"It was all very odd," a woman was saying. "I looked out my window, and there were suddenly a lot of people here who didn't seem to belong. Then I saw some uniforms, and the ambulance arrived. It was a long time before they brought out the bodies. I guess they were doing that crime scene thing you see on TV all the time."

"We hope to have the names of the victims for the noon news," the woman said, then a soap opera came back on, in mid-hysterics.

Vittorio had a queasy feeling in his stomach. He picked up the phone and called the hotel.

"Hotel Bel-Air," an operator said.

"May I speak to Ed Eagle, please? He's a guest here."

There was a brief pause. "I'm sorry, at the request of the guest, we're not putting any calls through to that room at this time. Who's calling, please?"

Vittorio hung up. This was bad. He headed for the shower. By the time he was dressed and had roused the girl, breakfast had arrived, and his stomach hurt from hunger. He wolfed down the food and hurried the girl to get dressed.

"What's the rush?" she asked, pouting.

"I have an appointment in fifteen minutes," he lied.

Vittorio arrived at the Bel-Air and gave his car to the valet. He crossed the bridge over the little creek, with its pair of swans and lush plantings, and entered the lobby. Then he changed his mind. The front desk was not going to give him Eagle's room number. He decided to take a walk. He left the lobby and walked purposefully up one of the many paths, as if he belonged at the hotel. He met a bellman coming the other way and stopped him. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, sir."

"Tell me, in what room were those murders last night?"

The man looked around nervously. "We're not supposed to talk about that."

"I'm not from the press," Vittorio said, pressing a fifty into the man's palm, "I'm just curious."

"You go straight ahead," the man said, nodding in the direction, "cross the driveway, turn right, then left. You'll see all the cops."

Vittorio thanked the man and followed the directions. He stopped when he came to a large courtyard with a fountain and saw two uniforms standing guard outside a gate that, apparently, led to a smaller courtyard. He approached them. "Good morning," he said to the cops.

Both nodded and looked him up and down. "Can you tell me the names of the victims of last night's shooting?"

They shook their heads simultaneously. "You'd have to speak to the detective in charge," he said, "and he's going to be busy inside for a while."

Vittorio thanked them and retraced his steps toward the lobby, this time taking another path leading in that direction. He went past the large swimming pool and into the garden restaurant, and then he saw a familiar face. He walked over to the table. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, Vittorio," Eagle said. "Have you met Susannah Wilde?"

"How do you do?" she said, smiling at him.

"Very well, thank you."

"Sit down," Eagle said. "What brings you here?"

"I saw a television report that said two people had been murdered here," Vittorio said.

"That's true," Eagle said. "And right next door to us. Our suite shares a front courtyard with another suite, next door. I've stayed in both many times. I'm glad the shooter didn't mistake us for the people next door. We didn't hear a thing."

"May I speak with you alone for a minute, Mr. Eagle?"

"Sure. I'll be right back, Susannah." He led Vittorio a few yards away, then stopped. "What is it?"

"Maybe it was the other way around," Vittorio said.

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe the shooter thought she was shooting you and Ms. Wilde."

"She? What makes you think that?"

"You remember I told you that Barbara shot me when I entered her cottage in La Jolla?"

"Yes."

"The gun she used was silenced."

Eagle blinked. "I don't think she'd go that far," he said.

"Then you're in denial, Mr. Eagle. She shot Cupie Dalton in Mexico City; she pushed me off a ferry in the middle of the Gulf of California; and I know for a fact that she and/or her sister cut up a man in Puerto Vallarta some years ago. He was the nephew of a police captain there, and they're still looking for her."

Eagle shook his head. "I don't know."

"Tell me, Mr. Eagle, do you have any insurance policies?"

"Yes, but…"

"Have you changed the beneficiary since Barbara absconded?"

Eagle's face dropped. "I'll do it this morning."

"Good idea," Vittorio said.

"But Barbara doesn't know I'm in L.A…"

"My guess is, she does. I don't know how, but she knows. But, as bad as this is, there's an upside."

"And what is that?"

"Now you can go to the police. We know where she's staying, and we know she has a silenced gun. They'll be all over her, and she'll be out of your hair. Your divorce may take a little longer to accomplish, but so what?"

"You're right," Eagle said, taking out his cell phone.

"Don't bother with that," Vittorio said. "The officer in charge of the investigation is still in the suite next door to yours. Make your excuses to Ms. Wilde, and let's go talk to him."

Eagle went back to the table and Susannah and handed her the car keys. "You go ahead to your place and pick up whatever you want to take back to Santa Fe. If you can get it into the car, we can probably get it into the airplane."

"All right. What are you going to do?"

"I have some business with Vittorio to take care of. I'll see you later. I'll be on my cell, if you need me." He turned to Vittorio. "Let's go see that man," he said.

Fifty-five

EAGLE WALKED QUICKLY ALONGSIDE VlTTORIO TOWARD his suite. Vittorio had been right: he had been in denial. He had underestimated Barbara at every turn, but now she had gone too far. The police could take it from here.

Vittorio stopped as they were entering the large courtyard with the fountain. "You don't need me for this," he said. "And I have something else to do. I'll check with you later."

Eagle nodded and continued toward the gate guarded by two policemen. "Good morning," he said to them. "My name is Ed Eagle, I'm an attorney, and I occupy the suite next door to your crime scene. Please tell the investigating officer in charge that I wish to speak with him, that I have information that may be helpful."

"Just a minute," one of the officers said. He went inside for a moment, then returned. "Please go in, Mr. Eagle, and ask for Lieutenant Charles Vickers. And don't touch anything."

Eagle thanked the man and entered the suite. He recognized Vickers immediately as a detective who had testified in a case he had tried in Los Angeles some years before.

Vickers came over and shook his hand. "Morning, Mr. Eagle. What brings you to see us?"

"I think we'd better sit down, Lieutenant; I have a lot to tell you, including, I believe, the name and location of your perpetrator."

The lieutenant led him to a chair in the suite's living room. "All right, let's hear it." He produced a notebook.

"I have reason to believe that your perp is my ex… my estranged wife. She's traveling under the name of Barbara Wood-field." Eagle gave the detective a summary of her background, her prison record and her absconding with his money, while Vickers took rapid notes in shorthand. "I believe she's staying at Chateau Sunset."

VITTORIO PARKED IN FRONT of Chateau Sunset and walked into the lobby to the front desk. He flashed a wallet that contained his California carry license and an LAPD badge he had bought from a badge catalogue years before, which bore the rank of sergeant and the number 714. It was Joe Friday's Dragnet badge, but nobody ever noticed. "I need to speak with your guest Barbara Woodfield," he said. "Just give me her room number and don't call her."