laugh.
“I had to talk to you because the police said you were the last person to talk to Nick.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Did he talk about me?” she says. She looks up at me, haunting eyes, seeking release from something I don’t understand. Then it hits me. Stupid man. She wants to know if he loved her, and if he shared this with me.
I begin to wonder how well she really knew him. Nick might talk about a lot of things with other men, including sex swinging from a chandelier with his wife. But he would never discuss the intimacies of love. It takes me a second to get the question in focus. In that time I can see that she takes this for a “no.”
“He talked about you all the time,” I tell her. “You were the most important thing in his life.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did he talk about me that morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean did he mention my name?”
“Sure. Several times.”
“What did he say?”
“That you were the best thing to ever walk into his life.” He may have said it with a view from behind, describing the sculpted round landscape of her tight little ass, but in one way or another, Nick said it.
“Really?”
I nod, raise three fingers like a scout, hoping they don’t rot before her eyes and fall off.
Before I can take my hand down, she takes it in both of hers. We sit there for a couple of moments. Me looking at the table, the coffee cup, anything but Dana’s blue eyes. She’s looking for something, whether it’s to be consoled or for information, I’m not sure.
“I’m trying to understand why it happened,” she says. “You met with Mr. Metz; Nick told me you did. Why would anyone want to kill him?”
Dana’s now entering forbidden territory, items I can’t discuss. If I do and she repeats it to the cops, they would have me on the carpet for a good grilling, arguing that I had trashed any claim of privilege. With the client dead and no other interest to be served, it would be evidence of a waiver.
“I don’t know.”
“He must have told you something. I know it had to do with some business he had down in Mexico.”
“He told you that?”
She nods. “Before he went to see Nick. We talked after one of the commission meetings about his problem.”
“How much did he tell you?”
“Not much. He told me that he didn’t do anything wrong, that he needed a lawyer, and so I told Nick. What was it about? I have to know.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Listen, you’ll know soon enough. The police will find the people who killed Nick. Then it’ll all come out. Be patient.”
“You tell me to be patient. I’ve lost my husband,” she says. “I want to know why. Was he involved in something?”
“What makes you say that?”
I can tell in this instant she wishes she hadn’t. “Nothing,” she says. “It’s just me. I haven’t been myself.”
That’s not true. This is the Dana I know.
“It’s just that it’s hard to be patient. To wait, not knowing what happened.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Then he didn’t tell you anything that would give you a clue. Metz, I mean?”
I shake my head. It’s a lie, but at the moment it’s the best I can do. Whether she believes me or not, she accepts this.
“There was another reason I called,” she says. “I needed to talk to you about something else.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s-I’m afraid this is going to sound awfully crass,” she says.
“Try me.”
“It’s the insurance on Nick’s life.”
I look at her quizzically.
“I mean if Nick had a policy of life insurance, at the firm, the fact that he was shot, murdered-I’m not-I mean I’m not sure what to do.”
“You want to know whether that would affect your ability to recover on the policy?”
She nods. This is Dana the helpless, blue eyes and silky skin, the veiled complexion. Sitting here holding my hand.
“Was there a policy?”
“I think so. Nick told me about it once. Something I think he called a key policy.”
“Key man?”
“That’s it. Do you know what it is?”
This is something a firm like Rocker, Dusha might have. Hefty life insurance on each of the partners, so in the event of death the firm wouldn’t be strapped to buy out the partner’s interest.
“It’s not exactly my field,” I tell her.
“I know, but I trust you. You were Nick’s friend.” Dana now wields this like a sword.
“Do you have a copy of the policy?”
She shakes her head.
“Did Nick have a safe, a safety deposit box?”
“The police took the safe,” she says. “We had a safety deposit box at the bank, but it’s sealed until they can go through it. I can’t even get the papers to the house. The mortgage,” she says. “To see what we owe. How much equity I have.” She may be helpless, but she’s not stupid.
“So, no policy?”
She shakes her head again, looking at me sort of breathless, waiting for answers.
“This must sound heartless,” she says. “The grasping widow.”
“If there’s a policy and you’re the beneficiary, then you’re entitled,” I tell her.
“I haven’t told anyone else about this, but Nick left me in, well, what is not exactly a good situation,” she says. “Financially, I mean.”
“I had no idea.”
“No one did, including me,” she says. “I think it was some investments he made. I read in the paper that he was supposed to have four thousand dollars in cash on him when he was killed. I don’t believe it,” she says. “Nick told me the market tanked, that we’d lost a good deal of money. The house isn’t paid for, I know that. I’ll have to sell the boat,” she says. “That was Nick’s pride and joy. I may have to look for something more modest. I mean a place to live, if I’m going to have anything to live on.
“You know Nick. Life on the edge is a badge of honor.” She talks as if he were still alive. “And as long as he was taking care of things I never asked questions. But now,” she says.
“I understand.”
“That’s why I called you. I knew you would. And Nick trusted you.”
Dana knows how to turn the knife.
“I can make a few phone calls,” I tell her.
“Oh, thank you. You don’t know what a relief it is to be able to turn all of this over to somebody else.”
My expression tells her this is not what I said. Dana chooses to ignore this.
“To have somebody who knows what they’re doing.” Suddenly her arms are around my neck, leaning toward me on the couch, her warm face planted against my chest so that I have to use my hands to keep from falling over backward on the couch. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispers.
