“Yes.”
“Have you talked with him about what happened the night of the murders?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know enough to draw any conclusions.”
“Come on, Mark, you’re not on the stand here. Help me out.”
“I think he may have discovered the bodies. Or…” Shea stopped.
“Go on.”
“Or, it’s possible he may have…been present at the time of the murders.”
Eagle sat back in his chair. “Mark, you choose your words carefully; have you ever testified at a trial—as an expert witness?”
“No.”
“All right, let’s have a little psychodrama here. You’re on the stand. The defense has already questioned you and elicited that Wolf is a normal person with few neuroses. You’ve conveyed to the jury that you have a high opinion of him. Now, I’m the prosecutor. Remember, you’re under oath; you have to tell the truth. But be brief; I’m a sonofabitch of a prosecutor, and since you’re a witness for the defense, you don’t want to give me any gratuitous information.”
“All right,” Shea said. He shifted his position and crossed his legs.
“Don’t cross your legs; don’t do anything that might lead the jury to feel that you’re defensive or contemptuous of the prosecutor. Don’t give smart-ass answers. You’re trying to be helpful, even if this guy is attempting to nail your patient with the death penalty.”
Shea uncrossed his legs. “All right, I’m ready.”
“Dr. Shea, is Wolf Willett a sane person?”
“Sane is a legal term, not a medical one.”
“Don’t get defensive; answer the man’s question.”
“I believe Mr. Willett to be in full possession of his faculties.”
“So if Mr. Willett murdered his wife and his partner and another person, he knew exactly what he was doing?”
Shea froze.
“Answer the question.”
“It’s possible for a normal human being to have a moment when he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“You mean temporary insanity?”
“Yes, you could call it that.”
“Mr. Willett isn’t pleading temporary insanity; he’s pleading just plain not guilty. You’re his psychiatrist. Is Wolf Willett capable of murder?”
“Only to the extent that anyone is capable of murder, that you yourself might be capable of murder.”
“Is it psychologically possible that Wolf Willett committed three murders?”
“It is unlikely in the extreme.”
“But is it possible?”
“Sir, it is
possible
that the
judge
committed these murders, but that is also unlikely in the extreme.”
Eagle laughed. “Very good. You’ll be hard to corner.”
“Thank you. Is Wolf going to be tried for these murders?”
“I hope not. I’m doing everything in my power to prevent it, but if he is tried, we have to be ready. I take it you’ll testify?”
“Of course.”
“Mark, if we call you as an expert witness, the state will be entitled to have a psychiatrist of their choosing examine
Wolf, too. Do you think another man might be able to find something in an examination that would reflect badly on Wolf?”
“Another psychiatrist, on hearing that Wolf can’t remember the night of the murders, would immediately ask if he had ever had another such episode. He might try to make something of Wolf’s previous experience.”
“I think I could handle that,” Eagle said.
Shea smiled. “I’m sure you could.”
Ed Eagle left Mark Shea’s place feeling that Shea knew more than he was telling about Wolf Willett, but he wasn’t terribly bothered by that. If the psychiatrist was trying to protect Wolf, he would protect him from a prosecutor, too. And he was smart; he wouldn’t be lured into damaging his friend. Eagle felt a little better about his case. He would feel even better, he thought, when he knew more about Julia Willett’s background.
A
dark lump swam up on the horizon. Wolf pointed. “See that? The big rock in the distance?”
“What rock?”
“There.”
“Oh, yes. It doesn’t look so big.”
“That’s because we’re forty miles away from it. Wait a few minutes.”
They had been flying for three-quarters of an hour, northwest from Santa Fe toward the Four Corners, where New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and Utah meet. Chaco Canyon was behind them, its ancient ruins snowy and still in the winter sun.
“That’s Ship Rock,” Wolf said. “So called because the settlers on the wagon trains thought it looked like a big sailing ship from a distance.”
“Now it looks impressive,” Jane said, squinting. “How tall is it?”
Wolf glanced at the aeronautical chart in his lap.
“About two thousand feet above the surrounding terrain.”
“It just gets bigger and bigger as we get closer.”
