John approaches them, smiling. ‘Hi, Ted. Is this your lovely wife?’
Jill smiles becomingly at him, completely unaware of who he is. Ted fills her in. ‘This is John Burnley. I was telling you about him.’
Her face changes, the smile drains away. Ted turns to John. ‘What are you doing here, John? You didn’t know Greg.’
‘I just thought I’d pay my respects, that’s all, as a friend.’
He’s not a friend. Ted would like to tell him to leave, but hedoesn’t want to cause a scene. It’s a public memorial; they’d put a notice in the papers. And there might be an opportunity to confront him later. So Ted says nothing and is already looking past him, to the next person. A moment later, he glances back to see Burnley moving further into the room, where food and drink is being served while a digital photo montage plays an endless loop of Greg on a large screen against the back wall. Ted finds it all rather sickening.
He greets the rest of the attendees on autopilot. Min arrives with her boyfriend, who she introduces rather stiffly, avoiding Ted’s and Jill’s eyes. Her demeanour is cold, which is not surprising after the last time he’d seen her, in his office. The boyfriend’s name is Robert Carrera, and he shakes Ted’s hand without speaking. They don’t pause to chat but quickly move inside. Quite a few of the attorneys from Turcotte, Weiss & Bloomfield attend. So many people. Ted is feeling the strain. Finally, there are no more new arrivals, and he and Jill can leave their post and mingle among the guests and get a much-needed drink. Ted has written a speech; he will keep it brief. He will shed a few tears. But first, he grabs a glass of white wine off the tray of a passing server and scans the crowd for John Burnley. The place is packed, and people keep stopping him to talk. He still hasn’t spotted the bastard, but as he makes his way through the crowded room he sees someone else he wasn’t expecting. Special Agent Ramirez. He must have slipped in late. Seeing him again, after all these weeks of not hearing from him, is a nasty shock.
What the fuck is he doing here?He has no right, Ted fumes. He’s amazed at the man’s audacity. He doesn’t belong here, in his cheap suit. For a moment Ted is undecided– should heapproach him, or ignore him? He decides he mustn’t show fear. He walks up to Ramirez, smiles thinly at him. ‘Special Agent Ramirez, I didn’t expect to see you here,’ he says.
‘I suppose not,’ the other man replies, sipping from the glass of wine he’s holding.
They stand there observing each other, people all around them, engaged in their own conversations. Ted asks, ‘So whyareyou here?’
‘I’m just paying my respects to your brother, like everybody else.’
‘You didn’t even know him,’ he says pleasantly.
‘No, but I almost feel as if I did.’
What utter bullshit, he thinks. ‘Well, thank you for coming.’
‘It’s a great turnout,’ Ramirez offers.
‘My brother was much loved,’ Ted replies, ‘as you can see.’ He decides that it would be only natural to ask, perhaps unnatural not to. ‘We haven’t heard anything from you in a few weeks. Does that mean the investigation has been closed?’
‘Not at all.’
He doesn’t know how to respond. There’s an awkward pause. Ted feels animus toward this man, but he must not let it show. ‘I don’t understand,’ he says politely. ‘What more is there to do?’
Ramirez smiles and says, ‘There’s always more to do.’
Ted feels a sudden, pulsing fury. But he has been brought up to show poise under any circumstances. He says, ‘Please, help yourself to some food. Excuse me.’ And he turns on his heel and makes his way into the milling crowd, seething.
Ramirez watches Ted Westcott’s straight back disappear into the throng. He admires the man’s poise, but he’s certain he hassomething to hide. Ramirez has slipped away from work to be here; he can’t stay long. He’d seen the notice in the paper and couldn’t stay away.
He glances around the room at the women wearing smart dresses and a lot of jewellery, the men in impeccable suits. He knows he is rather shabby in comparison. These are the people in charge, he thinks, the ones who run everything. The people with money. He stands off to the side, observing. He didn’t grow up with people like these, he didn’t know anyone like them, until he met the Westcotts. He remembers the inside of their brownstone, its luxury and comfort, itsgood taste.TheDonleavys’ place too. They’re born to it. Very few of the people here started from nothing, he thinks to himself. They’ve mostly had it handed to them. The Westcotts certainly have. It’s why he dislikes them so much.
That, and because even a large inheritance from Ted’s father wasn’t enough for them. They had to have more. So they threw Greg Westcott off a boat to get his money. He knows what he saw when he mentioned cameras on that boat. Their flash of fear. He knows in his gut that they committed murder. Maybe they planned it. Or maybe they didn’t deliberately throw him overboard, but simply didn’t try to save him. He’s sure they’re guilty of something.
He knows he’s gone a bit too far, pushed the envelope on this case. He’s done some things he shouldn’t. But he’s okay with that, all things considered.
He decides to finish his glass of wine and leave. He’s done what he came to do, which is to let Ted and Jill Westcott know that he hasn’t forgotten them. But it occurs to him that perhapsTed won’t tell Jill they spoke. He decides to seek her out. He grabs a tiny sandwich off a passing tray and wanders around the room, his eye occasionally drawn to the large screen showing photos from Greg Westcott’s life. A life of tennis, sailing, travel, private schools.
He finishes his sandwich in two bites and spots Jill speaking to Lara Donleavy. Ben Donleavy is in conversation with another man a short distance away. Ramirez stops where he is for a moment. Lara is an interesting one. When he interviewed the Donleavys at their home, her husband had seemed genuinely outraged at the suggestion that what happened on the boat might have been murder. Lara had been staunch in the Westcotts’ defence, but it hadn’t quite rung true, as if his suggestion that it might not have been an accident had made her think.
He approaches the two women. He sees Jill start when she recognizes him, sees her face stiffen.
‘Special Agent Ramirez,’ she says with a tight smile. Lara is watching the two of them, alert.
‘I thought I’d come pay my respects,’ he says smoothly.
Jill doesn’t answer. She seems frozen, as if all her natural social graces have left her.
‘I was just on my way out,’ he says, ‘but I thought I’d say hello.’