by Parnell Hall
“I did sneak a peek.”
“It was great. It was like a cartoon, you know, where the guy walks off the edge of the cliff, stands there and looks around, and suddenly realizes he’s standing in midair.” Taylor nodded. “Yeah, Dirkson’s gotta be glad.”
The door opened and Tracy Garvin came in holding a letter.
“Tracy,” Steve said. “I understand you heard?”
Tracy waved it away. “Yeah, yeah, they indicted Jenson. That’s nothing. Take a look at this.”
She held out the letter.
“What’s that?” Steve said.
Tracy opened her mouth as if to say something, then laughed and shook her head. She looked slightly overwhelmed. “I think you better read it.”
Steve took the envelope, pulled out the pages. He unfolded them and started reading. His eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
“What is it?” Taylor said.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve said. “Listen to this. This is a letter dated February 26th.
“‘Dear Mr. Winslow:
“‘I regret that I did not have a chance to adequately express my appreciation for all the work that you have done in my behalf. I apologize if I have seemed ungrateful. What you did was of great help to me, and I hope that I, in turn, may be of some help to you.
“‘By now you are probably wrestling with the problem of a holographic will purportedly leaving all of my fortune to Jeremy Dawson. With regard to that, I hope the enclosed document may be of some help. I am entrusting that document and this letter to a close friend with instructions to mail them to you at the proper time. Since you are reading this letter, that proper time is now.
“‘I hope this document will clear up any confusion that may have arisen concerning my estate. I also hope my relatives will not be too disappointed when my estate is finally divided among them, and they realize just how much of my assets I was able to convert to cash in the past year. Still, there is plenty left to go around. And, what the hey, you can’t take it with you.
“‘Please excuse me if I am in a somewhat whimsical mood, but I must say I am extremely happy with the way everything has turned out.’”
Steve looked up from the letter. “‘Sincerely, Jack Walsh.’ Son of a bitch.”
“That’s nothing,” Tracy said. “Wait till you read the will.”
Steve set the letter aside, and looked at the other document. “O.K., here goes. This will is dated February 26th, 4:30 p.m.”
“‘I, Jack Walsh, being of sound mind and body, do hereby revoke all prior wills and make this my last will and testament. In revoking all prior wills, I specifically and especially revoke the unfinished and unsigned handwritten will begun by me on this same day, purportedly leaving my entire fortune to Jeremy Dawson. I revoke that will, and any and all other prior wills, and do make this my last will and testament.
“‘I hereby appoint the Chase Manhattan Bank to serve as executor of my estate, and to dispose of my property as follows:
“To Steve Winslow, who furnished me with such valuable legal advice, and fought so valiantly in my behalf, I leave the sum of one hundred thousand dollars.’”
Taylor whistled. “Jesus Christ.”
“You can stop sweating your fees now,” Steve said.
“I’ll say. Go on. What else?”
“‘To Carl Jenson I leave nothing because he’s a schmuck.’” Steve looked up. “That’s the very phrase I gave him.”
Tracy nodded. Her eyes were bright. “The man did have a sense of humor, didn’t he?”
“Go on,” Taylor said, impatiently. “What about the money?”
“‘All the rest, remainder, and residue of my property I leave to my relatives, Rose Tindel, Pat Grayson, Claire Chesterton, and Jeremy Dawson, in equal amounts, share and share alike.
“‘In the cases of Rose Tindel, Pat Grayson and Claire Chesterton I leave the money outright with no restrictions, though knowing them and the men they married, I would expect them to run through the money inside of a year.
“‘In the case of Jeremy Dawson, who is a minor, I leave the money in trust, and appoint the Chase Manhattan Bank sole trustee. It is my instructions that they manage the money for him and furnish him with living expenses, if and only if, he is attending school, in which case they shall pay for his education, and all the expenses attendant therewith. Said trust shall remain in effect and terminate only in the event Jeremy Dawson should receive a college degree from a four-year, accredited college, at which time the Chase Manhattan Bank shall turn over the entire amount of the trust to Jeremy Dawson absolutely and without restriction.’”
Steve looked up. “And that’s it. Dated, signed, sealed, all legally binding. Absolutely remarkable.”
