Santa Fe Dead (9 page)

22

EAGLE PUT A stack of documents on his conference table and began handing them, one at a time, to Joe Wilen for his signature. When that was finished, the seller signed everything, and Eagle presented him with a cashier’s check for the selling price, less the real estate agent’s commission, a check for which he handed to Ashley Margetson.

“Congratulations, Joe,” Eagle said. “I admire your approach to buying property.”

“I would have been a lot more reticent if Ashley hadn’t shown me the perfect house,” Wilen said.

“Joe, may I speak to you privately for a moment?”

“Of course.”

The two men said good-bye to the seller and the agent, then sat down on Eagle’s sofa. “Joe, I would be grateful if you would deliver a confidential letter to Walter Keeler.”

“A letter from whom?”

“From me.”

“On what subject?”

“I’ll tell you only that it concerns his wife and that he should read it before he makes a new will.”

“I’ll need to know more than that, Ed.”

Eagle shook his head. “I’ve told Keeler in the letter that you are not privy to its contents. If he wants you to read it, that’s fine with me.”

Wilen shrugged. “All right, I’ll deliver your letter.”

Eagle took the envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Wilen. “I’m grateful to you, and I believe Keeler will be, too.”

“Walt has already given me notes for a new will; I have an associate drawing it in my absence, and Walt is supposed to sign it as soon as I get home.”

“Then I’m in time,” Eagle said. He stood up and offered his hand to Wilen. “I’ll look forward to seeing you and your wife when you move into your new house,” he said. “You must come for dinner.”

Wilen shook his hand. “Thank you, Ed, and thank you again for handling this closing with such dispatch.”

“It was my pleasure.” Eagle watched Wilen leave his offices and hoped to God that he would keep his word and deliver the letter.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, having returned to San Francisco with his new wife, Walter Keeler drove down to Palo Alto for the day to see his lawyer and to pack up some of his belongings there to move to the new apartment, so Eleanor had a day to herself. She used her new birth certificate and marriage certificate to obtain a driver’s license in the name of Eleanor Keeler, then had photos taken and hired an expediting service to obtain a passport for her.

She spent the rest of her day doing some serious shopping for her new wardrobe, taking pleasure in buying the best of everything with her new American Express card.

WALTER KEELER STOOD in his old home and pointed at things for the movers to take to the San Francisco apartment. Except for his clothes, papers, books and pictures, he would sell the house furnished. When the movers had left, he took one last look around the place, then left and drove to his lawyer’s office.

Joe Wilen greeted him warmly. “Just got back from Santa Fe last night,” he said, “and I bought a house there.”

“That’s great; it’s a beautiful place,” Keeler replied. “You know, Joe, you should sell the King Air and make the jump to a jet. I’m moving up to something with transatlantic range; why don’t you buy my CitationJet? It’s actually easier to fly than your King Air.”

“Walt, that’s a damned good idea,” Wilen said. Keeler named a very low price, and Wilen agreed. “I’ll need to get signed up for the training right away,” he said.

“Why wait? The airplane is at Hayward, but I’ll have it flown over to San Jose for you tomorrow. You can have my hangar rental, too; I’m building something bigger.”

Wilen buzzed his secretary and asked her to cut a check for the airplane and to download the FAA registration forms from the Internet. “We’ll wrap it up now,” he said to Keeler.

“Good for you, Joe! It’s a beautiful airplane; you’ll enjoy it.”

“The house is not far from the first tee at a development called Las Campanas. Maybe I’ll whittle down my handicap, who knows?”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Keeler said. “I’ve bought Emilio Galiano’s vineyard and winery in Napa.”

“Wow! I thought he would never sell.”

“That’s what I thought, too, but I guess I caught him at a weak moment. I asked him to name his price, and he did. I gave him a personal check, so will you move the funds from my investment account and close the deal for me? You have my power of attorney.” He jotted down the figure and handed Wilen the paper.

“Sure, I’ll move the money right now. Any preference on what to sell?”

“You figure it out, Joe; you know I hate to deal with that stuff.”

“Okay, there’s enough in your tax-free municipals fund.” He buzzed his secretary and gave her instructions for wiring the funds to Keeler’s checking account, and when she brought in the form, he signed it and told her to fax it immediately.

Wilen opened an envelope on his desk and set a sheaf of papers before him. “Here’s your new will. Are you ready to sign it?”

