“Meaning that no one hurled him into space.”
Hanley’s smile lingered, as though he were following Adam’s thoughts. “Ben was a big man, Adam. The Incredible Hulk is not among the suspects.”
“In other words,” Adam persisted, “the location of the body is also consistent with accident or suicide.”
“I suppose.”
“Then I suppose you also know he was drunk.”
“So your mother tells us. But the toxicology report isn’t in yet.”
“Still, he could have fallen. And now you’ve learned that he had brain cancer, which suggests the possibility of suicide.”
Hanley’s smile became bleak, his lips clamped tight. “The man I knew for fifty years would not have deprived the world of his presence. But you could posit that-unlike wars, famine, pestilence, and plague-brain cancer disheartened him a bit.”
“And therefore, accident or suicide are real possibilities. I’m left to wonder why you think this could have been a murder.”
“Yup,” Hanley agreed laconically. “You’re left to wonder. Not that I’m saying it was.”
Adam watched his eyes. “But you think it was, don’t you?”
Hanley fixed him with an unblinking gaze. “You know that promontory intimately. Do you believe Ben had one too many and just stumbled off the cliff? Or decided to end his life even a day before God did it for him?”
No, Adam thought. “I’ve no idea, George. As you point out, I hadn’t seen him for ten years.”
A new expression, probing and tough, entered Hanley’s eyes. “Can I ask why?”
Adam had expected this. “Objection, George-irrelevant. When he went off the cliff, I was in Afghanistan. I sure as hell didn’t push him.”
“But there came a time when you might have wanted to, didn’t there?”
Adam stared at him. “Everyone wants to know why I left, like it must be shrouded in mystery. I suggest that you consider the man you knew.”
Suddenly, Hanley’s expression held the merciless bleakness of a recording angel. “You know what I’m asking. Was there something about Ben, even ten years back, that might provoke someone to consider killing him?”
The way he treated all of us, Adam thought. In an even voice, he said, “Which cuckolded husband or boyfriend are we talking about? Beyond that, I haven’t got a clue.”
Hanley’s tone and expression were unimpressed. “Even when you were in high school, Adam, they said you were the smartest guy around. You’re here for your own reasons. I suspect it’s the will, and the feelings it might engender among members of your family.”
Adam shook his head. “You can’t feel anything about a will that you don’t know exists. That leaves Carla Pacelli, who had everything to gain and, as I understand it, no alibi at all.”
Quiet, Hanley watched the passing parade of Vineyarders and tourists. At length, he said, “We’re not going to play this game, young Mr. Blaine. You could say the same about your mother and Teddy, who got written out of the will-after all, no murderer with a motive would confess to having one. Or Jack, who everyone knows disliked Ben intensely. And if you’re looking for people who gained from Ben’s death, you could throw in Jenny Leigh.” He turned to Adam. “I’m not saying who I think it is, if anyone. I’m merely following your logic to its insubstantial conclusion.”
“So Pacelli has no alibi.”
Hanley’s eyes glinted. “You can think that if you like. So tell me why your father left you a hundred thousand and made you his executor.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Adam said in a throwaway tone. “He wanted to compete with me from beyond the grave.”
Hanley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then he laughed aloud. “You plan to break the will, don’t you.”
“It’s crossed my mind. Maybe it crossed his. He always liked games.”
Hanley’s smile faded. “Hard to believe he’s dead,” he mused. “I still remember him in high school. I wanted to be quarterback in the worst way. But there was Ben, always Ben. He wouldn’t let me beat him out.”
“He couldn’t, George. That would have killed him for sure.”
Hanley appraised him. After a moment, he said, “I think I’ve said all I care to, and you’ve ferreted out what you can. Any time you want to say what else is on your mind, feel free.”
“I will,” Adam said easily. “At the moment, all that’s on my mind is using the restroom.”
Briskly, Hanley shook his hand. “First floor, if you don’t mind passing through security to take a piss. Too many nuts with guns, I guess.”
Turning, he shuffled up the steps, his shoulders slumped, unhappy to retreat inside.
Once more Adam gave up his keys and wallet to pass through the magnetometer, then spent an obligatory minute in the men’s room parsing his troubled thoughts. As he left, he glanced into the room containing the TV monitor and committed the name and make of the security system to memory.
On the courthouse steps, Adam saw a sturdy figure in the uniform of a police officer. His instant impression was of a body bound to thicken, already straining the blue shirt, its torso almost as broad as the man’s thick shoulders. Then he saw the man’s features-blue eyes, caramel-colored hair, a round, amiable face that hinted at perpetual puzzlement, as though something were about to surprise him. Smiling with his own surprise, Adam experienced in miniature what a high school reunion must feel like.
“Bobby?”
Bobby Towle stopped abruptly, gazing at Adam until an answering grin spread across the broad planes of his face. “Adam Blaine,” he said, and gave Adam an awkward hug. “My God, how long has it been?”
“A while,” Adam replied. “I think the last time was at a beach party. But you may not remember.”
Bobby’s grin was rueful. “I was with Barbara, right?”
“The beautiful Barbara,” Adam amended. “What happened with that?”
The smile diminished. “We’re still together. Married, in fact.”
“Can’t blame you a bit. It’s Barbara I wonder about.”
Bobby shifted his weight. “What about you?”
“Single. I’ve become a world traveler, which gets in the way.”
“Not a lawyer?”
“No.”
Bobby appraised him. “At least you look the same,” he said, patting his stomach. “No fat on you. Maybe a little older, and a little meaner.”
Beneath his guilelessness, Adam remembered, Bobby had an instinctive gift for grasping essential truths. “Not you, Bobby. Not even in uniform. You’re a cop, looks like.”
“Chilmark Police.” Bobby grimaced a little. “Sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks.” Adam paused for an appropriate moment, then rested a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “Why don’t we meet for a drink somewhere. Or don’t you do that anymore?”
A faint look of hurt surfaced in Bobby’s eyes. “Not as much, nowadays. But, sure, I’ll tip a couple of beers to keep you company.”
“Great. The Kelley House still open?”
“Definitely.”
“Check with Barbara, then, and give me a call.”
Bobby hunched his shoulders. “Tomorrow night’s fine. Say eight o’clock?”
Something was wrong at home, Adam felt sure. “You’re on, Bobby. We can replay the last touchdown in the Nantucket game. You really crushed that guy.”
Driving home, Adam wondered about Bobby Towle, and felt a twinge of conscience for his intentions. Sometimes that still happened, even in Afghanistan.
Ten
Promptly at six, the time once mandated by his father, Adam had dinner with his mother, Jack, and Teddy. At first he did not say much, nor did anyone mention that Clarice had prepared Benjamin Blaine’s favorite dinner-lobster and Caesar salad, with a bottle of Chassagne-Montrachet.
Facing Adam across the table, Jack said, “I sense you have something to tell us.”
“Several things. I read the will this afternoon. It’s been a while since I studied estates and trusts law, so I’m no expert. But I think Mom can attack it.”
Teddy glanced at Clarice, then told Adam dryly, “Then you’ll be glad to know we’re seeing a real lawyer.”