Carreras led him down a hallway and stopped before a pay phone. “Okay,” the officer said, “you can call your
lawyer—or whoever you like.”
Wolf thought for a minute. Jane would already have called Ed Eagle; he put the quarter in the phone and dialed his own number.
“Hello?” Jane said, sounding anxious.
“Hi, it’s me. Did you get hold of Ed?”
“He was out. I left a message on his answering machine, and I called his office and left a message on the machine there, too.”
“He’s probably at dinner. We’ll hear from him soon. Are you all right?”
“Of course, but what about you?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Carreras broke in. “Okay, that’s it. You’ll have to hang up now.”
“I’m being paged,” Wolf said. “Talk to you soon.”
“I’ll keep trying Eagle,” she said.
He hung up the telephone. “All right, now what?” He did his best to sound calm, but he was seething with fear inside. His attempt at numbness wasn’t working.
“Follow me,” Carreras said. He led the way, while the silent Warren followed Wolf. They entered a small, windowless room that stank of stale tobacco smoke; a steel table and four matching chairs were the only furniture, and a tape recorder was on the table. “Have a seat.”
Wolf sat down.
Carreras produced a pack of cigarettes. “Care for one?”
“No, thanks.”
“Mind if I smoke?”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”
This brought Carreras up short. He thought about it, then put away the cigarettes. “Sure,” he said. “Look, Wolf—can I call you Wolf?”
“If you like.”
“I’m Joe, and this is Sam. I want to keep this on a friendly basis.”
“Okay with me, Joe, Sam.”
“You mind if I tape-record our conversation?”
“I thought this was going to be friendly.”
“It’s for your protection. That way we can’t claim you said something you didn’t.”
“Okay, turn it on.”
Carreras turned on the machine and spoke into one of the microphones. “Questioning of Wolf Willett conducted by Captain Joe Carreras and Major Sam Warren at the Santa Fe City Jail.” He added the date and time, then read Wolf his rights again. “Do you understand these rights?”
“Yes,” Wolf said.
“Have you been given an opportunity to call your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Are you willing to answer our questions at this time?”
Wolf was starting to feel better now, more confident. “All right. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
“You do that. State your name and address for the record.”
“Wolf Willett, Wilderness Gate, Santa Fe.”
Carreras loosened his tie. “Okay, Wolf, what we want to do is clear this thing up once and for all.”
“I’d be very happy if we could do that,” Wolf said sincerely.
“During the time since Sam and I talked with you the last time, a lot has come out.”
“I’d be interested to hear about it,” Wolf said, leaning forward.
“Well, let’s just say that what’s come out hasn’t backed
up your story. In fact, everything we’ve learned has contradicted what you’ve told us.”
Wolf felt a sting of alarm. They obviously knew something he didn’t. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” he said. “I’ve told you the truth right down the line.” The truth as he knew it, he reminded himself. What truth did they know?
Carreras shook his head sadly. “You told us you didn’t know one James Grafton.”
“I don’t. I’d never heard the name until Ed Eagle mentioned it to me.”
“Come on, Wolf, we’re wasting time here. We’ve got witnesses who can put you in a Los Angeles restaurant, having lunch with Grafton. A very friendly and intense lunch—just the two of you.”
Wolf was stunned. “That’s ridiculous. What restaurant? When?”
“Don’t worry, it’ll all come out at your trial. We’ve also got a witness who can put you in that bedroom that night, when your wife and Grafton and Jack Tinney died.”
“
What?
” He was terrified now. His worst nightmare was coming true.
“And you didn’t tell us that Jack Tinney made a will a couple of months ago that leaves you everything.”
“I didn’t even know that the last time I saw you,” Wolf said, trying not to hyperventilate.
Carreras was angry now, and his voice began to rise. “That stuff about not remembering anything just isn’t going to work, Wolf. We know too much, and let me tell you, you sonofabitch, we’re going to nail you for these three murders. You’re going to get the needle.”
Before Wolf could speak, Warren broke in. “Hold it, Joe,” he said, placing a hand on the officer’s shoulder.
“Look, why don’t you go have a smoke and let me talk to Wolf?”
