker did not look at the number.  "You
must be mad," he said.  "You know very well I would be breaking Cayman
law if I disclosed any information about one of our accounts."  "I am
mad," Norris replied calmly.  "Imagine how much trouble a madman in my
position could cause you."  Rour stared at Norris for a moment, and
Norris could almost see the wheels turning.  He picked up the sheet of
paper.  "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said.  Norris held up a
hand.  "No," he said.  "Sit down."

"I don't want you to go and get the records; I want you to pick up the
telephone and order the records brought in here.  We'll see them
together."  Norris smiled.  "I am of a mind to telephone the American
ambassador right now," Rour said.  "You may do that if you wish,"
Norris replied, "and if you do, the world will fall on your bank from a
great height.  I know a federal prosecutor in Miami who is working on
the Noriega case, and he would just love to know a few things I could
tell him."  Norris tried not to hold his breath.  This was a bluff, and
if the banker called it, he wouldn't have the cards.  He did have one
more card, though.  "There's also the business you were doing with
BCCI." The huge international bank had collapsed recently, and it was
likely that Route had done business xith them.  He knew he had won when
beads of perspiration appeared on Rour's forehead.  He filed the
Noriega and BCCI connections away in his memory for possible future
use.  "Why do you want this informationY' Rour asked, obviously buying
time while he made a decision.  "Senor Rour," Norris said placatingly,
"let us say that these records are not yet the subject of an official
investigation; I emphasize, not yet."  Rour puffed rapidly on his
cigar. A cloud of smoke rose above him and drifted toward an
air-conditioning intake.  "Your sight of this file will not go beyond
this office?"  "I didn't say that.  You should know that the funds in
this account are stolen.  Not simply illegally earned, not borrowed,
not laundered to prevent payment of taxes.  These funds were stolen
outright.  I should think that would make some difference to you."

course, this bank would never knowingly receive funds," Rour said,
spreading his hands.  "Why say so to begin with?"  He picked up a
telephone tapped in a number.  "Bring me the file on account" He read
the number from the sheet of paper, the phone down and smiled at
Norris.  I am willing to cooperate with you, if you substantiate what
you have just said to me."  took a thick sheaf of papers from his
briefcase, around the desk, and placed them before the banker.  are
brokerage account records substantiating the of these funds," he said,
turning pages and point, at figures.  "As you follow through the paper
trail, you can how the woman of the huse initiated purchases of for her
husband's accouter.  Finally, you see how she all three accounts to be
liquidated and the funds her checking account.  Then you see, here, how
wire-transferred the funds to the account in this office."  "Yes, yes,
I see," Rour said.  "A substantial amount of I "nY'ry large theft,"
Norris said He knew Rour was relieved to find that the amount in
question was only tBmillion six instead of a hundred times that, and
that the lBaccount holder was a California housewife instead of a It
Colombian drug lord; he would have had second thoughts about revealing
confidential information about a client who might put a bomb in his
car.  lB' A young man entered the office and placed a thin file folder
before Rour, then said something in Spanish i!  "Wait a minute," Norris
said.  "Let's stick to English, here."  "My colleague has told me that
we have just received Ii coded instructions to wire-transfer nearly the
en6re balance in the account to a bank in Mexico City," Rour said. 
"Just now'

"Only a few minutes ago.  He was on his way to my office for
approval."

"I don't think we need detain your colleague further," Norris said.
When the young man had left, he walked around Rour's desk, rummaged in
the man's humidor, chose a Romeo y Juliet, and sat down.

Rour6 leaned across the desk and lit the cigar with a gold lighter.

"Senor Rour," Russell Norris said, puffing on the cigar, "I believe I
may have a solution to your problem."

"Problem' Rour asked, raising his eyebrows.  "I have a problem?"

"Of course you do," Norris replied, smiling.  "For the past three
minutes or so, yol have been dealing in stolen funds."  He raised a
hand to stave off the banker's protestations.  "Ever since I told you
they were stolen.  But if you follow my instructions exactly, you can
forget about it.  The matter will never arise again."

Senor Rour looked interested.  Norris began telling the banker how he
could save himself an awful lot of trouble.

CHAPTER

Dalton parked as close s he could to Venice then walked the rest of the
way.  It was a warm day

January in L.A."  and the sun had brought the Venetian out of their
holes.  The muscle freaks were lifting in the weights area, pausing
only to rub oil onto their bodies and flex for the gawking passersby;
small-time pushers were selling dope by the joint; T-shirts and cheap
sunglasses were the sale items of the day; and every third creep seemed
to be on roller skates.

Cupie found the Don Dunn Studio of Artistic Photography with no
trouble; the owner had opened his front doors wide to admit the warm
air and hot prospects.  Dunn himself was bent over a contact sheet with
a large bupe pressed to the pictures.

"Hang on a sec," he said, squinting through the magnifier.  He made a
mark with a grease pencil, then stood up.  "Good day to you," he
said.

Cupie thought him surprisingly formal for a skinny man with
shoulder-length hair and a scraggly beard, dressed in a tie-dyed
T-shirt and greasy dirty jeans.  He was like a wraith from the
sixties.

"And good day to you," Cupie said.  He'd hated hippies in the sixties,
and he hated them now, although this one, at least, seemed to be
working for a living.  It was for this reason that Cupie didn't hit him
right away.  "Doc DOn, I presume."

Dunn's eyes narrowed.  "We have a mutual friend,

do weY'

"Yeah, but I think he'd rather I didn't use his name.  I'm not here to
get my picture took, you see; I'm here to find out about somebody whose
picture you took."

"I'm in the photography business, pal," Dunn said, "not the information
business."

"That ain't the only business you're in," Cupie said, smiling.  "You're
a purveyor of funny paper, pal, and you and me have some talking to
do."

"Take a hike, mister.  I got a business to run."

Cupie produced the photograph that Ed Eagle had sent with the money.
"This guy came in here at the end of October and placed an order, maybe
even had his picture taken."

Dunn barely glanced at the photograph.  "Never saw him before," he
said.  "Good day to you."

Cupie glanced at the swinging doors behind the photographer; the angle
was good.  "And good day to you," he said, shooting a swift right to
the man's solar plexus.

Document Don Dunn left his feet and flew backward through the doors,
leaving them flapping.

Cupie followed him at a more leisurely pace.  He produced a
hundred-dollar bill and waved it before Dunn's eyes, which were tightly
closed as he sucked in air.  "Now,

you won't think I'm not polite, I'm going to offer you for your
assistance."  '

Go fuck yourself," Dunn said, struggling to his feet.  He off the wall
behind him and launched a backhanded lhed toward Cupie's throat, "Curie
had not been expecting this, and he barely got a an arm up in time to
block it.  Having done so, he got hold lunn's ski nay wrist and twisted
his arm up high behind back.  Dunn was a lithe fellow, and the hand
went right to the nape of his neck before he complained.  l?  It me
explain something to you," C.upie.?d' PUs-h.!,nrge ac man hard against
a wall and pinning him there, in aa business like this, every once in a
while somebody like leis oing to wander in here and want to know
something about somebody.  The way to h -dr thais to charge for it /d
send the guy on his way happy; that way you don't get broken."  He
jerked up on Dunn's wrist for emphasis.  If you get my meaning."  "I
get it, I get it," Dunn said.  "I think you do," Cup!,e said, "but
before I let go of you, I want to be real sure.  Y see, I could just
beat the shit out of you, then destroy this place looking for what I
want, ant that's what I'm going to do if you give me the least bit of
trouble when I let go of you.  Do we understand each other?"  "We
understand each other," Dunn gasped.  Cupie let go of the man's arm a.
nd stepped back, just in case Dunn didn't really understand.  Dnnn
grasped his shoulder with a free hand and whimpered.  Cupie pulled his
jacket back to reveal the automatic pistol on his belt.  "And just in
case you think you can go for a shooter or something, I want you to
forget about that, too."

"Okay, okay," Dunn said.  "What do you want?"  Cupie held up the
photograph again.  "He was in here around late October."  "Yeah, I
remember."  "What's his name?"  "People don't tell me their names,"
Dunn said.  Cupie was drawing back to swing again when Dunn started
talking faster.  "I mean, not their real names."  "Of course not,"
Cupie said. "What was the name he wanted on whatever he ordered from
you?"  "Look, mister, that was three, four months ago, you knowF'
"Listen to me, Doe, This guy came in here for genuine paper; that means
you had to produce a real birth certificate.  What was the name on the
certificate?"  "I'll have to look it up."  "Look it up where?"  Dunn
nodded toward a big filing cabinet.  "There."  "All right," Cupie said.
"You walk over there and open the file drawer, and when your hand
comes out of it, there better not be anything but a file in it, you
hear me?"  "Listen, pal, all I want to do is give you what you want and
get you out of here."  "Fine," Cupie said.  "Give me what I want." 
Dunn went to the filing cabinet, produced a clump of keys from his
pocket, and opened the top drawer.  He rummaged through the files and
came up with a manila folder.  "I remember something now; this guy
wanted a passport in his own name, the name he came in here with:
Daniel O'Hara.  I called a guy I know in Boston, where there's lots of
Irish, and he got it for me."  Cupie opened the file and looked at the
top sheet of paper. There was a Polaroid passport photo clipped to a of
an American passport, open to the page con-O'Hara's personal
information.  There was a second of paper in the file as well.  "Who's
the lady?"  he pointing at a photocopy of another passport.

was with O'Hara," Dunn replied.  "A real looker, Dynamite."  B.
Kennerly," Cupie read from the document.  a special-order name, tooT'

'/eah," Dunn replied, "but I couldn't come up with the name she wanted,
so I matched the last name she and she was happy with Frances B."
because the initial was the same as her first name."

"What was the first name she wanted?"  Cupie asked.

"

ah,

"Uh .. ."  Dunn thoughX hard.  Betty--n

That was it, Barbara kennerly."

Cupie looked at the addresses; they were the same.  "Stone in Bel Air,"
he read aloud.  "Pretty fancy address,"

"Yeah.  "Course, it might not be a real address," Dunn

"but they were a pretty slick couple."

"What else did you get for these people besides passports?"

"The works: driver's licenses, s eial security cards: voter cards."

'q/What address did you send them to?"

"They picked up the paper here."

"You say these people were slick; tell me some more about them."

Dunn shrugged.  "Not much to tell."

Cupie frowned.  "You want to help me out, don't you

Doc?"

"Oh, sure, sure.  Let me see, well, they were slick, like I

said; the guy was wearing a blue blazer that looked custom-made.  The
girl was wearing a low-cut black dress with a short skirt.  Like I
said, she was a real looker."

"Any identifying marks?"  Cupie said.  It was a cop's question, and
Dunn looked at him sharply.

"Just one," the photographer said.  "The girl had a flower tattooed on
one of her tits.  I remember that; I couldn't take my eyes off it."

"Gimme something else," Cupie said.  He thought the photographer was
dry, but it was worth trying.

"That's all I can remember about them," Dunn said.  "I swear it."

Cupie tucked the file folder under his arm and fished out the
hundred-dollar bill.  "Here you go, Doc," he said.  "You earned it."

On the way home, Cupie considered trying to milk a little more money
out of Ed Eagle, but he put the thought out of his mind.  Eagle wasn't
his best customer, but he'd paid well and up-front.  He stopped at a
Federal Express office and overnighted the folder to Eagle.

CHAPTER

Ed Eagle opened the Fed Ex package and removed the file.  The face of

Grafton faniliar

James becoming

WaS now, and he read quickly through Cupie's report, written in a
surprisingly clear hand.  Eagle came to some conclUSions: Grafton
hadn't planned to run--not unless he was forced to.  The passport was
for just in case; the driver's license and social security card were
for respectability and safety.  It wouldn't have done for Grafton to
get stopped by the police for, say, running a stop sign, and not have a
license; that way led back to a New York state prison.  Something else:
Grafton had ordered the documents in the name of Daniel O'Hara, the
name he had been using in Los Angeles, so they were to support that
identity instead of supplying a new one to run with.  Eagle looked at
the second photocopy--the one of the woman's passport--and his heart
stopped.  He looked at the photograph more closely, got a magnifying
glass from a desk drawer, and examined it minutely.  It looked for all
the world like Barbara with a blond wig, but Barbara had been in prison
in late October, when Grafton and the woman had turned up at the
photographer's.  It had to be Julia, but what about the name?  Julia
had specified the name and had nearly gotten what she asked for, and it
was Barbara's new name.  His impulse was to go over to Santacaf6,
take

Barbara by the throat, and shake some answers out of her.

But did she have any answers?  The phone rang.

"A Mr.  Russell Norris for you, Mr.  Eagle."

"Hello, Russell?"

"Hi, Ed.  I just got back.  I would have called you from the airport,
but there was a big rush to make the plane, and it was late when I got
home."

"That's all right.  What did you find out.;"'

"The Cayman,account was in the name of a Frances B.

Kennerly."

"That fits with some other information I have.  How much was in the
account?"

"Three million six and change, but if I'd been a few minutes later,
there would have been nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that while I was sitting in the bank president's office, a
coded instruction came in to wire-transfer virtually the whole amount
to a bank in Mexico City."

"What ?"

"Why does that surprise you, Ed?  When people steal money they like to
cover their tracks."

"But Frances B. Kennerly as she wanted to be known, is dead."  ' "Then
she gave somebody her account codea friend, maybe."  "A friend or a
relative," Eagle muttered.

that?"

How was the account opened'

a proxy corporation set up in the Caymans.  I

dig into that, since you only hired me for the day,

it would have been extremely complicated expensive.  I don't have quite
the same influence with lawyers as with bankers."  t can we do about
this account, Russell?"

we can do is already done," Norris replied.

in detail his conversation with the banker.

