At this, Dr. Tokamatsu laughed and said, “Yes, Gerald always had an eye for the ladies.” He quickly added, “I don't want to give the wrong impression. He was always faithful to his wife, but he liked a pretty face. They say older men still look at women, but they forget why they’re doing it. I guess Gerald didn't forget why.”
“That's the rumor,” I said. “But whether he went beyond looking and talking I don't know. Life for most of us at Silver Acres is pretty routine, unlike that of a college campus.”
“That's all right. Gerald went there to rest and relax. After his wife died, he lost his zest for the academic life. In fact, he turned all his papers over to me so that I could use them in my research. One thing I'm proud of is that I helped to get his most important book reissued-the one that was instrumental in his being awarded the Nobel Prize.”
“ Fiat Money Madness?”
“Oh, you are familiar with it?”
“Well, I can't say I've read it all, but I did skim it and it seems to make sense to me.”
“Good. Since you are a mathematician, Dr. Morgan-Lillian-I am glad to hear that. It is just as appropriate today as it was when he wrote it, perhaps more so with the launch of the Euro, yet another fiat currency.
“I remember well when Gerald won the Nobel. He was very excited-we all were. We were excited for him and proud that we knew him. He flew to Stockholm for the presentation and told us about it when he returned. He said they ate dinner in a large building with gold mosaic tiles on the walls. Can you imagine? I'm afraid I'll never have that pleasure.”
“If it's any solace, I never did, either. Uh, Benny, you said you had Gerald's papers. Would it be an imposition to ask if I could take a look at them? We have some people with fascinating backgrounds at Silver Acres, but we rarely get to delve into them. I'm interested not only for myself but for other people who knew him.”
“No problem, except that there are several boxes of them. But there is an empty office near mine and you can spend as much time as you like on them. I have to teach a class this afternoon, but I'll fix you up before I go.”
“Sandra, you and Winston don't want to hang around and be bored,” I said. “Why don't you go to the beach? I'm sure Winston would love to play in the sand.”
“There's no doubt about that,” Sandra said, “but he'll also get dirty.”
“That's what children do. But, fortunately, there's a shower in our room at the motel and a laundromat down the corridor.”
Benny drove to our rental car. When Sandra and Winston got into the car he said to her, “I said that Gerald liked a pretty face. He must have liked you very much.”
“I never met the man,” Sandra said, stiffly.
She thinks that if a woman is beautiful and smart, inside, it shouldn't matter what she looks like outside.
Two hours later I was still plowing through papers. Since I didn't know what I was looking for I might not know when I found it. However, I did begin to get a picture of Gerald, the professor. That he was well known I could tell by looking at his correspondence from all over the world; it had come by letter, and more recently, by e- mail.
He had written a number of books. Benny gave me copies but I did no more than look at the dust jackets, dedications and forewords. Gerald had also written a lot of articles and op-ed pieces that had been published in journals and newspapers, including the Wall Street Journal. He had kept copies of most of the letters that he, himself, had written, apparently. And there were a lot of them.
Then there were the newspaper clippings about him that filled up several scrapbooks. I got tired of reading them after a while. At the bottom of one of the boxes sat a three-ring binder. I opened it up and saw a title page with the words Fiat Money Madness and the subtitle Government Printing Presses and World Financial Chaos.
This must be an early version of his book. It would be an exciting find for anybody who wrote a biography of Gerald, but not necessarily for me. Still, I was curious to see if any changes had been marked in the text. I turned the page. The title was repeated; then I got a shock. It said, “by Gerald Weiss and Maxwell Harrington.”
I picked out a hardcover version of Fiat Money Madness from the books that Benny had given me. It listed Gerald Weiss as the sole author. I compared the opening paragraph of this book to that of the draft version. They were identical.
The name Harrington didn't ring a bell, but with my memory problems that didn't mean anything. I had brought with me a list of the full names of all the major players so that I wouldn't be caught with a memory lapse, as I had been in Carol Grant's office. I pulled it out of my purse and consulted it. There was no Harrington on the list and I had never heard of one at Silver Acres.
I compared the table of contents of the draft version of the book with that of the hardcover version. They were the same. I spot-checked portions of the text. I found a few minor differences: grammatical corrections, spelling, some wording changes, but nothing radical.
When Benny returned from his class I showed him the title page of the draft version of the book. His face showed surprise, but he didn't say anything right away. He noisily sucked in air, wiped his fingers across his mouth and finally said, “Dr. Harrington was a professor in the Economics Department when I was a graduate student here.”
“He must have worked on the book with Gerald,” I said, hoping to elicit more information from him.
“I-I don't know. He had a stroke and became incapacitated; he died soon afterward.”
“But that doesn't justify Gerald dropping his name from the book if he helped to write it. At the very least it's a copyright violation.”
“Gerald would not have done anything like that,” Benny said, passionately. “He was a good man-good and fair. He always gave credit to me for the papers I co-authored with him-even when I was a lowly graduate student.”
“I'm sure you're right. But everybody reacts differently to temptation. And I know from personal experience that academia is very competitive. Look at this situation. Gerald has co-authored a book that he realizes may be seminal-may even be in Nobel territory. Then his partner is put out of commission, unable to assert his contribution to this history-making event. If you were in Gerald's shoes, wouldn't you be tempted to take full credit?”
“Of course. But Gerald was not like that. He was a cut above the rest of us.”
“Now that he is gone you are proposing him for sainthood.”
Benny managed a grim chuckle. “Perhaps.” He sucked in air. “But if word leaked out that Gerald had ever done anything unethical, it would tarnish his reputation. Just when his theories are enjoying a revival.” He looked hard at me.
“I have no intention of publicizing this,” I said, hoping to set his mind at rest. “In fact, the only reason I'm interested in Gerald's past is because I think he may have been murdered.”
“Murdered?” Benny sat down suddenly. “Tell me about it.”
“Harrington. That's right. Please check the residents' roster for me tomorrow and call me back. Leave a message if there's no one here.”
“I don't remember anybody named Harrington at Silver Acres,” Tess said, at the other end of the line.
“I don't either,” I said, but you know how our memories are. Please, just check the roster.”
“You're working on Gerald again, aren't you,” Tess said, accusingly.
I was back in our motel room, keeping one eye on Winston, who had learned how to change channels on the television set using the remote control, while Sandra took a shower. She had picked up Mark at the airport and he had taken a room close to ours.
I believe that my hearing is almost as good as ever, but between trying to answer Tess' charges, the television blaring (Winston had also found the volume control) and Winston babbling along with it, I guess I didn't
