Final Venture

by Michael Ridpath

  The answer was, of course, that we didn't.

  'Oh, Mom. We couldn't afford a bigger place around here, you know that,' Lisa said. 'We fit everything in. But I'm really sorry there isn't room for you and Eddie.'

  'Oh, don't worry about that,' Ann said. 'The B and B is delightful.'

  'It's kind of nice to have a bed instead of crashing on your floor,' said Eddie, smiling at his younger sister.

  Everyone helped themselves to the lasagne.

  'What I don't understand,' said Ann, returning to the subject that was in all our minds, 'is why anyone would want to kill Frank. He never had any enemies that I knew of. He was such a nice man. Always.'

  Then why did you divorce him? I thought, but didn't say. Ann's attitude towards Frank was poles away from my mother's attitude towards my father. My mother had been a reluctant attendant at her ex-husband's funeral, her face and manner betraying no emotion whatsoever. There must have been feelings in there, somewhere, but I couldn't guess what they were. There could be no doubting the genuine sadness Lisa's mother felt.

  She turned to me. 'Didn't people like him at work?'

  'Oh, yes,' I replied. 'We all liked him. And he was very well respected.' All of us but Art, I thought.

  'Have the cops any ideas who did it?' Eddie asked.

  'I don't think so,' I answered.

  'Simon seems to be their best guess,' said Lisa. I glanced across at her sharply. 'The questions that Sergeant Mahoney guy has been asking. It's obvious what he's thinking.'

  Eddie looked at both of us. Two years Lisa's senior he had dropped out of medical school several years previously and was in some kind of post graduate school at the University of California in San Francisco, studying social work. Lisa admired him for following a career path devoted to helping those in need, which paid little. I tried not to think middle-aged thoughts about perpetual students. He and I had never had much to do with each other. As little sister's boyfriend and then husband, he was both suspicious and polite to me. As a titled Englishman who worked for an East Coast financial firm, I was irredeemably uncool. Since his father had left the rest of his family, he had taken on the role of man in the family; his mother and his younger sister hung on his every word. I suspected he didn't like the way they showed every sign of hanging on mine, too.

  And, of course, I had been introduced to Lisa by his father. This put me on the wrong side of the family divide that figured so prominently in Eddie's mind.

  'But wasn't Simon with you?' he asked Lisa.

  She shook her head. 'Uh uh. That's the problem. I was working in the lab. Simon was at Marsh House, seeing Dad. He was the last one to see him alive.'

  'Really?' Eddie was looking at me closely.

  'It's true,' I said. 'He and I had had an argument at work, and I went up to Marsh House to sort it out. I didn't get anywhere, so I left. Apparently he was killed sometime between then and ten o'clock that evening.'

  'Really?' said Eddie again.

  'Don't look like that, Eddie,' said Lisa, grasping my hand, finally aware of the difficulty she had raised. 'Of course Simon had nothing to do with it.'

  'Of course not,' said Eddie, with an indulgent smile at his younger sister.

  She smiled back, glad to clear up the misunderstanding. But from Eddie's glance towards me I wasn't at all sure she had done any such thing. 'The police will catch whoever did this,' she said.

  'I hope they do,' said Eddie. 'I'd never thought I'd say this, but he deserves the chair. They've brought the death penalty back in Massachusetts, haven't they?'

  Lisa didn't answer my question. I shook my head. 'I don't think so.'

  'Really? I thought I'd read they had.'

  Lisa concentrated on her lasagne. Ann looked adoringly at her son. I felt mildly irritated. Lisa knew very well that Massachusetts hadn't brought back the death penalty, but the last thing she was going to do was contradict big brother. All Eddie's pronouncements, of which there were many, were greeted with rapture by his mother and sister. He was an intelligent man, and often said interesting things, but sometimes he was just plain wrong.

  I knew better than to contradict him. I had become involved in an argument with him the year before at Thanksgiving. It was over a small thing, whether Helmut Kohl was a Social Democrat. He thought he was, I knew he wasn't, Lisa and her mother were sure Eddie couldn't be wrong. I had stood my ground, and briefly spoiled what had been a very pleasant evening.

  'Must have missed it,' I said, pouring Eddie some more wine.

