“I suppose you’re right.”

“I know you want to be out from under this, Don, but you’re just going to have to be patient.”

“All right, Ed. Let me know if you hear anything.”

“Of course I will. Goodbye.”

EAGLE HUNG UP. He was beginning to think that Don Wells was awfully nervous for an innocent man.

ALEX REESE WAS momentarily stumped. He’d checked out all his leads; now he was waiting for a break. Then he remembered something he hadn’t checked out. He called a friend of his at the NYPD.

“Hi, Alex. How you doin’?”

“Pretty good, Ralph. Could you check something out for me on your computer?”

“Sure thing.”

“There was a street killing in Manhattan, a mugging gone wrong, some years back. I’d like to speak to the lead detective on the case.”

“What’s the victim’s name?”

Reese consulted his notes. “William John Burke.”

“Hang on.”

Reese heard the sound of computer keys tapping.

“Got it,” Ralph said. “It’s still open. The lead guy was a detective in the One-Nine named Dino Bacchetti. I know him. He’s a lieutenant now, runs the detective squad over there. Here’s his number.”

Reese wrote down the number. “Thanks, Ralph. I appreciate it.” Reese dialed the Nineteenth Precinct.

“Bacchetti,” the man said.

“Lieutenant Bacchetti, my name is Detective Alex Reese, Santa Fe, New Mexico, P.D.”

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“You worked a homicide some years ago. Victim was one William John Burke. You remember that?”

“Yeah, I remember. I was never able to clear it. It looked like a mugging, but the guy had a rich wife, and that always interests me.”

“Do you remember the name Donald Wells, in connection with that case?”

“Yeah, I do. He was a friend of the couple-more of an acquaintance, really. He had been at a dinner party with the two of them the night before Burke was killed. I talked to him, but he had a solid alibi, and he struck me as uninvolved. Until…”

“Until what?”

“A year later-no more than that, a year and a half, maybe-I saw Mrs. Burke and Donald Wells at a restaurant together, looking very interested in each other. Not long after that, I saw in the papers that they had gotten married.”

“Did you interview him again?”

“No. I went over my notes, and, like I said, he had a solid alibi. He was at some sort of awards ceremony at a table of eight. I couldn’t find any substantive reason to talk to him again.”

“Did he seem like the kind of guy who might have the connections to hire somebody to mug or murder Burke?”

“I thought of that at the time, but no, he didn’t seem like that kind of guy, and none of his acquaintances I talked to thought so, either. They were a pretty straight crowd. But you never know, do you? There might be somebody in anybody’s past who would commit murder for enough money.”

“That’s right. You never know.”

“You looking at Wells for something else?”

“Yeah, somebody murdered his wife and stepson.”

“The same one? The rich one?”

“Same one.”

“Ahhhhh,” Bacchetti breathed. “Now, that’s interesting.”

“And this time I’ve found a possible hit man-two of them, in fact.”

“Would you do me a favor and find out how long he’s known these two guys?” Bacchetti asked.

“Not long enough to go back to your case. They’re both stuntmen at Centurion Studios, and, as far as I can tell, he hasn’t known them for more than four years.”

“Tell you what, Alex. I’ll put a couple of men on the Burke homicide. You never know what they might come up with.”

“Thanks a lot, Dino.” Reese hung up wishing he had some way to help Bacchetti tie Wells to the Burke killing, too.

45

BOB MARTÍNEZ HAD just returned to his office from court when his secretary buzzed him. “Yes?”

“Mr. Martínez, there’s a man on the phone named Jason Bloomfield, who says he’s the executive director of the Worth Foundation. Will you speak to him?”

“Worth Foundation? Is that the one that Donna Wells’s will mentions?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put him on.”

“Mr. Martínez?”

“Yes, Mr. Bloomfield, what can I do for you?”

“You’re aware that I run the Worth Foundation?”

“Yes, my secretary just told me.”

“I’d like to talk with you about the investigation into the murders of Donna Worth Wells and her son.”

“Well, I can confirm that we’re investigating that case, but I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you, until our investigation is complete.”

“Let me explain my problem, then you can tell me if you can help.”

“All right, Mr. Bloomfield, go ahead.”

“I believe you’ve seen a copy of Mrs. Wells’s will.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Then you know that the foundation is one of her beneficiaries.”

“Yes.”

“And you know that, since both she and her son are dead, Donald Wells becomes the principal beneficiary.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You would also know that, should Mr. Wells be found responsible for his wife and stepson’s deaths, he would not be able to inherit, and the foundation would become the principal beneficiary?”

“In addition to being district attorney, I’m an attorney, Mr. Bloomfield.”

“Can you tell me whether Donald Wells is a suspect in the murders?”

Martínez didn’t speak for a moment, and when he did, he was careful. “Mr. Bloomfield, I expect that you’ve seen enough TV shows to know that in any homicide of a female, the first suspect is usually the husband or boyfriend.”

“Yes, I do.”

“And that’s the case, even when hundreds of millions of dollars are not at stake?”

“I can understand that.”

“Then I think you can draw your own conclusions about Mr. Wells’s status in the investigation.”

“I need just a little more than that, Mr. Martínez. If I know that Mr. Wells is a suspect, then, when he files for probate, I can ask the judge to stop any further action, until it’s clear whether Mr. Wells is implicated in the homicides.”

“That’s a civil matter, Mr. Bloomfield, and thus outside the jurisdiction of this office.”

“Let me put it another way, Mr. Martínez: It’s my understanding from watching all those TV shows, that putting pressure on a suspect is sometimes an investigative technique used by the police and the district attorney.”

Martínez thought about that. “All right, Mr. Bloomfield, you can tell a judge that I said that Donald Wells is a suspect-no, the only suspect-in the homicides of his wife and stepson.”

“Would you give me that in writing?”

“You can refer the judge to me for confirmation.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Martínez.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Bloomfield.”

DONALD WELLS WAS at his desk when he got a phone call from an old friend in New York.

“Don, this is Edgar Fields.”

“Hello, Edgar, long time. How are you?”

“Very well, thanks. Don, I just wanted to tell you that I had a visit this morning from two police detectives investigating the death of John Burke.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and Bessie Willoughby had a visit from the same two detectives last evening.”

“Yes?”

“Don, you will remember that Bessie and I were two of the seven people who established your whereabouts the evening of Burke’s murder.”

“Yes, Edgar, I remember.”

“Well, it seems that the police have reopened the case and are reinterviewing everybody at that table.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know, Don.”

"I wouldn’t worry about it, Edgar; after all I was at that table that evening.”

“Except for about half an hour or forty-five minutes, when you went out for a smoke.”

“I don’t remember that, Edgar.”

“I do, and so does Bessie. I’m sure the others do, too.”

“Did you mention that to the detectives?”

“They specifically asked both of us if you left the table for more than five minutes during the evening. I had to tell them that. They also asked me if you smoke. I told them I didn’t know, I assumed so.”