Delano, and he got his job at Centurion Studios through the chairman there, who is from the same town. He got arrested for domestic violence against a live-in girlfriend fifteen years ago, but the charges were dropped. He had a lot of parking tickets and a few speeding tickets when he was younger, but he seems to have calmed down the past ten years or so.”
“Have we got motive?”
“I’ve combed through all of Wells’s financials, and, in my opinion, there’s more than enough there for motive to kill his wife.”
“Tell me.”
“In short, Wells would have nothing, if he hadn’t married Donna. When they met, he was working for Centurion Studios as an associate producer, which is one notch up from gofer in that business. He meets Donna, then a couple of months after that her husband is dead, and a year or so later, they’re married. She loans him three million dollars to set up his own shop. He rents office space from the studio, pays himself half a million dollars a year, probably six times what he had been making, and starts acquiring books and magazine articles and having screenplays written from them. Out of the first half dozen things he produced, one was a big hit-a horror thing aimed at teenagers called
“The two houses he co-owned with his wife were bought entirely by her, but the deeds were recorded in both their names. This real estate co-ownership adds twenty million dollars to his net worth, as expressed on his financial statement. Apart from the houses, his net worth is under five million, and three million of that is expressed as accounts receivable from Centurion or his film distributors, and he has to perform to receive those funds, delivering scripts, mostly. Set those receivables aside and he’s worth less than two million bucks, not much for a supposedly successful film producer. His first benefit from his wife’s will is that her half of the real estate goes to him, nearly doubling his net worth. He does have a high income, though, from his company: an average of two and a half or three million a year.
“His wife’s will also leaves him five million dollars-more than enough for motive right there-but the fact that his wife and son died simultaneously leaves him in a much more favorable position, since her son was her principal heir. It’s only a guess right now- we’ll need to subpoena her financial records-but it looks like his inheritance could be in the region of half a billion dollars.”
“Wow,” Martinez said. “I’d certainly call that motive.”
“His alibi holds. I spoke to the manager of the Hassler Hotel in Rome, and he supports both Wells’s contention that he was in Rome when his wife died and that he received the phone call from his Santa Fe house when he said he did.”
“So, he would have had to hire somebody. Any candidates?”
“My best guess is somebody he worked with in the movies, either in L.A. or Santa Fe. He’s shot a couple of movies here. I’ve compiled a list of people who worked for him from the credits of his pictures. On the theory that anyone he knew well enough to ask to kill his wife would have worked for him more than once, I’ve come up with a list of thirty-one names of people who worked on two or more of his movies, and I’m running them through the New Mexico, California and federal databases for criminal records. I should have something by tomorrow that will give me the basis for interviews.”
“That’s good work, Alex. What if none of them pans out?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“Okay, let me know who in that list of thirty-one people looks good.”
“I’m likely to have to go to L.A. to question some of these people, so I’ll send you a travel authorization.”
“How long will you need there?”
“Probably no more than a week, but Wells isn’t going to be a flight risk. He’s going to sit tight and let the legal process work to get his wife’s will probated, which could take months.”
“Right. There’s something else I’d like you to look into, Alex.”
“What’s that?”
“Wells told us in his deposition that Mrs. Wells’s first husband was killed in a mugging in New York.”
“That’s right, he did.”
“I’d like to know if there’s any chance Wells had a hand in that. Call the NYPD and see if you can track down the detectives who investigated the killings and see if you can figure out where Wells was when it happened.”
“That’s a good idea, Bob; I’ll get on it.”
“Don’t talk to Wells about it just yet. If he was involved, I want him to think he skated on that one.”
“I won’t talk to Wells again until I’ve come to you first.”
“Good. I don’t want Ed Eagle to know how interested we are in his client, either.”
“Yeah, it’s interesting that when Wells got the kidnapping threat, he didn’t call the police but called a lawyer, instead.”
“Yeah, I find that very, very interesting.”
26
JOE WILEN, after a night of little sleep, arrived at his office and found a message from his contact at the state police. He returned the call.
“Good morning, Mr. Wilen,” the colonel said.
“Good morning, Colonel. Do you have any news for me?”
“Yes, the dental records you sent us match the teeth of the corpse carrying Walter Keeler’s driver’s license.”
“Would you send me the coroner’s report and a death certificate?”
“Of course, I’ll do it right away. My condolences on the loss of your friend. We’ll be releasing the names of the deceased today.”
“By the way, Colonel, did anything in the car survive the fire? Any papers or other contents of Walter’s pockets?”
“No, the fire consumed the car and its contents entirely. The only reason the driver’s license fragment survived was that Mr. Keeler was thrown clear of the car.”
“Thank you, Colonel, and thank you very much for your assistance in this matter. I wonder if I could ask your help on another matter?”
“Anything I can do, Mr. Wilen.”
“I’m going to fax you a letter concerning Mrs. Keeler. I’d be grateful if you could ascertain or refute the assertions made in the letter.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“This must be held in the strictest confidence, Colonel, as you will see, and I’d like you to destroy the letter afterward.”
“As you wish.”
Wilen thanked him, faxed the letter, then called his secretary. “Margie, please get Lee Hight and the two of you come into my office.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lee Hight was the associate who had drafted Walter Keeler’s will, and Margie had proofed it on her computer. The two women knocked and entered Wilen’s office.
“Please sit down,” Wilen said. “Lee, Margie, I have some bad news: Walter Keeler was killed in an automobile accident on the way to San Francisco after our meeting here yesterday.”
The two women looked shocked.
“I’m very sorry, Joe,” Lee said.
“So am I, Mr. Wilen,” Margie echoed.
“I’ve asked you in here, because I have to make an important decision, and before I do, I want to get your opinion. First, I want to read you a letter from a Santa Fe attorney named Ed Eagle. Mr. Eagle gave me the letter a few days ago, when I was in Santa Fe, and asked me to deliver it to Walter. He did not tell me the contents of the