“Yes, I am.”

Wilen handed him the will. “Please read it first.”

Keeler read through the new will. “Joe, do you think I should make Eleanor my executor? I mean, I know you’ll do a fine job, but shouldn’t she have that power?”

“Do you think she has the knowledge and organizational ability to deal with a complex estate like yours?”

“You have a point, Joe. I don’t know.”

“Then perhaps it would be best to leave things as they are. I’ll certainly do everything possible to look out for her interests.”

“Of course you will, Joe, and I trust you implicitly. Shouldn’t you get some witnesses in here, before I sign this thing?”

“I have one other duty to you first,” Joe said. “Have you heard of a Santa Fe lawyer called Ed Eagle?”

“Yes, I believe I have. Didn’t he win that big judgment against one of my competitors a while back?”

“That’s the fellow. I met him when I was in Santa Fe. We were partners in a golf tournament, and he was kind enough, when I expressed an interest in buying a house there, to introduce me to an agent. He also handled the closing. I liked him very much, and he’s certainly a fine lawyer.”

“I’m sure he is, but what does he have to do with your duty to me?”

Wilen took a sealed envelope from a desk drawer and pushed it across the desk to Keeler. “He asked me to personally deliver this letter to you.”

Keeler looked at the envelope but didn’t pick it up. “What is this, some business deal?”

“No, it’s not that. He declined to tell me anything about what’s in his letter, except that it concerns your wife.”

“Ellie? Does he know her?”

“I don’t know, but he said it was important that you read it before signing a new will.”

“How did he know I would be signing a new will?”

“He knew that you had remarried, so I assume he thought that you would, in the normal course of things, make a new will.”

“I’m not sure I like the idea of a lawyer I don’t know writing me letters about my wife,” Keeler said.

“My impression was that he believed he was acting in your interests.”

“You said he didn’t tell you what was in the letter; how do you know he’s acting in my interests?”

“That was just my impression of his intent. He said that he didn’t mind if you told me what was in the letter, but he wouldn’t tell me himself.”

“Joe, my interests and those of my wife are one and the same,” Keeler said. He picked up Eagle’s unopened envelope, walked across the room and fed it into Wilen’s shredder, then he came back and sat down. “Now,” he said, “let’s get those witnesses in here.”

Wilen called in his secretary and two associates and watched as Keeler signed the will and the three witnesses added their signatures.

“That’s it,” Wilen said. “Do you want the original or a copy? I can keep the original in my safe, if you like.”

“Do that, Joe, and give me a copy for Ellie.”

Wilen sent the will to be copied. Shortly, his secretary returned with the copy of the will and the FAA documents and check for the CitationJet. Wilen signed the check, and Keeler signed the transfer of the registration.

Keeler stood up. “Joe, will you deposit the check for the airplane in my account here for me?”

“Of course. I’ll send my secretary to the bank now.”

Keeler stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Joe. You’re a good lawyer and a good friend.”

Wilen shook his hand and watched his friend leave. He wondered what the hell had been in Ed Eagle’s letter.

23

WALTER KEELER GOT into his rented Mercedes and tossed the envelope containing the copy of his will onto the passenger seat. He pulled out of the building’s garage, switched on the radio to a local classical music station and started north on Highway 101, Mozart caressing his ears. He had just passed through Fair Oaks when a report came over the radio of an accident on the San Mateo-Hayward Bridge that was backing up traffic for miles, south of San Mateo. He saw Woodside Road coming up and knew that it would take him to I-280, so he made a left, congratulating himself on saving a lot of time.

Once on I-280, driving north in fairly heavy traffic, he took his cell phone from its holster, called the management company that took care of his airplane at San Jose Airport and asked for the manager.

“Hello, Ralph, it’s Walter Keeler. How are you?”

“Just fine, Mr. Keeler. What can I do for you?”

"I’ve just sold my airplane to my friend Joe Wilen. You know him, don’t you?”

“Of course. We take care of his King Air.”

“Well, he’s going to be selling it, because I’ve just sold him my CitationJet.”

“Congratulations to you both. I hope I’m not losing a customer.”

“No, I’m moving up to a larger airplane, so I’ll still be around. The CitationJet is over at Hayward right now. Can you send a pilot over there to fly it back to San Jose?”

“Sure. I’ll have somebody over there first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I think Joe is going to want my hangar, but you can talk with him about that.”

