The Heir

41

In the morning, Eric was still there, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.

The second thing I saw was a dead caterpillar. No… it was Detective Wilcox’s lip.

And he was so sorry for the misunderstanding. Oh, how sorry he was.

The wretched man was treading eggshells on top of eggshells. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men weren’t going to save more than a third of the careers in the Division of State Police, and I, Jason Boyer, was the king.

Would I mind just a few questions? A couple things he hoped to clear up. They had a good idea of how three of the murders had been committed. Nathan Kern was singing like a canary, trying to nurture any mercy in his captors. Wilcox wanted to describe the whole thing, to see if I had any additions or corrections. It had been such a misunderstanding. And had he mentioned how sorry he was?

I sent him out of the room while I freshened up, and when I was ready, I allowed him to begin.

Melvin had told Nathan months ago that he was changing his will. He had not said why. At first Nathan had graciously accepted the decision. As time passed, though, he couldn’t. He tried to persuade Melvin to keep the arrangements as they had been. Melvin refused to discuss the matter. Nathan apologized, but he had pushed a little too hard.

Melvin’s confidence in his director had been shaken.

I saw how it was, and Wilcox guessed at it, too. Even if Nathan hadn’t recognized how deeply the money had him hooked, Melvin saw it right away. The less trusting Melvin became, the more frantic Nathan acted.

He realized his days might be numbered at the foundation, and he couldn’t bear the thought of a less elegant lifestyle. So he’d opened a bank account in Zurich and started juggling the budget.

He was not very good at crime, whereas Melvin was an expert. Though he did not think Nathan was dangerous, his notes about the foundation were clear-he was getting very upset with his director. The police had found the whole stack of papers in Nathan’s basement.

“This was… after… Melvin said… he was… changing… his will.” The contraption on my jaw was getting real old.

“That’s right,” Wilcox said. “As far as we can tell from your father’s papers and the bank records, none of this was part of the original reason he decided to change his will.”

Then Melvin died. Nathan claimed no part of that. He didn’t know how to drain a brake line, or even that a car had such a thing.

Nathan hadn’t known that Melvin had uncovered the embezzling. After Nathan had talked to Angela about being on the board, she had looked at Melvin’s papers. She didn’t understand them, except that something was making Melvin angry. She wrote Nathan the letter to say she would have nothing to do with the foundation.

He called her but she was even more determined. She told him she’d call me and tell me to fire him. She’d show me the notes.

“She called… me,” I said. “She… only said… she wouldn’t… be… on the board.”

“And then you called Kern. That’s when he knew she hadn’t tattled on him. Could she have been blackmailing him?”

“She didn’t… like… black. Only… pink.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’d… have to… know her.”

“I’ve talked with other people who knew her,”Wilcox said. “She was apparently eccentric, if that’s what you mean.”

Nathan flew to Washington, but then he drove back to meet with her. He asked to see her privately. But he quickly saw that she was irrational, that his position was threatened, even hopeless. And Angela, helpless fool, had her gun out for protection. How easily he took it and used it. He had the letter she’d sent and saw how it could be made into a suicide note.

It had all been so quick, so natural. It hadn’t been planned-it was self-defense. So much was at stake. After he killed her, he took the incriminating files from Melvin’s office.

The suicide facade fell through very quickly. He realized it wasn’t going to be so easy.

Then Clinton Grainger called. He’d seen copies of the notes, delivered earlier by his agent who had broken into Melvin’s office. He could tell they would be worth something against me, and he wanted to see if he could blackmail Nathan onto his side.

I’d called Nathan the afternoon before I met Grainger at the hotel and told him about the meeting. He had hardly a qualm at that point. He bought his own gun that afternoon. He called Clinton and said he wanted a meeting that night, which they arranged for the hotel after our meeting.

And all the while Nathan was working on me, trying to convince me how terrible the money was, how I needed to get rid of it. It was all about to fall into his lap when Katie got in the way.

She was the one who could stop my plan, so she had to be stopped herself. He tried to think how he could stop the divorce or talk her out of her lawsuits and obstruction. But he knew there was only one way.

