Trophies And Dead Things

'And then?'

Hank shrugged. 'He enrolled in S.F. State and got his degree in accounting. Married again, had two more boys. Was divorced about ten years ago, lived alone in this flat, and worked at Geary and Twenty-second, for one of those tax firms that's a cut above H &R Block.'

'How'd you come to be his attorney?'

'I ran into him at Churchill's Pub one night about five years ago. Recognized him right off-as you pointed out, he hadn't changed much except for having short hair. After that he came to see me about a minor legal problem, and we started to meet fairly frequently, always at Churchill's.'

'Were you close friends?'

'Not really. Why?'

'I just wondered about him becoming an accountant. And living like this.' I gestured around the plain, conventional-looking kitchen. 'It doesn't fit with his past.'

'No, it doesn't. But the few times I tried to ask him about it, he just changed the subject.'

'What did you usually talk about?'

'My work. All Souls. He was interested in the workings of a low-cost legal services plan. Sports; he was a Giants fan. And old movies-he watched a lot of them, mostly from the thirties and forties. But I had the feeling that anything more personal was off limits.'

'What do you suppose happened to make him that way?'

'I don't know, but I sensed it in 'Nam, too. He wasn't quite as closed off then, but if anybody got on the subject of the old days at Berkeley, Perry all of a sudden remembered someplace else he had to be.' Hank looked at his watch. 'But enough-we'd better get busy. I've only got today free to work on clearing this place out, and the landlady wants to start showing it on Monday.'

I drained my coffee mug and stood. 'What do you want me to do?'

'You could box up the books and videotapes and other stuff in the living room. The Salvation Army'll pick up everything on Monday.'

'You mentioned Hilderly's sons-won't they want any of it?'

'Their mother said no. Apparently he wasn't close to the boys. She remarried a long time ago, and they live over in Blackhawk-that fancy development near Danville. But the kids are provided for in the will; Perry inherited a substantial amount from his mother a few years after the divorce. It's to be divided equally between the boys.'

'I see. Well, I'd better get to it.' I started for the door.

'Shar,' Hank said.

I turned.

'Thanks for helping. This is easily the worst part about being executor of an estate.'

'No problem.'

He added, 'Even though Perry and I weren't all that close, his death has really upset me. You know?'

I nodded. 'Probably because of the way he died. These snipings. If they hadn't been spread out over more than three months, the city would be in a panic right now-like when the Zebra killings were going on.'

'You're probably right. I find myself getting paranoid. I worked late a couple of nights last week, and when I left I could have sworn there was someone lurking around outside All Souls.'

'Nerves.'

'Typical urban ailment.'

I went down the hall to the front room and dragged a carton over to the brick-and-board bookcase opposite the bay window. Perry Hilderly's books were mainly texts on accounting, tax law, math, statistics, and investing. The number of them and their presence didn't surprise me, but what did was the absence of any lighter reading material such as magazines, novels, or nonfiction that didn't relate to his profession. Finally on the bottom shelf I found a few volumes on film: guides to serials, crime movies, and film noir, plus a few books about old TV series such as 'Perry Mason.' I boxed them all, then turned to the videotapes.

There were hundreds of them, stacked against the wall behind the TV: Bogart, Tracy and Hepburn, BarbaraStanwyck, William Powell, Gary Grant; a full run of Charlie Chans and Mr. Motos and the Topper series; westerns, comedies, drama. Not one of them had been produced later than the mid-fifties. It made me wonder if Hilderly hadn't been trying to pretend the sixties and seventies and eighties had never happened.

After I boxed the tapes, I looked around for what Hank had called 'the other stuff.' There wasn't much of it. A water-stained lobby card for a Bogart movie called All Through the Night, framed but with badly cracked glass. A carved wooden box, the kind you find at Cost Plus, containing two sets of worn playing cards. A set of Capiz-shell coasters. A silver-plated table lighter, nonfunctional. A brass bowl, also Cost Plus quality, containing nothing but a paper clip and some dust. I put the smaller items into a carton and left it and the lobby card on the cracked vinyl recliner that faced the TV. Then I unplugged the TV, unhooked the VCR, and shoved the stand over by the ugly plaid couch. The act held a depressing finality.

When I went down the hall, I found Hank in the bedroom. He was folding the clothing that lay on the bed and stuffing it into a big plastic trash bag, where it immediately became unfolded and jumbled. One look at his woebegone face made me say, 'Let me do that while you get started on the kitchen.'

He nodded, looking grateful, and gently set down the sweater he held.

I'd never had to dispose of a dead friend's possessions, but I guessed the clothing must be the most difficult task of all. Even though I hadn't known Hilderly personally, I also found myself smoothing and folding each item before placing it in the bag; somehow it seemed a negation of the person to toss his garments in there like so many rags.

As I worked I could hear Hank clinking dishes in the kitchen, but after a while the sounds stopped, and I feared he'd become discouraged again. I finished with the clothing, stripped the bed, checked to make sure there was nothing in the bureau or nightstand drawers. Then I went back there.

Hank was sitting at the table, a sheaf of papers spread before him. When I came in, he looked up at me, his face a study in shock and bewilderment.

'What's wrong?' I asked.

'These were in a plastic bag in the freezer.' He gestured at the papers. 'Perry told me to look for his important documents there-said it was a good fireproof place, and cheaper than a safe-deposit box.'

I looked closer at what lay before him. There were stock certificates, an automobile pink slip, a number of savings-account passbooks, and some other papers. 'So?'

'This,' he said, fingering a document with a pale blue cover sheet, 'is a copy of the will I drew up for him four years ago. I had the original in the All Souls safe, and I've already entered it into probate. But this'-he held up a page covered in cramped handwriting-'is a second will, superseding the first one.'

'Is it legal?'

'Yes. It's a holograph, and he did it properly. It's dated three weeks ago.'

'And?'

'It's totally different from the first. Cuts out his kids entirely and makes no explanation of why. He leaves his money to be divided equally among four people-and damned if I know who they are, or what they were to him.'

Two

Hank handed me the sheet of paper, and I scanned it quickly. From the legal terminology, I gathered that Hilderly had copied it from his original will, changing only the names under the section headed 'Specific Bequests.' The conditions for the executor and disposal of personal effects were as Hank had described them, but instead of Hilderly's sons, four individuals were to share equally in 'all cash, securities, and other financial assets': Jess Goodhue, Thomas Y. Grant, Libby Heikkinen, and David Arlen Taylor. Hilderly did not specify their relationship to him, but he did state that he was making no provision for his former wife and children. The will didn't look as official