four years ago. I tried to get the recipe, but they wouldn’t give it to me. So I had Armand call the restaurant in Lisbon. He’s our chef and the chief chef at Marmande,” he says.
“I guessed as much.”
“They gave it to him. Professional courtesy. It’s the same in every field,” he says.
The waiter lifts the glass cover from the dish he has set in front of Adam. My waiter does the same. Adam slips his fork into the bird, burying it to the top of the tines. He cuts a small piece with his knife and tastes it as the waiter pours wine.
“Tell Armand he’s outdone himself this time,” he tells the waiter.
The guy smiles, neatly bows at the waist. “Is there anything else?”
Adam looks at me.
“I suppose we could do it reclining like the Romans,” I tell him. “But if there’s anything else, I can’t think what it would be.”
“No, that’ll be all,” says Adam.
They leave.
“I would have invited Harry,” says Tolt. “You have a wonderful partner there. Good man. From the old school. I recognize it,” he says.
For some reason, the two of them have hit it off. I would not have expected this, Adam the world traveler, confidant of the powerful, and Harry who irons his own shirts.
“I was impressed with the thoroughness of his research, the points and authorities you gave to the carrier. That was his work?” He looks up at me.
“Every bit of it. Harry has saved me on more than one occasion,” I tell him.
“Every knight needs a good armorer,” says Tolt. “I would have invited him, but I wanted to talk to you about something else.”
Somehow I knew Adam wouldn’t celebrate like this unless there was some other purpose.
“Some more wine?” he says.
“No thanks.” I look at my watch.
“Not to worry,” he says. “I’ll have my driver take you to the airport.”
“My bags are already in the trunk of my car,” I tell him.
“You can park it in our garage. The driver will get you to the airport in ten minutes and drop you at the curb. That way you won’t have to find a parking space. Give him your flight, he’ll pick you up when you come back.”
“I couldn’t have you do all that.”
“Nonsense.”
“Keep it up. You’re going to spoil me, Adam.”
“That’s the idea.” He smiles and takes another bite.
“So, what is it you wanted to talk about?” I’d like to know what the charges are.
“I didn’t ask you why she took the money. Dana, I mean. Mrs. Rush. I assume she was pressed financially. So I suppose no harm, no foul. But I would like to know one thing.”
I’m sitting back, sipping wine, listening.
“The insurance, her taking of the trust fund checks. Did any of this have to do with Nick’s death? I don’t need to know any details,” he says. “Whatever passed between the two of you in the confines of lawyer- client should stay there. And I will accept whatever you tell me. If you can’t say anything, I understand. My concern regards the firm. I merely want to know whether we can expect more repercussions from this?”
“You want to know if I think Dana killed Nick?”
He makes a face. “I suppose. In a word,” he says. “I’ve dragged my feet, covered some things. And I have my neck stretched out, just a little at the moment. I did it to protect the firm. But if there is something, and the police start looking, well, they’re going to find the checks she forged. And then I’m going to have to explain to the bar, and possibly to the police, why I didn’t report it.”
“I understand.”
“I thought you would.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t help you. Not because I don’t want to,” I tell him. “The fact is I don’t know. She says she didn’t have anything to do with it. She says Nick left her high and dry. That’s the only reason she took the checks from his desk.”
“Do you believe her?”
I laugh without doing it out loud. “I gave up trying to read those entrails long ago. She did know about the insurance. She had a copy of the policy. She told me she didn’t find it until we spoke the first time. But to be honest, I don’t believe her. She had to know Margaret’s name was on the policy.”
“So she lied to you.”
“More than once.”
“And the issue of double indemnity?”
“She didn’t know what it was called, at least that’s what she led me to believe. But she picked up the theory pretty quickly as soon as I told her Nick’s death was an accident. I don’t think this was news to her. She had to be reading the papers, following the investigation. The police were already speculating in public. Whether she might have talked to somebody else who gave her chapter and verse on a claim, I can’t say.”
“But your instincts. You’ve certainly developed those if you’ve dealt with criminal defendants. What do they tell you?”
I give him an expression like maybe I’d rather not say. But then I do. “My instincts tell me Dana is trouble. I’m not saying she killed her husband. I’m saying that you’d have a hard time trying to figure out what’s going on behind those blue eyes at any given moment. Is she capable of it? I suppose. I don’t mean pulling the trigger.”
“You mean hiring somebody else?”
“It’s been known to happen. But…”
“But what?”
“These people were professionals.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was there. I heard the shots. If Dana hired somebody to kill Nick, it would probably be somebody she met someplace, in a bar, maybe a wayward lover she recruited. That kind of person usually doesn’t have access to automatic weapons, semiautomatic maybe. But what killed Nick and Metz was a submachine gun. Nine millimeter. I saw some of the spent cartridges on the ground. They were ejected out of the car window when he fired.”
“Hmm.” Tolt sits back in his chair, chewing a piece of pheasant slowly as he considers this.
“So you don’t think she did it?”
“I’m not saying that. She certainly had motive. And it’s possible she’s more resourceful than I think. She could have crossed the border. Flashed some money in the right places down in Tijuana, and you can probably find cops who will introduce you to people with Uzis, AKs, as well as the talent to use them. They might even do it for you themselves if you pay them enough. It’s the thing about San Diego, the proximity to the southern border creates a whole new dynamic,” I tell him.
“Then she could have done it?”
“It’s possible.”
“What you’re saying is that anything’s possible.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not going to allow me to sleep much better at night,” he says.
“It is what it is,” I tell him.
We finish the main course and they bring on creme brulee for dessert, along with coffee and a little cognac. He offers me a cigar and I pass.
“Nick used to love them. Smoked them like a chimney at the last Christmas party,” he says.
“That’s the difference between us,” I tell him.
“Not the only one,” he says. “I feel bad for Nick. I don’t mean just because he’s dead. He wasn’t treated as well as he should have been while he was here at the firm. And I blame myself for that. I set the tone, and over the last year or so it’s been one of not caring. But my wife was sick.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yes. Cancer,” he says.
