‘Do you find it suspicious that they already burned the body?’
‘Honestly, I’m finding everything suspicious. But there’s little doubt that stabbing was the cause of death.’
‘If he’s dead.’
‘Of course he’s dead.’
‘Have you seen the body?’
‘No, but he’s dead.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Darren, we were just talking to the doctor who did the autopsy. You were there. You knocked the autopsy report out of his hands and threw it to me and I read it. He died from multiple stab wounds to the chest — multiple sharp force injuries.’
‘So you read the autopsy report … ’
‘Yes, I did. Autopsy report 91-06160.’
‘But anyone could’ve written the report, Bob. It could be totally made up, or someone else’s … ’
‘Doubtful.’
‘They could’ve faked his death by giving him, like, hydrochlorothiazide or something to slow down his heart rate and then made it look like he was stabbed a bunch of times with makeup and — ’
‘It’s far-fetched.’
‘You haven’t seen the body, is the point.’
‘I see your point. But this would be a serious conspiracy that no one could pull off. You think the police are involved? O’Meara? You think good ol’ doc Tate’s involved, too? C’mon. Too many people. And why would Gerald Andrews want to fake his own death in the first place?’
‘I’m saying it’s not out of the realm of possibility.’
‘We’re pretty certain it’s out of the realm of the possible.’
‘No we’re not.’
‘Okay, we’re not, I suppose, but it’s unlikely. Highly unlikely.’
‘Well, it’s possible and I’m suspicious.’
‘Good, I suppose. But I don’t want to go down any wrong paths, you know.’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyway, you’re right, though. I never saw the body. There were quite a few police when I got to their house, and that night the body was still presumably in the living room. It hadn’t been taken away yet.’
‘If there was even a body in the first place.’
‘I think that we should presuppose that there’s a body, or was a body, before they cremated it late last night.’
‘But you didn’t go in the house that night.’
‘No, I didn’t. I met Elaine on the front porch. She was giving her version of the events to a uniformed officer with a notepad, who was periodically jotting things down in said notepad.’
‘So you stood on the porch and talked to Elaine and the officer.’
‘Yes, and then O’Meara came out and we talked to him for a minute but then took off. We took off to a bar for some drinks.’
‘Did you ask to see the body?’
‘Of course I asked to see the body.’
‘But O’Meara wouldn’t let you.’
‘No, he wouldn’t.’
‘See … ’
‘O’Meara wouldn’t let me see the body because he’s an asshole, not because he’s tied up in some super-rich guy’s conspiracy, Darren.’
‘Still, the point remains.’
‘It does but I think Gerald’s dead. It’s more likely she conspired to murder her husband or murdered him herself than that Gerald wanted to elaborately fake his own death, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Well, it’s more likely — much more.’
‘Probably.’
‘I’m operating under that assumption.’
‘Well, that’s all I was saying.’
‘What?’
‘That you shouldn’t … ’
‘What?’
‘Operate under that assumption.’
‘Okay, I won’t. But the theory that Elaine conspired to murder her husband — or murdered him herself — is still the best theory I’ve got. We’ve got.’
‘I suppose. But I’m not putting anything past these people.’
20
Darren and I sat in leather chairs in the waiting area of the Bouvert-Adamson offices: I flipped through magazines featuring wealthy people while Darren attempted to catch the attention of the attractive receptionist, Michelle, whose name he learned after introducing himself as soon as he saw her. She greeted Darren politely, even seemed amused, but that was that. I’d asked Darren to wait in the car but he wouldn’t stay put. He said he wanted to meet these lawyers and ask them some questions himself. I told him I didn’t think that that was a wise idea but he wouldn’t listen and said this case was his problem, too, now. I told him it really wasn’t and he said he wanted to help, that he’d been helping for days, and wanted more information. I said he could come up but told him I wanted to talk to the lawyers alone. He said that he couldn’t make any promises. We sat and waited, and it seemed like Bouvert and Adamson were taking much longer than was reasonable, I thought, considering the circumstances. Darren, however, I thought, seemed unperturbed. Perhaps Darren and Michelle would fall in love, I thought, and that would be the only good to come out of this disaster. If that was the case, it definitely wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Nevertheless, she didn’t seem interested in Darren, though he kept periodically and unsubtly looking up and over at her. But Michelle diligently kept her head down, typing away, and her face glowed a soft blue in her monitor’s light. When she finally looked up, I could feel Darren’s blood charge with expectancy, though she just said that they were ready to see me. I stood and Darren stood, too, but I told him to stay put. He didn’t protest.
Michelle walked me to Bouvert’s office, and Adamson was there with him waiting for me. They looked guarded, I thought, when I entered the office, and I wondered if the gun I’d imagined to be in the small metal cabinet near Bouvert’s desk was now somewhere on his person, or at least close at hand. I glanced over at the cabinet and it seemed slightly ajar, though it was hard to tell from my perspective. Nevertheless, I’d operate under the assumption that Bouvert was packing, I thought.
‘Mr. James,’ said Bouvert, the first of us to say anything, but he didn’t follow up with any more words.
‘You can still call me Bob.’
‘What can we help you with?’ said Bouvert.
‘Do you know anything about Elaine’s lover? Or lovers? This Adam guy who worked with Gerald. The one who supposedly killed himself. Do you know anything about him? I mean, now I assume Adam’s an alias — obviously, of course. But do you know anything about her extramarital affairs, et cetera?’
Bouvert rested his interlaced fingers across his stomach as he leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat of the rich phlegm of a cigar smoker. His black cufflinks reflected back some light. ‘Mr. James — ’
‘Really, Bob’s fine.’
‘Bob. Al and I think she had a lover, yes, of course. And he might’ve worked for or with Mr. Andrews at some point, too, but we’re not sure. We certainly haven’t heard of anybody who worked with Gerald having committed suicide. Or at least not anyone who may’ve been involved with Mrs. Andrews.’
The lover-who-committed-suicide-because-he-couldn’t-live-without-Elaine story was most certainly bullshit, I thought, and I was irritated with myself for ever believing it, even for a second. ‘Okay, I’ll just ask the question straight up. Do you think that Elaine conspired to murder her husband? And, if so, do you believe she has a lover in on it?’
‘What do you think, Bob?’ said Bouvert, the one who did all the talking, while Al sat there looking skinny and menacing but distant.
‘I think that she murdered her husband and took off with some dough and some lover to some far-off place.’
Bouvert seemed pleased and flashed his bad teeth and said, ‘Al and I are of the same mind, Bob.’