Linda Fairstein - Lethal Legacy

“I thought maybe you were organizing a memorial service for Tina,” Mike said. “Seems like she had something to do with all of you.”

“Why don’t we move into the office?” Talbot said.

“Because my first order of business is to talk with your father.”

“I think you’re smart enough to see he’s not having a good day,” Minerva said.

Mike stood up, took her arm, and walked with her to the door of the room, out of Jasper Hunt’s earshot. “What’s his condition?”

“He’s old, Mr. Chapman. In case you hadn’t noticed. He’s infirm.”

“Any dementia?”

Minerva looked at her brother, and neither answered quickly. “He’s clear most of the time,” Tally said.

“I guess he has to be if you’re trying to change the will. Isn’t that so?” Mike asked. “We got a little bit of Brooke Astor going on here?”

The great Mrs. Astor, who spent half a century distributing her husband’s fortune-more than one hundred million dollars-wound up with her estate in the middle of an ugly battle. The will she had signed years earlier-leaving much of the Astor trust to New York institutions she loved, such as the library-had a subsequent codicil bequeathing most of those same assets to her only son.

“I don’t get it, Detective,” Tally said.

“The issue was Mrs. Astor’s competence-her mental competence-at the time the codicil was signed,” I said.

“Mrs. Astor was a dear friend of my father’s,” Minerva said. “I’m familiar with the case. I just don’t see what it has to do with us.”

“Hello, Minerva.” I heard a weak voice from across the room. “Who’s here with you?”

“Your turn, Coop. You’re good with the old guys.”

“Father, I think it’s time for you to take a nap.”

I started toward Jasper Hunt and kneeled beside Fortitude, who raised up and started to rub herself against my leg, her bushy tail tickling my face and her big tufted feet padding the carpet like a miniature lion’s.

“Don’t marginalize me, Minerva. Who’s this nice young lady here? Have we met?”

He reached out to touch my cheek and I held my hand over his. “I’m Alexandra Cooper, Mr. Hunt. I’m a lawyer. A prosecutor, actually.”

“Bully, Ms. Cooper. Doing justice, are you?”

“We’re trying, Mr. Hunt.”

Mercer was attempting to steer Tally out of the room, but he stood firm.

“Have you met my babies?”

“Patience and Fortitude,” I said. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’re smart, young lady. Better than beautiful. Never caused me a moment’s trouble. The only price for their loyalty is a small bit of food.”

“Are you too tired to talk to me for a few minutes, Mr. Hunt?”

He was staring at Patience, and I turned to look at the foursome behind me. Minerva and her brother seemed frozen, fearful that Jasper would betray whatever secrets this dysfunctional family held close.

“I’m always tired. But I like to talk to young girls.”

“We’ve just come from the public library. We know how generous you’ve been to them over the years.”

“I used to have a wonderful library of my own. Right here. It’s all gone, plundered by thieves.” Hunt lifted his bent forefinger in the air.

“That’s not true, Father. I’ll be happy to show Ms. Cooper your library,” Tally said. “It’s an extraordinary collection, as you might imagine.”

Hunt grasped at my hand. “Yesterday I took a long walk in the park- Central Park. Do you know it? I couldn’t find my way home. It was frightening, actually. I walked for miles and miles and still couldn’t get out of the park.”

“Don’t get agitated, Father,” Minerva said, coming up beside up. “That was just a dream you had. You haven’t walked in the park for years.”

“Did you say your name was Alice?”

“Almost, sir. It’s Alex. Alexandra.”

“Did you ever meet Alice?”

“Sorry?” I looked to Minerva for help.

“Alice Liddell. The girl for whom Alice in Wonderland was written. My grandfather had an obsession with that child-or maybe with the book. I think this is Papa’s long-term memory at work.”

“Would you like me to come back with Alice ?” I asked the old man. “With that book? Perhaps read to you?”

Why did that children’s story play such a recurring role in these events?

Jasper Hunt looked up at me and smiled. “Of course I’d like that.”

“Do you remember a young woman named Tina? Tina Barr?”

His eyes closed and he repeated the name several times, as though trying to locate it in a crumbling memory bank.

“Do we know her, Minerva?” he asked.

“Yes, Father. That nice girl who was helping you with your books. Cataloging the collection, restoring some of your Melvilles.”

“Then I know her, if my daughter says I do. Was that your question?” He looked at me again.

“Do you remember talking with her?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side two or three times.

“Did you know that she left you to go to work for Alger Herrick?”

“Herrick? There’s a lucky man,” Hunt said. “I once thought he’d be a fine match for my Minerva. She didn’t agree-did you, dear?”

Minerva Hunt cackled like a witch. “I’m glad you remembered that.”

“What became of Alger? Have I seen him about?”

“He’s got a wonderful apartment here in New York, Mr. Hunt,” I said. “Full of the most magnificent maps.”

“You can’t read maps, young lady,” he said, almost scolding me. “You can’t hold them, fondle the smooth bindings, finger the parchment and vellum, and caress them, as you can books. I don’t care for maps. Herrick’s folly, not mine.”

“Tally told me that your father had a map,” I said, checking with Talbot Hunt as I tried to get to the subject. The son looked grim, avoiding my eyes. “One of the rarest in the world. It had a dozen separate pieces, twelve panels.”

“Did you know my father was mad, young lady? Absolutely mad.”

“She wants to know about the Waldseemüller map, Father,” Tally said, his arms folded and his words sharp.

“They all want the map, boy. I wouldn’t have any visitors if it weren’t for that damn map, you know. How long has it been since you’ve been by to see me?”

“Don’t take it personally, Father. Tally’s afraid he might run into me if he came to call,” Minerva said, smoothing the front of her skirt. “Two hours together and it already seems like a month.”

The old man mumbled something under his breath. I thought I heard him say, “Even the Jew.”

I leaned closer to him. Had Jonah Krauss been to see him, too?

Minerva queried him. “Even a few what, Papa?”

Jasper Hunt’s chin rested on his chest and his eyes closed again. His short defense of bookmen-his ancestors and himself-and the troublesome questioning about the map had seemed to devour all his energy.

“My father’s a doctor, Mr. Hunt. He’s a brilliant man, and an especially kind one, too.”

Hunt’s glassy eyes fixed on me while I talked.

“It’s a remarkable legacy he’s set in place,” I said, looking back at Minerva and Tally to see if either of them reacted to the sound of that word. “Your father, sir-and your grandfather-their philanthropic giving has been a stunning gift to so many great institutions. What do you think the Hunt legacy is?”

“Still searching for that, are you? My father would find it amusing, I’m sure. Tried to take it all with him, in case there was no one left to care. He’d be so pleased that we’re sitting here today, trying to figure what he was all about, talking about him. That keeps him alive in a strange way, doesn’t it?”