Eagle slapped his desk in glee.  "That's wonderful,

wonderful!"

don't count on it until it actually happens; there's a lot that can ga
wrong.  I wouldn't tell your client it yet, either--not until we know
for sure."

I can't thank you enough, but if this comes off,

your fee."  '

"That would be much appreciated, Ed."

"Were you able to find out anything more about the

"No.  If she had opened the account personally, they have had a
photograph, but as I said, it was done through a proxy corporation. All
the bank had was a signature sample; I'll fax that along to you, along
with the coded wire-transfer order."

"I'd appreciate that," Eagle said.  "It might help at some later date."
He thanked Norris again, then hung up.

Eagle waited by the fax machine until the signature sample and the
wire-transfer order came in, glanced at them, then put them into his
briefcase and left the office.  "I'll be back in an hour," he said.  He
drove up to Wilderness Gate.

Wolf opened the door before he could ring the bell.  "Hello, Ed.  You
look as though you might have some news."

"Not as much news as I'd like, Wolf, but let's sit down for a
minute."

Wolf indicated a chair at the kitchen table.  %Vould you like some
coffee?"

"No, thanks: I want to show you what I've got here."  "I'm anxious to
see it."

Eagle spread out the two photocopies on the kitchen table.  "Is that a
photograph of Julia' he asked.

Wolf looked closely at the picture.  "The photocopy's a little fuzzy,
but yes, that seems to be Julia.  Who is Frances Kennerly?"

"I'll get to that in a moment, "Eagle said.  "First let me take you
through what we know so far."

"I'm all ears."

"When Grafton broke out of jarl, he headed straight for L.A."  and he
lookec[ up an old prison pal there.  The pal sent him to a man who can
arrange for passports and other I.D. Around the end of October, Grafton
and a woman turned up at this guy's place of business, had their
pictures taken, and paid for some documents.  Grafton picked them up a
couple of weeks later.  That would have been a week or so before
Thanksgiving."

Wolf interrupted.  "Meantime, Julia was rifling my brokerage account
and wiring the money to the Cayman account."

"Exactly, and the Cayman account was in the name of Frances B.
Kennerly."

"Kennerly is the name that Julia's sister is using, isn it?"  "That's
right; Barbara Kennerly.  Which is the name Julia wanted on the
passport, but Frances B. was as close as the guy could come."

"So she's in on this?"

"I don't see how she could be; she was in prison at the time.  I met
with her there, remember?"

lets her out, I guess."  would seem so, except for one thing."  that" i
the account code that Julia had est absent an order to the Cayman bank
to transfer the to an account in Mexico City.  And that happened He
handed Wolf the signature sample and the e-transfer order.  tVolf
seemed too stunned to look at them.  Yesterday?  [laat means that
somebody else is in this, doesn't it?"  "I think it does, probably
whoever killed Mark Shea.  First of all, I'm surprised that Julia would
give anybody the code; from what I know about her, it just doesn't like
her.  But sheobvionsly gave the code to some so it had to be sore body
she trusted implicitly.  That waited until he--or she--felt the heat
was off, then a run on the money?  "SVen, Barbara Kennerly isn't in
prison anymore, is she?"  "No, she's a free woman."  "Then she's got to
be the one." "Maybe, but I've got some.  problems with that."  "What
problems?"  "Wolf, why would she me, to'S anita Fe an?-st, nee l/life? 
She knew Julia was de act she' ct rean spouters while she was in
prison.  So if she had the bank Pa2.ount code and knew the money was
there: whey, didn,"t .s?  [

"Just immediately transfer the money to a bank of her ChOiCe, ak her
new money and her new name, and disappear?"  Wolf thought about this.
"It must mean that there s something in Santa Fe she wants, something
she has to have before she takes a hike."  "But what If she's really in
this, then all that's in Santa Fe ; for her is the possibility of geng
arrested and sent back to prison.  Why would she come out here and ask
your lawyer, of all people, for a jobP Why would she agree to take the
witness stand in your defense?  It just doesn't make any sense."  "I
agree," Wolf said.  "It doesn't."  "Also, her every action since
arriving here has been that of a person who was beginning a new life.
She found a job and an apartment, she's buying things for the place,
and she bought a new car."  "Where did she get the money for a new carp
She's just out of prison."  "Perfectly reasonable explanation for that
When she was married, her husband bought her a lot of jewelry--I know
that's true, because I've seen it; it's good stuff.  She sold some of
it to establish herself here."  Wolf shook his head.  "None of this
makes any sense."  "No, it doesg't; but I've got a dinner date with
your sister-in-law tonight, and I'm going to put her through the
wringer. If she knows something about this, I'm going to find it out." 
Wolf turned his attention to the two documents before him.  Then
he-stopped talking and stared at the wire-transfer order.  "What is it,
Wolf?" Eagle asked.  "This order to transfer the money was faxed to the
bank," he said.

"SOP"

"Look at the logo at the top of the page."  Eagle looked at the page.
"What do you mean, 'logo'?"  "You can set up a fax machine so that it
has something to identify the sender at the top of the page."  "Oh,
sure.  There's no name, just a phone number."  His mouth dropped open.
"Area code 505; it was sent from New Mexico."  Wolf nodded.  "From
Santa Fe," he said.  "That's my fax

This wire-transfer order was sent from this house.

two men sat and stared at each other.

Eagle said, grabbing the paper.  "Here it is,

at the top: twelve-twenty today."

out to lunch," Wolf said.  "I left at just about that

, somebody saw you leave and came in here and used fax machine?"

double-check," Wolf said, rising and heading for

He pressed a key, and the fax machine printed

"Here it is: a fax was sent at twelve-twenty."

; the house locked?"

'shook his head.  "I never lock the place unless I'm to be gone
oveynight."

,"Vho knows about that?"

about anybody who knows me well, I guess."

your cleaning lady have been here?"

"No, she leaves at noon sharp every day.  She has anoth in the
afternoons."

right," Eagle said, "that means there's somebody in

Fe who knew about the theft of the money before did.  Somebody Julia
would have trusted,"

Wolf nodded; "And maybe the same person who shot t?"

"And who spent the night before at his house.  So it was who knew both
Julia and Mark well.  Did Julia any close friends in Santa Fe?"

"Monica Collins," Wolf said.

"Yes, yes, yes," Eagle replied, his eyes widening.

"She was the only person Julia was really close to here,

and Monica knew Mark well, too.  She was his patient."

"Could Mark have been screwing her?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Wolf replied "Mark had a reputation for
sleeping with the odd patient."  "I think I'll drop a word to the D.A.
about Monica.  It would be interesting to know if she could
substantiate her whereabouts the day Mark was shot."  "It certainly
would be interesting to know that," Wolf agreed.  "It would be
interesting to know her whereabouts on the night of the murders here,
too."  "Wolf, did Monica come to your house a lot?"  "Yes, she was here
often.  She and Julia would lunch when we were here, and if we had
people in for drinks, Monica would always come."  "So she could have
been here the night of the murders?"  "Yes.  Yes, she could well have
been."  "Would she have known your house would be unlocked when you
were in town?"  "She was in and out of here with Julia all the time. 
Yes." "Can I use your hone?"  Eagle asked.  "Sure."  Eagle dialed
Santacaf and was connected to the owner.  "Jim, it's Ed Eagle.  Can I
ask you something in confidence?  I wouldn't like anyone to know I
asked." "Sure, Ed."  "Did Barbara Kennerly work lunch today?"  "No, I
sent her home.  She obviously hadn't been feeling well all morning, and
by lunchtime she looked like death.  Female problems, I think."  WV hat
time did you send her home?"  "A little before twelve, I guess."  He
laughed. "Ed, you and your romantic problems are something."  "Thanks,
Jim. Remember, don't tell her I asked."  He hung up and turned to Wolf.
"She wasn't at work."  "So she could have sent the fax?"  "I'm damned
well going to find out," Eagle said.

CHAPTER

had most of dinner prepared before Barbara What can I get you to drink'
he asked as he took coat.  "I think I could stand a stiff vodka," she
said.  "I'm really it will help.  Do you have any stolichnaya?" "Sure,"
Eagle replied, taking a bottle from the' refrigerator 're not feeling
well?"  "Better than yesterday."  "What was wrong yesterday?" "You
really want to know?"  "Sure."  He handed her a stiff shot of the
vodka.  "I thought I was bleeding to death," she said.  "Once in a
while I have a really rough period, and yesterday was the worst I can
remember."  Eagle poured himself a single-malt Scotch; it might help
with what he had to do, he thought.  "I'm glad you're feeling better,"
he said, handing her the drink.

Barbara took a long pull of the vodka.  "Vow," she said.  "It's good
for what ails you," Eagle said.  "Hell, I asked for it.  Yes, I am
feeling better, but just so you know before you start breathing in my
ear, not that much better.  I won't be very good company tonight, and
I'm going home early."  "As you wish," Eagle said.  He quickly san ted
some boned chicken breasts and made a cream and tarragon sauce while
the rice and vegetables cooked.  By the time they sat down with a
bottle of wine, Barbara was clearly a little looped, and she drank most
of the cabernet.  After dinner, Eagle steered her to the sofa before
the fireplace in the study, then poured her a brandy.  "I'm a very
drunk lady," Barbara said, lifting the snifter to him.  "I think you, d
better sleep here tonight," Eagle said.  "You shouldn't drive."  "As
long as you don't tamper with me," she said.  "I promise."  The file
folder was on the coffee table in front of them, and he picked it up. 
"Barbara, t;ve got some bad news for you."  "Great," she said, "that's
all I need." The wire-transfer didn't work."  "Huh?"  "The money isn't
in Mexico City. The really bad news is, it isn't in the Caymans,
either."  Barbara put her drink on the coffee table and put-her face in
her hands.  At last, Eagle thought, I've cracked that seamless surface.
He hadn't wanted it this way; he was half in love with her, and he
wanted her to be what she seemed--nothing more.  "Did you hear me?"  he
asked gently.

shook her head.  "I heard you, lover, but it was me.  What on earth are
you talking about?"

took out the copy of the wire-transfer order and aloud.  ""Dear Sirs:
Please wire transfer contents of

0010022 to account number 4114340, head office, Nacionale, Mexico City.
Abracadabra.  Voilt."  It's

Frances B. Kennerly."

Barbara picked up the brandy again and tossed the con of the glass down
her throat.  "Ah, the pain is going she said.  Then she frowned.  "What
was that you just she asked.  She was very drunk now.  "You want me to
read it to you again?"

"No, just the last part.  Acabra something."

i '"Abracadabra.  ofiU"

'"Where On earth' did you hear that?"  she asked.  "It's in the fax you
sent."  "What fax?"

"The fax I just read to you."

"Is it from Julia?  Can't be.  Julia's dead."

"No, it's not from Julia."

Barbara helped herself from the brandy bottle.  "That's what she always
used to say."

"What?"

"Acabadabba--" she broke into giggles.  "I can't say it." 
"Abracadabra. Vofi."

"That's it!  That's what Julia used to say when she was proud of
herself, like when she cheated on a test in high school and got an

A."

"It was the code for the Cayman account," Egle said.

"Who Kamen?"

"The bank account in the Cayman Islands."

"Ed, what the hell are you talking about?"  She tossed back some more
brandy.  "No pain," she said.  "No pain, no

2?9

WOO S

gain, no pain."  She looked glassily at her glass.  "No brandy,
either."  "I think you've had enough of that," Eagle said, taking the
glass from her.  He was baffled now.  "I think you're right," Barbara
said.  She crawled across the sofa and laid her head on his shoulder.
"When you're right, you're right, Ed."  "You sent the fax, didn't youY'
he asked, worried now.  "Just the fax, ma'am," she said, then giggled
sleepily.  Eagle turned her face up to him.  "You don't know what the
fuck I'm talking about, do you?"  "Can't fuck," she replied.  "Like to
fuck, but can't."  "You're going to bed," Eagle said, getting an arm
under her legs and another under her shoulders and lifting her from the
couch.  "Going to of sick," Barbara said.  "Oh, no," he whimpered.

CHAPTER

Ed Eagle sat at his desk with his face in his hands.  He had left
Barbara asleep in his bed, then had rung Jim at Santacaf and told him
she was still unwell, wouldn't be in.  He wondered why he himself was
in the office this morning, when he wasn't much better off than
Barbara. The trouble with getting somebody drunk, he thought, was that
you had to get snockered yourself.

His secretary came into the office and placed an envelope on his desk.
"By messenger from the D.A."s office," she said.

Eagle slit open the envelope, and the sound of tearing paper seemed
much too loud.  "List of witnesses in the matter of New Mexico vs.
Willett," it said at the top of the page.

(a) Enrico Alvarez: testimony of whereabouts of defendant at time of
crime.

(b) Marcia Evans: testimony of defendant's knowledge of victim James
Grafton.

There were other witnesses: Captain Carreras, the medical examiner, a
fingerprint expert.  It was at the very bottom of the list that the
surprise came:

(f) Monica Collins: testimony on defendant's relationship with victim
Julia willett.

