FORGET ME NOT (Mark Kane Mysteries Book One) (24 page)

“Aha,” Lucy said. “I was thinking about that
some more. In my own time actually, over the weekend, which shows
how dedicated I am. The printout should contain details of internet
search histories too. Gloria might have conducted searches about
Susan, you know about the adoption, whatever; plane crashes in
Idaho.”

“I suppose that’s possible. It’ll be worth
checking.”

Lucy beamed proudly. “And if it does reveal
something important then we might have to consider that raise
again.”

“And if not, and I waste hours looking for
something that doesn’t exist, I may have to exact some sort of
revenge.”

“You’re not going to drink when you’re
looking at the printout are you? You might miss something
important.”

“If I do either or both I shall be the only
one who ever knows about it.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking; if I worked
from home I wouldn’t need a raise, because I’d save on gas.”

“We’ve been there already. It can’t have
escaped your attention that I used the meeting room twice last
week. On consecutive days.”

“You’d save on gas and parking too.”

That was true – Lucy had the only allocated
parking space at work. The rest of us had to take our chances.

“And you’re always complaining about the
traffic.”

This was clearly something that was not going
away. I slipped an ace out of my sleeve and played it deftly.

“I wouldn’t save anything on gas and parking
because I hardly ever go there,” I said.

“Q.E.D.,” said Lucy.

It was Wednesday morning. A morning so far
bereft of either computer printouts or DNA reports.

“There was a delay in copying the hard drive
yesterday because the expert’s car broke down,” Lucy told me over
the telephone.

“So this guy who’s an expert in technology
can’t even get his car to start.”

“I thought you’d find that amusing.”

“Amusing’s not the word,” I said. The word
was frustrating. “Did you go with him?”

“No. Eric had a meeting booked so I had to
stay in the mausoleum. Anyway the computer guy says you’ll still
have the information by lunchtime.”

Eric was an investment analyst, whatever that
was. He probably used the office more than the rest of us put
together. In the unlikely event that I ever had anything to invest
I’d have to run it past him.

“Does the computer guy have a name? Or is it
encrypted or something?”

“He’s called Dan; as in ‘Dan, Dan, the
computer man’.”

“Very droll,” I said.

The computer hard drive printout was indeed
delivered at lunchtime, provided you count three o’clock as
lunchtime. It was delivered by the man himself who lingered about
as long as I remembered his name. He told me it was all there,
except for things that had been overwritten. There was a lot of
deleted material which was still readable, including the internet
search results. He hadn’t looked at any of the material himself
because he hadn’t been asked to and anyway he didn’t know what to
look for. I nodded repeatedly and hustled him out the door.

I looked at the sheaf of papers now resting
on my dining table and half-wished that I’d delegated the job to
Lucy, but a lot of the papers were covered with numbers and symbols
that meant nothing to me and almost certainly wouldn’t have meant
anything to her either.

I had armed myself with an array of colored
marker-pens, but before beginning to sift through the papers I
decided to photocopy them so that I could keep a clean set. This
was harder than I expected because the sheets of paper were too big
for the printer, so in the end I gave up on that. I assumed the
computer company would have another copy, or could provide one − no
doubt at hideous extra expense.

I work well to a deadline, so I pretended to
myself that the DNA result was imminent and that I had to finish
reading the printout before it came. It was a long job and
punctuated with numerous anti-boredom breaks, some of which
required fortification by a glass of Jack Daniels, so it was late
in the evening before I finished, by which time I had a pile of
technicolor sheets that looked like a child’s first effort in art
class. I was dog tired, but I decided to go through the printouts
one more time before calling it a day. And then I saw it. Something
I hadn’t been looking for, but something I couldn’t ignore. I
picked up the phone and called Lucy.

“You still up?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“I need you to come over here.”

“Give me two minutes.”

Lucy was as good as her word. During the two
minutes I put some coffee on to brew. We sat down together on the
sofa.

“Kane, what is it?” she said. “You look
exhausted.” Lucy was right. I was exhausted. It was mental, not
physical exhaustion, but had drained me in a way that even running
a marathon wouldn’t have done.

“You know what, Lucy?” I said, “The evidence
of murder is an unwanted distraction in this case and I wish to God
that it hadn’t happened. I was hired to find out if Susan Granger
is who she says she is – no more and no less. Now that we have DNA
from her and Gloria that matter will be determined soon beyond
doubt. Job done? No, job not done, because we now know Gloria was
murdered. The question is this: can I separate my moral obligation
to carry the investigation through to its ultimate conclusion from
my original professional obligation, which was, and still is,
limited to establishing Susan’s true identity?”

“Yes, I think that it’s exactly what you
should do; confine yourself to the job you were hired to do,” Lucy
said. “The matter of who killed Gloria is a matter for the police,
or the coroner. If the DNA shows that Susan is genuine, then the
question of whether Gloria was
compos mentis
when she made
her will or whether there was any manipulation by Susan is a matter
for the family to deal with. It’s not your problem. You can’t be
expected to resolve all these matters. It’s not your job.”

“Thanks, Lucy. I think you’re right. And,
joking aside, you know how much I value your opinion − yours more
than anybody’s. But the next question is a more difficult one. Do I
tell what I know about the real cause of Gloria’s death to Gloria’s
family, or do I tell the police, or do I tell no-one? This seems to
me to be more of an ethical than a legal question. When all’s said
and done Gloria’s life was effectively over before she was
poisoned. Would a police investigation benefit anyone? In the final
analysis does it really matter?”

Lucy thought this over for a while and sipped
the coffee I’d made for her. “Can you put some of your medicine in
this to liven it up a bit?” she said.

