Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

And, of course, I had been introduced to Lisa by his father. This put me on the wrong side of the family divide that figured so prominently in Eddie's mind.

'But wasn't Simon with you?' he asked Lisa.

She shook her head. 'Uh uh. That's the problem. I was working in the lab. Simon was at Marsh House, seeing Dad. He was the last one to see him alive.'

'Really?' Eddie was looking at me closely.

'It's true,' I said. 'He and I had had an argument at work, and I went up to Marsh House to sort it out. I didn't get anywhere, so I left. Apparently he was killed sometime between then and ten o'clock that evening.'

'Really?' said Eddie again.

'Don't look like that, Eddie,' said Lisa, grasping my hand, finally aware of the difficulty she had raised. 'Of course Simon had nothing to do with it.'

'Of course not,' said Eddie, with an indulgent smile at his younger sister.

She smiled back, glad to clear up the misunderstanding. But from Eddie's glance towards me I wasn't at all sure she had done any such thing. 'The police will catch whoever did this,' she said.

'I hope they do,' said Eddie. 'I'd never thought I'd say this, but he deserves the chair. They've brought the death penalty back in Massachusetts, haven't they?'

Lisa didn't answer my question. I shook my head. 'I don't think so.'

'Really? I thought I'd read they had.'

Lisa concentrated on her lasagne. Ann looked adoringly at her son. I felt mildly irritated. Lisa knew very well that Massachusetts hadn't brought back the death penalty, but the last thing she was going to do was contradict big brother. All Eddie's pronouncements, of which there were many, were greeted with rapture by his mother and sister. He was an intelligent man, and often said interesting things, but sometimes he was just plain wrong.

I knew better than to contradict him. I had become involved in an argument with him the year before at Thanksgiving. It was over a small thing, whether Helmut Kohl was a Social Democrat. He thought he was, I knew he wasn't, Lisa and her mother were sure Eddie couldn't be wrong. I had stood my ground, and briefly spoiled what had been a very pleasant evening.

'Must have missed it,' I said, pouring Eddie some more wine.

There was a brief silence, then Ann spoke. 'I thought you got on so well with Frank,' said Ann. 'I'm sorry you parted on such bad terms.'

'So am I,' I said. 'I do feel bad about it. There's a lot I'd have liked to say to him before he died.'

'Me too,' said Lisa flatly.

We finished in silence, the shock and anger seated with us like extra guests at the table.

That night, as I lay in bed, trying to get to sleep, I felt the bed shudder gently. I reached over and touched Lisa's shoulder. It was shaking.

'Come here,' I said.

She rolled over into my arms. I felt her warm tears trickle down my chest.

'You know that shirt Dad was wearing? The plaid one?' she said.

'Yes?'

'I gave that to him for his birthday last year. He really liked it. And now it's covered with his blood.'

I squeezed her even tighter into my chest. She cried some more. Eventually, she broke away, sniffed and reached for some tissues beside the bed.

'It must be awful for Eddie,' she said.

'It's awful for everyone.'

'Yes. But he hasn't seen Dad for six years. He's barely spoken to him since he and Mom broke up.'

'Why do you think it got to him so badly? You had no problems with your father, did you?'

'I don't know. I really think it would have been better if they'd told us the real reason they split up. I mean they said they just didn't want to live together any more. Eddie thought Dad was running away from us. He never forgave him.'

'I wonder if we'll ever know why now.'

'I guess now I'd rather not. Now Dad's gone. I mean one of them was probably messing around with someone else. Mom, I guess. I don't know.'

'I suppose that's why Eddie's so angry,' I said.

'Because he feels guilty about not seeing Dad? Probably. But you know Eddie. He can get pretty angry anyway.'

Actually I didn't know Eddie that well. And I was quite happy to keep it that way.

'I'm angry too,' Lisa went on. 'It's just so wrong for someone to die like that.' Her voice had suddenly become hard and bitter. 'He wasn't ready to die. He had years left to him. What right has anyone to take another person's life? Mom has a point, there's no good reason why anyone should want to kill him. I don't know about the death penalty, but I sure as hell hope they get the bastard who did it. He's not fit to live, whoever he is.'

This outburst surprised me. Lisa had been so submissive up to now in the face of Frank's death. But she was right. Murder wasn't just evil. It was callous as well.

We lay in silence for a while. Then Lisa spoke; this time her voice was so quiet I could hardly hear it. 'When I was little and felt bad or scared, Dad used to sing to me. He had a terrible voice; he never liked to sing in front of anyone but me. I wish he could do it now.'

I couldn't sing to her. But I could hold her. I didn't let her go until, a long time later, I heard the regular breathing of sleep.

Frank was buried in a Jewish cemetery in Brookline, where the Cook family had lived when it was still a family. The ceremony was simple. After the Kaddish, mumbled with varying degrees of confidence by those present, the rabbi spoke of Frank in his younger days; I suspected he hadn't set eyes on him in many years. Gil made a low-key eulogy, short, honest and very moving. Only a small group of about twenty or so people were there: family and close friends. I was annoyed to see Mahoney standing at the back, his sharp eyes scanning the gathering. He caught my glance, and the side of his mouth twitched upwards. I looked away. It seemed wrong to me that he should be here at Frank's funeral. I would have thrown him out if I could.

The shiva or visitation, was held at Frank's sister's house a mile or so away. Shiva meant seven, and technically it should have lasted seven days, but Eddie had to get back to his studies, and Frank was at best a lapsed progressive, so the family had decided on the one evening. The mourners were joined by others who came to pass on their condolences to his family. It seemed as if hundreds of people were trying to cram into the modest house. I was amazed at how many people knew and liked Frank.

Frank's sister, Zoe, did her best as a hostess. She was a tall, black-haired woman, with a gentle smile and kindly eyes. She stood smiling and nodding, patting hands and being patted. I extricated her from an earnest man wearing dark glasses and a yarmulke who had been talking to her for several minutes, and brought her a piece of cake.

'Oh, Eddie, thank you so much,' she said. 'I know these people, but half the names don't come. And I don't want to offend them.'

'You're doing very well,' I said, not bothering to correct her.

She smiled. 'It's such a shame about poor Frank. Had you seen much of him lately?'

I wasn't sure whether by calling me Eddie she had just got my name wrong, or whether she thought I was Lisa's brother. So I decided to answer blandly. 'Quite a bit,' I said.

'Aunt Zoe!' Lisa rushed up and gave her aunt a huge hug. The older woman beamed. 'Has Simon been looking after you?'

Aunt Zoe' looked momentarily confused and then glanced towards me apologetically. 'Yes. Yes, he has, dear. How are you?'

'Oh, fine, I suppose.'

And how are your potions?'

'Bubbling away,' she answered. 'Can you believe all these people? I don't recognize most of them.'

'Neither do I. It's extraordinary to have so many of Frank's old friends here at one time,' Zoe said. 'I wish he could be here to see them all.' She looked around the room, somewhat bemused. 'I wonder how long we've got to go. What time is it, dear?'