Santa Fe Dead by Stuart Woods Page A

a general sense, from what she told me. Both our wills were executed on the same day, placed in envelopes that were sealed by the attorneys, then placed in my safe in Malibu.”
    “And what was your understanding of the benefits of the will with regard to yourself?”
    “She mentioned nothing in that regard.”
    “Was it your assumption that she would leave you a large bequest?”
    “We never discussed it; her money was not a factor in our marriage.”
    “A national magazine has ranked your wife as the fifth wealthiest woman in the United States,” Martínez said, “with a net worth in the billions.”
    “She laughed at that when she heard,” Wells said.
    Eagle spoke up. “Mrs. Wells did loan Mr. Wells the money to set up what has become a successful film company, and he repaid the loan. Here are copies of the relevant documents and a notarized copy of Mr. Wells’s personal financial statement, as prepared by his business manager. As you will see, he has a net worth of some twenty-five million dollars, which does not include Mrs. Wells’s share of their two homes, which would normally accrue to him upon her death. He earns a multimillion-dollar income from his film company, as well, so he would have no financial motive against his wife.”
    “I think we’ll decide that after seeing Mrs. Wells’s will.”
    “We will be happy for Mr. Wells to authorize his attorneys to give you a copy of the will, even though we do not know its contents.”
    “How soon?” Martínez asked.
    “I’ll call them today,” Wells replied.
    “What else can we do for you, Bob?” Eagle asked.
    Martínez looked at Reese, who shook his head.
    “Have his attorneys fax me the will,” Martínez said, handing Eagle his card. “That will be all for the present.”
    “Bob,” Eagle said, “is Mr. Wells a suspect in this case?”
    “Let’s just say that he remains a person of interest,” Martínez replied.
    “I would prefer it if you would couch that in more positive terms when you speak to the press,” Eagle said.
    “I’ll just say that Mr. Wells has not been charged. Will he be available in Santa Fe if we have further questions?”
    Eagle looked at his client. “Don?”
    “My wife expressed a wish to be cremated and have her ashes scattered on our property in Santa Fe,” Wells said. “I can stay for a few more days, until that is accomplished, but then I must return to Los Angeles for business reasons. I have just finished shooting a film in Rome, and I must begin the postproduction process, if I am to make our release date.”
    “When will the bodies be released?” Eagle asked.
    “Today, I should think. All right, Mr. Wells, you may return to Los Angeles, but I would be grateful if you would be available by telephone.”
    “Of course,” Wells said, handing Martínez his card. “And I want to say how grateful I am for your and Detective Reese’s efforts in the solution of this crime.”
    Everyone shook hands cordially, and the visitors left.
    “What do you think?” Wells asked when they were gone.
    “You did well,” Eagle said.
    “They didn’t ask whether I was having an affair, as you did.”
    “Don’t worry, they’ll ask everybody else you know.”
    “Do you think I’m a suspect?”
    “Right now, you’re the only suspect.”

21
    EAGLE SPENT THE remainder of the morning working on briefs and meeting with clients. Just before lunch he had a phone call from Joe Wilen.
    “Good morning, Joe.”
    “Morning, Ed. I’ve decided to take you up on your offer to introduce me to a real estate agent.”
    “I’d be delighted to. What is your cell phone number?”
    Wilen gave it to him.
    “You’ll hear from an agent with French and French, named Ashley Margetson. She has an outstanding knowledge of the market, and I’m sure she can show you properties that will interest you.”
    “I’ll wait for her call,” Wilen said.
    BARBARA/ELLIE WIPED Walter Keeler’s genitals with a hot facecloth, eliciting a happy