Chapter Sixteen
SPECIAL AGENT RAMIREZ finds himself standing on the tree-lined street outside the Westcotts’ brownstone again early Tuesday evening.
It feels like a long way from his part of Queens.
It’s quiet here. Silence is the sound of money, he thinks.
There’s none of the noise and hustle and desperation of trying to make a living that he’s used to.
He stands at the foot of the wide stone steps that rise to the Westcotts’ front door.
Ramirez has learned to trust his instincts.
In the death of Greg Westcott, there’s no body, no witnesses, and no evidence.
There’s probably motive, and definitely opportunity.
Ramirez doesn’t want to let it go. That’s why he’s here, after hours, staring up at the Westcotts’ home, wondering what’s going on behind that grand front door, those elegant windows.
He climbs the stairs and presses the doorbell. After a moment, Ted Westcott opens the door. He doesn’t seem that happy to see him.
‘Yes, Agent Ramirez?’ he says. ‘We were just sitting down to dinner.’
‘This won’t take long,’ Ramirez replies, and after a slight hesitation, Ted gestures him inside. Farther down the hall, he sees Jill, coming out of the kitchen. ‘I don’t want to interrupt your meal,’ Ramirez says to her, ‘so I’ll be brief.’
She nods and they all go into the front room, where he spoke to them the day before. They all take the same seats. Jill reaches for her husband’s hand and clasps it, Ramirez notes. ‘I just have one question, really,’ he says pleasantly, ‘that I hope you’ll answer for me.’
‘What’s that?’ Ted asks, cool but polite.
‘I was wondering if you will be inheriting anything from your late brother’s estate.’
Ted stares at him as if taken aback at the gall of his question. Well, Ramirez wants to know, and Greg Westcott’s attorneys aren’t going to share that information with him. He wants to know if Ted will. And he wants to needle the two of them a bit; they are far too comfortable, in his view.
‘Why do you ask?’ Ted says.
‘Just being thorough.’
Ted answers, his tone chilly, ‘I am Greg’s only remaining relative, so yes.’
He’s surprised at how much this incenses him. Ted’s probably getting millions for tossing his brother overboard. He probably didn’t even think twice. ‘How much are you getting?’ he asks. He knows it’s rude, but he doesn’t care.
Ted’s expression clouds. ‘I really don’t see how that’s any of your business.’
He holds Ted’s gaze for a beat and then nods. ‘Thank you for your time.’ He rises from the leather chair.
As he does, Jill asks, ‘When will your accident investigation be completed?’
He turns to her, raising his eyebrows. ‘Oh, I’m not part of the accident investigation. That’s the Coast Guard. I’m with the Coast Guard Investigative Service. We investigate crimes at sea. We’re both investigating the incident.’ With that rather satisfying parting shot, he takes his leave.
As he skips down the steps, he tells himself that now he knows for certain that they had motive as well as opportunity. This couple have had what’s likely to be a fortune fall into their laps. Or perhaps they pushed Greg Westcott off the boat to get it.
Jill waits until Ramirez is gone and then turns to Ted in distress. ‘Why did you tell him about your inheritance?’
‘For fuck’s sake, Jill,’ he says irritably. ‘It’s not like we can hide it. It will come out eventually. And it would be worse if I lied.’
She says, ‘I thought he was part of the accident investigation. What does he mean, crimes at sea? He obviously thinks it was a crime! He’s not going to leave us alone!’
‘Jill,’ Ted says firmly, looking her directly in the eyes. ‘There’s nothing he can do. He probably already assumed I’d inherit Greg’s money – everyone will. You know that. So what? He has no evidence! And he never will! We have nothing to worry about, Jill. Trust me.’
Minerva Westcott is in her apartment in the Apthorp on Seventy-Ninth and Broadway on the Upper West Side.
It’s not that late – she thinks listlessly about watching something on TV.
She’d tried to eat a small supper, but she had no appetite, so she’d put it back in the fridge.
She hasn’t had much of an appetite since Greg was lost at sea on Sunday.
It was such a shock. What will she do without him?
She’s not his widow, she’s his ex-wife. She hadn’t bothered changing back to her maiden name after the divorce.
She can’t help reflecting on how different things might be now if they had still been married.
But she has found a new partner in Robert.