They passed the big rock and flew on west, over a high ridge etched with little canyons, then over a broad plain.
“What’s that in the distance?” Jane asked, pointing ahead.
“In a few minutes you’ll know,” Wolf replied. He pointed below at a circular structure. “Look down there; that’s a hogan, a Navajo dwelling.”
“They still live in those?”
“There’s a more modern house just next to it, but the hogans are still used.”
Wolf reset the altitude selector on the autopilot and the airplane began to descend.
“Are we landing?”
“Not quite. We’re just going to fly low for a while.” Another ten minutes passed.
Jane peered at the formation before them. “I know what it is!” she exclaimed delightedly. “I’ve seen it so many times—in a hundred movies, I’ll bet, and in most of John Ford’s!”
Monument Valley loomed ahead. Soon they were five hundred feet above the valley floor, flying among the ancient towers of red sandstone.
Jane was busy with her camera. “This is fantastic! What a sight!”
Patchy snow covered the ground for as far as the eye could see, and crowned the monuments with dashes of white. “I often wonder what the first settlers who saw this place must have felt,” Wolf said.
“It has an almost religious quality, like a cathedral,” Jane replied. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
Wolf threaded the airplane among the monuments for another quarter of an hour, then turned toward the southwest and climbed to ten thousand five hundred feet.
“Wow! Where to now?”
“Someplace else you’ll recognize.”
Half an hour later Wolf pointed ahead to a large lake and, leading from it, a narrow cut in the stone. “Recognize that?”
“No. What is it?”
“Wait and see.” He turned south over the narrow gorge, which began to widen out.
“I think I can guess,” Jane said. “It’s starting to look familiar, but it’s still too small.”
The Grand Canyon widened before them, and as the airplane flew over the north rim, it seemed that the bottom had fallen out of the world. The late afternoon sun struck the mesas and valleys of the enormous gulley, casting long shadows and turning the earth red.
“I thought airplanes couldn’t fly over the Grand Canyon,” Jane said, snapping pictures furiously.
“Only in certain zones; that’s where we are. You used to be able to fly
in
the Canyon, until a helicopter and a sightseeing airplane collided. Then the rules were changed.”
They reached the south rim, and Wolf turned east again, glancing at the airport, remembering his last visit there.
Jane read his mind. “That’s where you were when…” Her voice trailed off.
“Not exactly,” Wolf said. “I was in the house. At least, I think I was.” He began to tell the story again. He was becoming practiced now, and telling it hurt less than it had before.
When he had finished, Jane was quiet for a while. “Well,” she said finally, “it sounds as though you’re telling me you may have killed Jack and your wife.”
“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.
“I know that anybody is supposed to be capable of mur
der,” she said, “but I can’t bring myself to believe that you had anything to do with it.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” he sighed.
“There’s got to be some other explanation.”
“I hope so.”
They flew east toward Santa Fe in silence.
A
n off-duty policeman glanced at their invitation, then allowed them through the high gates of the Kensington estate.
“Exactly who are these people?” Jane asked.
“He is said to be one of the richest of the English dukes,” Wolf replied, “and that’s rich. The current duchess is his fourth wife, and I hear they are socially jealous of our other D & D, the Bedfords, who have a place in Tesuque. That’s all I know about them.”
Jane looked around at the lighted grounds as they drove down the drive. “I wouldn’t want their electricity bill,” she said.
“Or any of their other bills.” Wolf laughed. He looked around, too. “They seem to have about five acres walled in. Apparently the Duchess has spent a fortune planting and watering an English garden. Pity it’s cold weather and we’ll miss the blooms.”
“Pity.”
Their car was taken away, and they were met at the front door by a uniformed butler, who asked for their invitation. Wolf could see the Duke and Duchess waiting farther down the entrance hall.
The butler braced up and announced loudly in a broad Scottish accent, “Mr. and Mrs. Wolf Willett!”
“Oh, Christ,” Wolf muttered, then he corrected the man.
“Mr. Wolf Willett and Miz Jane Deering!” the butler yelled, unabashed.