Eagle did not like the sound of that at all.  He picked up the phone
and called Wolf Willett.  "Wolf, it's Ed.  I just got the D.A."s list
of witnesses for the trial, and Monica Collins's name is on it, for
testimony about your and Julia's relationship."  "I don't qderstand,"
Wolf said.  "Neither do I. I'm about to give Martinez Monica's name for
investigation in Mark Shea's death, and now she turns up on his list of
witnesses.  Tell me as much as you can about your and Julia's
relationship with Monica."  "Julia and I met Monica-at a benefit for
AIDS victims last Christmas at the Eldorado Hotel; the two of them
seemed to hit it off.  After that, they had lunch often whenever we
were in Santa Fe, and a couple of times we got together with her when
she was in L.A."  "Did you ever have any arguments or fights with her?"
"No, we got along quite well.  Not as well as she and Julia, though."
"Apart from the two occasions when the three of you got into bed, do
you think Julia could have been having a sexual relationship with
Monica?"  "That never occurred to me, but they certainly were
enthusiastic about each other when I was in bed with

Monica.  I think she could have been a in love with Julia."

you think Julia confided in her about personal don't know.  Maybe.  In
some ways, Julia's relationship me was pretty superficial; maybe she
needed some to talk to.  She didn't seem to have anybody like in

L.A."

"We could haul her into a deposition, I guess, but I don't it's worth
the trouble.  It sounds as though her testimony be hearsay, and that
would be inadmissible."

"SVhy would the D.A. call a witness whose testimony he would be
inadmissible?"

"Never un;12restimate the stupidity of a prosecutor,"

, said.

"If you say so, Ed."

"I have to send Martinez a list of our witnesses today.  I

want to call Hal Berger and Jane Deering."

"Why do you want to call Jane?"

"Because I think she will be a credible witness to your good character,
and she can testify about your state of mind since the murders."

"I'm reluctant to do that, Ed, unless you think we really need her."

"I think we do.  I don't want to call a lot of witnesses, especially
character witnesses; we'll admit the letters we have as evidence for
the jury to consider.  Hal can testify about Jack's will and the theft
of your brokerage accounts, but I want one very personal witness, and
Jne is the logical choice for that,"

"All right, I'll ask her."

"I also want you to see a psychiatrist I know this week," Eagle said.

2;3

"What on earth for'

"Since Mark Shea is not available to testify, we need SOme one who can
give a rational explanation to the jury of your blackout periods.  This
is very important, and when the D.A.

sees our man on the witness list, he may want you examined by somebody
for the state as well, so you'd better be prep.

for that.  Just tell them both the truth, and you'll be all ri."

He gave Wolf the name and address of the doctor and the appointment
time, then hung up.

Eagle spent the rest of the morning with an associate sifting through
documentary evidence ' and making up his list of witnesses.  By
lunchtime he felt ready for trial, and he still had a few days to go.
His hangover had not abated, though; he was going to need the hair of
the dog at lunch, he reckoned, just to get through the day.  The phone
rang.  "Good morning," Barbara said.

"How are you feeling?"  he asked.  "Not as bad as I expected," she
replied.  "Throwing up must have helped.  It was sweet of you to get me
off work today, but I'm going to go in for hmch."  "If you're feeling
up to it."  "How are you feeling?"  "I've been better."  "What was all
that last night about a fax and the Cayman Islands?"  "It's nothing,
forget it."  "I very nearly have.  I did have the feeling that I was
being grilled about something, though."  "Forget it.  There is
something I want to ask you, though."

"Shoot."  'When was the very last time you talked to Julia?"

on the phone."

%'qhat did you talk about?"

Her marriage, my plans when I got out."

Had you changed your name by that time?"

"No, but I had been thinking about it."

"Did you tell Julia what name you had chosen?"

'Ve kicked around a few names; Julia liked "Barbara'

So did I."

"So she knew your name was going to be Barbara

"Yes.

I wrote her about it after it had been legally Why are you interested
in this?"

"I don't want to go into details right now; suffice it to that Julia
took a strong interest in your new name.  It looks S though she had
planned to decamp with Grafton, and she obtained a passport in the name
of Frances B. Kennerly."

There was silence at the other end of the line.  "Why Frances?" Barbara
asked.

"She had to get hold of a real birth certificate in order to get the
passport, and that name was as close as she could come to Barbara
Kennerly."

"I see."

"Does this sound like sombthing Julia would do?"

"Yes.  From the time we were children, she always seemed to want the
things I had.  Now, it seems, she wanted Jimmy, and she wanted my name,
tot).  It bothers me about her wanting Jimmy, though."

"I'm sorry if I troubled you."

"That's not what I mean.  I can't see her being interested in him for
very long, but he could be useful; I bet it was Jimmy who got her the
passport."

"It was."

"Jimmy was clever; he knew a lot of dodges, knew how to live on the
run.  Julia would have used him, then thrown him away when she was
finished with him."

"That seems to fit with what I know about her character."

"You know," she said slowly, "I think this tears it with Julia and me.
The fact that she would take up with the man who got me sent to
prison.."  well, that just about does it.  I had always felt a lot of
sympathy for Julia, in spite of what she was, but Jimmy Grafton is the
last straw.  I feel .. . released, somehow.  Free of her."

"I'm glad of that, Barbara," Eagle said.  "It makes it easier for me to
feel something for you that I was afraid to feel before.  I didn't
trust you, I admit that; I thought you might have been mixed up with
Julia and Grafton in something.  I don't feel that anymore."

"I can't blame you for thinking that," she said.  "I'm not sure I
deserved better."

"You deserve a lot better."  "I'm glad somebody thinks so."  "Dinner
tonight?  he asked.

"Let's make it tomorrow night.  I'd like to feel a whole woman again
when I see you."

"Plan on staying the night; we've got a lot to talk about."  "I'll look
forward to it."

Eagle hung up the phone feeling relieved.  He had put his suspicions
aside now, and he could find out where this relationship would lead. He
felt he knew Barbara Kennerly now.  Hannah Schlemmer was gone.

CHAPTER

T phone rang as Wolf was sitting down to lunch.  He had come to dread
the telephone lately; there was too much bad news.  He answered it
anyway.

"Wolf, it's Hal Berger."  He sounded excited.

'vVhat's up, Hal?"

"It's back, The money's back."

%Vhich money?"

"Julia's money--what she stole."

"What do you mean, it's back?

"It was wire-transferred back to her account; I hadn't closed it yet.
The bank called this morning."

"How much?"

"Everything.  Three million six hundred thousand and , change."

Wolf went limp with relief.  "I don't believe it."

"Aren't you pleased about this?

"Pleased?  I'm thrilled!  I just don't believe it."

"Well, you can believe it.  The only thing is, you can't get your hands
on it yet."  "Why not?"  "As far as the bank is concerned, the money
belongs in Julia's account, and they have a point.  She deposited the
money and gave instructions for its transfer.  You don't come into it,
the way they see it."  "So what do we do?"  "Julia's will is up for
probate, and apart from a couple of small bequests to her sisters,
you're the principal heir."  "Wait a minute, Hal; you're saying that
I'm supposed to inherit the money to get it back  And pay inheritance
tax, plus the tax and penalties for closing the retirement accounts
early?" The adrenaline was pumping now.  There was something he wanted
to ask Hal, something about what he had said, but it would have to wait
a minute.  "We can sort it out, I think.  After all, we've filed a
com-plaint with the police.  Ordinarily, I think, they would hold the
funds as evidence until Julia came to trial, but since Julia's
deceased, there shouldn be a problem with getting them released to
you."  Wolfs telephone rang on the second line; he let the answering
machine pick it up.  'hat about the tax problems?"  "I've talked with
your accountant, and he's going to ask for a meeting with the IRS.;
he'll explain the circumstances and ask that the tax-free benefits of
the retirement accounts be reinstated.  If they buy it, it'll be as if
nothing had happened, tax-wise."  "That sounds good.  What if they d
n't buy it?  "Then we'd have to sue, I guess; either that or eat the
penalties."

tell you the truth, the penalties are starting to look me, "Don't give
up yet.  Let's wait until your accountants talk the IRS."  and then
we'll figure out how to proceed."  "All right."  "And don't worry; it's
going to be all right."  Well, I'm glad something is going to be all
right," He thanked Hal again and hung up, then let out a howl triumph.
"Not this time, Julia!"  he yelled.  "You didn't time!"  He called Ed
Eagle and told him the

"That's teriffic, Wolf.  Norris said he'd worked out something with the
Cayman banker, but not to say anything to until everything was
complete.  You shouldn't have any problem with geng the police to
release the funds.  I'm not so sure about your IRS problem."  "In any
case, I'w, a hell of a lot better off than I was yesterday, Ed!  Now I
can afford you!"  Eagle laughed.  "By the way, I had a call a few
minutes ago from somebody named Spider who says he's a friend of
yours."  "Spider was my cellmate in the pokey," Wolf said.  "My
secretary took the message; he wouldn't leave a number--said he'd call
back."  "I wonder what he wants."  "I'll let you know when I hear from
him."  Wolf hung up and was trying to remember something Hal had said,
something he'd wanted to ask him about, when he remembered the call
that had come in during his earlier conversation.  He went into the
study and pressed the button on the answering machine.  "Hey, Wolf," a
familiar Voice said, "it's Spider, your old buddy from the Santa Fe
slammer.  I need to talk to you,

and it's important.  I'm on the road right now, but I'll be back late
this afternoon.  Meet me at the Gun Club out on Airport Road at six,
will you?  This is real important, buddy, and we don't want to talk
about this on the phone."  He hung up.

What the hell could Spider want?  he wondered.  Something told him he
probably didn't want to know.  Wolf shrugged it off; he wasn't about to
show up at a biker bar.  Spider probably wanted to be introduced to
Madonna, something like that.

2;0

CHAPTER

Wf began to be worried about the Gun Club as soon as he drove into the
parking lot.  At least thirty motorcycles were bunched up under a
floodlight near the front door, and all of them were Harleys; he was
conscious that a black Porsche Cabriolet was o of place here.  He
nearly turned around and drove away.

Then he caught sight of the paint job on one motorcycle, and that
changed his mind.  Covering the gas tank was a carefully rendered
illustration of a huge spider, which seemed to be hugging the tank.
Wolf forced himself through the front coor of the place.

He was immediately assaulted by rock music so loud that it knocked him
back a step.  The bar was dimly lit, nd it occurred to him that he
hadn't seen so many cowboy hats in one place since he had been on the
set of a western at Universal.  It was hard to get a clear look at
anybody, and he couldn't spot any bikers.  Then there was the flash of
a strobe to his right and he could see into another room.  A sign over
the door said, simply, HLL.  Trying to seem confident, Wolf strode over
and stood in the doorway, peering into the room, which was lit only by
periodic flashes of light.  "What the fuck do you want?"  a hoarse
voice growled somewhere to his left.  Wolf peered in that direction and
waited for the strobe to flash again.  "You lookin' to get your legs
broke?" the voice asked again.  The strobe flashed, and Wolf could
briefly see a squat, heavily built man dressed entirely in leather,
leaning against a bar.  "I'm looking for Spider," Wolf said.  "What the
fuck you want with Spider?"  Wolf decided a little aggression might get
him further than open 'cowardice.  "None of your fucking business. 
Just get Spider." On the other hand, he reflected, it could get his
legs broken.  He leveled his gaze at the man and waited to find out
which it would be The biker glowered at him for abot/t half a minute,
then turned and disappeared into the gloom.  Wolf began to be aware
that he was being stared at by half a dozen other people, none of whom
he would want to sit next to at a dinner party.  Then, as if he were
the star of an elaborate magic act, Spider appeared before him in a
blinding flash of light.  "Wol" the giant screamed.  He enfolded Wolf
in a bear hug that lifted him off the floor.  "01' buddy] Hey, guys,
this here is Wolf]" Suddenly everybody was smiling and nodding in Wolfs
direction.  It was as if he had entered a cage at the zoo and found the
lions all to be kittens.  There was an approving rum and Wolf found
himself participating in a ' of odd handshakes, including a couple of
high fives.  guy knows MadonnaV Spider crowed.  was a stunned silence
from the group, followed by a : seemed to Wolf like an expression of
religious awe.  on over here and sit down," Spider commanded, an arm
around Wolfs shoulders and sweeping him the room.  They ended up in a
booth with a striking who was wearing as much leather as anybody in the
"This here's Crystal, my old lady," Spider said.  "I about her in the
slammer." "Right," Wolf said.  "How are you, Crystal?"  'ell-fucked,"
Crystal replied matter-of factly been a bear everince he got out." 
When did they let you 0' Wolf asked the biker.  "Couple days after you.
When the guy came to, he I he didn't want to press charges."  "Smart
move on his part," Crystal said.  "I'd have cut his Spider roared with
laughter. "She woulda, too."  Wolf didn't doubt it for a moment.  ,
"Listen, Babe," Spider said to Crystal, me and Wolfs lotto confer here
for a little bit.  You go bite somebody's yourself rk gaYo?  up, and
Crystal hipped her way out of the booth.  "See ya, Wolf," she said,
flashing a broad smile that lB revealed a couple of gold teeth.

Ix

Spider got back into the booth.  "You want a beer, Wol'

;(

"Sure," Wolf said.  His mouth was still dry after his entrant,.

"Sally?  Spider roared toward the bar, "gimme a couple 'iI' D SslqUi
wS!waddled over with the beers, finding her way by

I'the liiht of the strobes.  As he came, the music on the jukebox
mercifully changed, and Kris Kristofferson started to sing "Help Me
Make It Through the Night."

"Shit, I love that song," Spider said, swigging from the longneck
bottle.  "That one got me through a few nights."

"It's a good one," Wolf agreed, sipping gratefully from the beer
bottle.

"Well, now," Spider said, leaning back and spreading his huge arms
along the back of the booth, "how you been doin' since you got
sprung?"

"Okay, I guess.  I go to trial in a few days."

Spider nodded.  "Yeah, and you got nothing to worry about with that
Indian dude on your side.  He's a heavy hitter."

"That's what they say."  What the hell was he doing here?  What did
Spider want?

"You got something else to worry about, though," Spider said gravely.
"Someing your lawyer can't fix for you."

