He turned and looked at me, then called back, "No. But we know about that."
"I'm sure you do."
He added, "I didn't do that. You have my word on that." I called over the sound of the wind and water, "Maybe not you, but someone in your office."
"No. We don't fool around with the IRS. It's not legal, and we don't trust them."
"Then you couldn't get me off the hook with them?"
"We could put in a good word for you. But I can't promise you anything." But Frank Bellarosa and Mr Melzer could unconditionally promise me things. How utterly depressing and demoralizing.
He called to me, "Would you like me to put in a good word for you?"
"Sure. Tell them I go to church and I'm a good sailor."
"Will do. You want to plant some bugs for me?"
"I can't do that."
"Sure you can. But you have to resign as his attorney. You have to be ethical."
Mr Mancuso was into ethics. I called to him, "Lower the jib."
The what?"
"The sail flapping over your head."
He lowered the jib, then the staysail and the mainsail, and I started the engine. When you have an inexperienced crew, it's best to go into port under power and avoid a major embarrassment, like ploughing into a moored boat while people are having drinks on the clubhouse veranda.
We came alongside the pier, and I cut the engine as Mr Mancuso expertly lassoed a piling. We secured the Paumanok, and we both went below to collect our things. As Mr Mancuso put on his tie and gun, he said to me, "You're not defending Frank Bellarosa solely on the basis of your belief that he is innocent of this murder, Mr Sutter. Any attorney can do that. I think you are just playing with high explosives because you enjoy the danger. Like sailing in a storm at night. I know life can get boring, Mr Sutter, and people with time and money on their hands often need something to get their blood moving. Some men gamble, some race cars or boats, some climb mountains, some have affairs, some do it all." "At the same time?"
"But, Mr Sutter, there is a price to pay for the thrill. There are consequences.
Danger is dangerous."
"I know that, Mr Mancuso. Where did you get your law degree, if I may ask?"
"Georgetown."
"Excellent. Can I double your salary, Mr Mancuso? We need a Catholic. You have your twenty years in with the FBI."
He smiled. "I'm not counting years, Mr Sutter. I want to finish this job. If it takes another twenty years to smash the Mafia in New York, then, God willing, I'll still be at it."
"Please keep my offer in mind. It is a serious offer."
"I appreciate the thought. It is seductive. But what I want to say to you, Mr
Sutter, is that evil is seductive, and -"
"What did you say?"
"Evil is seductive. Do you understand?"
"Yes…"
"And virtue is boring. Evil seems to pay better than virtue, but virtue, Mr Sutter, is its own reward. You know that."
"Of course I know that. I am an honest man. I am doing nothing dishonest with Frank Bellarosa."
Mr Mancuso put his jacket on and gathered his shoes and socks. "But being involved with Frank Bellarosa is unethical, immoral, and unwise. Very unwise." He stepped closer to me in the small galley where we were standing. "Listen to me, Mr Sutter. Forget that I asked you to bug Bellarosa's house, and that he may be innocent of this particular charge. The man is evil. I like you, Mr Sutter, and I want to give you good advice. Tell Frank Bellarosa to go away and stay away from you and your wife." He actually grabbed me by the arm and put his face near mine. "I am the voice of truth and reality. Listen to my voice. That man will destroy you and your family. And it will be your fault, Mr Sutter, not his fault. For the love of God, tell him to leave you alone." He was absolutely right, of course, so I said, "Thank you. I like you, Mr Mancuso. You restore my faith in humanity, but not in much else. I'll think about what you've said."
Mr Mancuso released my arm. "Thank you for the ride, Mr Sutter. Have a pleasant day." He went up the companionway and disappeared on deck. After a minute, I followed and saw him on the pier slipping into his shoes. There were a few other people around now, and they were all watching this man in a suit who had come off my boat. At least a few people probably thought that Mr Mancuso was a friend of Mr Bellarosa's – as was John Sutter – and that Sutter and this Mafia fellow had just dumped a few bodies at sea. I called out to Mr Mancuso, "Ferragamo and Bellarosa belong in the same cell.
You and I should go sailing again."
He waved to me as he disappeared behind a big, berthed Allied fifty-five footer that I would buy if I had three hundred thousand dollars;
I got some polish from the locker and shined up a brass cleat until it gleamed in the sunlight.
CHAPTER 24
The week after Mr Mancuso and I went sailing, I was helping George Allard plant boxtrees where the central wing of the stables had once been. It was hard work, and I could have had it done professionally, but I like planting trees, and George has an obsession with saving old skinflint Stanhope a few dollars. When men work together, despite class differences, they revert to a natural and instinctive sort of comradeship. Thus, I found I was enjoying my conversation with George, and George himself seemed a little looser, joking and even making an indiscreet remark about his employer. "Mr Stanhope," said George, "offered the missus and me ten thousand dollars to leave the gatehouse. Who's he think is going to do all this work if I weren't here?"
"Mr Stanhope may have a buyer for the entire estate," I said.
"He's got a buyer? Who?"
"I'm not sure he does, George, but Mr Stanhope wants to be able to offer an empty gatehouse if and when he does, or he wants to be able to sell the gatehouse separately."
George nodded. "Well, I don't want to be a problem, but…" "Don't worry about it. I've looked at August Stanhope's will, and it's clear that you and Mrs Allard have lifetime rights of tenancy. Don't let William Stanhope pressure you, and don't take his offer." I added, "You couldn't rent comparable housing for less than twenty thousand a year around here." "Oh, I know that, Mr Sutter. It wasn't much of an offer, and even if he offers more, I wouldn't leave. This is my home."
"Good. We need you at the gate."
It was a hot day, and the work was heavy for a man his age. But men are competitive in this regard, and George was going to show me that he could keep up.
At noon, I said to him, "That's enough for now. I'll meet you back here at about two."
I walked home and had lunch alone as Susan was out, then wrote to my sister, Emily. When I returned to meet George, I found him lying on the ground between unplanted trees. I knelt beside him, but there were no signs of life. George Allard was dead. The gates to Stanhope Hall were unguarded. The wake, held in a funeral home in Locust Valley, was well attended by other elderly estate workers whom the Allards had known over the years. Interestingly, a few older gentry put in appearances as well, ladies and gentlemen of the old vanished world, looking like ghosts themselves, come to pay their respects to one of their own.
The Stanhopes, of course, felt obligated to come in from Hilton Head. They hadn't actually wished George dead, of course, but you knew that the subject had come up in their private conversations over the years, and that it had come up in a way that if you overheard them, you might think they were looking forward to it.
Susan's brother, Peter, still trying to find the meaning of life – this month in Acapulco – could not make it in to contemplate the meaning of death. I was sorry that Carolyn could not be reached in time in Cuba, but Edward flew up from Cocoa Beach.