Let’s find out how much.”
“Steve, that’s mighty thin. I mean, Walsh didn’t dump her, the relatives got in the way. Maybe she blames him and thinks it was his fault, but still. I mean, that was a year ago, she’s out there in California now, she doesn’t profit from his death, and-”
“How do you know?”
“Huh?”
“How do you know she doesn’t? Jack Walsh wrote one holographic will. What’s to have stopped him from writing another one? When your man tells her Walsh is dead, have him ask her how it affects her. Find out if she expects to inherit in any way. Who knows, how do we know she isn’t holding a handwritten will Walsh made out a year ago when they were all lovey-dovey?”
Mark Taylor had trouble meeting Steve Winslow’s eyes. “I’ll do it, Steve, but Jesus. I mean-”
Steve smiled and held up his hand. “Hey, Mark. I’m not crazy and I’m not stupid. You know and I know that didn’t happen. But I’m trying to get the kid off. Reasonable doubt, that’s all I need.”
Taylor sighed. “Yeah, Steve. But I think the operative word is reasonable.”
“Hey, Mark. You just get me the data. I’ll make it sound reasonable.”
25
Tracy Garvin stood and watched while Steve Winslow read through the facsimile of Jack Walsh’s holographic will. Steve finished, set the paper on his desk, leaned back in his chair and frowned.
“Well?” Tracy said.
Steve shook his head. “It’s all wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
Steve tipped the chair forward, pointed to the will. “This will. It’s all wrong.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Have you read it?”
Tracy shook her head. “No. I knew you were waiting for it. As soon as it arrived, I brought it in.”
“All right,” Steve said. “Listen to this.”
He picked up the will and read, “‘I, Jack Walsh, being of sound mind and body, do hereby revoke all prior wills and make this my last will and testament.’”
Steve looked up from the will. “He now puts in the date, specifying not only February 26th, but February 26th at 2:30 p.m.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Tracy asked.
“Nothing. It’s just odd. People date a will. They don’t usually put the exact hour.”
“So he was a precise man.”
“He was also a lunatic. At least, arguably. And an insane man cannot write a will. Not and have it binding. Putting the time on is odd, and anything odd is suspect.
“But that’s nothing,” Steve said. “Listen to the rest of it. I’m writing this will in the 66th Street Station of the Broadway Number One line. It pleases me to do so. I think it a nice touch that a document affecting the transfer of so much money should be executed at the very spot where indigents sleep.
“‘Having revoked all prior wills, I now dispose of my property as follows:
“‘To my relatives, Rose Tindel, Pat Grayson, Claire Chesterton, and Carl Jenson, I leave the sum of one thousand dollars each, in the hope that they will use it to pull themselves together and find themselves and their lazy, worthless spouses work.
“‘The rest, remainder and residue of my property I leave as follows:
“‘To Jeremy Dawson, who though only a boy, has exhibited the attributes of consideration, concern and kindness. It was he who came to me in my hour of need, and he who saw fit to look out for my welfare. He is deserving, and this shall be his reward.
“‘I hereby appoint the Chase Manhattan Bank to act as trustee for Jeremy Dawson until he shall reach the age of twenty-one, at which time they are to turn over the entire principal to him without restriction or reservation. I appoint the bank
Steve looked up from the will, shook his head, said, “And that’s it.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” Tracy said.
“Everything,” Steve said. He picked up the will, handed it to her. “Here. Take a look.”
Tracy took the will, looked at it and frowned. “Seems O.K. to me.”
“Yeah, well there’s something missing.”
“Really? What? No, don’t tell me.” She looked at the will again and then her eyes widened. “Son of a bitch.”
“Got it?”
“Yeah. The signature.”
“Right.”
“He didn’t sign it.”
“No. And that’s very odd, because it’s one of the things we specifically talked about.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“I told him writing his name at the top could be construed as a signature, but to make sure there’s no mistake, sign it at the bottom.”
“Suppose he misunderstood you?”
“Not that man. He’s sharp as a tack.”
“So why’d he do it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t.”
Tracy frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, take a look. Jack Walsh was writing in longhand. The handwriting is spread out and nearly fills the page.”
“So?”
“So what if there’s a page 2?”
Tracy looked at him. “You think there is?”
“It’s possible there
“All right, well what if there was? What difference would it make?”
“It might make a lot,” Steve said. “Look at the way the will is worded.”
“What do you mean?”
“Particularly the residuary clause. Notice, he doesn’t say, ‘All the rest, remainder and residue of my estate I leave to Jeremy Dawson.’ Instead, he says, ‘All the rest, remainder and residue of my estate I leave as follows:’ Then there’s a colon. Then he starts a paragraph, To Jeremy Dawson, etc., etc.’”
“What’s the difference?”
“Big difference. Suppose on page 2 there’s another short paragraph about how the trust is set up and how the other relatives can’t get their hands on it, ending with a semicolon. And then the next paragraph begins, To my beloved such-and-such.’”
“You mean there could be another heir? He could have left his money to two people?”
“Exactly. And the way this will is worded, that’s not really such a long shot.”
“Well, if that’s true,” Tracy said, “what happened to page 2?”
“There’s two possibilities. One, Jeremy destroyed it so he’d inherit the whole thing.”
“Is he smart enough to do that?”
“Hard to tell. He’s smart in some ways, dumb in others. He’s a tough kid to read.”
“What’s the other possibility?”