“Be glad to. Anything else I can do for you?”

“That’s it, Ralph. See you soon.” As Keeler closed the cell phone it vibrated in his hand. He looked down at the screen to see who was calling. It was Ellie. He flipped it open again. “Hi, there,” he said.

“And hi to you. Where are you?”

“I’m on the way back to San Francisco. I had to leave 101 because of an accident on the San Mateo Bridge, so I’m on I-280 now, and the traffic’s okay, so I should be home in an hour or so.”

“That’s good. I’ll have a drink waiting for you.”

“I’ll see you . . .” Keeler looked up and saw something he couldn’t believe: a tanker truck had jackknifed in the oncoming lane and had crossed the median, traveling sideways. “Oh, shit!” he yelled, a second before he and the car next to him struck the tanker.

Ellie listened in disbelief as the noise of the explosion came over the cell phone, a split second before it went dead. She stood on the terrace, the phone in her hand, wondering what to do. She went into Walter’s study, found his address book, called Joe Wilen’s office and asked to be put through to him.

“Hello, Ellie?”

"Joe, I’ve just been on the phone with Walt, and I think he’s been in an accident.”

“Where is he?”

“On I-280, somewhere south of San Francisco.”

“That makes sense, I guess. Why do you think he’s been in an accident?”

She told him about their interrupted conversation.

“Are you at home?”

“Yes.”

“Let me make a call, and I’ll get right back to you.”

“All right.”

Wilen hung up, went to his computer address book and dialed the direct number of the commander of the California State Highway Patrol in Sacramento. The man answered immediately.

“Colonel, it’s Joe Wilen.”

“Hello, Joe.”

“I believe Walter Keeler may have been in an accident on I-280 North, south of San Francisco. Do you know anything about that?”

“Hang on a minute,” he replied, then put Wilen on hold.

Joe sat, tapping his foot, hoping that this was all some mistake.

The colonel came back on the line. “Joe, switch on your TV.”

Wilen switched on the flat-screen television in his office and tuned to a local channel. He found himself watching a helicopter shot of an enormous fire on the interstate. “Jesus Christ!” he said.

“That’s on I-280,” the colonel said. “I’ll call our nearest station personally and find out if Walter’s mixed up in that.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” He gave the man his office and cell numbers, then he called Ellie. “I’ve spoken with the highway patrol commander in Sacramento, and there’s a huge fire on I-280. Turn on your TV set.” He waited for her to come back.

“I see it, Joe. Don’t tell me Walter is involved in
that.
”

“I don’t know, but Walter is a big contributor to the governor’s campaigns, and the colonel knows it. We’ll find out as soon as possible. I’ll call you back.”

ELLIE SAT AND watched the fire on the TV. "I hope to God Walter signed that will,” she said.

AN HOUR PASSED before the phone rang again in Joe Wilen’s office. “Hello?”

“It’s Colonel Thompson. Do you know what kind of car Mr. Keeler was driving?”

“It was a rental,” Wilen said. “He was moving from Palo Alto to San Francisco today, and he drove down from San Francisco. I expect it was a Mercedes, because when he rented, that’s what he always asked for. I don’t know the color.”

“The color isn’t important anymore,” the colonel replied. “There was a Mercedes smack in the middle of that conflagration. The fire’s out, now, and they’re removing bodies. We’re going to need Mr. Keeler’s dental records.”

“I’ll have them faxed to you,” Wilen said, jotting down the number. “Walter and I go to the same dentist.” He hung up, made the call to the dentist and waited.

It was nearly dark when the colonel called back. “Thanks for the dental records, but it looks like we won’t need them. We found a fragment of a driver’s license on one of the bodies, which was badly burned. It belongs to Walter Keeler.”

“You’re sure there’s no mistake?”

“I’m sure. The car was consumed, but Mr. Keeler apparently got out of the car before the fire got to him.” The colonel gave Wilen the number of the morgue where the bodies had been taken. Wilen thanked him and hung up.

He picked up the phone to call Ellie Keeler; then he put it down again and called another number instead.

“Ed Eagle,” the voice said.

“Ed, it’s Joe Wilen.”

“Hello, Joe. Are you back in Palo Alto?”

“Yes. Ed, I’m going to need you to fax me a copy of the letter you wrote to Walter Keeler.”