  There was a brief silence, then Ann spoke. 'I thought you got on so well with Frank,' said Ann. 'I'm sorry you parted on such bad terms.'

  'So am I,' I said. 'I do feel bad about it. There's a lot I'd have liked to say to him before he died.'

  'Me too,' said Lisa flatly.

  We finished in silence, the shock and anger seated with us like extra guests at the table.

  That night, as I lay in bed, trying to get to sleep, I felt the bed shudder gently. I reached over and touched Lisa's shoulder. It was shaking.

  'Come here,' I said.

  She rolled over into my arms. I felt her warm tears trickle down my chest.

  'You know that shirt Dad was wearing? The plaid one?' she said.

  'Yes?'

  'I gave that to him for his birthday last year. He really liked it. And now it's covered with his blood.'

  I squeezed her even tighter into my chest. She cried some more. Eventually, she broke away, sniffed and reached for some tissues beside the bed.

  'It must be awful for Eddie,' she said.

  'It's awful for everyone.'

  'Yes. But he hasn't seen Dad for six years. He's barely spoken to him since he and Mom broke up.'

  'Why do you think it got to him so badly? You had no problems with your father, did you?'

  'I don't know. I really think it would have been better if they'd told us the real reason they split up. I mean they said they just didn't want to live together any more. Eddie thought Dad was running away from us. He never forgave him.'

  'I wonder if we'll ever know why now.'

  'I guess now I'd rather not. Now Dad's gone. I mean one of them was probably messing around with someone else. Mom, I guess. I don't know.'

  'I suppose that's why Eddie's so angry,' I said.

  'Because he feels guilty about not seeing Dad? Probably. But you know Eddie. He can get pretty angry anyway.'

  Actually I didn't know Eddie that well. And I was quite happy to keep it that way.

  'I'm angry too,' Lisa went on. 'It's just so wrong for someone to die like that.' Her voice had suddenly become hard and bitter. 'He wasn't ready to die. He had years left to him. What right has anyone to take another person's life? Mom has a point, there's no good reason why anyone should want to kill him. I don't know about the death penalty, but I sure as hell hope they get the bastard who did it. He's not fit to live, whoever he is.'

  This outburst surprised me. Lisa had been so submissive up to now in the face of Frank's death. But she was right. Murder wasn't just evil. It was callous as well.

  We lay in silence for a while. Then Lisa spoke; this time her voice was so quiet I could hardly hear it. 'When I was little and felt bad or scared, Dad used to sing to me. He had a terrible voice; he never liked to sing in front of anyone but me. I wish he could do it now.'

  I couldn't sing to her. But I could hold her. I didn't let her go until, a long time later, I heard the regular breathing of sleep.

  8

  Frank was buried in a Jewish cemetery in Brookline, where the Cook family had lived when it was still a family. The ceremony was simple. After the Kaddish, mumbled with varying degrees of confidence by those present, the rabbi spoke of Frank in his younger days; I suspected he hadn't set eyes on him in many years. Gil made a low-key eulogy, short, honest and very moving. Only a small group of about twenty or so people were there: family and close friends. I was annoyed to see Mahoney standing at the back, his sharp eyes scanning the gathering. He caught my
glance, and the side of his mouth twitched upwards. I looked away. It seemed wrong to me that he should be here at Frank's funeral. I would have thrown him out if I could.

  The shiva or visitation, was held at Frank's sister's house a mile or so away. Shiva meant seven, and technically it should have lasted seven days, but Eddie had to get back to his studies, and Frank was at best a lapsed progressive, so the family had decided on the one evening. The mourners were joined by others who came to pass on their condolences to his family. It seemed as if hundreds of people were trying to cram into the modest house. I was amazed at how many people knew and liked Frank.

  Frank's sister, Zoë, did her best as a hostess. She was a tall, black-haired woman, with a gentle smile and kindly eyes. She stood smiling and nodding, patting hands and being patted. I extricated her from an earnest man wearing dark glasses and a yarmulke who had been talking to her for several minutes, and brought her a piece of cake.

  'Oh, Eddie, thank you so much,' she said. 'I know these people, but half the names don't come. And I don't want to offend them.'

  'You're doing very well,' I said, not bothering to correct her.

