Stuart Woods - Dark Harbor

“Anna Maria was able to do so well with her investments because you insisted on supporting her. That way, she could devote all her capital to making more.”

Dino shrugged.

“You are morally entitled to leave this marriage with more than you earn as a policeman,” Eduardo said, “so I have made certain arrangements.”

Dino said nothing but started in on the veal that had been placed before him.

“Anna Maria’s holdings now amount to about eleven million dollars, including the value of the apartment you shared, which was bought with earnings from her money. Tomorrow, a million dollars of her holdings will be placed in the trust that you set up at Benito’s birth and to which you would never allow me to contribute. This will be used as you have specified, for his education, and anything left over can be used to buy a home after he is twenty-five, though surely by that time he will have come into a considerable inheritance from me.”

“That’s very generous of her,” Dino said. This was Eduardo’s move, of course, not Mary Ann’s, but it lifted a load from his mind.

“Further, five million dollars of her funds go to you, as a complete and total settlement. I know you do not want any part of the apartment or any other wealth deriving from me.”

“Thank you for understanding that, Eduardo,” Dino said. “And I don’t want her money.”

“Five million of it is your money, Dino,” Eduardo said, “and it was placed in your checking account this morning.”

Dino put down his fork and stared at Eduardo.

“I can hear the gears turning in your mind, Dino,” the old man said. “You are trying to figure out how this money is ill-gotten gains, but I assure you none of it is. It is a reasonable and proper settlement of your divorce; it will stand up to any possible scrutiny by the department, the district attorney or the state and federal tax authorities, and I will not tolerate its return.”

Dino had never heard Eduardo use the words “I will not tolerate,” and they stopped him in his tracks. “I am uncomfortable with this,” he said, when he had found his voice.

“I know, but you will grow more comfortable with it as your life grows more comfortable, particularly when you are as old as I. You can now purchase a home of your own, where Benito can visit you regularly and have his own room. If you wish to invest the rest, I will be pleased to recommend someone who I can guarantee will not steal from you or charge unreasonable fees.”

Dino stared at his father-in-law again.

Eduardo held up a hand. “Please,” he said. “I ask this of you as a favor. Make an old man happy.”

Dino sighed. “All right. And thank you, Eduardo.”

Eduardo snapped his fingers and a man with a briefcase whom Dino had not noticed approached, appeared at his elbow. He opened the case and produced a sheaf of papers. “This,” Eduardo said, accepting them, “will be the settlement agreement between you and Anna Maria. It includes the financial settlement I have just outlined and a guarantee of joint custody. You will have Benito two weekends each month, two days each week and six weeks each summer, all to be mutually agreed on by you and Anna Maria. Anna Maria’s signature is already affixed and notarized. If you should ever feel that Anna Maria is not living up to the agreement’s provisions, you need not go to a lawyer or judge, simply telephone me. Please read it.”

Dino took a pen from his pocket and signed both copies of the document without reading it. The man in the suit notarized both, handed one to Dino and put the other into his briefcase, then disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

The two men finished their lunch at their leisure and spoke of whatever came into their minds. It was the only time in the years Dino had known Eduardo that he had ever felt comfortable in his presence.

STONE SPENT THE NEXT DAY working on his cousin’s estate, distributing funds to those named in the will, paying the bills that had come in and dealing with the life insurance company on the two policies that Dick had taken out.

Around noon, the doorbell rang, and two packages were delivered. One bore the return address of the funeral directors who had handled the cremation and obviously contained the family’s ashes; the other was from Sergeant Young. Stone opened that package.

Inside were a pair of khaki trousers and a plastic bag containing a number of items. A letter from the sergeant said that these were Dick’s clothes and the contents of his pockets, and that Dick’s pistol and silencer were being retained as evidence, pending resolution of his case.

Stone examined the trousers. They were ordinary, from L.L. Bean, and a belt was among the effects. He went through the other effects and found a steel Rolex Submariner wristwatch and bracelet, a wallet, ninety-four dollars in cash held by a money clip, a clump of keys on a ring, a handkerchief, a pocket comb, a silver Mont Blanc pen, a mint Chapstick and a pocket-sized packet of Kleenex.

Stone’s first interest lay in the fact that Dick’s clothes did not include shoes, shirt or underwear, just the trousers. He imagined Dick being wakened by a noise, slipping on the trousers and coming downstairs, where his killer greeted him with his own gun. He could not think of any other reason why his cousin would be wandering around the house in the middle of the night wearing only trousers. It was still cool at night, and the furnace in the house was programmed not to come on after midnight.

The wallet was small, since Dick had carried his cash in a money clip. He emptied it of its contents, one compartment at a time, and replaced the items in the same order after he had inspected them. There were a Maine driver’s license, American Express and Visa cards, a bank ATM card on Dick’s Camden bank, a membership card from a London club, a pilot’s license for single-engine land and multi-engine land with instrument ratings for both and a third-class FAA medical certificate with the date of Dick’s last examination, two days before his death, from a doctor in Camden. Stone had not known that Dick was a pilot. The wallet also contained business cards, identifying Dick as the agricultural attache at London’s American embassy, obviously a cover job. The last item was a Maine license to carry concealed firearms.

Stone returned the items to their bag and put them in a cupboard in the study, then he looked up Caleb Stone’s number in the local phone book and called him. Caleb answered.

“It’s Stone,” he said.

“Hi.”

“I’ve received the ashes from the funeral directors, and you said you wanted to scatter them in the harbor.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“The three were intermingled, according to Dick’s instructions. Would you like me to bring them over?”

“I’ll pick them up,” Caleb said. “Is now a good time?”

“Yes, come ahead.” The two men hung up.

Five minutes later, the doorbell rang, and Stone ushered Caleb inside and handed him the box.

“I haven’t opened them,” he said. “I don’t know what sort of container they’re in.”

“I don’t suppose it matters,” Caleb said, tucking the box under his arm.

Stone struggled for something else to say. “I saw your boys over at the yacht club yesterday,” he said finally. “They’re the image of you at that age.”

“Yes, they are,” Caleb said. “I’m very proud of them. They’re doing well at Yale, and they’re the stars of the wrestling team, as I was.”

Stone nodded.

Caleb looked uncomfortable. “Would you mind if we borrowed the picnic boat to scatter the ashes? All we’ve got is a Boston Whaler, and it doesn’t seem appropriate to the occasion.”