Final Venture

'No.'

'It was the gun that fired the bullets that killed your father-in-law'

'You told me,' I said.

'Does your wife know anything about this gun?'

'No, why should she?'

'Why should she?' Mahoney leaned forward. 'You see, you and your wife had an argument last night. You raised your voice. You said,' here he examined his notebook,' "I've never even seen the bloody gun. I didn't kill your father. " Did you say those words, Mr Ayot?'

I closed my eyes. A neighbour must have heard me. This was a question I didn't want to answer. 'I think I'd like to talk to a lawyer.'

Mahoney glanced at the other detective. 'OK. I can understand that. Have him give me a call in the morning. In the meantime we have a warrant to search your apartment and your car.'

'What, again?'

'That's right.'

Mahoney handed me the warrant, and then he and his colleague efficiently took the apartment apart. It didn't take them long. It was a small apartment and they knew what they were looking for. I then led them the couple of blocks to the Brimmer Street Garage where my Morgan was stowed. There weren't many places you could hide a gun in that, and it only took them a few minutes to check them all. I was glad, after all, that Lisa had ditched the weapon.

'We'll be hearing from you or your lawyer tomorrow,' Mahoney said as we stood on the street just outside my apartment. It was dark, but we were standing in the pool of yellow light thrown off by the gas lamp. The shadows of trees, lampposts and railings crisscrossed the street.

I nodded. 'Before you go, I have a question for you.'

'Yes?'

'Yes. Who else are you investigating?'

'Oh, we're keeping an open mind.'

'Have you spoken to Frank's colleagues at work? To Lisa's brother?'

'We've spoken to a lot of people. This is a murder investigation.'

'Well? Have you found anything out?'

'I'm sorry, but our conclusions are our own business, Mr Ayot.'

I touched his sleeve. 'Look. Sergeant Mahoney. I didn't kill Frank. I want to help you find out who did. If you give me some information, perhaps I can help.'

Mahoney turned his bulky frame towards me. 'I am very confident we will find Frank Cook's murderer. And we won't need any help from you to do it.'

With that, he and his colleague walked a short way down the street, climbed into a car and drove off.

As I unlocked the front door of my building, I turned and saw two more men waiting in a parked car a little way down the street. Policemen. I couldn't run, even if I'd wanted to.

As soon as I was in the apartment, I telephoned Gardner Phillips's office. Fortunately he was still there, even though it was after eight o'clock.

I told him who I was, and more especially, who had recommended me, and he suggested meeting me at eight o'clock in his office the next morning.

Then I looked up Kelly Williams's number in the book and dialled it. She answered the phone with a cheery 'hello'.

'Kelly, it's Simon. Can I speak to Lisa?'

'Oh, hi Simon,' she said breezily, as though this was just a normal social call. 'I'll just see if she's around.'

There was a clack as the receiver was put down on a hard surface, and a long wait. Finally Kelly was back on the line.

'She's just stepped out, Simon. I'm not sure when she'll be back.'

'No, she hasn't. She's there and she doesn't want to talk to me.'

'Yeah, well. You're right. But that's what you expected, isn't it?' Kelly's reply was friendly but firm.

'Kelly, just put her on the line for a moment. It's important.'

'Sorry, Simon. I'm not going to spend all night running back and forth between the two of you. You want to talk to her, she doesn't want to talk to you, I don't have any say in the matter.'

'OK, OK. But can you at least give her a message from me?'

'Sure. What is it?'

I thought for a moment. There was so much I wanted to say to her. I was angry at her for leaving me, for suspecting me of killing Frank, for not believing me. But I wasn't calling her to tell her how angry I was. I was calling to get her back.

I thought of telling her about Mahoney, but then I suddenly realized the phone might be tapped.

'Simon?'

'Sorry, Kelly. Can you just tell her thank you for standing by me.'

'OK. I'll tell her.'

'Oh, and Kelly?'

'Yes?'

'Look after her, won't you?'

'Don't worry, I will,' said Kelly, and rang off.

I hoped Lisa would understand my message. It was clear she hadn't told Mahoney about the gun when she had spoken to him. I wanted her to know that I appreciated that. That there was still a lot between us. That I wanted her back.

I was glad she was with Kelly. She would be looked after. And I liked the way Kelly seemed to be impartial in all this, or at least she didn't seem to hate me.

My supper was cold and congealing in the kitchen. Cold bacon is bearable. Cold eggs aren't. I threw the lot away, and drank a beer instead.

What would happen next? Mahoney seemed only a step away from arresting me. This was all going to get very serious. I could feel myself about to be sucked into the US justice system, and it scared me. I felt alone, and very foreign. I thought about what I knew about the American legal system, all taken from TV, of course. A murder trial was a long, gruelling process, I knew. And all those involved – police, lawyers, judges, juries, and above all, the press – would see me as an arrogant foreigner who had come to their country to murder one of their own.

Whatever the final verdict, the next year would be hell.

Gardner Phillips's office was in a modern building close to the Court House. It was only a small detour for me on my way to work.

Phillips himself was a decade or so younger than Gil, with a neatly trimmed beard and an air of confidence that I found very comforting. He listened carefully to my story, taking notes. I told him everything, including how Lisa had discovered the gun in the closet, and how she had disposed of it. He asked some pointed questions of detail, but never came right out and asked me whether I had shot Frank and hidden the gun in the closet myself. Somehow this disconcerted me.

When I had finished, he took a moment to scan the scribbles in front of him, before telling me his conclusion.

'There's no doubt they're trying to build a case against you. But they have a ways to go yet. They need to find the weapon, or a witness, or something else to tie you in.'

'I can't believe no one saw me at the beach. Someone must at least have seen my car.'

'We can do our own checks if necessary. But Mr Cook could have been killed any time before ten p. m. Just because he didn't answer the phone doesn't mean he was dead. He could have gone for a walk, gone to the store, been in the tub, anything. Mahoney was just trying to scare you.'

'He succeeded,' I muttered.

'The important thing is from now on not to talk to them unless I'm present, and even then say nothing.'

'Even if I can straighten them out on something?'

'Say nothing. I'll straighten them out if they need straightening out. I'll talk to Sergeant Mahoney this morning and tell him you won't answer any more questions. Don't worry, he won't be surprised. And let's just hope they don't make any more progress.'

I left Phillips's office, and walked the rest of the way to Revere very worried indeed.

It was a difficult weekend. I spent most of it in the apartment. I tidied up first, stuffing Lisa's small piles of possessions that were dotted around the apartment into her closets. I took the wilting irises out of the tall vase on her desk, and threw them in the bin. But then, when the place finally looked as tidy as I would have liked it, I missed her mess. It was so much part of her, part of our life together. So, I took a couple of her things out again, a coat, a book she'd just finished, some back-copies of Atlantic Monthly. I refilled the vase with water, and stuffed the drooping irises back in. Then I stopped myself. This was ridiculous.