“Isn’t it?” Tracy said.
“Yeah,” Steve said. “And what a coincidence.”
“What do you mean, coincidence?” Taylor said.
Steve leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Well, aside from the hundred thousand to me, all this will really accomplishes is negating Jeremy Dawson’s will. That and setting up the trust to try to make the boy fly right. But having this will, it’s the same thing as if I lost the will contest. Jeremy Dawson’s will is knocked out, and the prior will applies. And this will, in effect, is just like the prior will.”
“Except for disinheriting Carl Jenson,” Taylor said.
“Right,” Tracy said. “But if Carl Jenson is convicted of killing Jack Walsh, he couldn’t inherit anyway. That’s it, isn’t it, Steve?”
“Exactly,” Steve said. “If Jenson’s convicted, aside from paying me, this will and that will do exactly the same thing.”
“The point,” Tracy said, “is how could Jack Walsh have known to do that? How could he have known Carl Jenson couldn’t inherit because he was gonna be convicted of his murder?”
Taylor blinked. “Run that by me again.”
“What Tracy’s saying,” Steve said, “is that Jack Walsh wrote this will as if he knew Carl Jenson had killed him.”
Taylor frowned. “You’ll pardon me if that doesn’t clarify things.”
“What I mean, Mark, is whatever date there might be on this will and this letter, it’s obvious they were both written after the trial.”
Mark Taylor’s eyes widened. “You mean?”
“That’s right, Mark,” Steve said. “Today’s bullshit theory day. We just hit the daily double on bullshit theories. First, the bullshit theory that Carl Jenson committed the crime. Second, the bullshit theory that the body wasn’t Jack Walsh.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.”
“Then who the hell was he?”
“Like I said in court, just some derelict who had the misfortune of happening to have no teeth.”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” Taylor said. “This is getting out of hand. Now you’re saying Jack Walsh killed him?”
Steve shook his head. “No. Carl Jenson did. But I think it’s safe to say Jack Walsh meant to kill him.”
Taylor shook his head. “This is coming a little fast. You and Tracy seem to know what’s going on. But would you mind putting it in plain English?”
“I can’t speak for Tracy,” Steve said. “But I’ll tell you what I think happened. Basically, the situation is this. Jack Walsh wanted to disappear. And more than that, he wanted to twist his relatives’ tails doing it.
“So he came to me. Partly to get advice on writing the will, and partly because Carl Jenson was following him, and he knew his going to a lawyer would drive his relatives bananas.
“Anyway, he got the information, and he’s planning to act on it. But the relatives lock him up in Bellevue. I get him out, and when I do he learns it was with Jeremy Dawson’s help.
“Now, Jack Walsh was shrewd in a lot of ways. And I don’t think he bought for a minute that Jeremy Dawson helped him out of the goodness of his own heart. I don’t think he had any illusions about Jeremy Dawson, I think he saw him for what he was, and realized Jeremy helped spring him in the h
ope he’d be grateful. But that didn’t matter, because he knew if he wrote Jeremy Dawson a will, the relatives would think he was taking Jeremy at face value and was actually leaving all the money to him.
“So he sought out Jeremy, and wrote out the bogus will. And to make sure Jeremy couldn’t really inherit, he took the precaution of leaving the will incomplete and unsigned. He also wrote out his other will right away.
“With that done, he was all set. He’d already lined up his scapegoat, the toothless man who was going to take his place. He got him down in the subway station, and on some pretext or other he gave him his coat, the coat with the wallet in the pocket. Then he probably sat around drinking cheap wine with the guy until he passed out.
“Then he hung out and waited.
“Now, I have no doubt in my mind the crime he was planning was for much later in the evening, say two or three in the morning. Much less chance of being observed, of anyone being around.
“Anyway, he’s hanging out down there, probably out of sight in the tunnel, because he doesn’t want to be seen, and he knows those tunnels like the back of his hand. And while he’s waiting there, who should come along but Carl Jenson.”
“Well, this has to be a rude shock to him. Jenson arriving there can blow the whole show. All Jenson has to do is see some other guy is wearing Uncle Jack’s coat, and the pitch is queered forever.