  She smiled. 'It's such a shame about poor Frank. Had you seen much of him lately?'

  I wasn't sure whether by calling me Eddie she had just got my name wrong, or whether she thought I was Lisa's brother. So I decided to answer blandly. 'Quite a bit,' I said.

  'Aunt Zoë!' Lisa rushed up and gave her aunt a huge hug. The older woman beamed. 'Has Simon been looking after you?'

  Aunt Zoë looked momentarily confused and then glanced towards me apologetically. 'Yes. Yes, he has, dear. How are you?'

  'Oh, fine, I suppose.'

  'And how are your potions?'

  'Bubbling away,' she answered. 'Can you believe all these people? I don't recognize most of them.'

  'Neither do I. It's extraordinary to have so many of Frank's old friends here at one time,' Zoë said. 'I wish he could be here to see them all.' She looked around the room, somewhat bemused. 'I wonder how long we've got to go. What time is it, dear?'

  Lisa glanced down at the watch on her aunt's wrist, before looking at her own. 'Nine thirty.'

  Aunt Zoë seemed to sigh.

  'It's very good of you to do this,' Lisa said. 'We couldn't possibly fit everyone into our apartment.'

  'Oh, don't worry about it,' Aunt Zoë said. 'I'll miss him.'

  Zoë was accosted by a childhood friend of Frank's who wanted to talk to her. Luckily, she remembered his name.

  'She looks OK,' Lisa said.

  'Yes,' I said. 'But she called me Eddie.'

  'No, really?'

  'And you saw how she had to ask you the time.'

  'It's so sad,' Lisa said. 'I remember so clearly playing with her when we were kids. She used to come up to Marsh House and stay with us before she was married. She was so much fun. We used to play all kinds of games exploring the creeks and the marshes. And in a year or two she might not remember any of it.'

  'Yes, she will,' I said. 'Don't they always say that old people forget what they had for breakfast, but remember clearly everything that happened decades ago?'

  'She's not old, Simon. She's fifty-two. She's ill.'

  Aunt Zoë was suffering from the early symptoms of Alzheimer's.

  'Are you talking about Zoë?' Carl, her husband, had joined us. He was a heavy man with a grey beard, several years older than his wife, who wheezed after any sort of exertion. He was a professor at Northeastern University in some kind of social science.

  'Yes,' said Lisa. 'How is she?'

  Carl sighed, a heavier wheeze than usual. 'You know she lost her job at the Library?'

  'Oh, no,' Lisa said.

  'But she's not too bad yet. She forgets names of people, names of books – that was her problem at the Library, and she has some trouble telling the time. But she still remembers me, and she always knows where she is and what day it is. There's a lot further to go. Unless the drug Frank recommended really works.'

  'Drug? I didn't know Dad recommended any drug?'

  'Yes,' said Carl. 'It's a new drug for Alzheimer's they're testing.'

  'Is it neuroxil-5?' Lisa asked. 'Made by a company called BioOne?'

  'That's right.'

  'Does it work?' I asked.

  'It seems to. She's been taking it for seven months now, and it looks like things have stabilized. She doesn't seem to be getting any worse. She had to take something called a Mini-Mental State exam, and they'll check her again in a few months to see how she's doing.'

  'That's good news,' I said.

  'I've seen some of the other patients at the clinic,' Carl went on. 'It's scary. Some of them have forgotten everything. Who their spouse is, where they live, their children. They get really angry and frustrated. One woman said her husband had lost his smile. I pray that never happens to Zoë.'

  He glanced across to where his wife was talking to Frank's old friend, laughing at a shared memory.

  I, too, hoped that neuroxil-5 worked.

  The next morning, Lisa, her mother, brother and I all set off downtown for Frank's lawyer's office to discuss his will. As we waited in the law firm's smart reception area, an uneasy silence settled on us. Up to this moment, none of us had talked about Frank's legacy. Other things had seemed more important. We all knew he was wealthy: it had seemed in bad taste to discuss how wealthy he had been, and how wealthy we were going to be. The thought had probably not even occurred to Lisa. Eddie in particular seemed nervous, his long fingers played with the teaspoon by his cup. Lisa looked calm and Ann had an air of studied indifference.

