I straightened up a stack of toxicology reports and moved them and a pile of death certificates out of my way. Glancing around at the tower of micro-dictations next to my microscope, I instantly felt depressed again.
“Jesus Christ,” Marino finally complained. “You mind sitting still, at least until I leave? You’re making me crazy.”
“It’s my first day back,” I reminded him. “I can’t help it. Lock at this mess.”
I swept a hand over my desk. “You’d think I’d been gone a year. It will take me a month to catch up.”
“I give you until eight o’clock tonight. By then everything will be back to normal, back exactly like it was.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said rather sharply.
“You got a good staff. They know how to keep things running when you’re not here. So, what’s wrong with that?”
“Not a thing.”
I lit a cigarette and shoved more papers aside in search of the ashtray.
Marino picked it up from the edge of the desk and moved it closer.
“Hey, it’s not like you ain’t needed around here,” he said.
“No one is indispensable.”
“Yeah, right. I knew that’s what you were thinking.”
“I’m not thinking anything. I’m simply distracted,” I said, reaching up to the shelf to my left and fetching my datebook. Rose had crossed everything out through the end of next week. After that it was Christmas. I felt on the verge of tears, and I didn’t know why.
Leaning forward to tap an ash, Marino asked quietly, “What was Beryl’s book like, Doc?”
“It will break your heart and fill you with joy,” I said, my eyes welling. “It’s incredible.”
“Yeah, well, I hope it ends up published. It will sort of keep her alive, if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
I took a deep breath. “Mark’s going to see what he can do. I suppose new arrangements will have to be made. Sparacino certainly won’t be handling Beryl’s business anymore.”
“Not unless he does it behind bars. I guess Mark told you about the letter.”
“Yes,” I said. “He did.”
One of the business letters from Sparacino to Beryl that Marino had found inside her house shortly after her death took on new meaning when Mark looked at it after having read her manuscript:
How interesting, Beryl, that Joe helped Gary out –makes me all the happier I originally got the two of them together when Gary bought that magnificent house. No, I don’t find it curious, at all. Joe was one of the most generous men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I look forward to hearing more.
That simple paragraph hinted at quite a lot, though it was unlikely Beryl had a clue. I seriously doubted Beryl had any idea that when she mentioned Joseph McTigue, she was stepping dangerously close to the forbidden turf of Sparacino’s own illicit domain, which included numerous dummy corporations the lawyer had formulated to facilitate his money laundering. Mark believed that McTigue, with his tremendous assets and real estate holdings, was no stranger to Sparacino’s illegal ways, and that, finally, the assistance McTigue had offered a financially desperate Harper had been something less than legitimate. Because Sparacino had never seen Beryl’s manuscript, he was paranoid about what she may have unwittingly revealed. When the manuscript disappeared, his incentive for getting his hands on it was more than just greed.
“He probably thought it was his lucky day when Beryl turned up dead,” Marino was saying. “You know, she’s not around to argue when he doctors her book, takes out anything that might point a finger at what he’s really into. Then he turns around, sells the damn thing, and makes a killing. I mean, who wouldn’t be interested after all the publicity he’s generated? No telling where it was going to end, either–probably with pictures of the Harpers’ dead bodies showing up in some tabloid….”
“Sparacino never got the photographs Jeb Price took,” I reminded him. “Thank God.”
“Well, whatever. Point is, after all the noise, even I’d rush out to get the damn thing, and I bet I haven’t bought a book in twenty years.”
“A shame,” I muttered. “Reading is wonderful. You should try it sometime.”