IN THE MORNING, I call my friends. I tell them to come to my apartment at three. This way, I’ll still have a few hours to think more about the letter.
MY FRIENDS ARRIVE promptly. We settle ourselves on the couch.
Not beating around the bush, I unfold the letter.
I take a deep breath and begin reading—
Dear Barb, Georgia, Lily, Penelope, and Jack,
This is my final letter to you before October 27th. I didn’t want to upset you sooner than necessary, but now I must tell you the terrible thing one of you did, and I must issue an urgent warning that I hope is no longer necessary, but if it is, you must heed it.
On Lily’s birthday, we were all out at a bar. It was a great evening. We were in high spirits, having a wonderful time, laughing a lot. Lily was turning twenty-three, and we were teasing her about her youth, which we secretly envied but also cherished. She seemed to find it very amusing. Then she and Barb went to the restroom, and just when they had rejoined our table, we heard a guy a few feet away make a despicable and ludicrous comment about them to his buddy. We never talked about it, but we all heard it.
If you do not remember what the man said, I’ve written it down in the small envelope I’ve enclosed in this letter.
I stop reading and hold up, for my friends to see, a tiny, pale blue envelope on which are scribbled the words “Offensive Comment.” (I opened it last night, not because I didn’t remember the comment, but to check if Gabriel’s recollection matched mine. It did.)
My friends look uncomfortable, staring at the blue envelope. I’m waiting to see if any of them want to read it.
Blushing painfully, Lily says, “Okay, first of all, guys, this walking on eggshells is not necessary. The man’s comment was something like, ‘Look at that hideous chick and her gorgeous friend. Isn’t it amazing how her ugliness brings out the other’s beauty, and vice versa? It would ruin my evening, having to look at a dog like that, not to mention if I had to be seen with one.’”
Lily waits for our reaction to her recollection. After a moment of stunned silence, we mutter our grim indignation at the man’s comment.
I don’t read the next two sentences of the letter. I recite them, my gaze locked on my friends’ faces so as not to miss the slightest quivering of an eyelash: “The man who made the comment was murdered that night, in his apartment, by one of you.”
I note a few sharp intakes of breath and a couple of frowns. Penelope’s hand flies to her mouth.
I continue: “The killer among you (K.A.Y.) confessed it to me two weeks later. Please take a moment now to look at the article I’ve enclosed about the man’s murder.”
My friends look at each other and at me in shock. Lily looks particularly distressed, which I can well understand. Even if she’s not the killer, she might nevertheless feel indirectly responsible for the man’s death.
I hand them the New York Times article.
They crowd around it, looking at the man’s photo under the headline “Murder Strikes Home In Tribeca Neighborhood.” They try to read bits of the article over one another’s shoulders, while appearing uneasy about possibly huddling too close to a murderer.
“Read it out loud,” Jack finally instructs Georgia, who’s holding it.
She reads:
Tribeca residents were stunned yesterday to learn that a local resident, 33-year-old Lawrence Finn, has been found murdered in the kitchen of his Vestry Street home. Mr. Finn was discovered yesterday morning in his apartment on the third floor of his elevator building by his housekeeper who alerted authorities. It is believed that Mr. Finn was killed by a single knife wound to the throat, but police are not releasing specific details of the crime. It is not known if a weapon has been recovered.
“This was a senseless and bloody act,” said Detective Vince Monticelli of the First Precinct. “We are appealing to anyone who may have seen anything suspicious in the Vestry Street area between the hours of midnight and 3 a.m. to come forward. The motive for this crime does not appear to have been robbery. It is possible Mr. Finn knew his attacker and allowed him or her entry into the apartment.”
Mr. Finn was an employee of Morrison & Partners, a New York-based hedge fund company. “Larry was a nice guy,” said Anthony Morrison, chief executive officer of Morrison & Partners. “I know of no one who wished him any harm.”
Police are investigating the recent trading activity in which Mr. Finn was engaged for clues to a possible motive. The often secretive trading practices of the unregulated hedge fund industry frequently result in large gains and losses for investors. Companies targeted by hedge fund traders are also known to resent the impact such trading has on their market valuations.
A friend of Mr. Finn’s, Mark Stanley, was the last known person to see him alive. Mr. Stanley and Mr. Finn were together on Tuesday evening at the Saratoga Lounge on East 16th Street. According to Mr. Stanley, he left Mr. Finn at the bar at approximately 11:45 p.m. “I can’t believe this,” said a stunned Mr. Stanley. “Larry always liked to party hard. We were having a great time.” Mr. Stanley was interviewed by the police but is not considered a suspect.
Detectives have questioned employees at the Saratoga Lounge and are trying to ascertain at what time Mr. Finn left the bar, and if he was alone at that time. They are asking anybody who was in the Saratoga Lounge on Tuesday evening after 8 p.m. to come forward with any information they may have.
When Georgia finishes reading the article, she gazes at Lily. We all do.
Slowly and quietly, Lily says, “I’m horrified by what you’ve just read. How do we know this letter is really from Gabriel or if it is, that Gabriel is telling the truth?”
Georgia turns to me. “Barb, have you looked into the case?”
I inform them that I researched it online last night and that the murder has never been solved. The police believe it was an isolated, spontaneous act. It didn’t appear to be related to any other crimes that had taken place in the city.
“As for the authenticity of the letter,” I add, “I can’t imagine what motive anyone could have for forging Gabriel’s handwriting and making all this up. I think our safest bet is to assume the letter’s real and that Gabriel is telling the truth. It would be risky not to take it seriously.”
Jack nods. “Still, I’d like to get the opinion of a forensic handwriting expert to make sure this letter really is from Gabriel.”
“Good idea,” Georgia says.
“But what if Jack is the killer and has a motive for creating a false report?” Penelope says. “You would trust his ‘expert’?”
“We can get a second opinion, if you want,” Georgia tells her. “Why don’t you find us a second expert and ask him or her as well?”
“Okay, I will,” Penelope says.
“I doubt the letter’s forged,” Georgia says. “I think what’s more important is figuring out who KAY is.”
I continue reading the letter from where I left off: “A few weeks after confessing this crime to me, KAY said, ‘I don’t want you to think this will be a recurring thing I do, but there’s someone else I’ve decided to put an end to. I’m going to kill Strad.’”
“Wha—?” Lily gasps. I carefully observe her reaction.
I continue reading:
KAY said to me, “I’ve made up my mind that in two years’ time, if Lily still loves him and he still doesn’t love her, I will try to kill him. But I will leave it partly in the hands of fate. What I mean by that is that in two years, on the evening of October 27th, sometime between the hours of 8 p.m. and midnight, I will kill him if I get a chance. I may even plan it in advance. I will put a fairly serious amount of effort into it. But if I don’t succeed during those four hours — like let’s say there are constant obstacles — I will take it as a sign from fate that Strad should not be killed, and I will not continue trying. See, I’m easygoing and flexible.”