'What's thatY' Wolf asked uneasily.

Spider leaned forward and spoke softly.  "There's a contract out on
you, Wolf."

Wolf wasn't quite sure he'd heard this correctly.  "Say again,
SpiderY'

"Somebody wants you offed," Spider explained.  "I heard about it."

Wolf leaned forward.  "Tell me all about this, Spider;

start at the beginning."

Spider leaned back again.  "Well, y'know, after I got sprung, I needed
some fresh air, y'know?"

Wolf nodded encouragingly.

"So me and Crystal and the dudes, we saddled up and headed north.  Just
blowin' along, know?"

Wolf nodded again.

"So, anyway, we're on the way back, and we stop off at

Taos for a beer, and I run into this cat from another gang y'know?  And
he starts telling me how somebody him this contract on this guy who's
in the movies."

Wolf said, trying to hurry him along.  Spider said, refusing to be
hurried, "I know in the movies, since I met up with you, so I'm and I
say, "Who is this guy they want you to hit?"" Go on."  This dude says
it's a guy in Santa Fe, and that interests and he says this address, in
a place called Wilderness ring a bell?"

"It sure does."

"I thought it would.  Well, anyway, this is a job for ten half up
front, and the dude is tempted.  There's bikers' Il take a cora ct
y'know, but not this guy; he's done nothing like' hat  I mean, he might
off some-in a fight, but he's not into cold-blooded killing."  "Who,
ah... offered him this job?"  Wolf asked.

"A lady, and a hot one, according to this dude," Spider

"Dressed nice, long legs, nice tits."

"What color was her hair?"

"Blond; out of a bottle, he said, but a good bottle."  Wolf felt dizzy;
he gripped the sides of the table to him.  "Was there anything else
about her?  Anything else at all you can tell me?"

"Yeah, the top button of her shirt was undone, and she had a flower
tattooed on one of her tits."

"I see," Wolf said, wishing the hell he did see.  "Anything elseY'

"Nah, that's about it," Spider replied.  "She was loaded,

though; had a lot of the green.  Gave him a thousand."

"I thought you said he didn't take the job."

"He didn't.  But she gave him a thousand to tell her somebody who would
do it."

"Shit," Wolf said.  "Some spic in Santa Fe this dude knew, who did that
kind of stuff.  He called up this guy, and he said he'd do it, no
problem, so he gave her his name, and she took off."  "When did this
happenF' Wolf asked.  "This morning, 'bout ten o'clock."  "WhereF' "Up
at Espanola, y'know, north of here about twenty miles.  There's a bar
up there where bikers hang out."  "Who was the guy she was going to see
next?"  "He didn't say."  Spider leaned forward.  "But I'll tell you,
Wolf, if I was you, I'd watch my ass."  Wolf nodded.  He didn't seem
able to speak.  "You got a piece, Wolf?"."  "What?"  "A piece--a gu.  I
can get you something, if you want."  "Yeah, I've got one."  "If I was
you, I wouldn't make a move without it," Spider said.  "I mean, you
could carry a knife, but if this guy's got a piece, that's not gonna do
you no good, y'know' Wolf nodded.  "You've got a point, Spider."  "You
want me and some of the guys to, maybe, hang around your house, Wolf?."
Wolf had a bizarre mental picture of a biker behind every tree at
Wilderness Gate.  "Thanks, Spider, I appreciate the thought, but I
don't think so."  "What're you gonna do, Wolf?."  "Well, for a start,
Spider," Wolf said with feeling, "I'm going to watch my ass."

CHAPTER

Eagle was just starting to make fresh pasta when 'the phone rang.
"Sorry, I'd better get this," he said to Barbara.  He wiped his hands
and picked up the receiver.  "Ed Eagle."  -"Ed, this is Wolf."  Wolf
sounded stressed.  Eagle glanced at Barbara, who was examining a
picture closely.  "Hi, how are you?"  he said, careful to keep his end
of the cnversation anonsanous.  "Not good.  You remember, I told you
about my cellmate, the biker?"  "Sure, I remember."  "I just saw him;
he says somebody has put out a on tract O11 me."  Eagle inhaled
sharply, and when he spoke, he was careful to keep his voice neutral. 
"And did you find what he had.,o say.."  credible?"  did.  A woman
turned up at a biker bar in Espanola about ten this morning and tried
to hire a guy to kill me for ten thousand dollars.  He refused the
offer but recommended somebody else, a Latino in Santa Fe, who said
he'd do the job."

"Was there a name for the person .. . placing the order?"

"No names, but he described her; she was a good-looking blond.  Sound
familiar?"

"It does."  Eagle heaved a sigh of relief.

"Not only that, but she had a flower tattooed on her breast."

Oh, shit, Eagle thought.  Then, unaccountably, 'he remembered
something, something from Barbara's apartment.

"I see."

"So, what do we do'

"What are you loing right now?"  '

"I'm sitting in my study with the drapes drawn and a gun in my hand."

"I think I had better send somebody over there."

"No, I don't want people slinking around here, protecting me.  I'd
rather do it myself."

"Under the circumstances, do you think that's wise?"

"I don't care about wise anymore.  To tell you the truth, I think I'd
really like to shoot somebody."

"Don't start thinking that way," Eagle said.  "That's dangerous."  He
thought for a moment.  "Do you mind if I

come over there?  We ought to discuss this."

"3," right."

"I've got something to do first, then I'll be there as soon

"Fine."

"When I get there, I'll blow the car horn twice, just so you'll know
it's me."

"Fine" ' n't do an him rash."

"And in the meantime, do yt g

"I'm not making any promises about that," Wolf replied.

"Pour yourself a stiff drink, and try to relax.  I'll be there in less
than an hour."  Eagle hung up.  "Problems?"  Barbara asked.

"You wouldn't believe," Eagle replied.  "Come over here and sit down,
Babs."  She crossed the room and sat on a barstool at the kitchen
counter.  "I think I like that--"Babs.""

He placed a hand on her cheek.  "I want to tell you some things and ask
you some questions," he said.  "First of all, I think I'm in love with
you She smiled Slowly.  Oh," she said weakly.  Veil, before you go any
further, I think I'd better tell you that I feel the same way about
you."  "That's nice to hear," Eagle said.  "Now that we've got that out
of the way, I have to say some other things to you.  If you start to
get angry with me, just remember I love

"All right," she said.  "But I don't think I could get angry right
now."

"Good.  First, a question: Where were you this morningY'

"At work.  I spent the whole morning going over the : computer
printouts with Jim."  ?

"And Jim would back you up on that?"

"Of course.  What are you getting at?"

"Trust me for a minute.  Remember back when'!  didn't trust you?"

"Mmmm, let's see, that was this morning, wasn't it?"

"That's right.  Well, during the time I didn't trust you, I

behaved badly."

"That's all right."  "You don't underStand.  I broke into your
apartment and searched it."  "What?"  "On New Year's Eve.  I left the
party, drove back to your place, and turned it over real good."  "Oh,"
she said, nonplussed.  "Did you find anything interestingY' "Not
really.  Just a gun."  "A girl has to protect herself."  "It bothers me
that you have a gun; I want you to give it to me."  Barbara shrugged. 
"Okay, if it'll make you feel better."  "It would make me feel a lot
better."  "So the only interesting thing about me is my gun?"  Eagle
placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her.  "Not by a long shot.  Oh,
there was something else in the apartment."  "What was it?"  "It was
tucked into a book called Beautiful Girlhooc."  "Ah, a book to live by,
that.  It was my mother's."  "I thought it might be.  There was a torn
photograph inside."  She nodded.  "Yes."  "Of two teenage girls." 
Barbara looked away.  "Yes.  It was taken on Miriam's--Julia's
fourteenth birthday.  I tore Julia out of the middle."  "The other girl
wasn't Julia?  But she looked so much like you."  "It was my other
sister, Leah."  "Another sister?"  She nodded.  "Yes, named after my
mother; she's a year younger than I am."  "You never told me you had a
younger sister."  ago

SANTA FE RJLE$

She shrugged.  "It never came up.  Is it important?

Eagle was thinking hard now.  "It may be.  There's some

I have to know about Leah."

"What's that?

"Did Leah have a tattoo on her breast?

Barbara smiled.  "Yes.  We all did that together--Julia, and I. It was
kind of a lark, right after Julia graduated from high school."

"That's very interesting."

"VhyY'

Eagle ignored the question.  "Did Leah know Jimmy

"She met him a couple of times with me in New York.  , wanted to get us
both in bed together, an idea that I i'epellent.  What's going on, Ed?
Why is this important?

her is Leah now?"  "The last time I saw her she was living in New York,
but when I was released I called her, and the number had been
disconnected."

"I think' Leah may be in Santa Fe."

"What?  That's crazy.  Why would she be in Santa Fe?  Anyway, she'd
call me if she were here."  "She wouldn't know, would she?"  "I guess
not, now that you mention it.  Nobody knew I was coming here, and I
couldn't find Leah to tell her."  "What is Leah like?  "A lot like
Julia," Barbara replied.  "Julia was Leah's god; she worshiped the
ground Julia walked on, wanted to be just like her.  Unfortunately." 
"WVas Leah ever in any trouble?"  Barbara shook her head.  "No, but she
should have been.  She was just lucky, never getting caught at
things."

"Is she.."  bright?"

"Too bright for her own good," Barbara said.  "Cunning might be a
better word."  She looked at Eagle.  "Why do you think Leah might be in
Santa Fe?"

"It's too complicated to go into right now.  I have to leave, and I
don't know if I'll be back tonight."

'Where are you goingF'

"To Wolf Willett's, and I'll probably sleep there."

She arched an eyebrow.  "I hope I don't have competition from Wolf
Willett,"

Eagle laughed, then kissed her.  "Separate bedrooms, I promise.  Why
don't you f'Lx yourself some dinner and crawl into my bed?  There's
always the chance I'll get back early."

She kissed him back.  "You're worth the wait, but this business about
Leah is worrying me."

"I wish I could explain now, but I have to go.  Will you be
airtight?"

"Sure."

He kissed her again.  "See you later."

"I'll count on it."

Eagle got a coat and started out of the house, then stopped.  He walked
back to his bedroom, opened a bedside drawer, and took out a .45
automatic pistol.  He checked the clip, put the gun in his pocket, and
left for Wolfs house.

At last, he thought as he drove from Tesuque toward Santa Fe, this is
beginning to make a weird kind of sense.

CHAPTER

"Wf sat in the dark, the pistol cradled between his knees, and thought.
He was trying to recall his last conversation with Hal Berger,
something in that phone call that had nagged at him, and he couldn't
remember what.  A sound filtered through the walls of the house, and
Wolf froze.  What he had heard was the crunch of a car's tires on
gravel.  Now he heard a car door close.  Was it Ed Eagle?  No, Ed had
said he would honk his horn.  Wolf leapt from his chair and ran through
the darkened house toward the kitchen door, working the action of the
pistol along the way.  He huddled next to the door, pistol at the
ready, safety off and to his horror, he saw the doorknob turn.  It was
locked, thank God.  He jumped a foot as somebody began hammering on the
door.  "Wolf?."  a voice called out, 'who is it?"  Wolfdemanded' "It's
Ed Eagle.  Open the door."

Wolf opened the door and stepped back.

"What's going on?  Why are all the lights out?"  Eagle asked.

"You said you were going t honk your horn when you arrived," Wolf said
accusingly.

"I'm sorry, but when I saw the darkened house I didn't know what was
going on, so I tried not to make any noise."

"You scared the shit out of me," Wolf said.  He was trembling.

"Could you ease the hammer down on that pistol and put the safety on?
I'd feel a lot better."

"Sorry," Wolf replied, doing as he was asked.  "Come on into the study,
and I'll give you a drink."  He led the way into the room, switched on
a dim lamp, and poured Eagle a large Scotch, then a bourbon for
himself.  "Sit down," he said, i icating the sofa.  He took the wing
chair next to it.

"Are you all right?"  Eagle asked, sitting down and sipping his
drink.

"Yes, I'm all right."

"I'm sorry I took so long to get here, but I had to stop by Bob
Martinez's house."

"What for?"

"To report the threat on your life, of course.  We can't just let that
pass."

"Oh."

"I'm afraid it didn't do a hell of a lot of good.  Martinez greeted the
news with some skepticism.  He did offer to put a guard on your house,
but you'd already said you didn't want that."

"Is he going to do anything?"

"What can he do?  All we've got to go on is the Latino hit man.
Martinez says there's no such thing as a contract killer in Santa
Fe."

doesn't believe me, then?

not.  I think he believes it's some sort of ploy isn't it?  Barbara?

and Ilo."

kind of answer is that?"

it's Julia's sister; no, it's not Barbara.  I called Jim '

, on the way over here; he was working with her at the from nine until
one.  She couldn't have been in at ten."

what do you mean, it's Julia's sister?

Wait a minute!"

l What ist?

Ii "There's not her sister, isn't there.  '

I' "How did you know that?"

"Julia's will Hal Berger said she had made bequests to sisters--in the
plural.  I've been trying to remember all day."

"Yes, there's another sister, name of Leah.  Barbara had track of her;
but she has the tattoo--all three of them did--and she's got to be the
answer."

'

"Maybe to a lot of things."

"I think you're right."

"Did you tell Martinez about her?  Wolf asked.  "No."  "Why not?"

"Because after the reception I got about the hired killer story, I
didn't think it would help to add a third sister to our story."

"I see your point."

"What do you want to do now?"

"About what?"  Wolf asked.

"Well, there may be somebody stalking you.  Are you just going to sit
here with a loaded gun and wait for him?

