Final Venture

7

'Just a few more questions, Mr Ayot. Or is it Sir Simon Ayot?'

Sergeant Mahoney sat on the sofa in our small living room. His card said he was from the State Police Crime Prevention and Control Unit assigned to the Essex County District Attorney's Office. He was a big man, running to fat, with thinning red hair and bright blue eyes. One corner of his mouth seemed permanently raised in a half-smile of mild amusement, or mild disbelief, I couldn't quite tell. He was probably pushing fifty, and he had the air of someone who had seen a lot, as he no doubt had. A female colleague had taken Lisa out for a cup of coffee, leaving the two of us alone in the apartment.

'Just call me mister,' I said. 'All that the "Sir" means is that my father died young.'

I had tried to suppress my title since I had moved to America. And Lisa never called herself 'Lady Ayot', except sometimes when drunk and naked in bed. One of my reasons for being in America, apart from Lisa of course, was that things like titles didn't matter. In England, I felt awkward using the 'Sir', and disrespectful to my father's family not using it. Here I could just forget all about it. It was only when people saw my passport, as Mahoney had, or when Gil managed to squeeze it into a conversation somehow, that anyone knew.

'OK, Mr Ayot. I'd just like to go back over some of the things you told me yesterday' He had a thick Boston accent, but it was slightly different from Craig's. I still wasn't able to distinguish the local accents with confidence.

'Fine.'

'It looks like you were the last person to see Frank Cook alive.'

'Really?'

The blue eyes watched my every reaction. 'Yes. The coroner thinks he died sometime before ten p. m. on Saturday. Now you say you came to see him at about two thirty on Saturday afternoon?'

'I think that's right, yes.'

'That fits with the neighbour who says she saw you speeding down the dirt road toward his house.'

I smiled. 'I was doing about ten miles an hour. She just wasn't looking where she was going.'

'Fair enough. This isn't a traffic investigation.' The corner of Mahoney's mouth flicked upwards. 'Now when you arrived, was Mr Cook there?'

'Yes, he was there. He looked tired. On edge. He didn't seem too pleased to see me.'

'Why did you go to meet him?'

'I wanted to try to straighten out a few things between us.'

'What kind of things?'

I hesitated. 'Frank and I had had an argument at work. I wanted to try to sort it out.'

Mahoney looked at me closely. He knew I wasn't telling him everything. 'What was the argument about?'

'An investment.'

'I see.' He remained silent, holding my eyes, waiting for me to say more.

I had no desire to tell Mahoney about Frank's suspicions over me and Diane. But I had even less desire to be caught hiding them. This was a murder investigation: the questions would not go away. I decided it was best to be as straightforward as possible with the answers.

I sighed. 'I thought the real cause of the disagreement was that Frank suspected me of having an affair with one of my colleagues. I wanted to persuade him that there was no danger of that.'

'And were you?' The eyes peered into mine.

'No,' I said simply. This wasn't the time for righteous indignation. I would have to be very careful with Mahoney. Careful and precise.

'OK. Did Mr Cook believe you?'

'I don't know. I don't think so.'

'Did you have another argument?'

'Not exactly,' I said, truthfully.

'But you didn't leave best of friends?'

'No.'

Mahoney paused, but let his eyes rest on me. Then the questions came again.

'What time did you leave the house?'

'I don't know. Three o'clock, perhaps.'

'Where did you go then?'

'I went for a walk on the beach. Shanks Beach. And then I drove to the office of one of our companies, Net Cop.'

'Did you meet anyone on this walk? See anyone?'

'There were a few cars in the car park.' I thought hard. 'I think there were one or two people on the beach, but I can't remember them. I was too wrapped up in Frank and his attitude towards me.'

'OK,' said Mahoney. 'How long were you at the beach?'

'About an hour.'

'And then you drove to this company, what was it? Net Cop?'

I gave Mahoney the details of Net Cop and the people I had seen there. He promised to check with them. I was sure he would.

'Do you know how much Frank Cook's estate will be?' The change of tack surprised me.

'I've no idea.'

'Take a guess.'

I thought about it. Frank had had a successful business career, and had probably already made some good money at Revere. And then of course there were the BioOne millions that would come his way. Daniel was right. Frank must be a rich man. But I decided to undershoot for Mahoney's benefit. 'A million dollars.'

'Closer to four, we think. And Mr Appleby says that in another year or two, Mr Cook would have had another ten coming to him from one of Revere's investments. That will still go to his heirs. Which brings me to another question. Who are Frank Cook's heirs?'

'I have no idea,' I said.

'Try.'

'Lisa I suppose. And her brother Eddie. Maybe her mother.'

