January Justice (7 page)

I said, “Got a few minutes?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I thought you and me and Simon ought to have a talk.”

He tapped his pipe out on his palm and slipped it into a front pocket as we walked across the grounds toward the main house. It was a two-story rambling structure about the size of an apartment building, made of white stucco and brown wood trim below a roof of terra-cotta tiles that flowed down gently from the ridges. There was a splashing fountain in the front, as large as most swimming pools, and a gravel drive that circled the fountain. The air was filled with hummingbirds, pollen drifted golden in the sunshine, and the scent of jasmine was quite strong. It all reminded me of her, which was, of course, the problem.

We went around the side of the mansion to a door that faced onto a small parking area. I knew there was a mudroom just inside the door. It opened in one direction onto the kitchen and in the other onto a small wing where Simon’s office was, as well as his sitting room and bedroom. I knew Simon was most likely in that part of the house. I climbed the steps and pressed the button by the door.

“We could just go in,” said Teru.

I shook my head. “Never have before.”

He looked at me a moment and then nodded. We waited until Simon came.

The butler stood beside the open door looking out at me without any kind of expression. “Yes, sir?”

“Got a minute?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe we could all have something to drink?”

“Certainly.” He stepped back from the door and made a little gesture toward the interior. Teru wiped his boots on the matt and went in. I followed, and Simon closed the door behind us. “Perhaps the sunroom, sir?”

“I was thinking the kitchen.”

“Very well.”

In Haley’s kitchen were about fifty feet of cabinets with a rubbed white antique finish. The countertops were tile, and on the walls between the counters and the cabinets above them were more tiles, except those had hand-painted patterns. Along one wall were two stainless-steel refrigerators, three ovens, and a gas range with eight burners and a commercial exhaust hood. Two dishwashers stood on either side of a sink along another wall, and a third dishwasher and a second sink were across the aisle from them in the center island. A third, smaller sink was built in at the far end of the island.

Haley had once explained that one sink was for washing fruits and vegetables. She had laughed a little when I asked if the other two were for meats and starchy foods, but I think she was just humoring me. The island was topped with a maple butcher-block counter. Hanging over it was a pot rack about the size of a compact car, festooned with dozens of brass and stainless-steel skillets, pots, and saucepans of every size. Beside the island was a long pine table, with eight pine chairs on either side. The room was about the size of a three-car garage.

Simon had us set up with beverages in no time. An iced tea for Teru and lemonade for me. Simon took his tea hot.

I said, “Tell me what you know about the police investigation.”

They looked at each other, and then Teru said, “They were here for three days, going over everything. I don’t think they found much of interest. They questioned me two times.”

“Two times for me as well,” said Simon.

“What kinds of questions did they ask?”

“What you would expect,” said Teru. “Did she have any enemies? Did she do drugs? Did any of her friends do drugs? Where was I that night? Like that.”

I looked at Simon. He said, “They put the same sort of questions to me, sir, but they also asked quite a few about you.”

“Yeah,” said Teru. “They were very interested in you. And they paid a lot of attention to the guesthouse. Took it apart from top to bottom.”

“Really? I didn’t notice that.”

Simon said, “I took the liberty of returning the guesthouse to its proper condition after they departed.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t bother to reply.

I said, “Who did the questioning?”

“Several people were involved those first few days, sir,” replied Simon. We had ladies and gentlemen here from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, the Los Angeles Police Department, and the Newport Beach Police Department.”

Teru said, “It was Haley, after all.”

“Someone would have been the lead interrogator.”

“Yes,” said Simon. “That seemed to be one Detective Russo with the Los Angeles Police Department.”

The name awakened something in my imagination, or maybe it was a memory. I had a feeling Russo and I had met during my first few weeks in the hospital. It made sense the detective would interview me. I wondered what I’d told him. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Memories came like photographic stills. A face out of focus. A man in a bad suit standing with his back to me as he stared out through the hospital room window. Otherwise, I couldn’t recall anything.

I opened my eyes. Simon and Teru were watching me closely. Simon said, “Are you well, sir?”

“I’m okay,” I said. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

“As you wish.”

“Okay. Here’s the thing,” I said. “I think I remember a lawyer coming to the hospital. I think he said Haley left most of her estate to me. But so much of my time there was confused, I’m not sure. Do either of you know if that’s right?”

They looked at each other, and then Simon said, “That is my understanding, sir.”

“Absolutely,” said Teru, nodding. “She left most of it to you.”

I took a deep breath. I let it out. I said, “I can’t inherit her things.”

“And yet I believe you have,” replied Teru.

“No, it’s not going to be possible.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Simon. “Since it is an accomplished fact, it does seem more than merely possible, if I may say so.”

“I signed a prenuptial agreement. Haley didn’t like it, but I insisted. I wanted her to know I wasn’t interested in her money.”

Simon said, “If I might be permitted a suggestion… Perhaps a conversation with her attorneys could clarify the situation.”

“I don’t know how to contact them.”

“Nothing could be simpler, sir. If you would care to join me in the study, I can connect you.”

The sense of unreality I had been fighting seemed to line the halls like cobwebs as I followed Simon through Haley’s mansion. It took several minutes to reach her study, a surprisingly small room maybe twenty feet by twenty, with rolling ladders to reach to tops of bookshelves that extended to the ceiling, fifteen feet above. Her desk was just as she had left it—a stack of screenplays in one corner, a green-glass-shaded banker’s lamp in another, and between them a telephone and a leather blotter.