Then, in my office that afternoon, I’d walked right in with my gun in my hand. I’d set it on the sofa. I’d looked so dazed, he realized I might not even know I had it. He slid a cushion over it. I was clueless.

In those few seconds he’d made his plan to kill Katie-and perhaps get me accused of it by using my gun. It would jeopardize my ability to transfer the money to the foundation, but it would also give the police a suspect. Nathan was getting very worried they would find Melvin’s papers in Grainger’s office, or that Angela or Grainger had talked to someone else. There were too many loose ends.

So he went to see her that evening.

“What… did she… say… to him?”

“He claims she wasn’t open to changing her mind.”

“He’s… lying.”

“How do you know?”

“She… let him… in.”

Wilcox considered. “You might be right. It would look a lot worse if he’d killed her even though she was willing to back down on the divorce. It would prove premeditation. And he hadn’t expected you to show up just minutes later.”

I was tired of talking. And living, too. I closed my eyes. She really hadn’t had to die. I wanted to die.

I didn’t feel like telling Wilcox where I’d been, which frustrated him. But he was in no position to push. And I’d thought of one other thing.

“Airport. JFK.”

“In New York?”

I nodded. “Car. I rented.”

“The white Mercury.”

“Thousand dollars… in it. I don’t want it back.”

“Right. It’s evidence. I’ll make sure it doesn’t disappear. We’ll put it in the widows’ and orphans’ fund. One more question,” he said. “Any idea why your father wanted to change his will in the first place?”

“No.”

If only I did.

“Wow.” Eric had heard the whole thing. “Everybody is so…” He didn’t know what word to use.

“Evil.” Or whatever. “It’s the money.”

He was getting it. “That’s what you kept saying.”

“I… hoped… Nathan could… help me.”

“And then you found out he was the killer.”

“I hoped… he knew… something stronger… than the money.”

“And he didn’t. That’s why you tried to jump off the building.”

“Yes.”

He was using brain cells he never had before. “So… I guess that means you didn’t find anything.”

“No.”

“What are you going to do when you get out of the hospital?”

“Don’t know.” This thing would be on my jaw for a month. Another reason to not live that long.

“And… Jason… what about…”

“Melvin.”

“Yeah. So, did Nathan Kern kill him? Or else, who did?”

“Don’t know.”

We reactivated the phone during lunch so I could call Jacob Rosenberg. I was hungry enough to drink the stuff the hospital was providing, but it didn’t help my disposition.

Should he resurrect the legal process he’d begun two weeks ago?

“Wait.”

Any other instructions?

“No.”

Nothing was resolved-nothing was any better. Why am I here? Had anyone ever found an answer to that question?

I was feeling the loss of Nathan. Not the real, evil man, whom I had never liked anyway. I was grieving for the phantom I’d briefly had of a man who knew the answers, the man I could respect. Who could give me what I wanted.

Was there anyone? I would have given everything I had for someone to help me. But the money was worth nothing to me now, the whole billion dollars and empire that went with it. It was all I had and it would also be worthless to whomever I was looking for. Everything I did have that I valued was lost and I’d gotten nothing for it.

I needed a reason to live. I needed someone to help me.

My eyes wanted to close, so I let them. When they opened I was still dreaming.

“Pamela.”

No, it wasn’t a dream.

“Well, look at you,” she said. “I brought some chicken soup.”

“I’m glad… you’re here.” For a long time to come every smile would be precious, and she had some real dazzlers. “How… did you

… get in here?”

She smiled again-I was so nai ve. “My job is to get things done, dear. Now, Jason, I know you don’t want to worry about business or reporters or politicians. I’ll take care of everything until you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything specific you want me to do?”

“Stan Morton,” I said. “Come here… no cameras… and then Fred.”

“I’ll get them.”

“I’m sorry… about… wrecking… the office… and the chair.”

She sighed. “That’s fine. I’m sorry you had to.”

I wasn’t ready for her to leave. “I don’t know… what to do. .. now.”

“Just get finished with Stan and Fred. Then you’ll have time to think.”

“I… don’t want to think… anymore.”

She just looked at me for a while with her kind grandmother eyes. “You’re still here, Jason. I almost lost you.”

“You’d be… better off.”

