by Ed McBain
“Oh.”
Kling was suddenly interested. Detectives liked nothing better than family disputes. Family disputes provided motives. But an unfiled will? Ahidden will? That was the stuff of paperback mysteries. In police work there were no mysteries. There were only crimes and the motives for those crimes.
“Haven’t spoken to each other since the wedding,” Wilkins said. “That was three years ago. She threw a glass of champagne in my face.”
“Why’d she do that, Mr. Wilkins?”
Seeming only mildly interested, but this was a family dispute and he was listening intently.
“I called her a whore.”
Kling all ears now. This was turning into a Southern Gothic.
“Why’d you do that, Mr. Wilkins?”
“Because sheis one,” he said, and shrugged.
“You don’t mean that literally,” Kling said, prodding.
“No, but you know what I mean.”
“No, whatdo you mean?”
“A cock tease,” Wilkins said.
Good thing you didn’t call herthat , Kling thought. She’d have broken the wholebottle of champagne over your head.
“Ever mention this to your brother?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Wilkins said. “I figured he made his bed, let him lie in it.”
But now he’s dead, Kling thought.
“And you think she’s hiding the will from you, is that it?”
“I’msure she’s hiding it. What I want is for you to go in her house with a search warrant…”
“Well, we can’t do that, Mr. Wilkins.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think a judge would grant one. Not to go in and search for a will. Not without some reason to believe it would constitute evidence in a crime.”
“If she’s keeping money from me, itis a crime.”
“Well, we don’t know if thereis a will, you see, or if you’re in it, if there is one. And if there is, how do you know it’s in her house? Have you everseen this will?”
“No, but…”
“So how can I ask for a court order to search for a will that may not exist? The judge would throw me out.”
“So she just gets away with it, huh? Hiding the will from me?”
“Well…what youcan do…I’m not a lawyer, and I don’t want to advise you. But if youwent to see a lawyer…”
“Lawyers!”Wilkins said.
“…I’m sure he could write a letter to your sister-in-law…”
“Thatbitch!”
“…asking her if there is a will, and if so, when does she plan to petition the court for probate. Then if she doesn’t answer in a reasonable amount of time, he can take it from there.”
“Take itwhere from there?”
“Go to court for you, I guess.”
“What you’re saying is it’s going to cost me money to get whatever money my brother left me.”
Ifhe left you any, Kling thought.
“What I’m saying,” Kling said, “is that this isn’t a police matter.”
But maybe it was.
THIS WAS THEOld City.
The ocean-battered seawall still stood where the Dutch had built it centuries ago, the massive cannons atop it seeming even now to control the approach from the Atlantic though their barrels had long ago been filled with cement. If you looked out over the wall at the very tip of the island, you could watch the Dix and the Harb churning with crosscurrents where the two rivers met. The wind howled in fiercely here, ripping through streets that had once accommodated horse-drawn carts but that were now too narrow to allow the passage of more than a single automobile. Where once there had been two-story wooden taverns, a precious few of which still survived, there were now concrete buildings soaring high into the sky, infested redundantly with lawyers and financiers. The firm of Osborne, Wilkins, Promontori and Colbert was in one of those buildings.
“I love the view from up here,” Parker said. “This part of the city.”
They were strolling down the hallway toward a huge floor-to-ceiling window through which they could see towering skyscrapers succumbing to dusk. It was close to five o’clock. They hadn’t called ahead, and Kling was wondering now if they should have. But Parker had told him he liked to surprise people. Parker thought he was full of surprises. Maybe he was. His surprise for today was that he hadn’t shaved. Kling wondered if it was wise to go into a fancy lawyer’s office without either an appointment or a shave.
The receptionist asked them who they were.
Parker flashed the tin and told her they wanted to talk to Mr. Colbert, please, if he could spare them a minute. Neither of them particularly liked lawyers. Aside from district attorneys, their entire experience with lawyers was withdefense lawyers, many of whom had oncebeen D.A.’s, all of whom were determined to impeach them as witnesses and cast them as brutes, racists, and perjurers. But Peter Wilkins had been a lawyer, and he was dead. And this morning his brother had raised the question of a will that might or might not exist, in which he might or might not have been named as a beneficiary. So they were here to talk to yetanother lawyer, who happened to have been Peter Wilkins’s partner, and who now came out of his office to greet them personally.
Kling recognized the man he’d met at the wake. Thirty-five years old or thereabouts, plain, craggy face, dark eyes, mustache, eyeglasses. Wearing the same brown suit he’d been wearing when they’d met the first time. Button-down collar, striped tie. Tall and angular. Hand extended in greeting.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “come in, please, have you learned anything?”
“No, not yet,” Kling said.
“Few questions we’d like to ask you, though,” Parker said, “if that’s all right with you.”
“Yes, please,” he said, ushering them into his private office and closing the door behind them. They were facing a window wall that offered a breathtaking view of the skyline. Big wooden desk covered with papers in blue binders. Bookshelves sagging with heavy legal tomes. Framed university degrees on the walls. Colbert sat behind his desk, the window wall behind him.
