“I understand that, Jeff, but this guy is our best shot for hanging the homicide on her, if I can turn him. I’m going to be the good cop here-then, if it looks like I’m not getting anywhere, I’ll defer to you, and you can explain his other liabilities to him, okay?”
“Okay. I’m good with that,” Borden replied.
As they opened their car doors a big BMW swung into the driveway and stopped. James Long unfolded himself from the car and started up the walk toward the front door.
“James Long?” Santiago called.
Long stopped and looked at the two men in suits, their jackets unbuttoned, a badge showing on the belt of the one who had spoken to him.
“Yes?”
“I am Detective David Santiago, and this is Special Agent Jeff Borden of the FBI. We’d like to speak to you, please. May we go inside?”
“Sure,” Long said. He unlocked the front door and set his briefcase on a table in the foyer, then led them into the living room and waved them to seats. “Would you like a drink?”
“On duty, I’m afraid,” Santiago said, “but thanks for the thought.”
“Mind if I have one?”
“Certainly not,” Santiago replied. He didn’t mind questioning a man who was drinking.
Long walked to a bar built into a bookcase, poured himself a shot of something, downed it, then put ice into his glass and poured another, then returned to where the two sat and took a chair. “What can I do for you?” he asked, taking a tug at his drink.
He was trying to look calm, Santiago thought, but he wasn’t making it. “My department is investigating the murder of your former employee, Barton Cross.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I was very upset when I heard of Bart’s death. He was a good man.”
“I’m sure he was, Mr. Long. Specifically, I want to talk to you about your relationship with Barbara Eagle.”
“Okay,” Long said. “What would you like to know?”
Mistake, Santiago thought. He should have asked how Barbara Eagle was related to the death of Cross. “When did you last see Mrs. Eagle?”
“About a week ago,” he said. “She stayed here for a couple of days, and then I drove her to the airport.”
“To LAX?”
“That’s right.”
“Where was she going?”
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask,” Long replied. A light film of sweat had appeared on his forehead.
“That seems odd, Mr. Long. You drive an old friend to the airport, and there’s no conversation about where she’s going?”
“Well, Barbara is kind of odd about her privacy,” Long said, seeming to grope for an answer.
Santiago took his notebook from his shirt pocket, opened it to a blank page and stared at it for a moment. “Let’s see,” he said, “the day you drove her to the airport was the, what, twenty-eighth?”
“That sounds about right,” Long said.
“What time of day?”
“Afternoon, I believe. I had just come home from work, and she said she had to leave.”
“That would be the day after Mr. Cross was shot in the head in his living room, wouldn’t it?” Santiago asked.
“I don’t see the connection,” Long said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and taking another pull from his drink.
“Well, Mr. Long, we know that Barbara shot Bart Cross. The question now is how much help you gave her.”
“Help?” Long asked, wiping sweat from his upper lip.
Santiago glanced at his notebook again. “For a start, you introduced Barbara to Bart, didn’t you.” It was not a question. “In Acapulco, it’s says here. That’s so, isn’t it.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m connected to anything.”
“It means that Barbara is connected to Bart, and you made the connection,” Santiago said, careful to sound reasonable, to keep accusation out of his voice. “And you’re right, there’s nothing wrong with introducing two people. You and Bart dropped her off at Yuma International, didn’t you? I’m just trying to get the sequence of events established.”
“Well, yes, and I didn’t see her for a couple of weeks after that.”
“She asked you how to get in touch with Bart, didn’t she?” Santiago asked. “I mean, you were her only connection to him, weren’t you? Seems logical that she would ask you for his number.”
“She may have,” Long replied, wrinkling his brow as if trying to remember.
“So, here’s how it went after that, Mr. Long,” Santiago said. “She hired Bart to kill Ed Eagle, and he did his best, but Eagle survived the attack. Barbara killed him so he couldn’t connect her to the attempt.”
“Look here,” Long said. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“You’re certainly entitled to a lawyer, Mr. Long. I’d be happy to explain your rights in detail, if you wish. Whether you need a lawyer is another matter.”
“I have a law degree,” Long said, pulling himself upright in his chair. “I don’t need to have my rights explained to me.”
“Duly noted,” Santiago said, scribbling something in his notebook. “Do you need a lawyer, Mr. Long?”
Long stared at him. The booze was obviously taking effect now, and his thinking must be affected.
“Mr. Long,” Santiago said gently, “I’m not after you. I know you didn’t kill Bart Cross, just as I know that Barbara did. What you have to decide now is how much you want your future to be affected by what Barbara has done. Surely you know that this is not the first time she has hired a killer. There was a fellow named Jack Cato, who also worked for you from time to time as a stuntman. She hired him to kill a lawyer in Palo Alto, remember?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Long said emphatically.
“Mr. Long,” Santiago said slowly. “If you cooperate with my investigation now, answer questions freely and agree to repeat your answers in court, I don’t see why you should be placed in jeopardy for what Barbara has done. You’re not a target of my investigation now, but from here on in, the story could change, depending on your truthfulness. Do you understand?”
Long stared into his drink. “I think I want a lawyer,” he said.
“If you make that a formal request, then this questioning will end right here,” Santiago said, “but I need to explain to you that a lawyer will instruct you not to answer any other questions about your relationship to Barbara and her decision to kill Bart. He will advise you to stand on your rights under the Fifth Amendment of the United States Constitution, but frankly, that would be a very big mistake. Don’t you think so, Jeff?”
Borden took his cue and leaned forward in his chair. “I should tell you, Mr. Long, that in Mexico, you may not have the same rights as you do in the United States. We now know that Barbara Eagle escaped from a Mexican prison and met you in Acapulco -perhaps you even drove her there-and that you assisted her in entering the United States.”
“She has a passport. She had a right to enter the country.”
“But the Mexicans are going to say that you abetted her escape from prison and in fleeing the country. And on this side of the border, well, Homeland Security will have to get involved, and frankly, I don’t think you’re going to have time to produce movies while you’re trying to stay out of prison in two countries.”
Long was breathing harder now.
“I should tell you, too, that the Mexican Ministry of Justice has requested the extradition of Barbara Eagle to Mexico, and the attorney general of the United States has agreed to extradite her, and a federal judge has issued a warrant for her arrest.”
Long drained his glass and set it down on a table next to him. “That woman is the best piece of ass I have ever had in my life,” he said, “but I am not going to go to prison for her.”