‘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 notthat 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 opensit 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?’