Read Online Santa Fe Rules by Stuart Woods - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stuart Woods
Ads: Link
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. Heclosed the door and walked down the wide central hallway. A round table sat at its center, a big arrangement of desert flowers upon it, and doors opened to the left and right of it.
“Come in,” the voice called, and Wolf turned right into a large study, lit only by a fire in the wide hearth. Ed Eagle rose from one of a pair of huge wing chairs arranged before the fireplace. He was slender, dressed in faded jeans, a chambray shirt, and expensive boots—lizard. He extended a hand. “May I call you Wolf?” He towered over his guest.
Wolf allowed his hand to be enveloped. “Sure.” The guy must be six-five or six-six , he thought.
“I’m Ed. I’m six-foot-seven, plus another couple of inches for the boots. Everybody always wonders.” He waved Wolf to the other chair, smiling a little. “I expect you can use a drink. I’m having a very nice single-malt Scotch whisky.”
“I’ll have the American equivalent,” Wolf said, sinking gratefully 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 B-36.”
“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.”
“Why do you think I was running?”
“Why 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 stand-offish.”
“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, noddingencour-agement 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
“In here!” a deep voice called from Wolf’s right. Heclosed the door and walked down the wide central hallway. A round table sat at its center, a big arrangement of desert flowers upon it, and doors opened to the left and right of it.
“Come in,” the voice called, and Wolf turned right into a large study, lit only by a fire in the wide hearth. Ed Eagle rose from one of a pair of huge wing chairs arranged before the fireplace. He was slender, dressed in faded jeans, a chambray shirt, and expensive boots—lizard. He extended a hand. “May I call you Wolf?” He towered over his guest.
Wolf allowed his hand to be enveloped. “Sure.” The guy must be six-five or six-six , he thought.
“I’m Ed. I’m six-foot-seven, plus another couple of inches for the boots. Everybody always wonders.” He waved Wolf to the other chair, smiling a little. “I expect you can use a drink. I’m having a very nice single-malt Scotch whisky.”
“I’ll have the American equivalent,” Wolf said, sinking gratefully 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 B-36.”
“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.”
“Why do you think I was running?”
“Why 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 stand-offish.”
“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, noddingencour-agement 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
Similar Books
