His office was furnished in oak and green leather, and it was comfortably frayed at the edges, broken in but not broken down. Family photographs covered every available surface, and an old lithograph of the Brooklyn Bridge hung behind his desk. He had a nice view of the Flatiron Building and a corner of Madison Square, and he had time on his hands. He’d agreed to see me when I told him that I wanted to discuss Joseph Cortese, and hadn’t pressed much about why.
“I know Joe forty years- from when I got out of law school and he first gave me work. We were friends ever since, so when he asked me to be his executor, what was I going to say? Besides, there wasn’t much for me to do. Joe kept his affairs neat as a pin and Jerry made a real clean will. The whole thing went through probate in under four months, which for an estate that size is some kind of record in this town.”
“I gather he didn’t have much family.”
Rich shook his head. “No. His brother and sister-in-law passed away a long time ago. And when Margie, his wife, passed, that was it.”
“The obituary said he had a nephew.”
A pained look flitted across Rich’s face. He nodded. “Paul.”
“I guess the bulk of the estate went to him?”
He nodded carefully. “The Philharmonic, City Ballet, Juilliard, the Boston Symphony, some bequests to friends, and Paulie. Paulie was well taken care of.”
“You know how I can reach him?”
Rich’s cool gaze turned downright chilly, and he sat back in his chair. “Paulie’s a little hard to locate sometimes. Why?”
I ignored the question. “He’s a big guy, balding, with dark hair and glasses?”
“You know him?”
I shook my head. “Somebody pointed him out to me, over at Mr. Cortese’s apartment building.”
“When was that?”
“Not too long ago. He seemed a little… agitated to me.”
“Paulie’s like that sometimes,” Rich said.
“How come?”
He shook his head. “You told me you wanted to talk about Joe, and now you’re asking about Paulie. What do you want, March?”
“Do you know Mr. Cortese’s friends?”
Rich smiled, and some warmth came back into his eyes. “That’s a big group. People liked Joe and he liked people. I know some of them, but not all.”
“Do you know Gregory Danes?”
The warmth vanished again and his face stiffened. He ran a hand over the front of his white shirt and fingered his red tie. “Not well,” he said. “Is that who you want to talk about?”
I nodded. “Did you ever socialize with Mr. Cortese and Danes?”
Rich shook his head. “Danes was one of Joe’s music pals. Me, I go in more for the ponies, so I never saw Danes with Joe.”
“But they were close?”
“Close enough, I guess. Joe loved music and he knew a lot about it- I mean theory and history and everything- and I guess Danes does too. I guess they liked the same kinds of things. And Joe felt… bad for him.”
“Why bad?”
“He thought Danes was a sad guy- that he was lonely and his life was… crappy.” Rich shook his head and smiled a little, remembering something. “Joe knew about people.”
“Was he right about Danes’s life?”
“Probably. From the little I’ve seen, I can believe he’s lonely. The guy’s such a prick, nobody with sense would want anything to do with him. But what the hell do I know?”
“I guess Mr. Cortese didn’t mind him.”
Rich laughed some more. “Joe was a special case. He always did good works- more so after Margie passed away- and Danes was one of them. And probably the guy wasn’t such a prick around Joe. Joe had that effect.”
“So was Danes Cortese’s friend or his project?”
“They were friends. Joe felt bad for the guy, but he genuinely liked him too. They had a good time at concerts and such. It was something Joe and Margie used to do, and I think he liked having somebody else to talk to about it.” Rich thought of something and smiled ruefully. “Besides, you don’t leave that kind of property to a casual acquaintance.”
I had another question, but it vanished from my head like breath on a cold day. “What property?” I asked softly.
“The house, up in Lenox.”
“Cortese left Danes property? In his will?”
Rich beetled his brows and looked at me like I was slow, which maybe I was. “Up in Lenox,” he repeated.
“And Danes has taken possession of it?”
“About two months ago.”
Two months ago- eight weeks, more or less. My heart was pounding, and I felt a vein throbbing in my neck.
“What the hell is this about, March?” Rich asked.
“I’ve been trying to locate Danes,” I said slowly, “for his ex-wife. I didn’t know about any property in Lenox, though. It didn’t show up in any of the online searches.”
Rich shrugged. “Transferred too recently, maybe? Or maybe they’re slow in updating their computer records up there, who knows? I never trust those Internet things anyway. Give me a walking, talking county clerk any day.”
“When’s the last time you saw Danes?”
“When we did the filing and made the transfer- about two months ago, up in Lenox.”
“Have you talked to him since?”
“He called me a few days later, asking if I knew who Joe had used for landscaping. I told him I’d check my files and call him back.”
“You have a phone number for him up there?”
“He didn’t have a phone hooked up. He told me to call his home number and leave a message, which I did. Why, you thinking he’s up there still?” I nodded. Rich nodded back. “Could be. He had luggage with him when I saw him. He could’ve been planning to stay for a while. You try calling him, leaving a message?”
“Yes.” Two months ago… eight weeks. “Tell me about the property,” I said, and Rich did.
It was a 110-year-old Victorian farmhouse and an even older barn, on twenty acres that bordered October Mountain State Forest. Cortese had given it a name- Calliope Farms- and for the past ten years he’d spent much of every summer up there. And he had left all of itfurniture and record collection included- to Gregory Danes. Rich gave me the address.
I wrote it down and thought some more. “That’s a pretty hefty bequest to make to a friend,” I said eventually.
Rich shrugged. “It was a small piece of a hefty estate. And other people besides Danes got some nice stuff. Me, I got a Chagall. Anyway, after Margie, what else did Joe have in his life? He had his friends, his charities… and Paulie. Joe left something for everybody.”
I was quiet again. Rich steepled his fingers and watched my face. “You said the estate went through probate quickly. Does that mean no one contested anything?” Rich nodded. “Not even Paul?”
Rich looked at me for a while. “Paulie was taken care of in the will,” he told me finally. “He won’t ever have to worry about keeping body and soul together.”
“Does that mean he didn’t contest anything?”
He sighed. “Not in any… organized way. He had every opportunityI made sure of that- but Paulie… He complained a little, and he had some… theories, but ultimately he didn’t contest it. And like I said, the will was clean, and he was well taken care of.”
“What kind of theories did he have?”
“Paul gets ideas about things sometimes. For a while he thought that Danes had done him out of the place in Lenox. But it was crazy, and there was nothing to it.”
“Where’s Paul now?”
“I don’t know. The apartment went to him, and so did the house on Sanibel, and I know he’s shown up both places from time to time, but he doesn’t stay at either one. Right now, if I had to guess, I’d say he’s living in his car.”
“What’s the matter with him, Mr. Rich?”
Rich shook his head and looked out the window. “He was diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, a long time ago,” he said finally.
“Is he on meds?”
“Sometimes. And they work for him- when he takes them. He’s had some real good stretches, where he’s held a job and paid the rent and everything. And then he goes off and has some bad stretches.”