“So,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“I got a visit this morning from a man named David Wilkins,” Kling said. “Do you know him?”
“Peter’s brother. Yes. I know him.”
“I understand he and Mrs. Wilkins don’t get along.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Colbert said, and smiled.
“Threw champagne in his face, that right?” Parker asked.
“He shouted obscenities at her. At her own wedding reception, mind you. I’ve never seen her so angry.”
“You were there?”
“Oh, yes. The three of us have been friends…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I still can’t get used to the idea of Peter being gone.” He sighed, shook his head again, and said, “Yes, I was there. I was Peter’s best man, in fact.”
“Wilkins seems to think his brother left a will,” Kling said.
Colbert said nothing.
“And that he’s in it,” Parker said.
Colbert still said nothing.
“Would you know if there’s such a will?” Kling asked.
“Why do you want to know this?” Colbert said.
“Well…there’s been a murder committed,” Kling said, “and we like to cover all the…”
“What my partner’s trying to say,” Parker said, “is that it has been known in the annals of crime for people tokill other people in order to inherit money. Is what I think he’s trying to say.”
“I see. So you think…”
“We don’t think anything yet,” Kling said. “We’re trying…”
“What wethink ,” Parker said, “is that Wilkins sounds like a flake goes around insulting the bride at her own wedding and now thinks he’s named in his brother’s will, is what we think. Which could have some bearing on the case.”
“Sois there such a will?” Kling asked.
“Bysuch a will, do
you mean a will in which David Wilkins is named as a beneficiary? Or merely a will Peter Wilkins left?”
“Take your choice,” Parker said.
“Peter Wilkins left a will, yes,” Colbert said. “Hasn’t Debra told you this?”
“We didn’t ask her,” Parker said. “Do you have a copy of that will, Mr. Colbert?”
“I have the original,” Colbert said.
“May we see that will, please?” Kling asked.
“Why?” Colbert said.
“As my partner explained, it might have some bearing if Wilkins was named as…”
“Yes, I understand. But the will hasn’t yet been probated, hasn’t been made a public document. If I showed it to you, I’d be violating the privacy…”
“Mr. Colbert,” Parker said, “your partner was killed. We’re trying to find out who did it.”
“I recognize that. But I don’t think I can show you his will.”
Parker looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” Colbert said.
“Can you tell us if David Wilkins is a beneficiary in the will?” Kling asked.
“Suppose I say he is? Will you then want to know what theconditions of the will are, what theterms of the will are, what…”
“Can’t you just give us a simple yes or no?” Parker said.
“Can’t you wait till the will is probated? The man wasburied only last week, I would think…”
“Let me put it to you this way, Mr. Colbert,” Parker said. “Suppose this nutty brother of his who loses his head at weddings discovers he’s going to inherit a million bucks when his brother dies. And suppose he sees in the newspaper that a person was killed spraying a wall, and suppose he decides it would be a good idea to kill his brother and make it look like the same person did it so he can collect his mil and run off to the South Pacific, do you thinkthen you could understand why we might want to know if this guy’sreally going to inherit?”
“Yes, but…”
“So give us a break, willya?” Parker said.
Colbert smiled.
“I suppose I can disclose a negative,” he said. “No, David Wilkins is not named as a beneficiary in his brother’s will.”
“Thank you,” Parker said. “Can you tell us whois named?”
“That would be a positive,” Colbert said, and smiled again. “I’m sorry, really, but I couldn’t reveal that without first asking Debra Wilkins’s permission.”
“It’ll be a matter of public record the minute she files for probate,” Kling said.
“Yes, but it’s not a matter of public record yet.”
“Do you knowwhen she plans to file?”
“I have no idea.”
“Hasn’t said anything to you about…”
“She’s given me no instructions. Her husband was just killed, Mr. Kling. I’m sure thelast thing on her mind is filing his will.”
Kling nodded.
Parker nodded, too.
“Well, thanks a lot,” he said, “we appreciate your time.”
“Happy to be of help,” Colbert said, and came from behind his desk to show them to the door. “If you like,” he said, “I’ll give Debra a call, ask if it’s okay to supply the information you’re looking for.”
“Yeah, we’d appreciate that,” Parker said, and handed him his card.
“Thanks again,” Kling said.
In the hallway outside, as they walked toward the elevators, Parker said, “Did you see those diplomas on his wall? The guy went toHarvard !”
“Why’d he wait till we were on our way out?” Kling asked.
“Wait forwhat ?” Parker said. “Sometimes you’ve very fucking mysterious, you know that?”
“Wait to make his offer. About calling the wife.”
“Let me tell you what that’s called, okay? It’s called lawyer-client confidentiality, and it means you don’t call your client while somebody is with you who can hear the conversation. Got it?”
“I’m gonna ask her about that will,” Kling said. “I don’t see what the bigsecret is about a will that’s gonna be probated anyway.”
“It’ll wait till tomorrow,” Parker said. “You bucking for commissioner or what?”
Kling looked at his watch.
“It’ll wait till tomorrow,” Parker said again.
Kling nodded. “Wanna grab a burger?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Parker said, and grinned. “But not with you.”
