‘Look, I’m very sorry about what happened to your father. Frank didn’t deserve that, but—’
‘That is what I need to talk about. I don’t have time to wait. It has to be now. Hal, you need to know I didn’t kill my father.’
He sighed, nodded, and gestured to a sleek BMW parked on the opposite side of the street. They made their way to the car in silence. She got into the passenger seat, he drove.
‘I’ll take you home. Talk all you want,’ he said.
She said nothing.
‘You wanted to talk, let’s talk,’ he said.
Leaning over toward the driver’s seat, she placed her hand on his thigh. He tensed, and she whispered, ‘I know you record everything in this car. My father told me. We can talk in my apartment.’
She withdrew to her side of the car and placed her hands in her lap. Hal simply nodded, and said, ‘Okay.’
She liked the feeling when Hal tensed. It made her feel powerful. Her hand had been close to the top of his thigh as she had leaned in to bring her lips to his ear. It was overly familiar, and yet she knew Hal would’ve gotten a kick out of a young woman putting her hands on him.
They drove in silence until he arrived outside her building and parked across the street. The building was like many on this side of Manhattan, elegant, grand, but time was beginning to take its toll. A security camera in the lobby hadn’t worked in weeks. There was little crime in this part of town, so it wasn’t a priority. As long as the old elevator ran that was all that mattered.
The elevator doors opened and she led him to her apartment, the largest on this floor. Last door on the left at the end of the corridor. Inside, a small hallway led them to a dining table and open-plan kitchen beyond.
‘Careful you don’t trip on the shopping,’ she said, pointing to a pile of unopened packages sitting beside the door. Hal stepped past them, following her. She dropped her keys on the table, took off her ballcap and threw it on the couch across the room as she made her way into the kitchen. Filling a glass of water from the fridge, she said, ‘Do you want something to drink?’
Shaking his head, Hal leaned on the back of a dining chair.
‘So, let’s talk,’ he said.
‘Okay, do you want to sit down?’ she said.
‘No offence, but I have somewhere I’ve got to be. And, I’ll be honest, I’m a little uncomfortable. I know you’re on bail, I know you could face a trial along with your sister and I could be called as a witness.’
‘The cops think Dad was going to change his will. Is that true?’
He took a breath, held it in and leaned over the back of the chair. He shook his head. Then pushed himself upright and let the answer into the air as if he’d been holding it inside, like a long breath held tight under water. It burst out of him, breaking the surface of the conversation.
‘I was told the same thing,’ he said.
‘Who told you?’
‘The cops told me. They wanted to know if your father had spoken to me about changing his will. I said no, he hadn’t. At the end, you know, your dad wasn’t the man he used to be. He was forgetful. I don’t know if it was old age or something else. We still had breakfast together at Jimmy’s restaurant most days. Apart from that, we didn’t talk much. He didn’t mention the will. When I heard about Frank’s death, and the will, I called Mike Modine.’
She drained the last of the water, put the empty glass on the counter, and gave Hal Cohen her full attention. His knuckles sat like lumps of white fat on the back of his hands, such was the pressure he applied to the seat back. He appeared guarded, wary of saying something that could come back to bite him in the ass.
‘What did Modine say?’
‘He said your father had made an appointment to discuss his will on Monday. He didn’t make it through that weekend. Look, that’s all I know—’
‘Did Modine say why my dad wanted to change his will? He was paranoid toward the end, you’ll remember.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that, sweetheart. Your father thought everyone was out to get him. He could remember who won every World Series since 1953, but he couldn’t remember what he ordered for his breakfast at Jimmy’s. Modine didn’t tell me what your father wanted to change about the will. It may not have been anything to do with you or your sister.’
‘Has Modine been in contact with you?’
‘Not since I called him, the night your father was murdered. I’m one of the executors of the will, so I need to know what’s in it, and if it will still hold up. Even if your sister is named in the will, if she’s convicted of killing your father then legally she can’t benefit from her crime. Same goes for you. I tried calling Modine today, but his secretary said he’s out of the country on vacation. I’m supposed to be helping oversee your father’s estate, but I don’t know what I’m doing. Modine is no help.’
‘When does he get back from vacation?’ she asked.
‘The secretary didn’t know. Said she wasn’t exactly able to keep tabs on the senior partner. Modine doesn’t give a shit – all those corporate lawyers are the same. He’s probably drinking cocktails on a beach somewhere while your father is lying on a slab with his …’
He cut himself off. Remembered who he was talking to.
‘It’s alright, Hal. Do you think my father was working with anyone new at the time he died? He seemed very distant at the end. When he wasn’t raving about the IRS or whoever else was out to get him, he seemed – troubled.’
‘Well, a few months ago he did ask me if I knew any good private investigators. I don’t know what that was about, and again he wouldn’t tell me.’
‘I know you made some money working with my father. You were loyal to him.’
Hal nodded.
‘I want you to be loyal to me. When this is over I’ll be inheriting my father’s entire estate.’
‘You seem pretty sure of that,’ said Hal.
‘I’m innocent. I want you to help me. I will reward that loyalty.’
The promise of money put an electric charge in the air. Hal did a lot of dirty work for her father. He bribed city councilors, union bosses, journalists, and she suspected those who couldn’t be bought had been put through a different form of persuasion. Politics was a dirty game, and her father played it well and stayed clean. Hal was the one who got his hands dirty.
‘I can be loyal, kiddo, but that kind of loyalty doesn’t come cheap.’
‘You probably didn’t make more than a million a year working for Dad. I can do better. Three million dollars – for your expenses as an executor of the estate, payable when I’m exonerated and my sister is convicted of murder.’
‘And what would I have to do exactly?’
‘Stay loyal to my father’s memory. If he was going to change his will, then something must’ve spurred that decision. I want you to find it.’
He considered this for all of three seconds, said, ‘I’ll do my best. The police won’t let me into the house just yet. It’s still a crime scene, but I’ll ask around – see who your father talked to. And I’ll track down Modine.’
‘Thank you.’