Mahoney grunted. 'I'll leave it to his lawyer to confirm whether you're right. But let's just say you might expect to get some money coming to you as a result of Mr Cook's death.'

I sighed. 'I suppose so. But I've never thought about it until now.'

'Do you own a gun, Mr Ayot?' Another change of tack.

'No.'

'Do you know anyone who owns a Smith and Wesson model six forty, three fifty-seven Magnum?'

'No.'

'Do you know how to use a gun?'

I paused. 'Yes.'

'How's that?'

'I used to be in the British army,' I answered. 'They teach you how to use a weapon.'

'I see. So you know all about guns, right?' He thought for a bit. 'Have you ever killed anyone?'

'Yes,' I said quietly.

'Tell me about it.'

'I'd rather not,' I said.

'Was it while you were in the army?'

'Yes.'

'In Ireland, maybe?'

'Yes.'

The blue eyes hardened.

'I don't have to answer this sort of question,' I said sharply. 'Am I under suspicion, or what? Do I need a lawyer?'

Mahoney relaxed. 'Look, we've got a job to do here. We're just gathering information from whoever might be able to help us with this, that's all. Thank you for your help, Mr Ayot. I'll be back if I have any further questions.'

With that, he was gone, leaving me feeling distinctly uneasy. As I waited for Lisa to return, Mahoney's last question rankled.

I remembered the vehicle checkpoint in a quiet country lane in Armagh, the beaten-up Ford Escort slowing down, Lance Corporal of Horse Binns bending down at the car window, the look of surprise and shock on his face, the two shots in rapid succession, his head disintegrating, his body thrown backwards, the car engine revving, my own weapon raised to the window, the explosion of noise and shattering of glass as I emptied the magazine into the car, the vehicle careering out of control into the side of our Land Rover.

I had killed two members of the Provisional IRA. I wasn't proud of it, but it had been something to tell Binns's parents.

Frank's murder was entirely different. I might have shot two terrorists while on active duty, but that didn't mean I could murder my father-in-law in cold blood. Mahoney's insinuation that I could infuriated me.

I didn't have much time to worry about that, though. Lisa needed me, and I was reluctant to leave her alone. She seemed dazed, sometimes crying and sometimes just staring into space.

I did the best I could, but I felt helpless. I could see and feel and touch her pain. It stretched forward into the coming weeks, months and years. It scared me. I had no idea how Lisa would react, how badly she would be hurt, whether any of the damage would be permanent. I wanted to protect her, to wrap my arms around her and defend her from the horrible thing that had happened to her father. But no matter what I did, I couldn't protect her from the central fact. He was gone. Eventually her pain might lessen, become more bearable, but that day was a long way off. Things would probably get worse before they got better.

And I had my own feelings towards his death to deal with. Frank and I had got on so well at the beginning. Until recently, I had counted him as a friend and mentor: I had him to thank for my job at Revere, and then for my wife. He had liked me and respected me, I was sure. And then our relationship had deteriorated, culminating in the last time I had seen him when he had turned his back on me. Literally. I had heard that grief brings guilt with it. I was beginning to understand what that meant.

So far in our lives together, we hadn't faced anything more serious than a broken dishwasher. I wondered how Lisa would cope with what had happened. I was determined to do all I could to help her, however inadequate that might seem.

The door buzzer buzzed. It was another reporter. I told her, as I'd told all the others, that we had no comment, and Lisa was too upset to talk to anyone. Frank's murder had been in the morning papers, and on TV, and they were all looking for grieving-relative quotes or pictures. I knew it was inevitable, but it made me angry, as though Lisa and I were expected to meekly take our parts in a play that had been put on without our knowledge or consent. Still, it would probably have been worse in England.

There was a lot to be done. Frank was to be buried the next day. Lisa's mother and brother were flying over from California, and were staying at a bed and breakfast round the corner from our apartment.

We picked them up from the airport that evening in Lisa's Honda. They were easy to spot. Lisa's brother Eddie was tall and thin with dark hair cut so short it was little more than stubble. Their mother, Ann, was a bustling dark-haired woman who, with the help of careful attention to clothes, make-up and hair, was still striking. The three of them embraced, tears running down the cheeks of Lisa and her mother, Eddie's face a foot above them, his eyes blinking.

I stood awkwardly to one side.

When they eventually broke up, Lisa's mother gave me a hug. I extended a hand to Eddie, who shot me a cool glance before shaking it. We all made our way back to the car, Lisa tucking herself happily under Eddie's arm.

I cooked them supper in our apartment. Lasagne. A bottle of red wine quickly disappeared between the four of us before the meal, and I opened a second one as we all sat down.

Ann looked around her. 'I don't see how you two live in such a small apartment. You've got so many things. I don't know how you keep them all tidy.'

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.