The D & D stood waiting, smiles frozen onto their faces. Wolf looked farther down the hall and saw a flash of blond hair and a face he would rather not have seen disappearing into the living room.
“Mr. Willett, how very nice to see you,” the Duchess said, extending a tiny hand.
“Yes, yes,” the Duke echoed, offering a hand nearly as small. “Jolly nice.”
“May I present Ms. Jane Deering?” Wolf said.
“So very nice,” the Duchess said to Jane.
“Jolly nice,” the Duke said.
“Please do go through and have a drink,” the Duchess said, dismissing them and turning toward her next arriving guests.
Wolf took Jane by the elbow and steered her toward the living room.
“I thought he was rather sweet,” she said.
“No one knows for sure,” Wolf said. “She does all the talking for both of them.”
They paused at the entrance to the enormous living room to peer inside, and as they did so, they stepped into a spotlight that had been trained onto the broad doorway. A
hundred and fifty heads turned, and the room went suddenly quiet.
Wolf stood there, momentarily stunned, then recovered himself and led Jane down the short steps into the room. Conversation in the room continued; Wolf knew exactly what the topic was.
“That was very weird,” Jane said.
Wolf nodded. “Once, I was in a London restaurant not long after the Manson family murders in L.A., and Roman Polanski walked into the room. Exactly the same thing happened.”
Mark Shea was making his way toward them. “Wolf, good to see you out,” Mark said, shaking his hand warmly and looking at Jane. “And who’s this?”
“This is Jane Deering, the editor of our new film,” Wolf said, feeling suddenly defensive.
Mark turned his attention to Jane. “Jane, welcome to Santa Fe. Is this your first visit?”
“Yes,” she said, immediately warming to Mark, “and I think it’s wonderful.”
“I can see this won’t be your last trip,” Mark said, smiling. “And how is work going on
L.A. Days?
”
“Work was completed just yesterday,” Jane replied.
“Congratulations to you both. You must feel an enormous sense of relief, having it in the can.”
“I certainly do,” Wolf said.
“Got something new to move to the front burner?”
“It’s being costed right now,” Wolf replied. He glanced across the room and saw Ed Eagle, head and shoulders above the crowd, making his way toward them.
A waiter appeared with tall flutes of champagne on a tray. Wolf snagged two, passed one to Jane, and managed to get a long swallow down before Ed Eagle arrived.
“Evening, Wolf,” Eagle said, smiling slightly.
“Evening, Ed. Let me introduce you to Jane Deering, who is the editor of our new film.”
“Miss Deering, it’s a great pleasure to meet you,” Eagle said, enveloping her small hand in his giant one. He turned back to Wolf. “Could I have a brief word with you?”
“Sure. Mark, would you take care of Jane for a moment?”
“Of course.”
Eagle steered Wolf toward a sliding glass door and ushered him out into the frigid night air. He turned to face his client. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he asked pleasantly.
Wolf was baffled. “What? I thought you said for me to go out, to be seen.”
“I didn’t tell you to be seen with a beautiful woman in a killer dress, two weeks after your wife was murdered,” Eagle said. His voice was perfectly modulated and friendly. There was, if anything, a note of regret.
“Oh,” Wolf said helplessly. “I see your point.”
“I wish you had seen it a couple of days earlier,” Eagle said. “The first bit of gossip I heard when I arrived here was that you were at Santacafé last night with a woman, and now you turn up here with her. I suppose you went to meet her in Albuquerque.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not supposed to leave town; that’s a violation of what I promised the D.A.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Wolf replied. It didn’t seem like the best moment to mention the airplane trip with Jane to Monument Valley and the Grand Canyon.
“Martinez is going to know about this evening before he even has his coffee tomorrow morning, and it’s just feasible, should you, God forbid, come to trial, that one or
more of the people here tonight might be on your jury. I don’t suppose you considered that.”
“Not for a moment, I’m afraid,” Wolf said sheepishly.
“All right. It’s done,” Eagle said. “Now I want you to go back into that room, take that girl by the hand, and introduce her to every single person you know here. There’s nothing to do but brazen it out. Be sure to be among the last to leave.” He opened the sliding door and waved Wolf back into the room.