„What was your old man’s problem with the Winters?“
„Oh, it dated back to Cleo’s father, Quentin, and his brother, James. Very disreputable, both of them. Neither one was worth anything, financially or otherwise. They broke their trust fund after their parents died. Spent all the money, and so fast. This is my father’s account, you understand. Winter House was in foreclosure when the younger brother, James, left town with a slew of debts. The older boy, Quentin, was a dilettante who fancied himself a great artist.“
The word dilettante had to be repeated twice: first because Riker could not understand the man’s beer soaked speech, and the second time because it amused the detective to hear a lawyer stumble this way.
„Quentin solved the money problem by marrying a wealthy woman. That was Nedda’s mother, Edwina.“
As the old man rambled on, Riker learned that Quentin Winter had been livid when he discovered the terms of his late wife’s will. According to Sheldon’s father, Edwina had changed her will once a month, following fights with her husband. In the last version, all the money had been tied up in trust for Nedda and her siblings. Edwina Winter had been pregnant with twins when she died – hence the sibling clause. Within a month of his first wife’s death, Quentin Winter had married his favorite model, Alice, who was already pregnant with Lionel.
„No money,“ said Smyth, „but Alice was a very fertile girl. She produced eight siblings for Nedda. All those children ever meant to Quentin was an increase in his guardian allotments.“
„Bastard,“ said Riker. „So Cleo and Lionel take after their dad?“
„Oh, no, nothing like him. The two of them are moneymaking machines. They’re worth millions, but you’d think they’d spent their childhood as starving orphans. Rather mean-spirited about money.“
„And that’s why you give your daughter an allowance?“
„Yes. Bitty’s not up to working just now, but Cleo and Lionel probably think she’s malingering. Might’ve been more human if they’d inherited something of their father’s spirit in spending. And they’re not exacdy warm people. Poor Bitty.“
„But you knew all the quirks when you married into that family, right?“
„And I didn’t care. If you’d only seen Cleo when she was young – what a beauty. What put me off was the way she treated Bitty from the moment I brought that baby into the house. Not a maternal bone in my ex-wife’s body. The only thing that stirs Cleo is a rise in the stock market.“
„What about Quentin’s brother, James Winter? What did he do for money?“
„No idea. I only know that he never did an honest day’s work in his life. That’s what my father said. He liked to gamble, but the man had no real profession.“
Riker had begun to wonder if Sheldon was truly as drunk as he seemed. Was the man sharing or feeding information? Even lawyers stoned on cocaine were not so generous with the dark side of client histories.
„Did the police ever suspect James in the massacre?“ The detective already knew the answer to this one, but he was hoping to catch this man in a lie.
„The police cleared James almost immediately. He had nothing to gain from the murders. Since the trust fund was entailed to a charity, he could never inherit. And James was doing quite well in those days. He lived in a suite at the Plaza Hotel.“
„But you said Lionel caught him stealing from the trust.“
„Yes. I assume, in later years, James had a reversal of fortune. The theft only amounted to housekeeping money, fudging the figures and so on. Nothing major.“
„When did James Winter leave town?“
„I think it was the year Lionel turned twenty-one. Yes, the boy was preparing to take over the trust allotments when he noticed a few irregularities. That’s when his uncle James ran off. Probably wanted to avoid prosecution.“
Riker smiled to hide his deep disappointment. So James Winter was still alive years after Humboldt had been stabbed to death in a little town in Maine. A pity. Uncle James had been such a great candidate for a hitman, lots of cash but no visible means of support.
Their fresh beer had arrived via the maid at the back door. And when Smyth had finished two more bottles, Riker decided to take his best shot – before the attorney passed out. „I hate to bring this up, sir, but my partner still wants to see the trust documents. You think – “
„I told you – or was it your partner? No matter. No documents without a warrant.“
„But you’re the executor. The city attorney says that you can – “
„Can, but won’t. Matter of principle.“
Riker well understood the problem. „So it wouldn’t look good for the firm.“
„Damn right it wouldn’t,“ said Smyth. „For over a hundred years, we’ve been known for absolute discretion.“
And yet, the detective had just completed a tutorial on the Winter family faults.
„Okay,“ said Riker. „You got my word on this. We won’t tell anybody that your dad mismanaged the Winter children’s trust fund.“
The expression on Sheldon Smyth’s face could only be read as guilty surprise, and, in the absence of hot denial, Riker knew he was on to something.
„Hey, I’m a homicide cop. What do I care who diddled what? And the statute of limitations is on your side. But you don’t want a gang of cops at the door. I understand. You want discretion? You got it. How’s this. You like Charles Butler, don’t you? You trust him, right? Instead of us getting a warrant to haul everything downtown, suppose we look over the documents at his place, neutral ground?“
However drunken the man might be, when he smiled, the lucid face of the lawyer made a brief appearance, just popping out long enough to say, „If you could talk a judge into giving you that warrant, you’d have it by now. No deal.“
Sheldon Smyth’s eyes were closing, and Riker left him sitting there amid the litter of empty bottles, one more thing for the maid to clean up.
The quick rap on his door was somewhat annoying, but hardly loud enough to wake his houseguest. Charles opened the New York Times. The rap went on.
Most irritating.
He crushed his newspaper. Even if he had not recognized the impatient knock, almost a signature, he would have known it was Mallory.
Rap, rap, rap.
He glanced at his watch to see that she had allowed him a generous two hours to ply intimate secrets from Nedda, perhaps believing – so insulting – that he would never see through the ruse. Given time for reflection, he had come to understand his true role at the polygraph examination. Riker had as good as confessed, admitting that Charles would have been Mallory’s guest if Bitty Smyth had not insisted on his presence.
Rap, rap. Bang!
Eventually, she would go away. She had keys to the offices across the hall, but none to his apartment. Though now he heard the sound of metal on metal.
Oh, fool I.
When had she ever been deterred by the lack of keys?
His intruder was so stealthy, he never heard the door open. Mallory simply appeared at the end of the foyer. Her own surprise was fleeting – there, then gone. He rose from the couch, startled and speechless. Her preemptive strikes could be dazzling. He was stunned that Mallory was the first one to strike a pose of outrage and indignation. Oh, the very idea that she should have to break into his apartment when he was just sitting there all the while. All of this was in her face, deliberately written there for him to read.
Chief Medical Examiner Edward Slope spent his lunch hour on a tree-lined street in suburban Brooklyn, conversing on the freak warmth of October, and lifting his face to the sun. Yes, he agreed with Rabbi David Kaplan that every day of Indian summer was a gift. They both turned their attention to the mystery crate at the center of Robin Duffy’s garage, while they waited for this charter member of the floating weekly poker game to join them.