Wolf laughed.  "I guess that was my plan."  His eyebrows went up.  "But
I've got another idea."  He picked up the phone and dialed information.
"I don't know why I didn't think about this when I was with Spider
earlier this evening."  He got the number for the Gun Club, then called
and asked for Spider.  After a wait, the biker came on the line.

"Yeah, this is Spider."  "Spider, it's Wolf."  "Hey, man."

"Listen, do you think you could find the biker who told you about the
hit man'

"Well, he could still be in Taos.  I could try a couple bars up
there."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd do that, and if you get hold of him, find
out who the guy was that he recommended; get as much information as you
can about him."  "Well," Spider said, sounding doubtful.  "What's the
problem?"

"Well, we got a kind of honor thing here."

"What are you talking about, Spider?"

"I mean, this dude took the lady's money, you know?"  "What?"

"Well, she trusted him, and he might take that serious."  "How about if
I double the money?  Then he'd have her thousand and two thousand more
from me; would that help?"

"I dunno.  Maybe."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd find the guy and learn as much as you
can."

"Okay, Wolf, I'll do that for an old cellmate."

me back?"  "

; soon as I find out something, one way or the other.

thanked him and hung up.  "Spider's going to see he can find out," he
said to Eagle.

Inorthodox, but it couldn't hurt," Eagle replied, sip-his Scotch.

The two men sat and chatted desultorily for the better of an hour. Then
the phone rang.

"Wolf, it's Spider."

Hi, Spider, what did you find out?"

"Well, the dude'll take your offer, and he's named me to his money."

"Fine, I've got cash right now.  You want me to bring it you?"

"Not yet.  He gave me a name and the place where the bangs out--a spic
bar over on Agua Fria.  I'll cheek it

B' "fiS;r, maybe you, d better just give me the name n w'

and I'll Ret the police on it."

"Get serious , Wolf," spider said sternly.  "I'm not handing nobody to
the cops.  You just sit tight, and I'll loo?  into i'this.  maybe talk
to the guy, and get' back to you later."

'"All right, Spider whatever you say."  He hung up the

"I don't believe this," he said to Eagle.  "Now I'm '/ Puh,n'eikers to
straihten out my life  ,.

"Weirder things have happened, E g P ."

Wolf switched on the TV and found a movie on the Albu-querqe/Santa Fe
station.  They settled down to wait for Spider's call.

CHAPTER

he no vie ended at eleven, and the news came on.

Both Wolf and Ed Eagle were beginning to nod off.

"Good evening," the newscaster said.  "In world news tonight, the
Soviet Union has asked Western countries for massive supplies of food
and medicines "

"Wolf," Eagle said, Yawning, "I think I'd better stick around here
tonight.  You mind having an overnight guest?"

"Not at all, Ed.  I'd be grateful for the company.  I--" Wolf stopped,
sat up, and stared at the television screen.  So'something had caught
his ear.  an incident at a Santa Fe bar earlier this evening was
described as nothing less than a riot by police.  We go now to Nick
Evans, our Santa Fe reporter, who is at the scene."

The camera cut to a reporter bathed in a white light.  Behind him, a
building was on fire.  "Just about ten minutes ago, our mobile unit
picked up a police call to El Hombre, a bar on Agua Fria catering to a
Hispanic clientele.  We

[ on the scene just in time to witness a man flying late-glass window.
A fight had apparently broken and the presence of a large number of
motorcy-in the parking lot indicated that a gang of bikers was

We watched from outside as two patrolmen then beat a hasty retreat and
called for rein-Units of the Santa Fe Police Department and

New Mexico State Police arrived shortly, and by that the building was
on fire and people were pouring out where they were met by
riot-equipped officers.  "About a dozen bikers made it to their
motorcycles and off down Agua Fria, pursued by police.  Anothdr bikers
were arrested, along with as many Hispanic who had been in the bar."
The camera cut to previously recorded tape and moved on four policemen
wrestling a man to the ground.  "It's Spider?"  Wolf said.

Clearly the four were having trouble hanging on to him, and a moment
later they were joined by two more cops.  Together they got the biker
handcuffed, on his feet, and into a paddy wagon.

"Holy shit," Eagle said.

The reporter continued.  All the arrestees were taken to Santa Fe
County Detention Center for the night, and police say they will be
arraigned tomorrow morning."  Eagle got up.  "Come on," he said.  here
are we going?"

"To the Santa Fe County Detention Center."

Things were quiet at the jail, and a solitary sergeant was on duty at
the booking desk.  "Evening, counselor," he said as Eagle approached
the desk.

"Evening, Sergeant.  I want to confer, with a prisoner."

"At this time of night?  These ain't regular visiting hours, Mr.
Eagle."  "It's urgent," Eagle said.  "I'd appreciate it if we could
meet now."  "Who's thisY' the sergeant asked, nodding at Wolf.  "My
colleague, Mr.  Willett.  He's an attorney."  The sergeant sighed.
"Okay, what's the prisoner's name?"  Eagle looked at Wolf, who
shrugged. He turned back to the sergeant.  "Spider," he said.  "Ah,"
said the sergeant, running a finger down al edger "Herman Albert
Willis."  He picked up a phone and spoke into it, then hung up.  "Room
number one, counselor."  Eagle led Wolf down a hallway and into a small
room; Wolf recognized it as the one where he had been questioned by the
police. They sat down, and a moment later Spider was ushered into the
room.  The left side of his face was swollen badly.  "Hey, Wolf,"
Spider said, sticking out a paw.  Wolf shook it.  "Spider, are you all
right?  Do you need a doc torY "Nab," Spider said, taking a seat.  "It
ain't nothing. I caught a nightstick, that's all.  The spies never laid
a hand on me." "Spider, this is Ed Eagle."  "Hey, Mr.  Eagle!"  Spider
exclaimed, pumping the lawyer's hand.  He looked back at Wolf. 
"What're you guys doing here?"  "We came to find out what happened,"
Eagle explained.  "We saw something on television."  "Oh, yeah, they
was there, all right." "What happened, SpiderY' Wolf asked.  "Oh, we
went out there to talk to this guy, Chico, the one who's supposed to
waste you."

find him there?"  Eagle asked.  ': "Oh, sure, he was there.  He didn't
like it much that I about his contract, and he got some of his greasers
me.  I whistled up some of my dudes, and it got crazy for a while."
"Did you find out anything from Chico?"  Eagle asked.  "Not much at the
bar, but I found out some more when got here."  "I don't understand,"
Wolf said.  "The cops put him in the next cell, so we had a chance
talk."  "Did you hurt the man?"  Eagle asked.  "Oh, no, he was too far
away to reach.  I just let him know what was going to happen to him
when he got out if i he didn't talk to me."  "And what did he have to
say?"  "He took the contract, all right.  He was in that bar spending
the money when I got there."  "What did he say about the woman who
hired him?"  "Not much that my biker buddy hadn't already told me." 
"Did she give him a name?"  "Jennifer, she said--but she wouldn't tell
him her real name, would she?"  "I suppose not," Eagle agreed.  "He was
going to do it, though," Spider said.  "He was gonna go up to your
house tonight, Wolf, after he got drunk enough."  temples.  ',iJiesus,"
Wolf said, massagin his more," Spider said.  wouldn't worry about no
"One of the sc rows told me they was after him for an armed robbery
last month, so he ain't going nowhere.  Anyway, after our talk we
agreed that he'd be better off 311

shortchanging the lady than making me mad.  We're buddies now."  Spider
smiled broadly, revealing a missing tooth.  "So it looks like you're
safe, Wolf," Eagle said.  Spider spoke up.  "I wouldn't say that," he
said.  'qNhat do you mean, Spider?"  Eagle asked.  "Well, there was
something the lady said to Chico," Spider said.  "He said she told him
that if he couldn't get Wolf dead, well, she'd just have to do him
herself."  "I think we've heard enough," Eagle said, rising.  "Spider,
I'll send somebody from my office down to the courthouse tomorrow
morning to represent you at your arraignment."  "That's real nice of
you, Mr.  Eagle," Spider said, shaking the lawyer's hand again.  "I'll
stand bail, if necessary," Wolf said.  "Nb, you won't," Eagle said
sharply.  "I'll take care of it; I don't want you associated with this
business any further."  'qhatever you say, Ed."

They were driving bck to Wolfs house.  "I don't get it," Wolf said,
shaking his head.  "Why would Leah want me dead so much?"  "Well, for
one thing, you've screwed her out of the three and a half million
dollars Julia stole from you," Eagle replied.  "It's obvious that she
and Julia and Grafton were in this together, at least in the beginning,
because she had the bank account code.  She probably checked with the
bank in Mexico City, and when the money didn't turn up there, she
backtracked to the Caymans and found out that all of it had evaporated.
That might have made her a little touchy."

"She dam near got away with it," Eagle said.  "If ' ssell Norris had
arrived at the Cayman bank an hour r, the money would have been in
Mexico, and you'd er have seen it again."

"What do you think she's going to do next?"  Wolf asked.  ri would have
thought that was obvious," Eagle said.

when we get back to your house, I'm going to get IA?rtinez aain and see
if we can get you some police

"I won't argue with you this time," Wolf said.

Eale was worriedly glancing in the rearview mirror.  "E," Wolf said,
"is somebody following us?"

"I'mmot Sure," Eagle replied.  '5qhen we left the house, did you eave
your' gun there?"

yeS, ""Wolf replied.

Shit," "Eagle said.  "So did I."

3;3

CHAPTER

As they drove up to his house, Wolf saw a strange car parked near the
back door, a four-wheeler.  He looked at the house; a shadow moved past
the kitchen window.  "Do you think we may have a problem, Ed' Eagle
looked at the car, and his brow furrowed.  "It's Barbara's Cherokee."
"Julia's sister?"

"Why would she be here' he asked.  Eagle switched off his car. 
"Frankly, I don't know," Eagle said.  "I left her at my place, and I
thought she'd be in bed by now."  He opened the car door.  "We'd better
find out."  Barbara was sitting at the kitchen table when they entered
the house.  She looked at Wolf.  "Hello," she said.  "Wolf," Eagle
said, "this is Barbara Kennerly."  Barbara held out her hand.  "Hello,
Wolf." Wolf hesitated, then took it.  "How do you do?"  he said,

formally, but he was nervous.  "Let's go into the ,."  He led the way;
he had left his pistol in the study, | he wanted to be near it.  "Can I
get you both a drink?"  asked.  "I certainly need one."  He looked
around for the he was almost certain he had left it on the table the
phone, but it was not there.  "Scotch for me," Eagle said, sitting down
on the sofa.  Wolf poured a large single-malt over ice and handed it
lawyer.  "What can I get you, Barbara?"  he asked.  "Vodka on the
rocks, please."  She sat down next to and placed her large handbag on
the coffee table.  Wolf eyed the handbag nervously, then reached for
the of Smirnoff resting on the butler's tray with the other liclors.

"Do you have any Stolichnaya?"  Barbara asked.  "I'm sorry to be
picky."

"I think I have some on ice," Wolf said.  He opened the cupboard that
contained the glasses and the small refrigerator, took a bottle of the
Russian vodka from the freezer,

poured the drink, then fixed himself a bourbon.  "Cheers," Eagle said,
raising his glass.

The three of them drafik, and Wolf sat down in a chair.

"Well," he said, "I suppose we would have met sooner or later."  "I
suppose," Barbara said.

There was an uncomfortable silence.  Wolf noticed that Eagle seemed to
be looking around for something.  His gun, probably.

"Well, here we are," Eagle said inanely.

"Yes," Wolf said.  He eyed the fireplace tools; the poker would make a
nice weapon.  Suddenly he wasn't nervous anymore.  In fact, he felt
quite happy to be here having a drink with these two nice people.  He
found himself starting to like Barbara, even if she was Julia's
sister.

For no apparent reason, Eagle let out a laugh.

"What?"  Barbara said.

"Nothing," Eagle replied.  He took another pull at his drink.

Wolf remembered that he had wanted to know why Barbara was here, but it
didn't Seem to matter anymore.

"I didn't think you'd come home tonight," Barbara said to Eagle, as if
she had read Wolfs mind, "so I went back to my place."

"Swell," Eagle said, then let out a high-pitched giggle.  Wolf began
laughing, too.  "What's so funny?"  Barbara asked.  Eagle giggled
again. "I don't know."

Nobody seemed to have anything to say for a moment.  Eagle finally
broke the silence.  "We've just been to the county jail to visit a
biker," he said, giggling again.  Wolf joined him in laughter.  "What?"
 Barbara responded.

"I kid you not.  Lovely guy, name of Spider.  He'd just burned down a
bar on Agua Fria."  He burst out laughing.

"That doesn't sound like your kind of case, Ed," she said.

"Not normally," Eagle replied, "but Spider had been on a little mission
for Wolf and me when he visited the bar."  Wolf tried very hard not to
laugh at this.  "You've lost me," she said.

"I guess it's time to tell you about this," Eagle said, trying to
control himself.  "Spider and Wolf were cellmates for a night, when
Wolf was arrested.  He contacted Wolf today and said he'd heard a
contract was out on Wolf's life."  He put a hand over his mouth and
tried to stop laughing.

Wolf did the same.  He felt both tired and happy, but he couldn't think
of a reason to be happy.  After all, at least eof lulia's sisters
wanted to kill him.  He wondered

' one /e- ," er and curiouser," Barbara ," "This tmsiness gets ':' "WVh
would somebody want to kill Wolf?"."

