“I have paid little attention to Niels in the last several years. Nevertheless, it became quite clear to me that he was growing more and more erratic over the past eight or nine months. I invited you up here for lunch because you struck me as clever and intelligent the day we talked. I think you can tell me what Niels was doing. You were not a social acquaintance of my husband’s. I don’t believe you were his mistress-”
She paused to look at me sharply. I couldn’t help laughing, but I shook my head.
“Yes. You don’t have the look about you. Now. I want to know why you were on Niels’s boat and how it came to burn up.”
I took another swallow of champagne. If anyone had the right to know, Claire Grafalk did. I told her the whole tale, beginning with Boom Boom’s death and ending with the icy waters of Lake Michigan. I glanced at it, involuntarily shivering.
“And how did you get out? Someone rescued you?”
“Another sailboat came up. They were attracted by the fire. I don’t remember it too clearly.”
“And the evidence of Clayton’s death?”
I shook my head. “I still have the plastic pouches with his hair and the carpet scraping. I think I keep them because they give some reality to the whole episode, not because I want to use them.”
Her head was still perched on one side. She reminded me of a robin or a sparrow-not cruel, just impersonal.
“But you don’t want to prosecute?”
“I talked to Mrs. Kelvin. She’s the black woman whose husband was killed in Boom Boom’s apartment. I figure she and I are the chief mourners-Jeannine doesn’t count.” I stared unseeing out at the lake, remembering the conversation with Mrs. Kelvin. I spent two days in the hospital recovering from the shock of my near drowning; she came to see me late on the second day. We talked for a long time, about Boom Boom and Henry Kelvin, and love.
“Niels and Sandy are both dead, so there’s no one left to prosecute. Legal action against your husband’s estate would bring no pleasure, only sully the memories of two heroic men. We have no interest left.”
She didn’t say anything but nibbled with delicate energy on a petit four. I drank some more champagne. The food was excellent, but reviewing my time in Lake Michigan brought knots to my stomach. It looked so peaceful now under the May sun, but it is not a tame lake.
“The United States Government may try to prove a case against Grafalk Steamship. It will really depend on their proving that your husband engineered theft of the depth charges and all the rest of that. With Sandy and Howard Mattingly both dead, there aren’t any witnesses. And as long as he gets the Lucella floating again, Martin doesn’t want to push it too hard. I think the investigation will go on quite a while, but they’re never going to be able to fix blame for blowing up the Lucella. Not unless Admiral Jergensen decides to testify that your husband stole the explosives. He doesn’t seem to want to right now.”
Bledsoe had been around once or twice. He figured out most of the story when he read about the accident to the Brynulf. I went drinking with Bledsoe one night while I told him the rest. His lovemaking matched his kissing. That had helped, but I knew the nightmares would last a long time.
Claire Grafalk looked away from me and said in a flat voice, “Niels left Paige Carrington a condo on Astor Place.”
I drew a sharp breath. Paige was the spot that still hurt, the little needle in the diaphragm every time I thought of her. “I was wondering how she’d be able to afford that. Of course, she still has those monthly assessments to keep up. They’re not cheap.”
Mrs. Grafalk still didn’t look at me. “She’s in London now with Guy Odinflute.”
“Do you mind so much?” I asked gently.
Tears sparkled briefly in her bright eyes, but she gave a twisted smile. “Do I mind? Niels has been dead to me for many years. But once-it was different. For the sake of the man I once loved, I would have liked to see her mourn.”
Sara Paretsky