Carreras glared at Wolf. “Okay, Sam, but you better talk some sense into this guy, or when I come back I’m going to take him apart.” He got up and left. He pointedly lit a cigarette at the door and blew the smoke back into the room.
“Take it easy, Wolf,” Warren said, leaning back in his chair. “It doesn’t have to be as bad as all that. Would you like some coffee?”
Wolf’s mouth was dry. “A soft drink, maybe.”
“Sure.” Warren got up and left the room. He came back a moment later with a diet cola. “Hope this is all right,” he said. “The machine was out of everything else.”
“It’s fine,” Wolf said gratefully, sipping the drink, thankful for the icy wetness against his parched throat.
Warren leaned forward. “Now, look. I’m afraid you’re zipped up on all sides here. Let me explain something to you that your lawyer may not have told you.”
“All right.”
“New Mexico has the death penalty.”
“I’m aware of that, but it’s only if a police officer is murdered, isn’t it?” That thought had given Wolf the only peace he had had with regard to what might happen to him.
“I’m afraid not,” Warren said. “You can also get the death penalty for killing a witness to a murder.”
“A witness?” Wolf asked weakly.
Warren nodded gravely. “You see, when you killed the first of those three people, the other two immediately became witnesses.” He stopped and waited for this information to sink in.
Wolf gulped but didn’t reply.
“Wolf, I want to help you if I can, and if you’ll let me, I think I can save your life.”
“That would be nice,” Wolf said.
“This is what I think I can do—I’ll have to talk to the D.A., of course, but with my experience of him, I think he’ll go along. He wants to clear this up as much as anybody.”
“What did you have in mind?” Wolf asked.
“Joe is right about the needle. If you go to trial on this, with what we’ve got, you’ll be convicted of three counts of murder one, two of them of witnesses, and in New Mexico that makes the death penalty a certainty. But that doesn’t have to happen. I mean, I don’t think you
planned
this thing. Hell, it could happen to anybody. If I walked into a room and found my wife in bed with my partner and another guy, I’m not sure I could answer for myself. I might do just what you did. It’s obvious to me that this was done while you were in a state of sudden and intense anger, brought on by the worst kind of provocation. And I’m willing to stand up in a courtroom and tell a judge just that, put my whole professional reputation on the line to back you up.”
“That’s good of you, Sam,” Wolf said, by this time grateful for any kind word.
“I’m willing to call up the D.A. right now and recommend that he accept a plea of diminished responsibility and agree to, say, twenty-five to life—no, I’ll go further than that; I’ll recommend five-to-fifteen—I mean, shit, you were out of your mind with rage that night. That would mean you’d be eligible for parole in two and a half years, Wolf. That’s nothing, believe me. You’d do it standing on your head, and when you’re a free man again, you can make a movie about the experience. That’d do big business, wouldn’t it?”
Suddenly two and a half years in prison looked good to Wolf. If it would bring an end to all this, if it would get the pressure off, it might be worth it. He stopped himself. “This is awfully nice of you, Sam, but I think I’d better talk to my lawyer.”
“Sure, Wolf, you can do that,” Warren said reasonably, “but you’re a lawyer; you’re capable of handling yourself.” He paused. “I’ve got a serious problem here,” he confided.
“What’s that?”
“Well, don’t tell Carreras I told you this, but he’s hot to trot. He didn’t even want me to have this conversation; I had to talk him into it. If he comes back in here and we haven’t come to an arrangement, I don’t know if I can hold him off.”
Wolf was silent.
“You’re a lawyer. If you had a client in this position, what would you advise him to do?”
Wolf still didn’t speak.
“I have to tell you, Wolf,” Warren continued, “I can’t contain Carreras. This is his case, really; I’m just a state observer, and if he won’t go along with me, well, I can’t go to the D.A. on my own. I’ve got to have something to give Carreras when he comes back in this room.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Come on, Wolf, what’s it going to be? Two and a half years—and I think I can get you into a minimum-security joint, a country club—or a trial and a sentence of death, and a year or two down the road, you watch them slip that needle into your arm? What’s it going to be?”
Wolf placed his hands on the table to keep them from trembling and looked down at them. “Sam, get Carreras back in here. I’ve got something to get off my chest.”