“You wouldn’t, though.” She smiled again, just pure sweetness. “I’ve been praying for you boys every day for twenty-five years. I think you’re going to find what you’re looking for. Now, what is the doctor saying?”

“I haven’t… seen one… today,” I said.

Eric chipped in. “He was in here while you were asleep.” He turned to Pamela. “They think they can save his arm. And his mouth will be okay. But… well…” He trailed off.

“What?” She was concerned. I was, too. I hadn’t heard this.

Eric turned to me, eyes worried.

“Your hair. It won’t recover. I’m sorry.”

“Dope.”

Stan Morton managed to take time out from his busy schedule to visit the poor invalid.

“Is that you?” he said from the doorway.

I shook my head. “Elvis.”

“That wouldn’t be as big a story. Where have you been?”

I nodded to Eric.

“Mr. Boyer would like to ask for your help,” he said.

“Oh, yeah? What? And can’t he talk?”

“He has asked me to speak for him. He would like to have one week to rest. After that, he would like to give an interview. He would appreciate your help in arranging that, and deciding who should participate.”

“Do you know…” He had to stop and start over. “Do you know who’s out there? Everyone! The networks, the magazines, every newspaper in the world!” He attempted to calm himself. “There’s a reporter from Beijing staying in my guest room. Beijing, China!” The attempt hadn’t worked. He tried again. “We’re supposed to wait a week? Come on, Jason. Just answer two questions for me, that’s all.”

“What?” I said.

“Where have you been, and how did you figure out it was Kern?”

I would have smiled, but I couldn’t. I pointed to Eric.

“Mr. Boyer is extremely fatigued,” Eric said.

“He looks okay to me.”

I was going to start laughing, which would really hurt.

“You need to give him another week,” Eric said. “He’s really banged up.”

“There are two hundred reporters in the parking lot. If I don’t come out with something, it’ll get real ugly. Give me something. I know: today is Saturday. Where were you one week ago? Where did you spend the night?”

Saturday night, a week ago.

“Dumpster.”

An hour later, Fred’s arrival in the lobby was announced.

“Should I leave?” Eric asked.

“No.”

“I’d be glad to.” He meant it.

“You’re my… bodyguard.” I’d have been glad to leave, too. But the confrontation would have to happen sometime. And maybe even Fred would be repelled by the devastation he was such a big part of.

Soon we heard the heavy tread. They make hospital doors wide to accommodate wheelchairs and a certain type of lawyer. Sitting was another matter. He stood and stared at me for quite a while, and then he looked for a chair. The hospital issue was one size fits all, but not all at the same time.

“Here,” Eric said, jumping up and pushing the two chairs we had together. Fortunately they had strong legs and no arms.

“Thank you.” He sat and scowled. “I don’t know what we have to say to each other.”

“I… can think… of some… things.”

“I suppose. I’ll ask one question, then. What are you going to do with the Boyer assets?”

At least he didn’t waste time faking sympathy for me, or faking any moral sense at all. I tried to think how to say what I wanted in the least painful way. That is, the least painful for my jaw.

“Isn’t… it obvious?”

“Not to me.”

No, not to him. “Look at me,” I said.

“You’re blaming your calamities on being wealthy?”

“Look at… Harry Bright.”

“You and he made decisions, and his ruin was the outcome.”

“Look… at Nathan… Kern.”

He hesitated. “He was weak.” That was the greatest crime Fred knew.

“He… killed… my wife.”

He waited a decent five seconds before answering. “I’m sorry.” It was not an apology, just a condolence.

“He killed her… to get… my money.”

“I understand.”

“You… used her… you’re guilty… as Kern… that she died.” I hadn’t meant for the dialogue to go this way, but his hard heart was infuriating me.

“I did not intend for anything to happen to her!”

“Look… at yourself.”

He was finally silenced.

He stood and left, and I was left wondering why I’d called him, because it couldn’t have gone any other way than it had. It took a long time for the atmosphere to fill the empty space he’d left. The last lingering traces of the triumph over Nathan Kern had finally been blown away.

My war with evil was over. I’d caused damage, but my own losses were much higher, and Fred and all the others like him would just rebuild. The money and evil had won.