Simon drew a key from his vest pocket and used it to unlock the center top drawer. Opening the drawer, he removed a small leather address book. He turned the pages, then dialed a number on the phone. Handing it to me, he said, “Direct line to a Mr. Williams, sir, of Williams, Harcourt, and Shasta in New York.”

I took the handset and put it to my ear. It was still ringing. Then a man’s voice said, “Howard Williams.”

“Hello,” I said. “My name is Malcolm Cutter. I’m calling about, uh, Haley Lane.”

Simon left the room as the man replied, “Yes, Mr. Cutter. Of course I know who you are. Congratulations on your release from the hospital.”

“Are you the one who visited me there?”

“Yes, that was me. I understand you were somewhat confused.”

My mouth felt dry. It was difficult to speak. I swallowed, then said, “I’m better now.”

“So very glad to hear it. How may I assist you today?”

“You’re…you were…Haley’s lawyer?”

“One of many, Mr. Cutter. Miss Lane required counsel on so many matters.”

“But her…uh…her will. You handled that?”

“Sadly, that’s true.”

“Okay. But I seem to remember you saying something about an inheritance? For me?”

“Yes. You seem concerned. Is there a problem?”

“I signed a prenuptial agreement. Before we were married.”

He chuckled. “Yes. That’s when most of them are signed.”

“So you know about it?”

“I do indeed.”

“So her things… I didn’t inherit anything, right?”

“Oh no. You inherited almost everything.”

“But the prenuptial said I wouldn’t get anything.”

“I’m aware of that, since I’m the one who wrote it. But you see, a prenuptial agreement is only valid when it has been executed by both parties, and your wife never signed the document.”

“She did. I saw her do it. It was the night before our wedding. We were in her suite drinking champagne. I saw her give it to an assistant later on that night and tell her to send it to her lawyers.”

“We did receive it, and you may have seen her write something in the signature line, Mr. Cutter, but it wasn’t her signature.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Apparently your wife didn’t agree with the idea of a prenuptial, Mr. Cutter. So she signed the document with the words ‘Luckiest Girl Alive’ instead of with her name. Of course, that means the agreement isn’t binding.”

I stared at the books across the room, trying to process the information. I said, “How much is there?”

“The exact figure varies from moment to moment of course, given the volatility of the markets.”

“Roughly, then. The last time you looked.”

He named a figure with eight zeros attached.

I asked him to repeat it.

He named the same figure again.

I sat down behind Haley’s desk.

I said, “I had no idea it was so much.”

“I’m surprised to hear it,” said the lawyer. “Surely you must have noticed all the private jets and yachts and properties around the world.”

“Jets? You mean she had more than one?”

“I mean
you
have more than one, Mr. Cutter.”

“But I thought Haley chartered them. She told me she did.”

“Yes, but not the way you seem to mean. She chartered her jets to other individuals and corporations when she wasn’t using them herself. It wasn’t one of her more profitable ventures, but it did contribute a few hundred thousand to the bottom line each year.”

I thought about the figure he had mentioned. All those zeros. I said, “What can I do about this?”

“Do? I don’t understand.”

“How can I get rid of everything?”

There was a long pause before he said, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I can’t accept these things.”

“You don’t need to accept anything, Mr. Cutter. The trust arrangement is quite clear. It’s already yours. And if I may say so, now that you’re feeling better, it would be wise for us to get together to discuss a few administrative issues. I’d like to introduce you to my partners and some key attorneys from our trust department. We would be very pleased to come your way if you’d rather not meet here in Manhattan.”

I said, “I hope you haven’t told your partners or your trust department or anyone else about my marriage to Miss Lane.”

“Why, no, of course not. She has a personal attorney there in California who knows, a Ms. Silverstein, who has worked with me on a few matters. But Miss Lane directed me to keep your marriage confidential, and of course, as her attorney I’m bound to do so. It’s only that I had assumed since she…well, given these new circumstances…”

“Nothing has changed, Mr. Williams. I still want the marriage kept secret.”

“I see. And of course I’ll do as you say.”

“And there’s one more thing.”

I paused. It was such a huge decision. I wanted just a few more seconds to be sure.

“Mr. Cutter,” said the lawyer, “are you there?”

“I’m here. Here’s what I want you to do. Set aside fifty thousand dollars for me. I want to sell everything else and give the proceeds to charity. I mean everything. Houses, cars, yachts, jets, and whatever else I own. And this is extremely important: I don’t want my name involved in any of the transactions. Nobody must ever know I inherited Miss Lane’s estate. Can you arrange all that?”

“Are you sure you mean—”

“Mr. Williams, can you do it nor not?”

“Why yes, it’s certainly possible. We’ll need a little time to think through the details, but are you sure you—”

“Good. Please figure out how to do that and get back to me as soon as you can.”

8

The sense of unreality
was stronger than ever as I made my way back through the mansion to the kitchen. Teru and Simon sat at the table as before. I took a seat in the same chair as before. I said, “You guys mentioned a detective… Russo I think you said, right?”

“That is correct, sir,” Simon replied.

“He knows about our marriage?”

“There was no way to keep it from him,” said Teru.

“No. I suppose not.” I took a sip of the lemonade Simon had prepared for me. Condensation from the glass dropped onto the kitchen table. I set the glass back down on the ring of water it had left behind. I slouched in the wooden chair. It was as if the air around me had turned to lead, pressing in from all directions.