'd.  -Y * thina at this point xs who l' "I think the most lmpu ' be an'
elin'

old want to kill him," Eagle replied, te g she said, "who?  And stop
that!"  "From the description we got, it sounds like Leah."  Barbara
stared at Eagle disbelievingly.  What are you talking about?"  she
demanded.  "I haven't quite got it all worked out yet, but I think Leah
is a major presence in what has been going on here."  "But Leah is why
I'm here," Barbara said.  "What are you talking about?"  Wolf asked. He
found the situation wildly funny.  ' Well, when I got home tonight, the
phone was ringing.  It was somebody named Monica Collins."  P" He Eagle
looked at her.  "Monica Collins called you.  didn't laugh this time. 
"Yes,

I-'.

"You know Monica Collins' "No, I'd never even heard of her."  "WVhy did
she call you?"  "I'm trying to tell you, if you'd just stop
interrupting me.  "I'm sorp/; go ahead."  "She said Leah is in Santa
Fe, and that Leah asked her to call me with a message."  "And what was
the message?"  "Leah wanted me to meet her here."  Eagle burst out
laughing again, and Wolf joined him.  "Leah is coming here?"  he
finally managed to say.

"That was the message," Barbara replied, looking disgustedly at both of
them.  "And if you two don't stop this idiotic laughter, I'm
leaving!"

"Look, Babs," Eagle said, trying to control himself, "I can't back this
up--not yet, anyway--but I'd be willing to bet that one of two people
killed Julia, Grafton, and Jack Tinney.  Probably Mark Shea, too.  One
of my candidates is Monica Collins, but my favorite is your little
sister, Leah,"

The next voice was a lot like Barbara's, but it came from behind them.
"That's not a bad guess."

The three of them turned and looked toward the door.

A woman stood there holding what appeared to Wolf to be his pistol.

"Not a terrific guess," she said, "but not bad."

Wolf was the first to speak.  His voice, when it came out,

was cracked and hoarse and weak.  "Julia," he said.

CHAPTER

YOu mean Leah, don't you?"  Eagle said, looking the tall woman up and
down.  He giggled.

"No," said Barbara, slumping back in her chair, "it's Julia."

"That was going to be my next guess," Eagle said.  "I don't know why
you think this is funny!"  Barbara nearly shouted.  "She's got 5 gun? 
"I don't know, either," Eagle said.  "It shouldn't be funny, but it
is." Wolf was no longer amused, but simply numb.  He sat unmoving in
the chair and stared at his wife.  Where the hell have you been?"  he
asked, as if she'd merely stayed out all night.  ,

Monica Collins stepped into the room.  "At my house,

mostly," she said.

Keeping the gun out in front of her, Julia walked to

Wolfs chair, took him by the arm, stood him up, and seated him next to
Eagle on the sofa.  Then she sat down in the chair.  "Now," she said,
looking at her watch, "you should just about be over the giggles.  I
think maybe Wolf already is."

"Pardon?"  Eagle said.  He seemed to be placidly accepting the presence
of the gun.

"It's the effect of Mark's drug," she replied.

"What drug?"  Wolf asked.

' The name is too long for me to handle," Julia said, crossing her
legs, "but it very quickly instills a euphoria, followed by a kind of
malleability.  It's a hypnotic, you see.  Mark found out about it in
Mexico, and he used it with some of his patients.  I don't think the
A.M.A. would have approved, but it helped him hypnotize patients
quickly."  She looked at Barbara.  "You don't seem too euphoric, Sis,"
she said, looking at Barbara's glass.  "What are you drinking?"

"Vodka," Barbara replied.  "I'm beginning to feel a little funny,
too."

"You damn well should be.  I spiked every bottle."

"So Leah was the one in bed with Grafton and Jack," Eagle said.

"Right, Mr.  Eagle; you really do have a quick mind, don't you?"

"Not quick enough," Eagle said.  He wasn't laughing anymore.

"What happened that night?"  Wolf asked, not sure he wanted to know the
answer.  He wanted to run from the house, but he didn't seem able to
marshal the energy.  "You don't remember any of it?"  Julia asked. 
"No," Wolf replied.

"Well, Wolf, you were the life of the.  party  Mark brought the drug
over, and everybody had some, except Mark and me.  Mark felt that, as a
control, he shouldn't take it, and I just tossed my dose.  Everybody
else was flying, though."

"Please tell me what happened," Wolf said.  His own seemed to him to be
coming from somewhere else with only a little nudging from me, both
Graft Jack got interested in Leah, and they adjourned to were Grafton
and Leah doing here.W Barbara asks "Oh, Grafton--that little shit--and
Leah turned up not long after he'd broken jarl; he'd looked up Leah ,
York and snowed her into coming with him.  They va and invited me to
lunch; Jimmy had this thing to write a movie, and he wanted to meet
Wolf.  and low and behold, Jimmy got his movie contra that wasn't
enough for Jimmy Grafton.  He started to me and ask a lot of questions
about what Wolf was wortl "That sounds like Jimmy," Barbara said. 
"Nothing w ever enough for him."  Right, sweetie," Julia said.  "He was
getting to be a r pain in the ass, but I played along with him." 
"Where was Leah supposed to be in all this?"  Barbara asked "In the
lurch, I guess.  I figured she deserved it, if was rapid enough to be
taken in by somebody like Jim Graf ton."  "I was stupid enough to be
taken in by Jimmy Graftot Barbara said.  "Poor baby," Julia replied
soothingly. "You sure well and you had to pay for it.  So it was Leah's
turn.  I'm sure she would have learned something from the experience." 
"Wfhose idea was stealing the money' Eagle asked.  "Mine," she replied,
"but I'let Jimmy think it was his.  got us passports, and we were all
ready to go, he thought."  "You used my name," Barbara said.  "A
whimsical touch," Julia said.  Then she frowned.  "How did you know
about that?"

Barbara said nothing.

When did you and the others come to Santa FeF' Wolf asked.

"Right after you did.  I chartered a Lear out of Van Nuys.  We ran into
Jack at the airport--he was just coming back from Puerto Vallarta,
drunk, so I got him aboard, too.  I couldn't let him get away after
seeing me with Leah and Grafton, even if he was drunk."

"So what happened that night?"  Eagle asked.  "You keep changing the
subject."  His voice was very quiet now.

"Well, when the initial effects of the drug had passed, Mark left, the
Three Mouseketeers hopped into bed, and I hypnotized Wolf.  It was
easy, just like Mark said it would be.  That seemed a good time to
finish the evening."  "Who finished it?"  Wolf asked.

"Baby, I tried to get you to do it, but even hypnotized, you couldn't
handle it; you kept dropping that beautiful shotgun.

It's like everything else; you want something done properly, you have
to do it yourself.  So I went down to the guest bed~ room and started
shooting.  I got Jimmy first--he was the most dangerous then Leah. 
Jack just stood up in bed with his back to the wall and stared at me,
glassy-eyed, like a stuffed teddy bear, while I reloaded and put one
into him.  Then I put Wolf to bed, so he'd be there when Maria found
the bodies the next morning.  I wanted him alive to take the blame."
"Why, Julia, why?"  Wolf asked pathetically.

"Had to be done," Julia said, "once Jimmy and Leah walked in and
screwed everything up.  You see, I was still wanted in New York for a
little thing I got involved in there, and Leah knew it.  That meant
Jimmy Grafton knew it, too, so I had to get everybody together and
finish it all at once.  Then I was free to fly."

"So why didn't you fly?"  Eagle asked.  "You had the everybody was dead
but Wolf."  didn't go quite the way I'd planned," Julia sai Wolf wakes
up the next morning and, none th gets in his airplane and takes off for
L.A. Then t!  law identifies Jimmy and Leah as Wolf and me.  one thing
I hadn't planned on, but at least it made m and that was wonderful." 
So then why didn't you run?"  Barbara asked.  I was worded about Mark,"
Julia replied.  "He could on the scene that night.  But Mark turned out
to be suddenly helpful--for a while, at least.  When Wolf turn at
Mark's t)lace--I was there that night--he hypnotiz and when he heard
Wolf's version of events, he simp!  those thoughts from his memory. 
Mark was attic: of kindness, I think, but even though Wolfs story
warbled once Mark heard what he had to say und

Mark became a danger to me.  Not at first, after a while, when he
started to figure things out and g attacks of conscience.  Then Mark
had to go."  "You're breathtaking, Julia, Eagle sin .  "Why, thank you,
Mr.  Eagle," Julia said, beaming at bin "So why didn't you r/m after
you killed Mark?"  "Well, I thought it would be a good idea if I stuc
around until Wolf was tried.  He'd be convicted, of cours.  and then 1
could travel wherever I wanted, secure in the knowledge that the police
wouldn't be looking for anybo else.  I moved in with Monica, and poor
sweet Monica believed me when I told her that Wolf had killed everybot
else and wanted to kill me.  Shb was very helpful indeed."  "Julia,"
Monica said, her voice trembling, "how could you do that to me?"  "Oh,
shut up, Monica," Julia replied.  "I'll get to you in minute."  Monica
was standing behind the sofa now.

"Amazing," Eagle said.

She looked at Eagle.  "But you turned up, counselor,"

she said bitterly, "and I began to think that you might get

Wolf off."

"Is that when you tried to hire somebody to kill Wolf?."

"No," Julia said, "that was dear old Monica's doing."

"I'm puzzled," Wolf said.  "Does Monica have a flower tattoo like yours
and Barbara's?"

"Yes, she does," Julia said.  "For some months, now;

Monica loves me so, but she is incredibly stupid."

"I'm sorry, Julia," Monica said.  "I was only trying to help."

Julia turned and looked at the blond.  "Monica, I told you to shut up."
Julia raised Wolfs pistol and casually fired a shot into the woman's
chest.  Monica flew backward and disappeared behind the sofa.

Now it became very quiet in the room.

Eaglespoke first.  "You're not planning to alive here, are you, Julia?"
leave anybody

"That's right, Mr.  Eagle, except for my little sister; she's coming
with me.  But there's something I want to know first.  Where's the
money-?  It isn't in the Cayman account,

and they wouldn't tell me where it had gone."

"It's back where it belongs, Julia," Eagle said.  "You waited too long
to run."

Julia glared at the lawyer.  "I guess you had something to do with
that, huh' ' "It was my pleasure," Eagle said.  She turned to Wolf.
"Listen to me, Wolf.  You're very relaxed, and you want to go to sleep
now.  Very relaxed; just let your head fall.  That's it, just go to
sleep."  Wolf didn't try to fight it; sleep began to swim up at him. 
He fell down a deep well.

Eagle tried to move, but couldn't.  Since Julia had shot

Collins, he had been very frightened, but he calm.  It must be the
effect of the drug, Still, his mind was clear.  smiled.  "Now Eagle
goes.  Then poor Wolf, terribly at what he's done, puts one in his
brain.  A neat murder you think?  And I don't even have to wait around
to be tried.  I think the authorities will buy it, since has an
undeserved reputation for blowing away.  I go public, explain to the
police that I've because I was afraid Wolf would try to kill me,
suddenly I'm a rich widow.  Wherever the money is, it's and so are this
house and the one in Bel Air and all rights to Wolfs and Jack's films.
Pretty neat, huhY' Eagle.  wted with interest for Barbara's re ply . 
"I need a cigarette," Barbara said, reaching for her She rummaged
around inside.

"After that," Julia said to Barbara, "it's you and me, babe.  We can go
anywhere we like."  She stood up and pointed the pistol at Eagle.
"Julia," Barbara said.  Julia stopped.  and looked at her.  "Do you
really think that I would sit here and watch you kill everybody, then
just follow you off into the sunset?  I wouldn't go to the toilet with
you." Eagle liked that answer.  "Well, sweetie," Julia said, swinging
the gun around to point at Barbara, "I'm sorry you feel that way, but
this is the only alternative."  "Wrong," Barbara said, her hand stillin
the pocketbook.  The handbag exploded, and Julia flew backward into the
big leather chair, which skidded a few feet, then came to rest against
the paneling.  The middle of her chest was a mess.  "Close work," Eagle
said admiringly.  "That little short barreled thing is good for close
work. I sure am glad I didn't take it away from you."  Barbara removed
the smoking revolver from her handbag and placed it on the coffee
table, then fell back in her chair, her hands over her face.  "Please
tell me there was nothing else I could do," she said.  Eagle still
could not make his body move, but he couldn't take his eyes off Julia,
either. Julia still held the pistol, and Eagle watched with rapt
attention as she began to raise it again.  "Barbara," he said.  "Ed,
please give me a minute," she replied her face still in her hands. 
"I've just killed my sister."  "Not quite," Eagle replied.  Julia had
the pistol up now and pointed at Barbara.  "Please shoot her again,"
Eagle said, with all the urgency he could muster.  Barbtra took her
hands away from her face as Julia fired.  The chair next to Barbara's
head exploded, and she jumped a foot.  Julia's pistol clattered onto
the hearth.  She looked at Eagle with something like hatred, then her
eyes rolled back in her head. "Never mind," Eagle Said.  Barbara sat
trembling in her chair for a moment.  "Ed," she said finally, "you're
stoned out of your mind, aren't you' "I believe I am," Eagle agreed. 
"Aren't you?"  "No."  She sighed.  "Julia said she spiked every bottle,
but she didn't get to the Stolichnaya in the refrigerator."  "Oh,"
Eagle said.

Wolf woke up on the sofa in the study, feeling a little fuzzy, but
refreshed.  There was a murmur of voices in the house.  He sat up and
looked over the back of the sofa.  There was a of some sort on the
floor with a sheet over it.  He got his on the floor, then tried to
stand up, but he didn't make it first time; he simply wobbled and sat
down heavily again.  From the sitting position, he could see another
lump in chair next to him, again with a sheet covering it.  There a
puddle of blood on the hearth next to the chair.  The to come back to
him.  Eagle's voice came from the doorway.  Ill Wolf turned and looked
at him.  'hat happened?"  he asked.  'v'hat's the last thing you
remember?"  Wolf thought.  "I remember Julia.  And we were laughing
lot. I can't remember why.  I must have dreamed Julia."  came and sat
down next to him.  "It wasn't a he, said  "More of a nightmare."

