“Good for you. I read about the sale; that was a very nice payday.”

“Indeed it was.”

“I suppose you and Keeler are close.”

“Very. I’m still his personal attorney, and I was just at his wedding.”

“I heard something about that,” Eagle said.

“You did?” Wilen asked, sounding surprised. “I didn’t think anybody knew about it yet.”

“Oh, word gets around.”

“How long have you been in Santa Fe, Ed?”

“A little over twenty-five years.”

“I’m very impressed with the place, and I was thinking about looking at some property.”

“I’d be glad to introduce you to a good real estate agent, and if you decide to buy something I’d be pleased to handle the closing as a courtesy.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Las Campanas is a good choice to buy or build,” Eagle said, “especially if you want to play a lot of golf.”

“I really like this course,” Wilen said.

“It’s one of two, and they’re the best golf around here. There’s a nice public course, and a nine-holer at another development.”

“I like the idea of being out in the country, and the views are fantastic.”

“Well, when your convention is over, why don’t you stay on for a day or two, and I’ll get an agent to set up some showings.”

“Wonderful!”

“Buy or build?”

“Buy, I think. I’m too impatient to build.”

"I’ll work on it,” Eagle said. I’ll work on something else, too, he thought.

EAGLE SAT BEFORE the fire in the lobby of the Inn of the Anasazi, a luxurious small hotel just off the Plaza, across the street from the old territorial governor’s mansion, and waited for Donald Wells to arrive from Albuquerque Airport in the car Eagle had sent for him.

At the stroke of nine, a man walked into the lobby, followed by a bellman and his luggage. He was a little over six feet tall, slender and well dressed in a casual way.

“Don Wells?” Eagle asked.

“Yes,” Wells said, offering his hand.

“I’m Ed Eagle. Have you had dinner yet?”

“No, and I’m starved.”

“Why don’t you check in and get freshened up, then meet me in the dining room. We can talk for a bit.”

“Thank you, I’d like that. Will you order something for me? I eat anything.”

“Of course. Would you like a drink?”

“Chivas on the rocks, please.”

WELLS APPEARED, looking refreshed, a few minutes later, and Eagle signaled the waiter to bring their drinks.

“I expect you’re tired,” Eagle said. “I won’t keep you long.”

“Not too tired,” Wells replied. “I had last night in New York, and I got some sleep.”

“Our food will be along shortly. I want to bring you up to date on events since we last talked.”

“Please do,” Wells said, sipping his scotch.

“The medical examiner has issued his report. It’s pretty simple: both your wife and son were killed by two.380-caliber, hollow-point gunshots to the head. They didn’t suffer.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Wells said.

“They had probably been dead for one to two hours when I arrived.”

“That means they were probably killed shortly after I received the phone call in Rome.”

“Correct. Your hotel was right; the phone call you received in Rome was from the phone in your home, probably the one in the study, since that extension had been wiped clean of any fingerprints.”

“Any sign of how they got in?”

“When I arrived, the front door was unlocked, and the alarm system was not armed.”

“That’s the way my wife would have kept the front door and alarm system during the day; she would have locked the doors and set the alarm at bedtime.”

Their food arrived.

“Something the police want to know, and so do I: A safe in your dressing room was open and empty. Had there been anything in it?”

“That’s odd,” Wells said. “How could they have known the combination?”

“Why do you say, ‘they’?”

“Just a general pronoun. I suppose there might only have been one man… person.”

“What was in the safe?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and an equal amount in Krugerrands.”

“Why?”

“Call it mad money, in case of some catastrophe: nuclear bomb, terrorist attack, whatever. There’s an equal amount in my safe in Malibu. I guess I’m a little paranoid.”

“Back to the combination of the safe: How would they have opened it?”

Wells looked baffled. “I don’t know. Safecracker, maybe? The safe cost less than a thousand dollars; it was meant to be fireproof and burglarproof, but I don’t suppose it would stand up to a professional safecracker.”

“What is the combination?”

“It’s an electronic keypad; the combination was DWELLS.”

“Not very smart,” Eagle said.

Wells looked sheepish. “It was the first six letters I thought of, I guess.”

“Then they could have just guessed and got lucky.”

“I suppose.”

“Did your wife know the combination?”

“Yes.”

“More likely they pointed a gun at your son and demanded the combination from your wife.”

“She would certainly have given it to them, in those circumstances.”

“Mr. Wells… ”

“Don, please.”

“Don, did your wife have a will?”

“Yes. Both her will and mine are in my safe in Malibu.”

“Have you read it?”

“No; both wills are in sealed envelopes.”

“Are you familiar with the terms of her will?”

“Only what she told me: that she had made a large bequest to her family’s charitable foundation and some other, smaller bequests to distant relatives, servants, that sort of thing. Then there would have been a large bequest to a trust for our son, to ensure that he had a home and proper care. I think I told you, he’s… was autistic.”

“Is there a bequest to you in the will?”

“Yes, but I don’t know of what size.”

“Your wife, I understand, was a very wealthy woman.”

“Yes, she was; her great-grandfather established a pharmaceutical company in the late nineteenth century. It was a private company, until after her father’s death some years ago; it was taken public, then she gradually liquidated her holdings.”

“What was she worth?”

“I don’t really know, but I think, probably, some hundreds of million dollars.”

“I have to ask you some other questions now, and please don’t take offense; this is absolutely necessary, and the district attorney is going to want them answered, too.”

“Go ahead. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“What is your own net worth, Don, separate from your wife’s?”

“Well, we owned the two houses together, so half of the value of those, I guess. Maybe twenty million dollars. Then I have some investments, probably another three million, plus other possessions. Maybe a total of twenty-five million dollars? I can have my business manager put together a financial statement, if you like.”

“Please do so tomorrow and have it faxed to my office. Now, who paid for the two houses?”

“My wife did; she insisted. While I’m very well off and could have afforded to buy the Santa Fe house, I could not have afforded the Malibu Colony house. She chose them both and bought them.”

“But they were put in both your names.”

“Yes, that’s how she wanted it.”

“What sort of income do you earn from your film business? An average for the last five years, or so?”

“Let’s see: probably an average of two and a half, three million dollars. I have prospects for a lot more in the future.”

“Will your wife’s death affect your income?”

“No. She had no interest in my business. She loaned me the money to get it started, and I repaid her.”

“I assume you can substantiate that.”

“Of course. My business manager has copies of all the documents.”

“I’ll want to see those, too,” Eagle said. “One more question, then I’ll let you get to bed, and I need a perfectly honest answer. Remember, this is a privileged conversation.”