Jack says a chagrined, “Yeah,” and scrubs the back of his head. “Not exactly me, is it.”
I’m spared answering by what sounds like a herd overhead but turns out to be Guy, who gallops down the stairs and leaps at Jack, who scrubs at his flanks before setting him down. I’m thinking the dog should be taught not to greet a person that way, when Jack moves on to the chrome plank of a desk. As furniture goes, it’s no warmer than the rest, but at least the strew of books, papers, electronics, and chargers make it look used.
Parking himself on a black swivel chair, he types on a laptop, checks the large desktop, then returns to the keyboard. By now, I’m at his elbow watching the big screen. Guy is on his other side, mercifully unimpressed by my presence.
“Not John Doe,” he sees. “Ronald Doe, Esquire, with law offices in Albany, New York, better known as Ron Doe, which is the name I do know.” He turns to me. “He specialized in wills and estates. My mother worked with him after her father died. Since she was the business brain in the family, she was the executor of the family estate.” He types more, waits, reads. Then he sags back in the chair and rests his outside hand on Guy’s head.
Having seen what he has, I sag against the edge of the desk. “Dead. But there have to be records somewhere. Did he have law partners?”
Jack’s mind is there as I ask it, his body forward, fingers typing again. I watch the screen as he waits, but the answer disappoints. Ronald Doe was a single practitioner. His office closed fifteen years ago, soon after he died.
“Were there any papers from him among your mother’s things?” I ask.
“Y’d think. If she was the executor. When my uncle’s family wouldn’t talk with me, I searched our house long and hard. There should have been something,anythingabout the estate.”
“Unless she destroyed them.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out. They vilify his mom. He may be furious.
More resigned than angry, though, he echoes, “Unless she destroyed them.”
Not wanting to dwell there, I rush on. “You recognized the name Ron Doe. What do you remember?”
Facing the screen, he chews on the corner of his mouth. When he returns to me, his gray eyes are foggy. “Just a vague… distaste. She went to Albany. She had meetings with the lawyer. She came home upset.”
“Did he do the work for her own company?”
“No. She used your father’s law partner for that.”
“But she told my father about Ron Doe—at least we assume that’s who he meant by John Doe. Or maybe not? Dad also went off on a riff about Peter and Paul—you know, the old saying about robbing Peter to pay Paul, but I have no idea where that fits in to any of this.”
Jack has gone still. When he finally speaks, his voice is low. “Peter is her brother. Paul is your father’s partner.”
“Paul Schuster?” I know that name well. Paul was often at our house when I was growing up. I recall a pleasant man, the yin to Dad’s yang, or yang to Dad’s yin. Whichever, he was the more amenable of the two. There were several other lawyers on the letterhead, but Aldiss and Schuster were the name partners. Paul was married briefly, had no children, and was therefore often at our house for holidays. He made a mean apple pie—actually made it himself.
Lost in thought, Jack runs a finger back and forth on the stubble over his lip.
“Is he still around?” I ask.
He nods.
“I’ll call him.”
“Robbing Peter to pay Paul,” he says. “It has to mean something.”
“I don’t know if he’ll talk, client confidentiality and all, but it’sworth a try.” I pause, cautious. “What, exactly, do we want him to say?”
“Why my mother went missing. Whether she was upset enough to commit suicide. What your father meant by robbing Peter to pay Paul.” He is frowning, the grooves between his eyes pronounced.
“What,” I whisper.
His eyes meet mine, then dart away. “There’s an obvious meaning. If you take it literally.”
Yes. The question is whether he trusts me enough to risk airing it aloud.
“Between you and me?” I offer, because I am desperate for that trust.
When he finally speaks, his voice is raspy, as if a broken tone is less condemning than a full one. “What if my mother bolstered her business with money from the family estate that might have helped her brother? Wouldn’t that be robbing Peter to pay Paul?”
“There’s nothing illegal in it.”