Warren nearly knocked over his chair getting up. “Sure,
Wolf. I’ll be right back.” He left the room. When he came back, Carreras was with him, looking expectant. They sat down. “All right, Wolf, tell us,” Warren said.
“Have you got paper and a pen?” Wolf asked. “I want to write this down.”
Carreras opened a drawer in the table and took out a legal pad, then produced a ballpoint pen.
Wolf stared at the pad for a moment, then began to write, in firm, assured strokes. When he had finished, he signed and dated what he had written, then pushed the pad across the table to Carreras. “Would you read this aloud for the tape recorder?” he asked quietly.
Carreras nodded. “Sure, Wolf.” He arranged the microphone and held up the pad. “To whom it may concern,” he read, enunciating distinctly, “I write this, being of sound mind, and I would like to state, unequivocally and of my own volition, that I think that Captain Joe Carreras of the Santa Fe Police Department and Major Sam Warren of the New Mexico State Police can, as far as I am concerned, go and find a quiet place and fuck themselves”—the officer’s voice began to trail off—“or each other, whichever they prefer.” Carreras reached over and turned off the tape recorder.
“And that, gentlemen,” Wolf said, “in addition to being my fervent wish, is my full and complete statement. If you have any more questions you can put them to my lawyer. This interview is over.”
Warren’s jaw was working. “Lock him up, Joe,” he spat.
T
he door slammed behind Wolf, and the noise echoed down the hallway. He had never known jail cells were so small.
He looked around the room. Three walls, a folding sink in the corner that emptied into a toilet—no seat—and two steel bunks attached to the wall. The cell was no more than six feet by eight and was lit only by the light of the waning moon through a steel-slatted window. He looked out the window: a view of a row of barred windows across a yard.
The top bunk had a sheet, an army blanket, and a pillow resting on it. There was movement in the lower bunk, and a pair of high boots swung over the edge and landed on the concrete floor with a slap. “Welcome to purgatory,” a hoarse voice said.
“Thanks,” Wolf replied.
The man stood up and stretched. Wolf made him to be
at least six-four and two hundred and fifty pounds. He was dressed in his boots, greasy black jeans, and a studded leather vest. No shirt.
Biker
, Wolf thought.
Oh, shit
.
“Who are you,” the man said. It wasn’t a question.
“My name’s Wolf.”
The biker burst out laughing. “I like it, I like it!” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Spider.”
Wolf shook the hand and found it softer and gentler than he’d feared.
“I like it! The Spider and the Wolf!” He indicated the lower bunk. “Take a pew, Wolf. Let’s talk; it’s been three days since I talked to anybody but a screw.”
Wolf was tired, but he didn’t like the thought of sitting next to Spider on a bunk. He walked to the window and turned, leaned on the wall. “Thanks, but I’ve been sitting for the last hour. I need to stretch.”
“Sounds like they been talking to you.”
“Right.”
“What you in for, Wolf?”
Wolf hesitated, then realized this might be his best card. “Triple murder,” he said.
“No shit!” Spider said, awed. “Did you do it?”
“The two guys I just talked to think so.”
“They offer you a deal?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
“Smart, like a wolf.” Spider laughed. “Never take a deal; that’s my policy. Tough it out.”
“What’re you in for, Spider?”
“Aw, they say I hit a guy upside the head with a bike chain a few times. It’s a bullshit rap. If I’d hit the guy
upside the head with a bike chain, he wouldn’t
have
a head no more.”
“They offer you a deal?”
“Sure, sure, second degree assault, down from assault with a deadly weapon. One to three, they said.”
“What’ll you get if you’re convicted?”
“Two to five, since I’ve got no priors. Oh, I been busted, but I never done no time. Don’t worry, I won’t do none this time, neither.”
“How come?” Wolf was interested. He’d never met anybody who was experienced with the system in this way, let alone a biker.
“Because when they talk to the guy, he’s not going to point the finger at me.”
“They haven’t talked to him yet? I thought you said you’d been in here three days.”
“Oh, yeah, but last I heard, the guy hadn’t come around yet.”
“Come around?” Wolf was baffled.
“Regained consciousness,” Spider explained.