  After five minutes, the lawyer bustled in. His name was Bergey. He was a balding portly man, with a mild face, but intelligent eyes. He introduced himself and led us through to his office.

  'Thank you all for coming in to see me today,' he said, having seated everyone round a table. 'I'm speaking to you in my capacity as Mr Cook's executor. Now, ordinarily I would simply mail a letter to the beneficiaries of a will, but in this case, I thought it made sense to take advantage of you all being in the same place at once, and explain the will in person.'

  Bergey seemed nervous. Nervous and serious. He had our attention.

  'First, Mr Cook held an insurance policy of three hundred thousand dollars, which is to be divided equally between his former wife and two children.' He smiled quickly at us, and cleared his throat. I had the impression we were coming to the tricky bit.

  'Second, the will. It's actually very straightforward.' He looked down at the papers in front of him. 'Mr Cook's estate goes in its entirety to Elizabeth Rebecca Cook, his daughter. The value of the estate is difficult to determine at the moment, since so much of it comprises the carried interest in funds managed by Revere Partners. But excluding that, it should be at least four million dollars. As always, it will take a while for the probate process to run its course.'

  He looked round the table nervously. We were all watching Eddie.

  You could see the anger boiling up inside him. He grasped the teaspoon he had been fiddling with so tightly his knuckles were white. He glanced quickly at all of us, and then addressed Bergey. 'He can't do that can he? He can't leave everything to just one of his children?'

  'I'm sorry to say that he can,' the lawyer replied. 'Of course, you will receive the hundred thousand dollars from the life insurance policy.'

  'Yes, but his estate will be worth millions. I have a right to half of that.'

  'I can well understand your concern, Mr Cook. But I drew up your father's will myself. He made it after careful consideration. He was quite clear in his intention, which was to leave his entire estate to his daughter.'

  'How could he do that to me?' protested Eddie. 'Did he tell you why he cut me out?'

  'No, he didn't do that,' said Bergey.

  We all looked away. We knew why Frank had ignored his son in death. It was because his son had ignored him in life.

  'You're behind this aren't you?' I continued looking at my hand
s. 'Yes, you, Simon. You're behind it.'

  I glanced up at him. I hadn't realized Eddie was talking to me. 'What?'

  'Eddie,' his mother put her hand on his sleeve.

  'No, Mom. You should have gotten something too. You stood by him for all those years before he walked out on you. You deserve something from that.'

  'I'm perfectly comfortable moneywise,' Ann protested mildly. 'Frank knew that.'

  'OK. But what about me? Simon, you stole my inheritance from under my nose.'

  'How do you get that idea?'

  'I've seen how you worked your way into Dad's favours. Getting the job at Revere, getting Lisa, being the perfect son-in-law. You kissed his ass and it worked!'

  Given the deterioration of my relationship with Frank before he died, the irony of this comment made me smile. Big mistake.

  'Oh, you just go right ahead and laugh about it. Just go ahead and deposit that fat cheque. It's pretty funny.'

  'I'm sorry, Eddie,' I said. 'But Frank didn't consult me about his will, I can assure you of that.'

  'Yeah, but you and Lisa spent so much time with him,' now he turned on his sister. 'The only reason he cut me out is because I stood by Mom. He should never have left us. I didn't go running to him. That's why I didn't get any of his money.'

  Lisa looked shocked. She had viewed this meeting as just an administrative item that had to be got through before her family went back to California.

  'Eddie, I loved him,' she said. 'I don't want his stupid money.'

  'Oh, yeah, you loved him. Never mind Mom. And he . . .' he jabbed a finger in my direction, 'he will love his money.'

  I could watch Eddie attacking me with something close to amusement. But not Lisa. 'Eddie . . .' I growled.

  'No, Simon,' Lisa put her hand on mine. 'I really don't care about the money.' She turned to the lawyer. 'Mr Bergey. Isn't there any way I can renounce half of it? Give it to Eddie?'

  'Hm,' the lawyer frowned. 'You do have the right to renounce all or part of your inheritance, up to nine months after the date of death. Your renunciation would not necessarily direct the funds to your brother, since he is not a named default in the will. So the funds would be disposed under the laws of intestacy, which means . . .' he paused, thinking it through, 'that since you have no issue, Edward Cook would be the next in line after all.'