Shortly, she heard car doors closing and the rattle of the main gate as someone climbed over it. Then there was the crunch of shoes on gravel. The doorbell rang twice, then she heard them walking around the house. Finally, the footsteps retreated, and she heard the car doors slam. The car started and drove away.
She waited another two minutes before she came out of the closet.
“I THINK she’s back in L.A.,” Cupie said.
“Barbara should be here,” Vittorio responded, “and she fits the description of the woman who rented the guesthouse.”
“Just because somebody rented it doesn’t mean that she’s going to move in right away.”
“Possibly.”
“You’re like a dog with a bone,” Cupie said. “If she was here, maybe she flew back to L.A. with Long. We didn’t see him board the airplane. Maybe she was there waiting for him.”
“Cupie, have you forgotten what a determined, goal-oriented person Barbara is?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten.”
“I think you have. She wants Eagle dead, so she has to come to where Eagle is. I think she already has.”
“If she has, I think she went back to L.A. with Long.”
“It’s not like her to backtrack from her goal,” Vittorio said. “Not like her at all.”
“I don’t disagree with that, Vittorio, but people do unpredictable things sometimes.”
“I’m not going to L.A.,” Vittorio said. “You want to go, you go, but here is where the action is going to be, and this is where I’m staying.”
“Okay,” Cupie said. “We’ll stay here, but what are we going to do next?”
“Since we don’t know where she is,” Vittorio said, “we should stick with Eagle.”
“He won’t like being tailed,” Cupie pointed out.
“Then he shouldn’t know,” Vittorio said.
20
Ed Eagle was back at his law office, having had enough of watching the sausage that was film made ever so slowly. He had some phone calls to return and some correspondence to dictate, and he was at it when his secretary buzzed him.
“Yes?”
“District Attorney Roberto Martínez for you on line one. You in?”
“I’ll get it,” Eagle said. He pressed the button. “Hello, Bob?”
“Morning, Ed,” Martínez said. “I thought you had gone into the film business. You back earning an honest living again?”
“Yep. I discovered that the film business can get along without me. I spent two days at that studio and couldn’t think of a single suggestion to make. You wouldn’t believe how long it takes them to get a scene in the can.”
“No, and I don’t want to hear about it,” Martínez said, “unless there are some very beautiful women in that movie.”
“Only two: One of them is sleeping with the director, and the other is sleeping with me.”
“Rats. Listen, can you use some good news?”
“Always.”
“The crime lab called me this morning with some new information that casts a new light on the Constance Hanks case.”
“You have my undivided attention,” Eagle said.
“A technician found two lipstick smears on the pillow on which Mrs. Hanks’s head rested when found.”
“Did they belong to Mrs. Hanks?”
“One of them did,” Martínez said.
“Aaaaah,” Eagle said. “And the other?”
“The technician at the scene took samples of all of the lipsticks belonging to Mrs. Hanks-the ones in the medicine cabinet and her dressing table, and the second smear didn’t match any of them. A detective interviewed the Hanks’ housekeeper on the day of the murder, and she told him she’d changed the bed linens the day before, so the unidentified smear was made within twenty-four hours of Mrs. Hanks’s death.”
“Any DNA mixed in with the lipstick?”
“You’d think, but I’m afraid not.”
“Pity.”
“Yes, it is, but I think you can consider your client cleared of this murder.”
“That’s great news, Bob. I’ll pass it on to him. Let me know when you find your female suspect, will you? I’m curious to know who it is.”
“Will do. See you around, Ed.” Martínez hung up.
Eagle looked up Tip Hanks’s phone number and dialed it.
DOLLY WAS IN THE bathroom off Tip’s study, peeing, when she heard the phone ring. She decided not to disturb herself, to let the machine get it.
After three rings, the machine answered. “This is Tip Hanks. Please leave your number and the date of your call, and I’ll return your call when I get back.”
There was a beep, and another, deeper voice spoke. “Tip, it’s Ed Eagle. I just had a call from the district attorney, telling me that you have been cleared as a suspect in Connie’s murder. This is great news, and I congratulate you. Take care of yourself. Oh, the reason you were cleared is that a crime scene technician found two smears of lipstick on Connie’s pillow-one hers, one belonging to another person. It matched none of Connie’s, so it appears that the unknown chief suspect is a woman. Go figure.” Eagle hung up the phone.
“Shit!” Dolly said aloud. She stood there thinking for a moment, then opened Tip’s center desk drawer. There was a handheld recorder there, and she opened it and removed the tape. She took the tape from the telephone answering machine, inserted it into the dictator and turned it on. The message played, but she stopped it after Eagle had said, “Take care of yourself.” Then she held down the record button and let the tape run for thirty seconds, recording silence over the last part of Eagle’s message. She returned the tape to the answering machine and reinserted the second tape into the recorder and returned it to the desk drawer.
Dolly went back to her desk, where she had left her handbag, and found two lipsticks in it. She took a tissue from a box and wiped all the lipstick from her lips, then picked up a tube, cranked the whole stick out of its holder and broke it off into the tissue. She went back to the bathroom and flushed the tissue and lipstick down the toilet, and watched to see that they cleared the bowl. She then went back to her desk and applied the other lipstick to her lips and returned it to her purse. Finally, she walked through the house and the kitchen and out to where the garbage cans were kept in a small wooden shed. She opened the top and unwound the wire closure from the top of one bag, dropped in the old lipstick case, and reclosed the bag. Finally, she went back into the house.
She was working at her computer when Tip returned to the house a few minutes later.
“Good morning,” he said, stopping at her door.
She gave him a broad smile. “Good morning. How did practice go?”
“Really well,” Tip replied. “I worked on shaping my drives, and I’m getting really good at it.”
“Gonna hit around those doglegs, huh?” she asked.
“You said it. Anything going on here?”
“Nope. Oh, you had a phone message when I was in the powder room. I haven’t played it back.”
Tip went into his study and pressed the play button, and Ed Eagle’s deep voice filled the room, giving him the news: He was no longer a suspect. “Take care of yourself,” Eagle said, and the message ended. Tip reset the machine, then went back to Dolly’s office.
“The call was from Ed Eagle,” he said. “I’m off the hook on Connie’s murder, no longer a suspect.”
Dolly grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Oh, Tip, that’s wonderful news! I’m so happy for you.”