“Well, that’s all right, Edgar; I have nothing to fear in all this, so there’s no need to worry.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Don. I wish you well.”

“Thank you, Edgar.” Wells hung up. Why the hell would they be reopening that investigation? He didn’t like this at all.

His secretary buzzed him again. “Your lawyer, Marvin Wilson, is on line one.”

Wells picked up the phone. “Yes, Marvin?”

“Don, I just got served with some papers. The Worth Foundation has filed a petition with the probate court to stop probate of Donna’s estate.”

Wells was alarmed. “On what grounds, Marvin?”

“On the grounds that the Santa Fe district attorney says that you’re the only suspect in the murders.”

“That’s preposterous!” Wells said.

“Of course it is, Don, but I now have to appear at a hearing to argue against their petition.”

“Well, sure, go ahead.”

“Don, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not going to look good in the press if a judge stops probate because you’re the only suspect in a double homicide.”

“Well, I guess not. What do you recommend?”

“I think it would be better if I called the foundation’s attorney and agreed to withdraw our petition for probate, if they will withdraw their petition. We can probably deal with this on a handshake.”

“How long before we can file for probate, Marvin?”

“It will depend on the Santa Fe district attorney’s actions in the case. If he gets you indicted or if you’re arrested, then we couldn’t file until you’re cleared or tried and found not guilty.”

“What can we do in the meantime to resolve this?”

“Well, after some time has passed, we can have your Santa Fe attorney press the D.A. for some sort of statement of nonculpability that would satisfy the probate judge.”

“How much time?”

“A few months, at least.”

“And you feel strongly that this is our best course of action?”

“I do. And if word of this gets leaked to the press, you can take the position that you have no objection to waiting for probate, and you’re anxious to see the case resolved.”

“All right, go ahead and call their attorney.” Wells hung up, and there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had a big project in preproduction, and he had planned to finance it himself, once the will was probated. Now that had to come to a screeching halt, and he was left holding the bag for the preproduction costs. He would have to go to the studio for the money.

Wells reviewed his prospects. There were four people out there who could hurt him, if too much pressure were put on them: Jack Cato, Grif Edwards, Soledad Rivera and, of course, Tina. He was going to have to find a way to see that none of them cracked.

46

DETECTIVE ALEX REESE was about to leave his office for lunch when his phone rang, and he picked it up. “Detective Reese.”

“Detective Reese, this is Luisa, you remember?”

“Give me a hint.”

“Out at the airport? Santa Fe Jet?”

“Oh, of course, Luisa. What’s up?”

“Well, you gave me your card and asked me to call you if I thought of anything else?”

“Yes, I did. Have you thought of something?”

“Not exactly, but I know where I saw that Timmons guy from Austin.”

“Where?”

“Driving a stagecoach.”

“A stagecoach?”

“In a movie. I remember that I knew the movie was made in Santa Fe, because I could see the Jemez Mountains in the background. I can see the Jemez from my mother’s house.”

Reese drew a quick breath. “Do you remember the name of the movie, Luisa?”

“No, it was several weeks ago, and it was on TV, on one of the cable channels, because there weren’t any commercials.”

“Thank you, Luisa,” Reese said, “you’ve been a big help, and I appreciate it.” He hung up and ran down the hall, where three other detectives were leaving for lunch. “Hang on, everybody, we’re ordering in, on me.”

“What’s up, Alex?” one of the detectives asked.

“We’re going to the movies. Hal, get those DVDs of the Donald Wells productions. You can draw straws for this, but I want somebody sitting there with a remote control on fast forward. Stop when you see a stagecoach. I’m looking for a stagecoach driver with a handlebar moustache and a big hat. When you find it, get a very good print made from the best frame, then go to the credits and look for the name, Jack Cato. He should be the driver.”

Everybody shuffled into the conference room, where a TV set was set up. Reese was elated. He called the D.A. with the news.

BOB MARTÍNEZ WAS pleased. “What about the airplane you think he used?”

“It’s registered to a plastic surgeon from L.A.; he hasn’t returned my calls yet.”

“Keep on him.”

JACK CATO HAD finished his day’s shooting, which involved being dragged behind a horse for four takes. He went back to the livery stable to shower in the rough bathroom there, then he put on some clean clothes and went back to his little office. He retrieved an item he had bought and tore the plastic wrapping off, then inserted batteries. He tried it; it worked. Then he put it back into the drawer. He wanted to get Mrs. Keeler on tape.

DON WELLS DROVE by the stable and saw Cato’s truck still there. He pulled up to the building and stopped. There was a light on in the office. He got out of the car and walked inside. Cato was sitting at the desk, writing checks, and he looked up. “Hey, Don.”

Wells sat down.

“I’m just paying some bills; today was payday.”

“Go ahead, Jack. I’ll wait.”

Cato wrote two more checks and sealed them into envelopes. “Okay, I’m done. What’s up?”

“I want you to take a little trip, Jack.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t much care, but out of the country. You like Mexico, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not sure I can afford a vacation right now.”

Wells tossed some bundles of money on the desk. “That’ll give you a running start. It’s twenty-five grand. With what you’ve got saved, you should be able to live well down there.”

“How long do I need to be gone, Don?”

“I think you should look at this as a permanent change of address.”

“But what about my job?”

“That’s going to have to go. I’ll be shooting in Mexico from time to time; you can work then, and I’ll put you in speaking parts. Also, I’ll make some calls to a couple of people I know in the film business down there. You should be able to make a good living playing gringos in Mexican pictures. You’ll live a lot better there than here.”

Cato opened a desk drawer and put the paid bills inside, then he pressed a button on his new purchase and left the drawer open. “Don, what’s going on? Why do you want me to leave the country?”

“Because I have a feeling the Santa Fe police are on to you.”

“You mean on to you, don’t you?”

“It’s the same thing, Jack. If one of us goes down, we all go down. You see that, don’t you?”

“Don, I think if we just hang tight, everything will be fine.”

“If it gets to be fine, I’ll let you know,” Wells said. “Then you can come back. But in the meantime, we have problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“I’ll take care of Tina and Soledad, send them away for a while, but then there’s Grif Edwards.”

“You don’t have to worry about Grif, Don. I mean, he’s not the smartest guy in the world, but he’ll stand up.”

“Let me describe a situation, Jack, and you tell me what you think about it. You’re Grif Edwards, and you get arrested. The cops tell you they’ve got evidence that puts you in my house in Santa Fe at the time of the murders; they tell you that they’ll go easy on you if you’ll implicate others, maybe even tell you you’ll walk if you turn state’s evidence. You’re Grif Edwards; what would you do?”

“Okay, I get the point. What would make you feel more comfortable, Don?”