Wolf nodded at the chair.  "Is that Julia?"  "Yes," Eagle replied.
"Who's the other one?"  Wolf asked.  "Monica Collins.  She had been
hiding Julia since the 'killings.  She's the one who tried to have you
killed."  Wolf nodded.  He felt much as he had the morning after the
first killings; but more lighthearted, somehow.  "Why am I so happy?"
he asked.  "The drug, partly," Eagle said.  "I'm pretty happy myself;
but I think it's more than that."  "It's over, isn't it?"  "It's over,
Wolf."  Wolf began to cry.  Eagle put his arms around Wolf and held
him.  It was very late before Eagle got back to his house with Barbara.
At the front door, he picked her up and carried her across the
threshold, then kissed her.

"Now what was that all about" she asked, her arms around his neck.  '

"Fella does that in Santa Fe, girl has to marry him; that's Santa Fe
Rules."

Barbara frowned.  "Mama said she would come back to haunt me if I ever
matured a man who wasn't Jewish."

Eagle kissed her again.  "Boy, have I got news for you," he said.

EPILOGUE

ane Dering sat in the car and watched the entrance the executive
offices of Centurion Studios.

Sara squirmed in the backseat.  "What's taking Wolf so long, Mom?  He's
been in there over an hour."  Flaps was asleep, her head in the little
girls lap.

"It's business, honey; important business."

"What's it about?"

"It's about making a movie.  Wolf has to convince some people that he
can direct a movie."

"But Wolf makes movies all the time, doesn't he?"

"Yes, but he's always been the producer, remember?  You know the
difference between a producer and a director, don't you?"

"Sure.  You think I'm dumb or something?"

"Well, this is the first time that Wolf has wanted to direct, and he
has to get these people to give him the money to make the movie."

"Oh."  Sara poked her mother in the back.  "Here he comes," she said.
Jane looked up to see Wolf coming down the front steps.  He wasn't
smiling.  Wolf got into the car.  "I'm sorry to keep you both waiting
so long," he said.  "I had a pretty tough meeting."  "SVhat happenedY'
Jane demanded.  "Are they going to finance the deal?"  "Maybe," Wolf
said, "but there's an important condition."  "What is it?  Is it
something you can't live with?"  "Apparently they don't trust me to
shoot this on my own; they're insisting I take on a partner."  "Well,
is it somebody you hate' "No, I get to pick the partner."  "Then what's
the problem?"  "You want to make this picture with me?  You want to be
ry partner?"  Jane flung her arms around his neck.  "Oh, you bet I do!"
she yelled.  "Then there's no problem," Wolf said.  "No problem at
all."  Flaps lifted he head and grinned at everybody.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

would like to thank Brian Dennehy for suggesting the title of this
book, and, for (sometimes inadvertently) Bassisting with the research,
Steven and Barbara Boeheo, I Judy Tabb, Pitts Cart, Mark and Winanne
Sutherland, i Ted and Barbara, Flicker, Bob and Pat Eggers, Doug I
Pres."tn and Christine and Selene Gibbons, John

I:

Ehrliehman and ChriStie Peacock, Marcia Stamen, Ellen Windham, Landt
and Lisl Dennis, Pat and Michael French, Ed Zuckerman, Bettina and
Sandy Milliken, Sharon and Bob Woods, Jennifer Dennehy, and Melody
Miller.  I am, once again, grateful to my editor, Ed Breslin, my
publisher, Bill Shinker, my London publisher, Eddie Bell, and all their
colleagues at HarperCollins 'for their hard work on this book.  I want
to express my particular gratitude to my agent, Morton Janklow, his top
associate, Anne Sibbald, and to all the people at Janklow & Nesbit for
their continued enthusiasm and support over the past ten years. 
Finally, I must apologize to the Irish veterinarian Will Woollett for
once again mangling his name.

Look for

L.A. TIMES,

by Stuart Woods.

,.% Pvailable {from Harper Paperbacks.

CHAPTER

the Callabrese stood on the southeast corner of Second Avenue and St.
Mark's Place in New York City and Watched the candy store across the
street.  The fat man was due any minute.  Vinnie felt neither guilt nor
anxiety about what he was going to do.  In fact, the only emotion he
felt at that moment was impatience, because he could see the marquee of
the St.  Mark's Theater 80 in the next block, and he knew that Touch of
Evil started in eight minutes.  Vinnie didn't like to be late for a
movie.  Vinnie's nose was Roman, his hair and beard thick and black,
his eyes dark.  He knew how to concentrate those eyes on another man
and induce fear.  Vinnie wasn't the heaviest muscle who worked for

Benadetto, but he stood six-two and weighed a tightly packed one
hundred and ninety pounds.

The fat man weighed more than three hundred pounds, but he was soft to
the bone.  Vinnie wasn't worried, except about the time.

With six minutes left before the movie, the fat man double-parked his
Cadillac Sedan De Ville at the opposite corner, struggled out of the
big car, and waddled into the candy store.  Vinnie gave him long enough
to reach his office, then crossed the street.  The place was empty,
except for the old man who made the egg creams and sold the cigarettes.
Vinnie closed the door, worked the latch, and flipped the open sign
around.  He looked at the old man and gave him a little smile.  "You're
closed," he said, "for five minutes."

The old man nodded resignedly and picked up the Daily News.

Vinnie strode past the magazine racks, his leather heels echoing off
the cracked marble floor, and put his hand on the doorknob of the back
room.  He opened it very gently and peeked into the little office.  The
fat man sat, his gut resting on the battered desk.  With one hand he
was flipping quickly through a stack of small bills, and the fingers of
his other hand flew over a calculator in a blur.  Vinnie was
momentarily transfixed.  He had never seen anything quite like it; the
fat man was a virtuoso on the calculator.

The man looked up and stopped calculating.  "Who the fuck are you?"  he
asked.  Vinnie stepped into the office and closed the

L.A. TIMES

behind him.  "I'm a friend of the guy wh you five thousand dollars nine
weeks ago,

His accent was heavy--New York and Littl fat man managed a sour grin.
"And you'v come to make a polite call, huh?"

Vinnie shook his head slowly.  "No.  The polit,

was here last week, and the week before thaI the month before that."

"So you're the muscle, huh?"  the fat man said more widely and leaning
back in his chair

right hand remained on the edge of the desk.

a long reach over his gut, and it didn't loo'.

"You ever heard of the law, guinea?  You eve that what your friend does
is against the law

That he has no legal claim on me, not even a piece c paper?"

"You gave my friend your word," Vinnie sai slowly "That was good enough
for him.  Now

--- him" The fat man's tinge

"Ye disa omret

you.  PP of the desk drawer and yanke curled over rn it open, but
Vinnie moved faster.  He caught the man by the wrist, then turned and
drove an elbo into his face.  The fat man grunted and made gurgling
sound but didn't let go of the desk dr awe Without a pause, Vinnie
lifted a foot and kicked the drawer shut.  A cracking sound was heard
in the,

room.

The fat man screamed.  He snatched his han from Vinnie's grasp and held
it close to his bleeding face.  "You broke my thumb for a Wile wouldn't
be doing any cmcuL '

Vinnie bent over, grabbed aleg of the chair in which the fat man sat,
and yanked.  The fat man fell backwards into a quivering heap.  Vinnie
opened the desk drawer and found a short-barrelled .32 revolver.  He
lifted his shirttail and tucked it into his belt.  "This is a dangerous
weapon," he said.  "You shouldn't have it; you'll end up hurting
yourself."  Vinnie reached for the stack of bills on the desk and
started counting.  The fat man watched with an expression of pain that
had nothing to do with his bleeding face or his broken fingers.  Vinnie
stopped counting.  "Five hundred," he said, sticking the wad into his
pocket and returning a few ones to the desktop.  "My friend will apply
this to the interest on your loan.  On Friday, he'll want all the back
interest.  A week from Friday, he'll want the five grand."  "I can't
raise five thousand by then," the fat man whined.  "Sell the Cadillac,"
Vinnie suggested.  "I can't; it's got a loan on it."  "Maybe my friend
will take the Cadillac in payment," Vinnie said.  "I'll ask him.  You
could go on making the payments."  "Are you nuts?  That car is new--it
cost me thirty-five thousand."  "Just a suggestion," Vinnie said.  "It
would be cheaper just to come up with the five grand."  "I can't," the
fat man whimpered.  "I just can't do it."  "I'll tell my friend you
promised," Vinnie said.  He.  left the office and closed the door
behind him.  Vinnie was in his seat, eating buttered popcorn,

Ill,thn

L.A.TIMES

e to raptly watch Orson Welles's incredibl one-take opening shot of
Charlton Heston an, ' h crossin the border into Mexico.  FIt Leig -
--nd it never failed I

least a dozen times at at ,- ha-.,nirtg all at once, and.  y , llTt
iytUcrt Iai 'naze h' ed Welles; he loved the dee shot worked.  e ov
mbling voice.  Vinnie could do a very good press ion of the Welles
voice.  He was a talente

CHAPTER

2,

innie's beeper went off as he left the movie house.  "Shit," he
muttered under his breath.  "The sonofabitch couldn't wait until
tomorrow."  He glanced at his watch; he could still make it if he
hurried.

He grabbed a cab to Carmine Street in Little Italy.  "Wait for me," he
said to the cabbie as they pulled up in front of the La Boheme Coffee
House.

"C'mon, mister," the cabbie moaned, "it's six bucks.  I ain't got time
to wait."

Vinnie fixed him with the gaze he used on delinquent debtors.  "Stay
here," he said, then got out of the cab without waiting for a reply. He
hurried into the coffeehouse, past old men at tiny tables, and stopped
at a table outside the door of the back room.

L.A. TIMES

enormous man wearing a hat jammed on his sat there, his gross fingers
gripping a tiny cup.

"Hey, Cheech," Vinnie said.

"You din' ansa da beep," Cheech said.

"It was quicker just to come."

Cheech made a motion with his head.  "He's in

Vinnie waited for Cheech to press the button,

opened the door.  Benedetto sat at a small desk, a calculator before
him.  Vinnie was reminded of the man.  Both counted their money every
day.  Vinnie's old friend Thomas Provensano, now Benedetto's bagman and
bookkeeper, sat at a table in a corner, working at a calculator.  Tommy
Pro Winked at Vinnie.

"Vinnie," Benedetto said, not looking up from the tally sheet on the
desk.  Benedetto was in his late thirties, prematurely graying, a
dapper dresser

"Mr.  B.?  Vinnie said, "I talked to the fat man."  "Was he nice?"

Vinnie produced the five hundred in cash and placed it on the desk. "He
was nice for five hundred after I broke his fingers."

Benedetto held up a hand.  "Vinnie, you know it's not good for me to
know those things."

Vinnie knew, but he also knew Benedetto loved hearing them.  "Just
between you and me, Mr.  B. I told the fat man all the vig by Friday
and the whole five grand in another week."

"Will he do it?"

"He's got a new Cadillac.  I told him you'd take that, and he could
keep making the payments."

Benedetto laughed.  "I like that.  You're a smart boy, Vinnie; you
could go places, if you could ever stop going to the movies."

This was high praise as well as scorn from Benedetto, and Vinnie nodded
gratefully.  Benedetto was a capo in the Carlucci family, and rumor was
he'd be the new don when the present don's appeals on a triple murder
conviction were exhausted.  Keeping Benedetto happy was Vinnie's
constant worry.  The man had the disposition of an unhappy rattlesnake,
and there were corpses planted far and wide, men who had once
displeased Mr.  B, not the least of them Vinnie's father, Onofrio
Callabrese.

Benedetto handed the money to Tommy Pro, who quickly counted it,
entered the sum into the calculator, then put the money into the safe.
Tommy extracted another envelope from the safe and handed it to
Benedetto.

"Payday, kid," Benedetto said, handing the envelope to Vinnie.

Vinnie pocketed the envelope quickly.  "Thanks, Mr.  B.," he said.

"Make sure the fat man keeps his new schedule," Benedetto said.  "Come
see me after you collect the vig.  How's the rest of your list
doing?"

Vinnie knew that Benedetto knew the status of every account; he just
wanted to hear it aloud.

"Everybody's on schedule this week," Vinnie replied.

"That's what I like to hear," Benedetto replied.  "Keep it up."

L.A. TIMES

"Right, Mr.  B."  Vinnie turned to go.  "And Vinnie " "Yes, Mr.  15?"
"Next time, bring me the money right i take irt a movie first."  "Yes,
Mr.  B."  "What is it with you and the movies, t. never seen anything
like it."  "It's kind of a hobby, you know?"  Benedetto nodded. 
"You're getting too old k hies.  How old are you now, innie?" 
"Twenty-eight, Mr.  B."  "Time you was making your bones."  Vinnie
didn't speak.  Sweat broke out small of his back.  "Maybe the fat man
don't come throug] can make your bones on him."  Whatever you say, Mr. 
B.," Vinnie said. "Getoutahere-" --..

Vinnie got out.  The taxi was waiting, ye the cabbi an address in
Chelsea, then ga .  - --" He ovened the enveloI in the sear, ctra,t" r
best wee counted: three thousand bucks his Working for Benedetto had
its advantages, b thing about making his bones was beg inn weigh on
Vinnie. Once he did that, he'd be a man," a full member of the family. 
And once that, Benedetto would own him forever.  didn't like the idea
of being owned.

