Santa Fe Dead

13

EAGLE WAS FINISHING a sandwich at his desk the following day when his secretary buzzed him. He picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Mr. Eagle, there’s a gentleman on the phone who says he’s calling from Rome, Italy, and he says he needs to speak to you urgently. His name is Donald Wells.”

“Never heard of him.”

“You want me to get rid of him?”

Eagle sighed. “No, I’ll speak to him.” He pressed the flashing button. “This is Ed Eagle.”

“Mr. Eagle,” the man said, “my name is Don Wells.” His accent was American.

“Yes, Mr. Wells, how can I help you?” He tried to convey that he was very busy and that the man should hurry up and get to the point.

“I’m in Rome, at the Hassler Villa Medici Hotel, and I received a phone call a few minutes ago saying that my wife and son have been kidnapped.”

“Mr. Wells, I think you want the FBI, not an attorney.”

“Yes, of course, but I’m a rather well-known figure in the film industry, and I don’t want to be on record as having called the police, if this should turn out to be a hoax. These things have a way of finding their way into the press, and that would be embarrassing for my wife and me.”

“What would you like me to do, Mr. Wells?”

“I have homes in Santa Fe and in Malibu, but neither phone answers. Could you possibly go to my Santa Fe home and take a look around and call me if you find anything that might indicate that something untoward has occurred? And could you arrange to have someone in L.A. check the Malibu house?”

“Mr. Wells, it would be a lot cheaper just to call the police in Santa Fe and Malibu.”

“I’m not concerned about your fees, Mr. Eagle. I know your reputation, and I would very much appreciate it if you would handle this for me.”

Eagle took a deep breath and let it out. “All right, Mr. Wells. Please give me your Santa Fe address and tell me how to get into the house.”

“The address is 180 Tano Norte. Do you know the road?”

The place was out past Susannah’s house. “Yes, I know it. If no one answers the bell, how will I get in?”

“There’s a rack holding half a cord of firewood to the right of the front door. There’s a key under the left end of the rack.”

“How about Malibu?”

“The house is in the Malibu Colony. You know it?”

“Yes.”

“Your people should just ask for the Wells house at the gate and give the guard the password, which is Featherweight.”

“Featherweight, all right.”

“And the key is in a window box to the left of the front door.”

“And how do I reach you?”

“You can call me at the Hassler, or you can reach me on my international cell phone.” He recited the number.

“Mr. Wells, where would you expect your wife and son to be on this date?”

“I haven’t spoken to them for a couple of days, but my wife had planned to fly from L.A. to Santa Fe for a few days. She just wasn’t sure yet when she could get away.”

“And to which address should I send my bill?”

“Please send that to my business manager, whose office is in Century City.” He gave Eagle the address.

“One more thing, Mr. Wells: How would your wife and son be traveling from L.A. to Santa Fe?”

“I’m in a fractional jet program call NetJets, and we fly out of Santa Monica.”

“Have you called them?”

“Not yet; I’d like to hear your report first.”

“Can you give me a physical description of your wife and son?”

“My wife-her name is Donna-is forty-nine years old, five-seven, a hundred and forty pounds, blonde hair; my son is fourteen, about the same height as his mother, dark hair, a hundred and thirty pounds. His name is Eric. He’s autistic.”

“Is he in school somewhere?”

“No, his mother has home-tutored him, with the help of various teachers, since he was nine.”

“How functional is he?”

“He doesn’t talk much, but most people wouldn’t know he was autistic on meeting him in our home, but he becomes anxious, if he’s away from his mother or me, and then he can be difficult to deal with.”

“I’ll call you back when I know more,” Eagle said. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

Eagle hung up and called Cupie Dalton’s cell number.

“This is Dalton.”

“Cupie, this is Ed Eagle. Are you still in L.A.?”

“Vittorio and I are on the way to the airport for a flight to San Francisco.”

“I’ve got a detour for you,” Eagle said, then explained what he wanted.

“Okay, we’ll get a later flight to San Francisco.” Cupie hung up.

Eagle looked at his watch, then got his coat and hat and walked out of his office. “I have to run an errand,” he said to his secretary. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”