She handed me her cup and I walked over to
the kitchen and put a small measure of whiskey in her coffee then
carried it back to her. She sipped it and then hunched her
shoulders and shivered as the whiskey hit. After a while she
said:

“I don’t think so. Like I said, the whole
matter of the murder was never part of your job. Wouldn’t telling
the police or the family about the poisoning simply open up a
hornets’ nest of misery. And what would it achieve? Your job was to
find out if Susan was really Gloria’s daughter. You’re not on some
sort of crusade.”

Lucy and I sat ruminating about all of this.
After a while Lucy walked over and switched off the living room
light. Then she came and sat next to me on the sofa. She put her
arm around me and buried her head in my shoulder.

“Leave it alone Kane, you’ve done enough,”
she said.

We sat like that for a long time in the
darkness. After a while Lucy stood up and took hold of my hand.

“Come on Kane,” she said. “Let’s go to
bed.”

It was Thursday morning. Lucy and I were up
with the lark; possibly earlier than the lark. It was hard to tell
since there was a paucity of larks in our neighborhood. She cooked
us breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast and made some fresh
coffee. We sat and ate on the porch. At eight Lucy went back to her
place to get ready for work. At eight thirty she stopped by at my
place again on her way to the office.

“Let me know as soon as you hear from Jill,”
she said. “And hey,” she said, pinching my cheek, “let me see those
Kane canines.”

I grinned at her, stood up and gave her a
bear hug. “Thanks, Lucy,” I said. “You’re a gem.”

I showered and shaved and put on a robe. I
drank another coffee. Then another. It was nearly eleven and Jill
still hadn’t called. It had been nearly five days now. I knew that
it probably wasn’t long enough, but I still worried that perhaps
there was a problem. They’d got the blood mixed up. The lab had
burned down. Jill had been taken ill because of a wicked virus that
had escaped from a test tube. The possibilities were endless, so I
decided not to torture myself any more. I was half inclined to go
back to bed where I knew that the natural scent of Lucy’s naked
body would still be lingering on the sheets. And then the phone
rang. It was Jill. She was faxing me the report and a covering
letter summarizing the results in layman’s terms. I read the report
and the letter and then called Susan.

“I’ve got some good news about the will,” I
said. “If you’ve got work you’d better call in sick. I’ll have to
see Gloria’s attorney later but I’ll come and see you first.”

By eleven thirty I was dressed and in the
Chevy with Jill’s report and letter sitting beside me on the
passenger seat to keep me company. I headed north. I was on the way
to my last visit to Susan. Her car was parked outside so I trudged
up the stairs and knocked. She was eating a piece of toast and it
was in her hand when she opened the door. She said she was pleased
to see me. I let her make me a cup of tea and then we sat down
opposite each other, on either side of her wooden table.

“So what’s the news?” she said.

I looked at her for a while, unable to
decipher the expression on her face.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely frank
with you Susan. It’s true that I’m currently working for the
executors of Gloria’s estate, but I’m also a private
investigator.”

I slipped one of my regular cards between my
fore and middle fingers of my right hand and held it out for her.
She took it but didn’t look at it.

“The charade’s over Susan. I’ve had a
conclusive DNA comparison done. It turned out that the hospital
that treated Gloria before you met her had retained some of her
blood.”

I placed Jill’s report on the table in front
of her with the letter on top. She showed no visible emotion.

“It’s rather technical, but there’s a
covering letter from the forensic scientist who conducted the
examination written in plain English.”

Susan gave a cursory look at the documents,
half turning the pages towards her.

“So what are you going to do then?” she
said.

“That rather depends. If you co-operate with
me fully you won’t need to hear from me again. If you’re not
prepared to co-operate then I shall probably have to refer the
matter to the police.”

“What for? I haven’t committed any crime. It
was Gloria’s choice to leave me the money, and anyway I haven’t got
it. Whatever happened was between Gloria and me.”

“I’m not a policeman or a lawyer, but I know
there’s enough to arrest you. Identity theft is a crime, so is
attempting to obtain money by fraud, or by deception. Is it a risk
you want to take? ”

She thought about it for a moment before
replying. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ve prepared an affidavit for you to swear;
we’ll need to drive over to Boylston this morning. We will go
together to Bill Saunders’ office and you will sign the affidavit
in your real name. In the affidavit you will admit that you are not
Susan Granger; you will admit to your real name, and state that you
renounce any claim to the estate of Gloria Philips. After that you
will be free to go.”

“You’re not going to call the police?”

“Not if you co-operate fully.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t. But you know what the alternative
is. Everything I’m asking you to admit in the affidavit can easily
be independently proved now.”

“How about the attorney? And Mr.
Philips?”

“I can give you an assurance about them too.
They will not reveal the matter to anyone, and the wording of the
affidavit itself will reveal no criminal intent on your part. It’s
a bare statement of fact for probate purposes.”

Susan thought about it for a moment, but only
for a moment.

“Okay.” She sighed heavily. “I’ll do it.”

“Let’s go,” I said. “You’ll need to bring
your true documents of identity with you to be photocopied.”

Susan collected the documents she needed from
a drawer in the kitchen, and we walked downstairs. She went over to
her car.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to travel with me.
You can make your own way back later.”

She shrugged. “Okay, whatever.”

We drove, mainly in silence. After a few
miles my curiosity got the better of me.

“You want to tell me your story? Off the
record, and just for my own curiosity?”

“You haven’t got one of those secret
recording devices, have you?” she said.

“No. Like I said, it’s off the record. For
the past couple of weeks you and I have been playing a game. It’s a
game you almost won, but for a quirk of fate. For my own curiosity
I’d like to know the truth.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled
audibly.

“My real name’s Sara Bennett. Susan Granger
and I were lovers for a long while. She died last year.”

“An accident?” I said, with a tone of slight
skepticism.

“No. She died of cancer, it was horrible.
I’ve got her death certificate if you don’t believe me.”