“Now may I see the contract?”
“Give me an account of your whereabouts and activities since you graduated from college.”
“You really are a very curious guy,” Evan said. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’m a very curious guy,” Stone replied.
“Maybe I should sic Gigi on you.”
“You may tell Gigi for me that if she ever again approaches me from any angle, I’ll break her pretty face.”
Evan burst out laughing. “I’d like to see you try that,” he said.
“How did you meet Gigi?”
“We hooked up in Miami.”
“In South Beach?”
“How did . . . never mind. Yes.”
“How much business have you done with South Beach Security?”
“I had an account there when I lived in South Beach,” Evan said warily.
“Did you do any illegal business with them?”
Their food arrived, and Evan used it as an excuse not to answer the question. They ate in silence for a while.
“Do you really think your father poisoned your Uncle Harry?”
Stone asked fi nally.
Evan regarded him evenly over a crab claw. “I think it’s well within the realm of possibility. If I ever see that contract, I can give you a better answer.”
Stone handed him the FedEx envelope.
Evan ate the crab claw, wiped his hands carefully on a paper towel from the roll on the table and ripped open the package. He seemed to be speed-reading, flipping the pages rapidly. Then he stopped halfway through and read more slowly.
“Well?” Stone said.
Evan stuffed the contract back into the envelope, ate another crab claw and sipped his beer. “Yes,” he said. “I think my father poisoned Uncle Harry, and you can pass the word to him: no deal.” He tossed a fifty-dollar bill on the table, then got up and left without another word, taking the contract with him.
23
STONE ARRIVED BACK at the Marquesa to find Dino still by the pool, eating an enormous club sandwich, accompanied by a fruity-looking drink with an umbrella in it.
“So did he read the contract?” Dino asked.
“Yes.”
“How much is the business being sold for?”
“I don’t know; he didn’t tell me, and he took the contract with him.” Stone’s cell phone vibrated, and he glanced at it. “Eggers; he’s going to love this.”
Stone put the phone on speaker. “Yes, Bill?”
“Did you get the contract?”
“Yes.”
“Did you show it to Evan Keating?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He said to tell Warren, no deal.”
“Shit!” Eggers said.
“You were hoping he would take it?”
“It sure would have made my life a lot simpler,” Eggers said. “This was supposed to go like clockwork; you were supposed to fi nd Evan, get his signature and everybody would have been happy.”
“Everybody except Grandpa Eli, who’s locked in the nursing home, Uncle Harry, who’s dead, and Evan, who thinks, not without cause, that he’s being cheated out of his share of the business.”
“It’s a snakepit, that’s what it is,” Eggers moaned.
“Bill, what’s the sales price for the business?”
“Didn’t you read the contract?”
“No, it was addressed to Evan, care of me, and when I gave it to him he didn’t read it aloud.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘No deal,’ and when I asked him if he thought his father poisoned Uncle Harry, he replied in the affi rmative.”
“And you think I should go to the police?”
“From what Evan said the other day, the police are already looking into Harry’s death. What could you tell them?”
“That I have reason to believe that Harry Keating was poisoned by his brother.”
“And what reason do you have to believe that?”
“Warren Keating is a chemist; his brother died under mysterious circumstances; Warren stood to gain from his death.”
“Don’t you think the police have already figured out that much? In addition, they’ve probably searched Warren’s house, garage and toolshed for ant poison, or whatever the hell is poisonous these days, and they surely took fluid and tissue samples from the corpse.”
“Then why haven’t they arrested Warren?”
“Maybe because toxicology screens seem to take one hell of a long time to come back, especially in small towns like— Where is it Warren and Harry live?”
“Torrington, Connecticut.”
“Like Torrington, Connecticut.”
“Yeah,” Eggers said, “and did I mention that Harry’s body was cremated?”
“Before or after they took samples?”
“I’m not sure. Can a crime lab get toxicology reports from ashes, or whatever’s left after a cremation?”
“Maybe, in the case of heavy metals, like arsenic, but if Warren is a chemist I should think he’d use something more sophisticated than arsenic.”
“Like ant poison?”
“Some of those insecticides have cyanide in them—at least I think that’s the case; I’m not an expert on poisoning. Somebody once told me that there are two common household fluids that, when mixed, form a poison that can’t be analyzed.”
“I didn’t know there was anything that can’t be analyzed.”
“I’m not a chemist, Bill. Did Harry have any family other than Warren, Eli and Evan?”
“No, he was a lifelong bachelor, didn’t even have a girlfriend,” Eggers said.
“Then has it occurred to you that Evan’s share of the proceeds of the sale would be even larger with Harry’s death?”
“I suppose so. Warren’s, too.”
“And Bill, has it occurred to you that the remaining split would be larger still if Eli kicked off?”
“You mean . . .”
“That maybe dutiful son Warren, when visiting his father, might bring along a treat like a box of chocolates or a bottle of Scotch?”
“Oh, my God.” Eggers groaned.
“Maybe you ought to have a chat with the Torrington police after all,” Stone said.
“I’m Warren’s lawyer, Stone, and so are you.”
“You have a point.”
“And don’t go getting Dino to call the cops, either; that would be like telling them yourself.”
“Yeah. What are you going to do?”
“Think about it,” Eggers said. “And I have to call Warren and tell him what Evan said.”
“You’d better tell him to do the right thing, Bill.”
But Eggers had already hung up.
Stone looked at Dino, whose eyes had narrowed and who appeared to be in deep thought.
“What?” Stone said.
“I’m just thinking about your problem,” Dino said. “We could probably get somebody else to approach the Torrington cops in a roundabout way.”
“Somebody like Wally Millard?” Stone asked.
“Maybe, but he’s connected with Eggers, who hired him to fi nd Evan Keating. That might be too close.”
“Manny White?”
“Still too close.”
“If I’m going to do something about this, I’d better do it fast,” Stone said.
“I know a detective on the Connecticut State Police,” Dino said.
“Yeah, but you’re too close to this to talk to him.”
“Maybe, but I know somebody who has every right to express his concern to Connecticut law enforcement.”
“Who’s that?”
“Evan Keating.”
Stone smote his forehead. “Why didn’t I tell him at lunch to do that?”
“Because you’re so fucking dumb,” Dino said. Stone dialed the Gardens. Evan’s room didn’t answer, so he left a message.
“And we still don’t know what the contract price is,” Dino pointed out.