Alvarez. Finally, after several months of this abuse, I was able to slip a dose of Valium into his tequila, and I escaped through a window in his apartment, which adjoined the prison. A friend drove me to Acapulco, then we were both privately flown back to the United States.”
“I understand, Mrs. Keeler,” Estevez replied. “I take it you have not read this morning’s
“No, I have not.”
“There is a story that the United States attorney general has acquiesced to a request for extradition from the Mexican minister of justice, and that a federal judge has issued a warrant for your arrest.”
“I was not aware of that,” Barbara said.
“I will leave for Mexico City tonight and begin to try and right this wrong that has been done to you,” Estevez said. “I understand that you have access to a private jet aircraft.”
“That is so.”
“I suggest, entirely off the record, that you leave the country immediately and wait for me to contact you.”
“Would the Bahamas do?” Barbara asked.
“Very nicely,” he replied.
“I will follow your advice, Mr. Estevez.”
“Mr. Waters mentioned another legal concern?”
“That will have to wait,” Barbara replied.
“If I am to be successful in Mexico one or more bribes will have to be paid. The total could come to as much as a million dollars, perhaps even more.”
“I will leave that entirely to your judgment,” Barbara replied.
“Very well. Please arrange with your bankers to be able to wire-transfer funds on a moment’s notice to accounts in Mexico or other countries, the numbers of which I will supply you with.”
Barbara wrote down her cell number and the number of the sat-phone on the airplane and handed them to him. “Thank you, Mr. Estevez. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some calls to make and some packing to do.” She stood up, shook his hand and waved him off.
Barbara sat down again and called Morton Johns at her bank and explained that she was leaving town immediately and about the need to wire funds. He gave her his cell number.
“Call at any hour of the day or night and I will attend to it,” he said. “Incidentally, I have researched the business investment you wish to make, and we here consider it to be an attractive proposition.” He mentioned the price. “There is one owner, and he is prepared to close immediately. I will send the report to you in San Jose,” he said.
“Please proceed with all speed,” Barbara said. “You may use the power of attorney I gave you. Keep in touch with me by phone, as I will be traveling. You have the numbers.”
“Of course, Mrs. Keeler. And I have some good news for you: Your husband’s estate has transferred eight hundred million dollars to your account here, and there is more to come, I am assured.”
“Wonderful news,” Barbara said. She thanked him and instructed him to initiate the procedures they had discussed at lunch. She hung up and called the FBO in San Jose and ordered the airplane to be prepared for an immediate departure to Nassau, then made another call.
“Bentley Motors,” the operator said.
“Charles Grosvenor, please,” Barbara said.
“Please hold.”
“This is Charles Grosvenor.”
“Charles, it’s Ellie Keeler.”
“How nice to hear your voice.”
“I have an invitation for you,” she said. “You’ve said that you enjoy travel.”
“Yes, indeed, Ellie.”
“Do you have your passport handy?”
“Yes. It’s in my briefcase.”
“Here’s what I’d like you to do. I’d like you to go directly to the San Jose Airport and meet me there.” She gave him directions to the FBO. “We will be departing immediately for the Bahamas.”
“I’ll have to get time off,” Grosvenor said.
“Please don’t worry about that. Just walk away now. I’ll explain later.”
“But my job.”
“Don’t worry about it, and don’t worry about clothes. We’ll get you a new wardrobe in Nassau.”
“Whatever you say, my dear,” he replied. “I’ll look forward to seeing you in an hour.”
“I’ll look forward to it as well,” she said, then ran to pack a small bag.
AS WILLARD DROVE HER away in the Bentley, a government car drove up to Barbara’s apartment building, and two FBI agents got out and went inside. They were told by the maid, as per Barbara’s instructions, that she had flown to Rome earlier in the day.
57
Lieutenant David Santiago was shown into the office of the chief deputy district attorney and asked to sit down and be quick with his report.
Santiago handed the man his completed request for an arrest warrant for Eleanor Keeler. The deputy D.A., whose name was Warren, opened a copy of
Santiago read the article quickly. “I believe so,” he said.
“Play me the tape recording,” Warren said, placing his feet on his desk and leaning back in his chair.
Santiago played the recording.
Warren smiled. “I compliment you on the thoroughness of your questioning and the quality of your recording,” he said. “I did not see any reference to the discovery of the murder weapon or any physical evidence connecting Mrs. Keeler to the murder of Mr. Cross,” he said. “Did I miss something?”
“No, sir. I believe Mrs. Keeler may still be in possession of the weapon, though, and a search warrant might bring it into our possession.”
“Lieutenant, are you aware that the Feds have procured an extradition warrant for Mrs. Keeler, and that as soon as she is arrested, she will be returned to prison in Mexico?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, rather than involve this office in what would be an incredibly long and hideously expensive trial against the kind of defense team that only large sums of money can provide, and without the weapon or any physical evidence, I think it is in our best interests to let the Feds return Mrs. Keeler to Mexico to serve out her sentence. Perhaps during her twenty years to life there you will develop other, stronger evidence that can be used to prosecute her here when she gets out, should either of us still be alive when that occurs.”
“Yes, sir,” Santiago replied, getting to his feet.
Warren stood and shook his hand. “Good day.”
ON HIS ARRIVAL in Mexico, Raoul Estevez checked into his hotel, dined in his suite with the beautiful young woman associate he had brought with him, screwed her thoroughly and got a good night’s sleep.
The following morning, having phoned the previous day for an appointment, he breakfasted with the deputy minister of justice, a civil servant who had run his ministry with an iron hand through many governments over many years, and who was routinely deferred to by the political appointees above him, who were happy to deal with the trappings of office instead of the responsibilities. Their conversation took place in the garden of the deputy’s home in a Mexico City suburb and was conducted in elegant and nuanced Spanish.
“Raoul, it is good to see you,” the deputy said, embracing the lawyer warmly.
