I had another manila envelope in my pocket.
Brady drove. He was full of energy. He’d had a big day for a lawman. I tried keeping him company, but found my eyes kept refusing to stay open. It was late and the sun long set when we came across the Triborough Bridge. Now the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge. Another bit of change that I would never get used to.
“Do you mind getting a cab? I’m on my way back to the office downtown, and a trip to the West Side . . .” He let the sentence dangle.
“No problem. I’ve got a stop to make anyway. Leave me off on Second Avenue and you can cut over and get right back on the FDR.”
He pulled over to the curb and I reached for the door handle.
“Just one question,” he said.
If he asked about Tom, I would just walk away. It was late, and I was not in the mood to start lying.
“Shoot,” I said.
“The lawyer in Zurich. Who did him? It’s not my case, but I’m curious. Who do you think did it?”
“Blake. Had to be. He was either there, or he sent two of those goons to handle it. Morgan was supposed to be the messenger—Virgil told me she was the only one who visited the old man—and when she saw her chance, she grabbed it. When the father figured out that she’d switched her allegiances, he took the easy way out. He hung himself.”
Brady stared out at Second Avenue. “I don’t see any way to prove it.”
“Morgan will talk. One night in a cell at MCC and she’ll give up her lover gift-wrapped. Hell, she gave up her father for money, she’ll give up Blake for freedom. You’ll see.”
“And on that cheery note,” he said, offering his hand.
I shook it. “Good night, Brady.”
“Stay in touch.”
Hours after sunset and the temperature on the sidewalk was still in the nineties, and so was the humidity. I wanted to climb into my own bed and let the hum of the AC blot out the world for just one night. Just one. I’d take up my life again in the morning, I promised.
No deal.
LaGuardia Airport shuts down at midnight, and starting around eleven or so, cabbies stop bothering to wait and come back into Manhattan looking for a late fare. They come in over the Triborough. I put my hand up and had a taxi in under a minute.
• • •
THE BODYGUARDS WERE GONE—Tom must have gotten the word to them. Mistletoe answered the door in a floor-length orange and yellow dashiki that made her look like an explosion. Her hair was wet and hanging straight, as though she had just come from the shower. She’d been crying.
“Come in,” she said, turning and fading away from me, her body slumped in defeat. She whispered, “I didn’t think you would be coming to visit anymore.”
“I can’t stay,” I said, walking into the living room. “I’ve been up since four this morning and I’m dying on my feet. I just wanted to check on you. When did the men leave?”
The cats peeked out from various hiding places—beneath the couch, behind the draperies, from the top of the kitchen cabinets.
“I don’t know. I slept late and when I woke up they were gone.”
“I’m sorry. Were you frightened?”
“No.”
She wasn’t—but whether from courage or despair I couldn’t say.
“I brought you something. Something from Willie.” I opened the envelope. “I was going through some of Willie’s private papers and I came upon these.” I pulled out the top document and handed it to her.
She looked at the official German writing. “I can’t read this,” she said.
“No, neither can I,” I said. “But I know what it says. These are annuities. Swiss insurance company annuities. I know because I own some myself.”
She blinked her eyes as though I had begun speaking in Urdu.
“How much did Willie take from you?”
She blushed. “I don’t talk about that.”
“Around forty million U.S., I would guess, judging by what’s here.”
She gave a short intake of breath—not quite a gasp, but a startled response. “It was my aunt’s money, not mine.”
“Oh, it’s yours all right. You see, Willie didn’t really take it. I mean he took it, but he didn’t dump it in with other customers’ money. He kept it separate and put it into Swiss-franc-denominated annuities. They don’t pay much interest, but they are about the safest investment on the planet.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He protected you, Mistletoe. These are untraceable tax-exempt securities. Contracts, really. And thanks to the dollar crapping out, they’re worth about twelve percent more than they were when he bought them two years ago. You are a wealthy woman again.”
She nodded slowly, but I still wasn’t sure she got it.
“The interest accrues, but you can have it put in your bank account instead. My accountant can help you with it. You’ll like him—he’s a little older than I am. The next three years will be a little tight, living on the interest, but you can begin cashing them in any time after that.”
She sank into the couch and the cats began to creep in and settle around her. I could see in her eyes that she was starting to understand.
“I think Willie cared for you, Mistletoe. He watched out for you—even against himself.”
“Do you have any Kleenex?”
“No. Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” She wiped her nose with the draping sleeve of the dashiki.
“One more thing. You were wrong about Mrs. Von Becker. She didn’t have Willie killed. Willie killed himself.”
“She hated him.”
“Maybe. She married a man she considered beneath her, because he was the only one who asked her. Or was ever going to ask her. It wasn’t a bargain she made happily. And he cheated on her and stole from all her friends and then he did the unforgivable. He got caught. But she didn’t kill him.”
“He wouldn’t kill himself. I know my Willie.”
Enough people had already lost their illusions—or delusions. I didn’t want to add to her pain.
“I can’t say he was a good man, but I do think he loved you.”
The cats felt the change in her and all three snuggled into her lap. She stared down at them so long that I thought she might have forgotten I was there.
“I’m going to go now,” I said.
“But you will come back?”
“Maybe. But I’m not going to be taking Willie’s place. And you need to get out. Start making friends.” It wasn’t impossible. People can change. I had changed. “Best of luck.”
She didn’t look up.
I left her surrounded by the cats.