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Authors: Stuart Woods
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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 little 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 eminent 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 canmanage 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,” he said. “That’s a hell of a motive. Looks like you were in the house, too—that’s 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 me against the State of New Mexico, it’ll be a fair fight.”
CHAPTER
11
W olf 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
Wolf nodded. “She was. Julia always seemed such an open person. I never caught her in a lie—not even a little 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 eminent 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 canmanage 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,” he said. “That’s a hell of a motive. Looks like you were in the house, too—that’s 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 me against the State of New Mexico, it’ll be a fair fight.”
CHAPTER
11
W olf 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
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