It took him a half-hour of navigating a maddening maze of twisty streets to find the Stanhope house. The fact that Jordan Stanhope was a wealthy man was immediately apparent. The house was huge, with spacious, immaculate grounds, carefully pruned trees and shrubs, and flowering gardens. A shiny, new, dark blue Bentley two-door coupe was parked in the circular drive that fronted the house. A separate three-car garage with a carriage house above was just visible through the trees to the right of the main building.
Jack pulled his Hyundai Accent up alongside its obscenely expensive counterpart. The juxtaposition was a study in contrasts. He got out of his car and approached the other. He had to look inside the extravagant machine, humorously attributing his unexpected interest to a heretofore unexpressed gene on his Y chromosome. The windows were down, so the aroma of the luxurious leather bathed the whole area. The car was obviously brand-spanking-new. After making sure he wasn't being observed, Jack stuck his head through the driver's-side window. The control panel had a simple, rich elegance. Then he noticed something else: The keys were in the ignition. Jack stepped back. Although he thought it was the height of ridiculousness to spend the kind of money he imagined the car cost, the fact that the keys were available unleashed a pleasant fleeting fantasy of breezing down a scenic road in the Bentley with Laurie at his side. It was a reverie that reminded him of a recurrent dream of flying he'd had in his youth. But the daydream quickly dissolved to be replaced by a mild embarrassment of coveting another man's car, even if just for an imagined joyride.
Jack skirted the Bentley and approached the front door. His reaction to the car had surprised him on several levels, most important of which concerned the idea of unabashedly enjoying himself. For many years after the fateful plane crash, he'd been unable to do so, since it aroused his guilt of being the only one in the family still alive. The fact that he could entertain the idea now was the best suggestion yet that he'd made significant progress toward recovery.
After ringing the doorbell, Jack turned back to the gleaming Bentley. He'd thought about what the car meant to him, but now he pondered what it said about Jordan Stanhope, aka Stanislaw Jordan Jaruzelski. It suggested that the man was seriously indulging himself with his new wealth.
Hearing the door open brought Jack's attention around and to the issue at hand. In his inside jacket pocket was the signatureless exhumation permit, and it crinkled as he brought his hand up to shield his eyes. The late afternoon sun was reflecting off the polished brass door knocker and momentarily blinded him.
"Yes?" Jordan questioned. Despite the glare, Jack could tell he was being eyed suspiciously. Jack was wearing his usual jeans, blue chambray shirt, knitted tie, and summer-weight blazer that hadn't been cleaned or pressed for longer than he cared to admit. In contrast, Jordan had on a plaid smoking jacket with a cravat. From around his silhouette wafted cool, dry air, suggesting the home's airconditioning was on despite the mild outdoor temperature.
"I'm Dr. Stapleton," Jack began. With a sudden decision to suggest a quasi-official explanation for his visit, Jack fumbled to extract his wallet with his medical examiner badge. He held it up for moment. "I'm a medical examiner, and I'd like a moment of your time."
"Let me see!" Jordan said as Jack tried to quickly return the wallet and badge to its normal location.
Jack was surprised. Rarely did people actually examine his official credentials.
" New York?" Jordan questioned, glancing back up into Jack's face. "Aren't you rather far afield?" To Jack's ear, Jordan spoke with a mock-melodiousness and a hint of an English accent that Jack associated with elite New England boarding schools. To Jack's double surprise, Jordan had reached out to grasp Jack's hand to steady it while he'd studied the badge. His precisely manicured fingers were cool to the touch.
"I take my job seriously," Jack said, defensively reverting to sarcasm.
"And what is your job that brings you from New York all the way to our humble home?"
Jack couldn't suppress a smile. The man's comment suggested he had an ironic sense of humor similar to Jack's. The home was anything but humble.
"Who is it, Jordie?" a crystalline voice called from the cool depths of the home's interior.
"I don't precisely know yet, dearest," Jordan affectionately called back over his shoulder. "It's a doctor from New York."
"I've been asked to help with the legal case you are currently involved in," Jack said.
"Really!" Jordan said with a hint of amazement. "And exactly how are you intending to help?"
Before Jack could answer, an attractive, doe-eyed young woman half Jordan 's age appeared from around Jordan and stared at Jack. She had slipped an arm around Jordan 's neck and the other around his middle. She smiled pleasantly, revealing startlingly white, perfect teeth. "Why are you standing here? Invite the doctor in! He can join us for tea."
Following the woman's suggestion, Jordan stepped to the side, motioned for Jack to come into the house, and then led him on a lengthy journey through a central hall, an expansive living room, and out into a conservatory built off the building's rear. Surrounded on three sides and roofed with glass, the room gave Jack the feeling he was back outdoors in the garden. Although Jack initially had thought "tea" was to be a euphemism for cocktails, he was wrong.
Ensconced in an oversized white wicker chair with pastel chintz cushions, Jack was served tea, whipped cream, and biscuits by a reserved woman in a French maid's uniform who quickly disappeared. Jordan and his girlfriend, Charlene McKenna, were seated opposite on a matching wicker sofa. Between Jack and his hosts was a low glass table supporting a silver service with additional sweets. Charlene could not keep her hands off Jordan, who acted as if he were unaware of her overt affection. The conversation initially ranged freely before centering on their plans for the summer, which were to include a cruise along the Dalmatian coast.
It was amazing to Jack that the couple were willing to do all the talking. He sensed that they were starved for entertainment, since he didn't have to say much beyond where he was from and that he was currently a houseguest at his sister's in Newton. After that, all he had to go was give an occasional "un-huh" to indicate he was paying attention. This gave Jack lots of opportunity to merely observe, and he was fascinated. Jack had heard that Jordan was enjoying himself, and apparently had been enjoying himself practically from the day Patience Stanhope had died. There had been little time for mourning since Charlene had moved in with him several weeks after the funeral. The Bentley in the driveway was only a month old, and the couple had spent a portion of the winter in St. Bart's.
Thanks to a melding of this new information with his cynical nature, the possibility in Jack's mind of foul play being involved in Patience's death became more than a passing thought and made the idea of doing an autopsy even more appropriate and necessary. He thought about going back to the Boston medical examiner's office with his suspicions, even if entirely circumstantial, to see if they would be willing to approach the district attorney about going to a judge to order the exhumation, because surely Jordan would never agree to one if he'd been in any way responsible for Patience's death. But the longer Jordan talked and the more apparent it was that he was playing the role of an ersatz, cultured, aristocratic gentleman, the less sure Jack was of Jordan's response to an autopsy. There had been criminal cases where the perpetrators thought themselves so intelligent that they actively helped law enforcement just to prove how smart they were. The pretender Jordan seemed to be might fall into that category and agree to an autopsy to make the game that much more exciting.