CHLOE THOUGHTit was an April Fools’ Day joke at first, Sil handing her the check over the table. He’d told her on the phone this morning that it might take a few days yet for the group’s business manager to cut the check, but here he was handing it to her, nice pretty yellow check, his fingers to her fingers over the table. The first thing she saw was the six zeros, four of them in front of the decimal point and another two after it. Then she saw the two, and sure enough, she was looking at a check for twenty thousand dollars.
“I should have asked for it in singles,” she said, and rolled her eyes.
“How about quarters?” Sil said. “Wheelbarrow full of quarters.”
“This won’t bounce, will it?” she asked.
“Better not,” he said, and raised his wineglass.
She put the check in her handbag and snapped the bag shut before she lifted her glass.
“Here’s to the first Spit Shine performance of ‘Sister Woman’ this Saturday,” he said.
“Here’s to it,” she said, and they both drank.
“Will you come hear us?” he asked. “I’ll get you a laminate, you can sit right on the stage with us.”
“What’s a laminate?”
“A pass. Get you through security.”
“What time Saturday?” she asked.
“We’re opening the whole thing,” he said. “Only better spot would be the closing one. Usually, your headliner’s the last act on stage. But Grass thinksnext to closing would be better for a Sunday. The thing’s running two full days, you know. Starts at one o’clock Saturday, ends midnight Sunday.”
“Who’s Grass?” Chloe asked.
“Girl in the crew.”
The way he said it, so offhandedly like that, she figured there was something going on between them. Looked away, too, something going on there for sure.
“There’ll be ten groups altogether, five on Saturday, another five on Sunday. Figure an hour onstage for each of us, maybe even an hour and a half, depending on how it’s going. Then, when you figure in your dead time…”
“Dead time?”
“Yeah, the next act placing they instruments and setting up they own mikes and amps, that all takes time. Sometimes your dead time can be an hour between each act, depending how fussy the group wants t’be. What I’m saying is it’ll be a full day, if you want to go the whole route. I’d be happy t’stay with you, you want to stick around after we’re through performing. Or we can go someplace else, if you like, spend the day together. If you like,” he said.
“I haven’t yet said I was coming,” she said.
“Well,if you come. I thought you might like to hear us do ‘Sister Woman,’ is all. We’ve been rehearsing it, I think it’ll go down real fine.”
“It’s a good song.”
“Oh yeah.”
“When will you be doing it? I mean, where in the act?”
“We’re opening with it. Usually, you open with something familiar, give ’em time to settle down while they listen to one of your hits. This time, we’re jumpin right in with both feet, givin ’em a new one.Then we’ll do one of our hits…you familiar with ‘Hate’?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“You got a date with hate, at the Devil’s gate,” he rapped, beating out the rhythm on the tabletop, “you gottahate the ofay…you don’t know it, huh? Big hit. Anyway, we do that after ‘Sister Woman’ and then we’ve got a big surprise planned for later on, I was hoping you’d stay for it. Something unusual for us. Chloe, I’d…be very disappointed if you didn’t come Saturday. I was look
ing forward to your coming. It’d be very special for me if you was to come.”
She had promised Tony she’d work all day Saturday—which was supposed to be her day off—to make up for tonight. Now that she had the check, she could tell Tony things had changed. Tell him she didn’t need the job anymore. Though she knew people who’d won more than twenty on the lottery, blew it all in a month. She couldn’t let that happen. Maybe she should hang on to the job till she figured what to do next. Put the money in the bank, keep dancing at Eden’s till she explored the opportunities open to her. Go in this Saturday, like she said she would. Still, shedid want to hear them do “Sister Woman.” Then again, that tune was the past, man, that tune was George Chadderton, long dead and gone and scarcely missed at all. The future was Chloe Chadderton. But maybe the future was Sil, too.
“One o’clock, you say?”
“Get you a laminate the minute you say the word. All access, you can roam around wherever you like before the concert starts. I’ll set you up on the stage where you can hear and see everything we do. Take you around later, introduce you to the other groups.” He lowered his eyes again. “That’d make me very proud,” he said.
“I’ll see,” she said.
She wasn’t playing it cute, she wasn’t that kind of woman, never had been. She was still thinking it might be better to hang on to the job, go in Saturday like she’d promised Tony. Maybe Silwas the future, though she wasn’t too sure about that, either. Men were men, and too damn many of them were alike. But future or not, the job at the Eden was thepresent. She didn’t want to start living on that twenty. That twenty was her stake.
“Well, you think it over,” he said, and took another sip of the wine. “I don’t know too much about Italian food,” he said, “except pizza on the road. There’s some great pizza joints in Pennsylvania and Ohio. But I asked Mort…Mort Ackerman…what he thought the best…”
“Who’s Mort Ackerman?”
“Promoter doing the concert. Windows Entertainment, you ever hear of them?”
“No.”
“They’re gigantic. Mort’s the CEO. We were yellin at him about the ads, and he called today to say there’d be full-page ads in all the papers tomorrow, and Spit Shine’s featured real prominent, big as any other headliner.”