"CHAPTER

innie paid the cabbie, tipped him five, then ran up the steps of the
Chelsea brownstone.  As far as Benedetto and the rest of the family
knew, Vinnie lived in his dead mother's place on Bleecker Street, but
he spent fewer and fewer nights there; his real home was three rooms in
Chelsea.

He unlocked the mailbox labeled "Michael Vincent."  Three years before,
he had picked a lawyer out of the phone book, legally changed his name,
gotten a Social Security number, a driver's license, a voter
registration card and a passport, and opened a bank account.  After two
years of filing tax returns, listing his occupation as freelance
writer, he had obtained credit cards and charge accounts in his new

L.A. TIMES

signed al ease on the Chelsea apartment, and had even taken out and
repaid a bank loan.  He made his bank deposits in cash at a different
branch each he never bounced a check, and he had twelve thousand
dollars in a savings account, plus a stash of fifties and hundreds.
Michael Vincent was the most respectable of citizens.

"How do you do?"  Vinnie said aloud to himself as he climbed the stairs
to his second-floor apartment.  "I'm very pleased to meet you."  After
a lot of experimenting, he had settled on the Tyrone Power voice. 
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten" Power was
the star whose vocal sounds most closely matched Vinnie's own, and the
actor's accentless California speech and silken delivery was what Vinni
strived for.  He had seen The Razor's Edge only the day before, and
Vinnie tried to project the serenity of Larry as played by Power into
his speech.  "I'm extremely pleased to meet you," he said as he
unlocked the three locks on the front door of the apartment.

The interior was classic New York Yuppie.  Vinnie had exposed the brick
on the wall with the fireplace; the furniture was soft and white, with
a sprinkling of glass and leather; the art was a few good prints and a
lot of original movie posters-Casablanca, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and
His Girl Friday among them.  Nearly everything in the place had fallen
off the back of a truck, including the posters, which Vinnie had
stripped from a broken-down revival movie house before a wise guy
acquaintance of his had torched the place for the cash strapped owner.
There were nearly a thousand videotapes of movies neatly catalogued by
title on bookshelves.  He checked his answering machine; there was one
message.  "Michael, darling," a woman's low voice said.  "Dinner's at
nine.  Don't be late.  In fact, try and be early."  Vinnie got out of
the black clothes he habitually wore on his collection rounds--his mob
outfit, as he thought of it.  He took a shower, shampooed his hair, and
carefully blow-dried it.  He dumped the two gold chains and the flashy
wristwatch into a basket on the dresser top and slipped on a
steel-and-gold Rolex and a small gold signet ring engraved with a
family crest.  He had selected a Vincent crest from the files f the
genealogical department of the New York Public Library and had taken it
to iffany's, where he had chosen a ring and had it engraved.  The ring
was very nearly the only thing Vinnie had ever paid retail for.  He had
a small wardrobe of Ralph Lauren suits and jackets that a shoplifter of
his acquaintance had systematically acquired for him on order from half
a dozen Polo shops, and he selected a plaid tweed jacket and a pair of
flannel trousers.  Vinnie slipped into a Sea Island cotton shirt and
Italian loafers, and he was ready for class.  He glanced at the Rolex;
he had twenty minutes.

Vinnie arrived at Broadway and Waverly Place with five minutes to
spare.  He was seated in a class

L.A. TIMES

of the New York University Film School by the the professor walked in.
The class was on pro budgets.

Waring, the professor, held up a sheaf of papers.

Vincent?"  he said.

Vinnie raised his hand.

"Do you really think you can shoot this film for

, million six?"

The class of thirty turned as one and looked at

"I believe I can," Vinnie replied in his silky Tyrone Power voice.

"Tell U'S, why, Mr.  Vincent," Waring said.

Vinnie got up.  "Well, just because the piece is set in New York
doesn't mean it has to be shot in New York.  My bualget is for an
Atlanta shoot with some stock street footage of New York.  That's in
the budget, by the way."

Across the room a young man with curly red hair slapped his forehead

"And in what areas did you achieve savings by shooting in Atlanta?"
Waring asked.

"In almost every area," Vinnie said.  "Cost of housing, transportation,
sets.  And no Teamsters or craft unions to worry about.  I knocked off
half a million because of that."

"Can you give me a single example of a film set in New York that was
successfully shot in Atlanta?"  Waring asked.

"I Saw a TV movie, "The Mayflower Madam," last week.  That was a New
York story shot in Atlanta, and it looked good to me."

"Didn't my instructions specify a New York shoot?"  Waring asked.

Vinnie pulled out a piece of paper and glanced at it.  'qNhere?"  he
asked.  "You may have implied a New York shoot, but you didn't specify
it."

"You're right, Mr.  Vincent," Waring said, "and you were the only one
in the class who figured that out.  That's why you came in eight
hundred thousand dollars under anybody else's budget.  Congratulations,
it was a good, workable budget, and you saved your investors a lot of
money."

"Thank you," Vinnie said, feeling very proud of himself.

After class the redheaded young man approached Vinnie.  He was wearing
jeans, an army field jacket with ar outline where sergeant's stripes
had been, and wire-rimmed glasses.  He needed a haircut'.  "I'm Chuck
Parish," he said, sticking out his hand.

"How do you dc}?"  Vinnie replied.  "I'm very pleased to meet you."

"You're Michael Vincent, right?"

"That's right."

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?  There's something I'd like to talk to
you about."

Vinnie glanced at the Rolex.  "I've got twenty minutes," he said,
"before I'm due somewhere."

The waitress put the coffee on the table.  Chuck Parish paid her, and
when she had gone he pulled a script from a canvas briefcase.  "I'd
like yOU to read

L.A. TIMES

and cost it for me.  I'm going to shoot it in New and I need a
production manager."

Vinnie flipped through the pages, one hundred nineteen of them.

"It's a caper movie, about some Mafia guys who two million dollars of
their godfather's money nearly get away with it."

"Who's financing?"  Vinnie asked.

"I can raise three hundred thousand," Parish said.  "Family
connection

"You think that's enough.

"That's what I want you to tell me.  My girl ,

male lead, and there are enough friends dead the fe ,-,m There's one
people in her acting casses to ca " .:. " guy I think looks good for
the male lead.

"Do you have a distributor?"

"No."  "I'll

Vinnie nodded, read it and call you."

"My number's on the back of the script."

They shook hands and parted.

Fifteen minutes later a cab dropped Vinnie at a prewar apartment
building on Fifth Avenue near the

Metropolitan Museum of Art.  " t said, "Good evening, Mr.  mcen, the
doorman opening the door for him.  "Good evening, John," Vinnie said
smoothly.  He took the elevator to the top floor, emerged into a
marbled vestibule, and opened a door with his key.  "In here, darling,"
she called.  Vinnie walked down the long hall past twenty

million dollars' worth of art and turned into the huge master bedroom.
She was in bed; a rosy-tipped breast peeked out from under the sheet.
She had wonderful breasts for a woman of forty-one, Vinnie thought.

"We have half an hour before our she said, smiling.  "D guests arrive,"
vz r muss my makeup."

CHAPTER

Vinnie had met Barbara Mannering at a benefit for the NYU Film School
eight months before.  He had been waiting, in line for a drink when she
appeared at his elbow.

"Shit," she said.

He turned and looked at her.  A blonde of five-seven or -eight,
expensively coiffed and dressed, discreet but very real diamonds.  "I
beg your pardon?"  he said.

"I am ur(accustomed to standing in lines," she replied.  'qNould you be
a prince arid get me a double scotch on the rocks?"

"Of course," Vinnie had replied.  , "Are you a budding movie director?"
"A budding producer," he said.

all e,

"You look a little old for NYU."

Vinnie kneTM he looked thirty-five.  "I'm not a full-time student." .

"What do you do full-time?"  "I'm a writer."  "Of what?"

"Books, magazine pieces, speeches sometimes."  "Anything I would have
read?"  "Of course."  "Such as?"

"I have a rather peculiar specialty; I'm a ghostwriter."

"And whom do you ghost for?"

"If I told you, I'd no longer be a ghost.  Business peopled the odd
politician."

"How do you find your clients?"

"They seem to find me----a sort of grapevine,"I

guess."

"You must do very well."

"Not all that well.  I didn't write the Trump book or the Chuck Yeager
book.  My clients are more modest."

"So that's why you want to be a film producer, to do better?"

"I want to produce because I love film.  I think I love it enough to do
very well at it."

"I'm inclined to believe you will," she said.  "Do you know, you sound
just like Tyrone Power?"

Vinnie smiled more broadly than he had intended.  "Do I?"

He took her home, and they began making love while still in the
elevator.  They had been making

L.A. TIMES

ever since, once or twice a week.  She gave a party regularly, twice a
month; Vinnie was every other time.  He had met a couple some writers,
and a great many other people.

Vinnie kissed a breasr, unstuck his body from and headed for the
shower.  When he came out the bathroom she was leafing through Chuck

"What's this?"

"A guy in my budgeting class asked me to cost for him' He scraped up
some money and wants to shoot it."

"Is it any good?"

"I haven't had a chance to read it yet, but he has a reputation at NYU
as a kind of genius.  I've seen a couple of short films he's done, and
they were extremely good.  My impression is that he doesn't have much
business sense."  He went to the closet that held the wardrobe Barbara
had chosen for him and selected a dinner jacket and a silk shirt.  Both
had been made by a London tailor who visited New York quarterly, and
Barbara had picked up the bill.  The clothes were the only thing he'd
ever taken from her, although the first time he had seen the
twelve-room Fifth Avenue apartment and its art and furnishings, his
first impulse had been to tell Benedetto about it and get the place
cleaned out some weekend when she was out of town.  He'd liked her,
though, and he'd thought she might be

STUART WO00S

more useful to him as a friend.  He'd been right.  'qho's coming to
dinner?"  he asked.

"Senator Harvey and his wife; Dick and Shirley

Clurman--Dick's retired from Time & Life--he was chief of
correspondents, and he's got a wonderful new book out about the
Time-Warner merger; Shirley's a producer at ABC; Leo and Amanda
Goldman.  We're just eight tonight."

"Leo Goldman of Centurion Pictures?"

"I thought you'd like that.  Quite apart from running the studio of the
moment, he's an interesting man.  Very bright."

Vinnie pulled his bow tie into a perfect knot, exactly the way Cary
Grant had in Indiscreet.  "I'll be in tested to meet him," he said.

Everybody arrived almost at once.  Vinnie shook Goldman's hand but made
a point of not talking to him before dinner.- Instead, he listened
quietly to a conversation between the senator and Dick Clurman that was
practically an interview.  Clurman was quick and asked very direct
questions, and he got very direct answers from the senator.  Vinnie
learned a lot.

At dinner he was seated between Shirley Clurman and Amanda Goldman; Leo
Goldman was one place away, but still Vinnie did not press conversation
with him.  He was charming to Mrs.  Clurman and devoted a lot of
attention to Amanda Goldman, a beautiful brunette in her late thirties,
but not so much attention as to irritate her husband.

It was not until after dinner, when they were brandy in the library,
that Vinnie said more than two words to Goldman, and luckily, Goldman
initiated the exchange.  "I hear you, re at NYU Film School," he said.
He was a balding, superbly built man in his mid-forties, obviously the
product of a strenuous daily workout "Part-time," Vinnie replied.
"What's your interest in film?"  "Production."  "Not the glamour
stuff--writing or directing.  "No."  ' "What draws you to production?"
Vh-fnie took a deep breath.  "It's where the control is."  Goldman
laughed.  "Most people would say the of" director has control
"Producers hire and fire directors."  Goldman nodded.  "You're a smart
guy, Michael," he said.  "You think you have any sense of what makes a
good movie?"

"Yes."  Goldman fished a card from his pocket.  "When you've got
something you think is good, call me.

That's the private number."

"I'll

Vinnie accepted the card.  He smiled, call you when you least expect
it."  ,

Vinnie spent an hour in bed with Barbara, and when he had finally
exhausted her, he slipped into the shower again, got into a robe, and
took the

Parish script into the library.  He read it in an hour, then got a
legal 'pad from the desk and started breaking it down into scenes and
locations.  By daylight he had a rough production schedule and budget.
He didn't need a calculator to add up the figures.  Vinnie had always
had a facility for numbers and an outstanding memory.

He got an hour's sleep before Barbara woke him for breakfast.

"What were you doing all night?"  she asked over eggs and bacon.

"Reading Chuck Parish's script and working up a production budget.

"Was it any good?"

He Irned and looked at her.  "Barbara, it is very, very good.  It's a
caper film, but it's funny.  It moves like a freight train, and if it's
properly produced it can make money."

"What do you need to produce it?"

"I can bring it in for six hundred and fifty thousand," Vinnie replied.
"Parish has already got three hundred thousand."

"Sounds like a low budget to me," she said.  "It is.  Leo Goldman
wouldn't believe it."  "Are you going to take it to Goldman?"

"No.  If Parish is game, I'm going to make it before anybody sees
it."

"Risky."

"Not as risky as you think.  You haven't read the script."

"Why don't I invest?"

"I don't want your money, Barbara."  He smiled.

L.A. TIMES

your body."  He knew that she was heir to a large construction fortune.
who nroioct interests me, she said.  I ll put up h' dt%ousana; you come
up with the rest."  "I'll think about it," Vinnie said.  He had already
thought about it.

As he was leaving she said, "You know what Leo Goldman said about you
last night?"  Vinnie looked at her questioningly; he didn't want to
ask. "He aid, "Your friend Michael is a hustler, but he doesn' Come on
like a hustler.  I like that."" Vinnie smiled and kissed her good-bye. 
He 'was going to have to be very careful with Leo Goldman.