“Yes?” he said.
“I think I may have solved the riddle of the credit cards.”
“Go on,” he said.
“I think that Herb Kovak was allowing other people to use his credit card accounts to gamble on the Internet, probably fellow Americans because it’s illegal to gamble in most states over there.”
“What evidence do you have?” he asked.
“Not much,” I said. “But I think I’m right. There are five hundred and twelve different entries on those statements. But there aren’t five hundred and twelve different individuals because many of them bet or play on more than one Internet site.”
“Do you have any idea who these people are?”
“No,” I said. “But we do have ninety-seven different sets of initials. They’re on those sheets you showed me. I think they refer to ninety-seven different people.”
“So you’re saying that you think ninety-seven different people, who all live somewhere in the United States, were using Herb Kovak’s credit card accounts to bet on the Internet.”
“Yes,” I said. “And to play in online casinos. I found some MoneyHome receipts that show Herb collected large amounts of cash during the week before he died. I believe that cash was to pay off some of the credit card debts.”
“And are you telling me this has something to do with why he was killed?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “I have no idea why he was killed. I thought that was your job.”
He didn’t rise to my bait. There was just silence from his end.
“I’ve been trying to cancel the credit cards,” I said finally, “but they all need an original death certificate. Can you get me some? I’ll need at least twenty-two.”
“No death certificate has been issued as yet,” he said. “All unnatural deaths are subject to an inquest, and that would usually follow any criminal trial. The death certificate would be issued only after the inquest was complete.”
“But that will be months, if not years, away,” I said with a degree of exasperation. “There must be some official piece of paper that shows that he’s dead. I need something to show the damn credit card companies.”
“As his executor, you can apply for probate before the death certificate is issued.”
“How?” I said. “I’ve got nothing to show he’s even dead.”
“The inquest was opened and adjourned last Tuesday,” he said. “The Liverpool Coroner will issue you with a letter. I’ll arrange it.”
“Thank you.”
“So where can I find Mr. Kovak’s sister?” the chief inspector asked.
“At his flat, I think. She was there on Friday afternoon.”
“Right,” he said. “Does she know her brother was murdered?”
“Yes,” I said. “I told her.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch so she can make an official identification.” Poor girl, I thought. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” I said. “Have you any idea who killed him?”
“Not as yet,” he said.
“Any leads at all?”
“No. None. The gunman seems to have disappeared completely.”
At least he was honest.
“How about the note I found in Herb’s coat pocket?” I asked.
“Nothing to go on,” he said. “The paper was just common copy paper available from any stationer or office supply store, and the only discernible fingerprints were either yours or Mr. Kovak’s.”
“How could you tell?” I asked.
“We checked yours against the sample set you gave me, and I arranged for Mr. Kovak’s to be taken from his body.”
I wished I hadn’t asked.
“So where do you go from here?”
“I think I had better take another look at those lists,” he said. “And I want to see those MoneyHome receipts. I’ll arrange to have them collected from your office.”
“I may not be in the office this week,” I said. “Can you collect them from my home?” I thought for a moment. “In fact, I have two receipts here but the three from last week are still at Herb’s flat.”
“I may need to go and see Mr. Kovak’s sister. I’ll call you back later when I know my movements.”
“Sherri,” I said.
“What?”
“Sherri,” I repeated. “Sherri Kovak. Herb’s sister. They were twins.”
“Oh,” he said.
Somehow, being twins made it worse.
Claudia and I went out to dinner at Luigi’s, a local Italian restaurant, and managed to spend the whole meal talking without once mentioning the “C” word.
We both skirted around it on purpose, like a game, but it did mean we discussed all sorts of other things, many of which we had bottled up over the past couple of weeks.
“My mother sends her love,” I said.
“Oh thanks,” Claudia replied. “How is she?”
I wanted to say she was in need of grandchildren, but I didn’t. My mother would have to take her chances on Tuesday with the surgeon’s knife, like the rest of us.
“Fine,” I said. “She loves her little cottage, and she’s been busy with the local village historical society.”
“Perhaps we can go down and see her together,” Claudia said. “After.”
After the operation, she meant.
“I’d better call Jan Setter in the morning and tell her we won’t be able to make the opening night on Wednesday.”
“You go on your own,” Claudia said. “You’ll enjoy it.”
Sitting next to Jan in a theater all evening, with her hands wandering all over me in the darkness? No thanks.
“No,” I said. “I’ll tell her that neither of us will be there.”
Claudia smiled at me. I knew it was what she really wanted.
“It saved me buying a new dress anyway.”
We laughed.
That was the closest we came all evening to discussing her surgery, and presently I paid the bill and took my girl home to bed.
She had to go into the hospital the following evening, ready for the procedure on the Tuesday morning. Hence our lovemaking was passionate and full-on, as if we both realized that this might be our last time together with Claudia as a fertile woman.
11
At nine a.m. sharp on Monday morning I called Patrick in the office.
“Am I forgiven yet?” I asked him.
“Gregory’s not here today,” he replied. “He’s been away for the weekend and isn’t back until tomorrow afternoon or Wednesday. I think it best if you stay away a while longer.”
I wasn’t going to argue. Not having to be in the office over the next couple of days suited me very well.
“Can I now use the remote-access facility?” I asked. “Just to check that I’m not missing something that should be done today.”
The system allowed us to attach reminder notices to client files-for example, to alert us to a maturing bond or
