Being no gentleman, I was expected to stay. She watched Simon and Gillick leave, then turned dreamy eyes on mine. Grainne had been sold short with the cobalt blue. Her mother’s eyes were the Aegean on a hazy June dawn. ‘What can you tell me, Mr Rigby?’
‘Not much more than I told Simon, I’m afraid. Sorry.’
‘Yes. Simon told me you were here earlier. Very thoughtful of you, Mr Rigby.’
‘Anyone else would’ve done the same.’
‘I wish that were true. But I am inclined to believe that most people would have washed their hands of the whole sorry mess.’
‘I knew Finn, Mrs Hamilton. I thought it’d be better coming from me than the cops.’
‘So I understand. Unfortunately, Simon was rather vague on the details. Apparently Finn jumped off the PA building shortly after speaking with you.’
‘That’s right.’
She flicked some wayward silk back up onto her ankle. ‘And how was Finn when you spoke with him?’
‘Good form, yeah. He was, y’know, Finn.’
‘And you noticed nothing that might …’ She hesitated, then steeled herself. ‘That might explain why Finn would want to take his life?’
‘Nothing. Really.’
‘May I enquire as to what it was you spoke about?’
‘It was Finn who did most of the talking. He was pretty excited about this new development.’
Her forehead shimmered, which I took to be a Botox frown. ‘Development?’
Gillick, already under some strain hoisting the brandy balloon, had obviously left the heavy lifting to me.
‘It was supposed to be a surprise,’ I said, ‘a wedding present. Luxury apartments, with a salon for Maria.’
‘And where exactly,’ she drawled, glancing away to rearrange some more silk, ‘did he propose to establish this development?’
‘Cyprus.’
‘Cyprus?’
‘That’s right. Northern Cyprus.’
‘They were going to live there?’
‘So he said, yeah.’
‘For how long?’
‘All going well, for good.’
She considered that. ‘And did he say when this was likely to happen?’
‘He wasn’t sure. Red tape was holding them up at the Cyprus end. And he was funding it from the sale of the PA building, so …’
Her forehead glistened. ‘The PA?’
‘The Port Authority building.’
‘I know what it is, Mr Rigby.’ She sat up straight, sloshing some martini onto the cuff of the fluffy bathrobe. ‘What is it exactly,’ she said, a cold storm brewing in the Aegean dawn, ‘you are trying to achieve?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The question is straightforward. What is it you hope to achieve by telling me lies?’
‘What lies? I don’t-’
‘That property wasn’t Finn’s to sell, Mr Rigby. It belongs to Hamilton Holdings. And no one knew that better than Finn.’ A mocking smile. This much, at least, she was sure of. ‘So how could he have been planning to sell it?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea. You wanted to know what Finn was talking about tonight, and I’m telling you.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘That’s your choice, but Finn told me he was selling the PA. If you’re saying he couldn’t, then I don’t know, maybe you should be having this conversation with Gillick. Maybe there’s some loophole in the setup that allowed Finn to sell.’
She stared imperiously, and I guessed I was supposed to find a hole to crawl into, or just whimper a little. I sipped some Jack.
‘You do appreciate,’ she said, ‘that what you’ve just told me is entirely ridiculous.’
I wondered how ridiculous she’d find it if I mentioned Finn’s sudden desire to settle in a place where family still meant something. I set the Jack on the coffee table, being careful to avoid the glazed tile coasters. ‘Here’s what I don’t appreciate, Mrs Hamilton. Getting called a liar. Spending half the night in the cop shop for trying to do the right thing. Having my taxi wrecked.’ I fingered my grazed cheek. ‘Let me know when you’ve heard enough. There’s more.’
‘If it’s compensation you’re-’
‘I’ve been paid, Mrs Hamilton, not bought. The Queen’s shilling doesn’t go as far as it used to these days.’
If looks could kill I’d have been cremated on the spot. ‘How dare-’
I stood up. ‘You want my advice, buy mittens for your daughter. Some day she’ll attack someone who matters.’ I made for the door.
‘Mr Rigby.’
I kept going.
‘Please?’
I faltered, then stopped and turned. ‘Allow me to apologise,’ she said huskily. ‘As you can imagine, this is a fraught time.’ She gestured towards the armchair. ‘Please?’
I figured Gillick had had his five hundred euro worth, but there was a catch in her throat when she said the word ‘please’ that suggested she’d licked it off a leper’s tongue. I sat down again, retrieved the Jack. She settled back into the couch and composed herself. ‘I presume you know that Finn and I have been estranged for some time?’
‘Mrs Hamilton,’ I said, ‘what exactly do you want?’
She compressed her lips, then drained the martini and sat up rearranging more silk. From under a cushion she drew a beige manila envelope and from that she slid an A4 sheet of paper. ‘I’d like you to read his suicide note, Mr Rigby.’
My guts flipped over. I felt trapped, the room shrinking, a clammy claustrophobia sucking on my lungs. ‘If it’s all the same to you …’
‘It’s not.’ She softened her tone. ‘You knew him, Mr Rigby. Perhaps you can help me make sense of it all.’
‘You should probably talk to Maria.’
She fixed me with the pair of cobalt skewers. ‘You weren’t to know, Mr Rigby. But my orders are that that whore’s name is not to be spoken in this house.’
‘With all due respect, orders aren’t really my thing.’
I waited, tensed up, while the sedatives and martinis waged war in her eyes. I was guessing she’d be a lot more brutal than her daughter when she finally let-
Shit.
Like father, like son.
I cursed myself for not seeing it before. For not trying to understand how it might feel to be Saoirse Hamilton, so used to having her every whim indulged and command obeyed, now rocked to her core by the suicide of both husband and son. A bereft queen skulking behind her throne, terrified and uncomprehending as she ducked the chunks of masonry shaken loose by some blind and barbarous emissary of Fate.
I could sympathise, sure. If it was Ben who’d just topped himself, I’d be lashing out myself. But Maria deserved better than crude abuse, even from a woman who was for now little more than agony made flesh, an old wound ripped open to be salted all over again.
‘Does Maria know?’ I said. ‘Has she even been told?’
‘I’ll remind you,’ she said, ‘that you are under my roof.’
‘And I’ll remind you I’m here as a favour to Finn, not you.’
His name seemed to clarify something. She still glared, but her eyes were fully clear now, focused. She tapped the sheet of paper in a way that made me feel like a whole row of violins. ‘Hey Joe,’ she said, ‘where are you going with that gun in your hand?’
It was obscene. She read all the way through to the end in a husky monotone. When she was finished she raised her eyes to mine. ‘Can I ask you, Mr Rigby, what you make of that?’
‘It’s a song. They’re lyrics.’
‘That much I already know. What I am asking is, why do you think Finn would have left those lyrics in particular?’
‘He liked the song. It was one of his favourites.’
‘I understand. But you will appreciate what I mean when I say that they do not appear to be entirely relevant. This,’ she continued, glancing down contemptuously, ‘seems to be about shooting an unfaithful lover. Whereas most suicide notes, if I am not mistaken, will at least attempt to explain why its writer killed himself.’
‘Maybe it does.’
‘So you believe,’ a triumphant trembling, ‘he was distraught about her infidelity.’