It’s going to take a few more days before he’ll be strong enough to go home.”
“Well, I certainly hope he recovers quickly,” Barbara said. She was going to be able to take her time and get this right.
VITTORIO GOT INTO the passenger seat of his SUV, and Cupie got behind the wheel.
“You sure you’re up to this?” he asked Vittorio.
“I’m feeling just great. Now get this crate moving.”
“Where are we going?”
“I think the best thing we can do, given our lack of information, is to look for that Mercedes station wagon,” Vittorio said. “She doesn’t know we know about it, and if we find it, all we have to do is sit on it until she shows up.”
“Where do you want to start?”
“Well, right now the hospital is ground zero, because Eagle’s there. I want to visit him anyway and see how he’s doing, so let’s start there.”
Cupie put the car into gear and drove off toward Santa Fe. They passed through some beautiful high desert before reaching the urbanized outskirts.
“You know,” Cupie said, “I wouldn’t mind retiring here one of these days. I love the climate.”
“You’d enjoy it,” Vittorio replied, “but I can’t ever see you either retiring or leaving L.A. You’ve still got a daughter there in the D.A.’s office, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, she’s trying a lot of cases now, getting some good experience, but between her job and her boyfriend, I’m lucky if I have lunch with her every other Sunday.”
Vittorio directed him to the hospital. “Let’s take a look around the parking lot before we go in,” Vittorio said.
Cupie moved slowly up and down the rows of cars, then pointed. “Over there,” he said, “in the employees’ lot.”
“I see it,” Vittorio said. “Let’s get over there and take a closer look.”
Cupie drove into the lot and pulled up behind the Mercedes station wagon, and Vittorio got out and walked around it, then came back and got into the car. “Nah,” he said. “It’s got a New Mexico government tag and a health-department sticker on the windshield.”
“Why would a state employee be driving a Mercedes?” Cupie asked.
“Must be a personal car. It’s got an employee’s tag.”
Cupie found a space in the visitors’ lot, and they walked into the hospital and down the hall toward where a cop sat outside Eagle’s room. As they approached the nurses’ station, a woman in scrubs with a chocolate box under her arm walked away, down the other end of the hall, toward the elevators.
“Nice ass,” Cupie muttered.
“Morning, gentlemen,” the nurse behind the desk said. “Sorry, Mr. Eagle isn’t having any visitors today.”
“Something wrong?” Cupie asked.
“He’s contracted an infection. We’re dealing with it, but he’s not up to seeing anybody but his wife.”
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Cupie said, and he and Vittorio left the hospital.
“Let’s go check the hotel lots,” Vittorio said, getting into the car.
42
Barbara left the hospital and drove back to the computer shop where she had made her state ID and license plate. She had an idea about how to improve them.
The man at the desk directed her to a vacant computer, and on a whim, she decided to check her old e-mail address. There were hundreds of spam messages, but as she scrolled down she found an e-mail from a law firm she had paid a retainer to when consulting them about overturning her late husband’s will. On the morning he was killed in the car crash he had signed a new will that severely limited what she would get in the event of his death. The lawyer had advised her that the will was impenetrable, and there was nothing she could do about it. In addition, the will contained a clause that would reduce the sum paid to any beneficiary to one dollar if the beneficiary contested the will.
There had been one thing she could do, though, and she had done it. She had hired someone to murder her husband’s attorney.
“Mrs. Keeler,” it read, “there has been an interesting development concerning your late husband’s will. It could be greatly to your benefit if you would telephone me as soon as you receive this e-mail.” It was signed by Ralph Waters, and the e-mail was dated the day she had escaped from prison in Mexico.
This was interesting, Barbara thought. She forgot why she had come to the computer store and immediately returned to her hotel, where she sat down and called the attorney on her cell phone. He came on the line immediately.
“Mrs. Keeler? This is Ralph Waters. Thank you for returning my call.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, Mr. Waters,” she said, “but I’ve been traveling. What is your news?”
“I know I don’t have to remind you about the terms of the will your late husband signed on the day of his death.”
“They are etched in my memory,” she replied.
“I expect so, but a couple of weeks ago I was playing golf with a lawyer friend of mine who serves on the ethics committee of the California Bar Association, and he told me a very interesting story. A woman named Margaret Jepson, known as Margie, who was the secretary of Joseph Wilen, your husband’s attorney, has made a report to the bar association that may change everything.”
“Tell me,” Barbara said.
“I’m not sure yet what her motives are, but she says that the will that was probated was not the will that Walter Keeler signed that morning, that Joe Wilen made some crucial changes to it
“The son of a bitch!” Barbara said. “I knew there was something wrong. Walter would have never done that to me. Do we know what the original pages said?”
“Ms. Jepson reportedly has a copy of the will that Mr. Keeler signed, so that would bolster our position. Worst case, if her testimony holds up we could get the will thrown out and then the previous will would apply, and even though you had been married only a short time and might not be mentioned in the earlier will, California law would entitle you to a large share of the estate.”
Barbara’s heart was pounding. “As I recall, Walter had more than a billion dollars in liquid assets, plus real estate, and others, like a jet airplane.”
“That is correct,” Waters said. “And there are more good tidings: The will has not yet cleared probate, so none of the assets have been dispersed. Only your stipend has been paid out.”
“That’s wonderful!” Barbara said. “What should our next move be?”
“I’ll need to depose Ms. Jepson and get her to sign an affidavit confirming her story, then I can take it to a judge with a petition to invalidate the will and reinstate the original version. If he signs off on it, then we can submit the original will for probate. Our fallback position would be to get the will declared invalid and reinstate the earlier version.”
“Mr. Waters, I direct you to do just that,” Barbara said, “and along the way I’d like to see that bitch Lee Hight disbarred for her part in the conspiracy.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Keeler, because Ms. Hight died of breast cancer last month. I suspect that is one reason that Ms. Jepson has come forward, since telling her story relieves her conscience and doesn’t punish