Someone more suited to her, someone who allows her some space to grow, to breathe.
Greg was so … overwhelming. Larger than life. And now he’s dead.
She still can’t get over the fact that he’s gone. She will miss him. Once the bitterness of the divorce negotiations had subsided, they had begun communicating again. She wouldn’t have called them friends, exactly, but they were friendly. He looked out for her, in his way.
Now, there is a call up from the lobby; she has a visitor. She isn’t expecting anyone. ‘Who is it?’ she asks.
‘He says he’s from the Coast Guard,’ the man at the front desk says solemnly. He knows what’s happened to her ex-husband, everyone does.
‘Send him up,’ she says, a wave of apprehension washing over her.
Have they found him? Do they want her to identify the body? She recoils at the idea. She doesn’t think she could bear seeing Greg that way, dead and bloated from the sea. Surely Ted could identify him? He’s the next of kin now, not her.
Moments later there is a knock on her door, and she opens it to a man in his early thirties, dressed in a suit, rather than a Coast Guard uniform. He offers her a tentative smile, and she invites him in.
‘Did you find him?’ she asks.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘And I regret to inform you that the search has been called off.’ His tone is sympathetic.
‘I’m Special Agent Paul Ramirez, from the Coast Guard Investigative Service,’ he says, showing his badge.
‘May we sit?’ he asks gently. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right? ’
‘Okay.’ She leads him into the living room. She catches him looking around, noticing the art on the walls. She has good art; she wonders if he knows what he’s looking at.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he says, once they sit down.
‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘It’s been such a shock.’
He nods. ‘I’m just trying to get some background,’ he says. ‘Did you ever go sailing with your ex-husband?’
‘Yes, all the time.’
‘I understand he was a confident sailor,’ the man says.
‘Oh yes. Overconfident, if anything.’
‘He didn’t wear a life jacket, I understand.’
‘No, he never did. The fool. It would have made a difference, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes. Probably.’
If Greg had been wearing a life jacket, Min thinks, he wouldn’t have drowned; he would have stayed above the waves, highly visible, for a long time.
And it would have been almost impossible for Ted and Jill not to rescue him, if that’s what they’d wanted.
But they knew he never wore a life jacket; they’d sailed with him often enough before. She keeps this to herself.
‘Can you tell me about the relationship between Greg and his brother, Ted?’
She looks up at him, alert. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’m investigating what happened. I need to make sure that there was no … foul play.’ He looks back at her and the two of them lock eyes for a long moment.
‘Do you suspect foul play?’ she asks, with a tremor in her voice.
‘I want to know what happened,’ he replies. ‘Ted Westcott and his wife, Jill, were on the boat. They survived. And Ted will inherit, I understand.’ He pauses, waits for her to speak.
She takes a breath and looks at him, considering what to say.
She wants to know what happened on that boat too.
She wishes she’d been there, to see it with her own eyes, because she has doubts.
She remembers the last time she saw Ted.
It was in his office, when he’d lost her all that money.
His eyes were wild. She’s pretty sure it wasn’t her losses he was concerned about – it was his.
‘I’m pretty sure Ted hated Greg,’ she says at last. ‘They hated each other, if you must know.’
‘Did Ted know that he was his brother’s heir?’
‘Probably. Greg made a point of telling me, anyway. After the divorce, when he was very angry about how much I got in the divorce settlement, he told me that he’d changed his will in favour of Ted.’
‘Isn’t it a bit strange,’ the agent asks, ‘if Greg hated his brother, that he’d leave his fortune to him?’
‘Not really. There was no one else to leave it to. He was family.’ She continues, ‘That’s how rich families are. Now that Greg is dead, Ted probably gets it all. And from what I understand, he needs the money.’
‘Oh?’
She hesitates, but only briefly. ‘Ted used to handle some of my investments. He recommended I invest in a stock that he was investing in as well. We both lost heavily. I was angry, so I told Greg about it and he was furious. He tore a strip off Ted, I think. And then Greg told me that Ted had come crawling to him after that asking for a loan to help him out, but Greg said no.’
‘I thought Ted had lots of money?’
She snorts. ‘Maybe he used to. And he will when the estate goes through. But he doesn’t now, even though he inherited a bundle.’ She adds dismissively, ‘Ted never had Greg’s knack for making money.’