Santa Fe Dead

50

ALEX REESE ARRIVED at Centurion Studios and asked to see the head of security. As he waited, a black pickup truck pulled up next to him in the outbound lane, but from his tiny economy rental car he could not see the face of the driver high above him.

The guard handed Reese a pass for his dashboard and waved him in. Reese went directly to the security office and was shown immediately into Jeff Bender’s office. The two men shook hands.

“What can I do for you, Alex?” Bender asked.

“I’m here with a warrant to arrest Jack Cato for the murder of Don Wells’s wife and stepson,” Reese said. “I thought, as a courtesy, I should see you first.”

Bender grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go,” he said. He led Reese to his golf cart, and the two men took off through the big lot at top speed, which was about 16 mph. Shortly, they arrived at the stable.

The two men got out of the cart, and Reese unholstered his Glock. They walked into the stable and found it quiet. Bender opened the door to the little office and looked around. “This looks emptier than usual.” The phone on the desk rang, and Bender picked it up. “Hello?”

“Mr. Cato?”

“Who’s calling?”

“This is studio personnel,” the woman said.

“This is Jeff Bender, studio security. Cato isn’t here; can I help?”

“No, I just wanted to get a forwarding address. Mr. Cato handed in his resignation about an hour ago, and he didn’t leave one.”

“I suggest you write to his old address and see if it gets forwarded,” Bender said. “And I’d like to know about it when you find out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bender hung up. “Jack Cato resigned from his job an hour ago,” he said.

“Oh, shit.”

Bender dialed a number. “Front gate? This is Jeff Bender. Has Jack Cato left the lot?” He listened for a moment. “What was he driving? Do you have his plate number on file? Thanks.”

He handed Cato’s license number to Reese. “Cato left the lot less than fifteen minutes ago, driving a black Chevrolet Silverado pickup.”

“Shit again. I’d better call the LAPD and ask for an APB on him.”

“They’re not going to give you an APB on an out-of-state warrant,” Bender said. “Protocol is to call your chief and have him call Chief Sams.”

“May I use the phone?” Reese said.

“Sure.”

Reese called his HQ, asked for his chief and was told he had just entered a meeting and wasn’t expected out for some time. Reese left his cell phone number and asked to be called back on an urgent basis. He hung up and turned to Bender. “Cato seems to have a fondness for Tijuana. How long would it take him to drive down there?”

“Man, it’s rush hour, and it’s rush hour in every city from here to the border, including San Diego. Who knows? If Cato is on the freeway, he’s parked, like everybody else. If he’s smart he’ll use the surface streets for a couple of hours, then, when traffic starts to thin out, get on the freeway again. When your chief calls back, ask him to call the Border Patrol and get Cato stopped when he tries to leave the U.S. Also, ask him to get that warrant on the wire right away, so that if Cato gets stopped by the highway patrol for a traffic violation they’ll detain him.”

“What do you hear from the LAPD on the Grif Edwards suicide?”

“They were here for several hours today, talking to everybody.”

“Do they suspect Cato?”

Bender shook his head. “Edwards left a note at his house, so right now they’re treating it purely as a suicide. They wouldn’t have put out an APB on Cato, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Reese’s cell phone vibrated, and he answered it.

“Detective Reese, this is Captain Ferraro; I saw your message for the chief, but he just left the building with some people. Can I help?”

Reese told him what he needed. “I think the LAPD APB is the most important thing. If we could nail him before he leaves the city, life would be simpler. The California Highway Patrol should hear about it, too.” He recited the description of Cato’s truck.

“I don’t have the authority to do that on my own, but I’ll grab the chief at the first opportunity and press your case.”

“Thanks, Captain. You can reach me on my cell.” Reese hung up. “Damn! If I’d just made the earlier plane!”

“Don’t blame yourself, Alex. This’ll work out; it’ll just take some time. It’s a big system, and it’ll nail Cato.”

“Not if he makes it to Mexico,” Reese said.

BARBARA EAGLE KEELER was watching Judge Judy on TV when Jimmy Long came home.

“Your cop car is gone,” he said.

“Really?”

“First time in days I haven’t seen it parked out there.”

Barbara stood up. “Jimmy, Jack Cato is headed for Mexico, which means that somebody’s after him. I’m going to disappear for a while, until I’m sure he’s not talking to the cops. I don’t know how he found out my name, but he knows it, and I can’t take the chance of staying here any longer.”

“Okay. How can I help?”

“Just keep an eye on the papers and an ear on the TV news. If you hear anything about Cato, call me on my cell phone.”

“Where are you going to now?”

“You don’t want to know that, Jimmy.”

“Maybe not. What do you want me to tell the police, if they call?”

“Tell them I went back to San Francisco.” Barbara went upstairs and started packing. When she was done, she came back downstairs. “I forgot,” she said, “I don’t own a car.”

“You want me to drive you to a car rental place?”

“Tell you what, drive me to a Mercedes dealership.”

“Okay, babe.”

CUPIE DALTON SAT up straight. “Here we go,” he said to Vittorio. “First, the cops leave, now there goes Barbara.”

“That will be Long driving, I guess,” Vittorio said.

“I don’t think she has a car,” Cupie replied. “Two to one, they’re on the way to the airport.”

“Probably. Where do you think she’s going?”

“Back to San Francisco is my guess.”

“We don’t want that, do we?”

“Nope.”

“But we can’t do it while she’s with Long.”

"Nope. We need to find her in some nice, quiet place, even if it’s in San Francisco.”