Стюарт Вудс - Contraband

For the next half hour they changed positions and orifices in exquisite experimentation, then they simultaneously experienced that erotic explosion that satisfied all needs. Robbie pushed him onto his back and started working on his shirt buttons, while Stone recovered himself. By the time she had stripped him naked she was on top again, swallowing him up.

After a time, Stone snuck a peek at his watch. “I believe we are expecting company at any moment,” he said.

Robbie gasped, freed him, and ran for her bedroom. By the time Herb rang the doorbell, Stone was seated on the sofa with a magazine in his lap, and Robbie was just emerging clothed in something more businesslike for their meeting.

“Good morning,” Herb said.

“Come in, Herb,” Robbie said. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you, I just had some.” He looked first at her, then at Stone. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said.

“Herb,” Stone said, “you’re an hour late. How could you be interrupting?”

“Right,” Herb said, taking a seat and setting down his briefcase. “Robbie, Stone and I have to have a very frank discussion with you about how to proceed from here.”

“Why two of you?” Robbie asked, arranging herself in a chair.

“Because, in the recent past, you have shown a reluctance to follow our advice when offered individually. So perhaps now, with the full legal weight of both of us, we may persuade you to keep your conduct within the bounds of the law and, thus, remain a free woman.”

“I am putty in your hands,” Robbie replied with a warm smile at Stone.

“We’ll see about that,” Herb said. “Now, to begin, I have filed the death certificate issued by the medical examiner, along with Randall’s will and other documents that should, perhaps before the day is out, result in you being appointed the legal executor of his estate.”

“How nice,” she replied. “I guess it was a good thing he had made a will.”

“Actually, if he had died intestate, you, as his lawful spouse, would have inherited everything anyway.”

“Oh, good!” she replied. “Then I can start playing with all that cash in his safe?”

“Not yet,” Stone interjected. “First, the court has to appoint you executor, then the will can be submitted for probate. This could be a lengthy prospect, unless we can keep it simple.”

“And how do we do that?” she asked.

“First,” Herb said, “does Randall leave any living relatives?”

“He was an only child, and his parents are long dead.”

“Then there are no cousins or uncles or aunts extant?”

“None. He often called himself the complete orphan.”

“That is fortunate for our process,” Herb said.

“Now, I guess you are going to start talking about taxes, aren’t you?”

“We must file Randall’s final tax return and a return for his estate, as well,” Stone said. “Do you have an accountant?”

“I have an ace accountant,” she replied.

“Then call him today and put him in touch with Herb, so they can work together on the return.”

“But how about taxes?”

“Once your accountant has assembled all of Randall’s assets and determined his liabilities, he will arrive at the net worth of the estate. He can file, and since you are the spouse, you may inherit the estate free of income taxes.”

Robbie clapped her hands together. “Wonderful!”

“There are some complications, though,” Herb said.

“What complications?” she asked, looking worried.

“First, your husband’s death is still an open homicide investigation with the NYPD, and they will be looking into not only who murdered him, but how he amassed his fortune — particularly the cash in his apartment, since that may constitute a motive. The federal govenment will also take an interest in that.”

“Fortunately,” Stone said, “they will be in the position of having to prove that the cash was illegally obtained. If they can’t do that, then everything will come to you.”

“How long will that take?”

“As long as it takes,” Stone said. “It will help to move things along if you give frank and truthful answers to their questions and, by your attitude, convince them that you are being helpful to the fullest extent. If they are slow to complete their inquiries, we can move them along with the threat of a court order, asking the a judge to release the estate to you — or, if they are intransigent, an actual lawsuit.”

“That sounds messy,” she said.

“It would be messy, and that is why we have to work to convince everyone involved of our position.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Let’s start by our asking you some questions, and you can practice being truthful and helpful,” Herb said.

Robbie rearranged herself in her chair, crossed her legs, folded her hands in her lap, and smiled. “Shoot,” she said.

Herb whipped out a legal pad from his briefcase. “Now, Mrs. Hedger...”

“I don’t like that name!” Robbie said.

“What happened to that happy smile from a moment ago?” Herb asked.

“Sorry.” She restored the smile. “I prefer Ms. Calder.”

“Noted. How long were you and Mr. Hedger married?”

“I believe it was a little over two years.”

“And did you have a happy sex life?”

“That’s a rude question,” she said, frowning.

“They’ll get ruder,” Herb said. “Get used to it.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Smile!”

She smiled.

“Did you have a happy sex life?” he repeated.

“Very,” she said.

“And how long did that last?”

Robbie’s lip curled into a snarl, but she caught herself and smiled again.

“And how long did your happy sex life last?”

“Until I learned that he was— How should I put it? Playing the field, when there shouldn’t have been a field.”

“And did your sex life together end at that point?”

“Pretty much.”

“Please be specific.”

“Roughly six months after we were married. I didn’t note the date in my diary.”

“Ah, do you keep a diary, Ms. Calder?”

“I do not, which is why I didn’t enter the event.”

“I note in the police report after their search of your apartment that they listed a diary among your possessions.”

“That was kept as a list of appointments. I did not enter ‘Stopped fucking Randy.’”

Herb wagged a finger at her, and she resumed her pose.

“Were you aware of others with whom Mr. Hedger was having carnal relations?”

“There was much gossip about that subject among my circle. There were too many ‘others’ to count.”

“Did this make you angry?”

“The first dozen times or so, then I got over it.”

“How did Mr. Hedger earn his living?”

“‘Earn’ may be too strong a word. He played the horses, and he took shelter and money from women.”

“Was one of these women a Ms. Parkinson?”

“Yes.”

“Was she a friend of yours?”

“Most of Mr. Hedger’s conquests were friends of mine.”

“Did this make you angry?”

“As I said, I got over it.”

“An inventory of the residence of Mr. Hedger included more than half a million dollars in cash, with another eighty thousand dollars delivered by hand on the day of his death. What was the source of these funds?”

“Mr. Hedger once told me that he knew how to fix horse races,” she said. “I assume that he had recently fixed one or more races.”

“If that were known, those funds might be perceived as ill-gotten gains, and you couldn’t inherit them.”

“Forget I said that.”

Herb sighed. “Did he report this cash as income on his state and federal tax returns?”