“But, irony of ironies, Carl Jenson doesn’t notice. He sees the guy lying there, face down with Uncle Jack’s coat on, right where the will said Uncle Jack would be. So he takes the guy for Uncle Jack, produces a pistol and shoots him in the head.
“The platform’s deserted at the time, probably an express is going by to muffle the shot. At any rate, nobody notices and Jenson beats it out of there.
“All well and good. Except now Jack Walsh can’t wait until two or three in the morning, he has to act now. He sneaks out of the tunnel, douses the body with gasoline, sets it on fire, and gets the hell out of there.”
Steve spread his arms wide. “After that, a shave and a haircut, some clean clothes, if he hasn’t done that already, and off he goes free as air. Ever since he’s been sitting back, watching the show, and probably laughing his ass off.”
“Jesus Christ,” Taylor said. “You really think that happened?”
“Sure do,” Steve said. He pointed to the will. “This will and that letter make it a damn near certainty that happened.”
“Then when you produce ‘em people will know?”
Steve shook his head. “Hell, no. To me they confirm theories I’ve had for some time. But there’s nothing specific in ‘em. By anyone else they’ll be taken at face value.”
“If you know all that,” Taylor said, “how can you keep quiet? You’re letting him get away with murder.”
“Murder? What murder? He didn’t commit any murder.”
“Well, attempted murder.”
“It isn’t even attempted,” Steve said. “He’s guilty of intent to commit murder, that’s for sure. But he didn’t do it. Lots of people wanna kill people. It’s no crime unless you actually do it.”
“According to you he burned the body.”
“That’s right. But that’s not attempted murder. You can’t kill a dead person. It’s certainly a crime-I’m not sure exactly what-but it isn’t murder.”
Taylor shook his head. “Christ, I don’t know. To hear you talking, it all sounds logical. But still. I mean, why would he go through that elaborate charade? He had the money. It was his. If he wanted to take off, why didn’t he just do it?”
“For one thing, he wanted to get back at his relatives. For another, he wanted to disappear in a way that no one would ever find him.
“There’s something else too, that I don’t really feel so good about.”
“What’s that?”
Steve sighed. “That is, however stupid I may have made that Bellevue psychiatrist look, I think what the guy was saying was basically true. That, though he may have been shrewd and cunning in many ways, Jack Walsh was not actually a sane man.”
Steve rubbed his head. “Even so,” he said, “I can’t help liking him, somehow. Even though he intended to commit a murder. Even though he burned the body. I can’t help feeling a certain satisfaction that he’s out of it now. That he got away with it. That, even if someone put two and two together and wanted to make a case against him, by now there isn’t a prayer that Dirkson or I could ever find him.”
“Oh yeah,” Tracy said. Her eyes were gleaming. “Well now, I think you’re being a little naive.”
Steve looked at her. “Now what the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think finding him would be all that hard.”
Steve frowned. “What the hell are you saying?”
Tracy smiled. “You’ll forgive me if I take a little bit of satisfaction out of this. It feels good to be a step ahead of you for once.” Tracy pushed the hair out of her eyes. “You really can’t figure out where Jack Walsh is? After all the work you had Mark Taylor do?”
“Me?” Taylor said.
“What are you talking about?” Steve said.
“I’m talking about Julie Creston. With the boyfriend in the shower. The boyfriend she was so anxious to get the detective out of her apartment so they wouldn’t have a chance to meet. The rich boyfriend who was taking her to Rio.”
Steve stared at her. “Are you telling me-”
Tracy held up her hands. “Hey,” she said. “I can’t take any credit for this. After all, I’m no big hand at deductions. I just happen to be young, and I happen to be romantic,’ and that’s why I think what I think.”
Tracy smiled. “That and the fact that I’m not the big lawyer who reads the contracts, I’m just the secretary who opens the mail.”
Steve frowned. “The mail? What are you talking about?”
Tracy jerked her thumb at the envelope on Steve’s desk. “The mail.”
Steve looked. The envelope was lying face down next to the letter and the will.
Steve gave Tracy a look. Then he picked up the envelope and turned it over.
It was postmarked Rio.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-f96ed4-da97-4e45-b1a1-e58b-849f-ebe02f
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 15.10.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.2, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Parnell Hall
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