Aaron Elkins: Where there's a will

“Ted,” Gideon asked when they’d slowed down a little, “what’s going to happen to the nephews and nieces?”

“Well, Axel’s gonna go away for a while,” Fukida said, chewing.

“Of course. But what about the others? Inge, and Felix, and Hedwig?”

Fukida nodded. “You mean am I going to do anything about all the fudging from ten years ago.” He laid down his fork. “I haven’t made up my mind. There are a lot of extenuating circumstances. And a lot of problems with reopening.”

Gideon looked at him, his head cocked. “Am I reading you wrong, or does that mean you’re inclined to let it go?”

“No, you’re not reading me wrong,” Fukida said and went back to his blackened tuna.

“Wait, hold it,” John said. “How can you just let it go? That’s Mr. T’s property they’re living on, and he’s sitting right here. He was declared dead by accident.”

“Not quite by accident, Johnny. He was declared dead because he went out of his way to mislead the police and everybody else to make it look as if he was dead-his own doing. I don’t really know how the courts would feel about giving him back his property now.”

“Mm. I see what you mean about extenuating circumstances,” Julie said.

“Oh, hell, it’s a moot point, anyway,” said Torkel, who had cleaned his plate as if he hadn’t eaten in two days. “I’m happy where I am, I’ve mellowed, and I have everything I want. No worries. Why would I want to be a rancher again? That was somebody else, not me.”

“But what about the seamen’s home?” Gideon asked. “You wanted them to have the money from the ranch.”

“Now that’s another funny thing. The Swedish Seamen’s Home went kaput in 1997. There aren’t enough old Swedish sailors around anymore to make it worthwhile; not indigent ones, anyhow.” He shrugged. “So, what do I care who has the property? I like those kids all right, they’re welcome to it. In my eyes, they didn’t do anything wrong.”

“See?” Fukida said. “Not much point in my resuscitating the case, even if I wanted to, which I don’t. Who would benefit? No, let me get Axel put away, and I’m done with it. Seems to me I had a life before the Torkelssons, and it’d be nice to get back to it.”

John mopped up the last of the soy-mustard sauce with a roll and sat back. “So what happens now, Mr. T? What’s next for you?”

“Me?” Torkel said. “First, I’d sure like to see that box with my foot in it. I haven’t seen that foot for a long time. Then I need to arrange for Dagmar’s burial when the sergeant here releases her. And then…”

He took a deep breath, filled with contentment. “Then I’m going to go back to my beautiful Tahiti, back to my gorgeous trophy wife, going to catch some marlin and mahi-mahi when I feel like it, live in sandals and shorts, and watch the sun go down over Mount Tohiea from my patio every single night of the week, with a cold gin and tonic in my hand.”

John, Gideon, and Julie looked at each other. “Makes sense to me,” John said.