–Could I have some water?
–Yeah, sure.
He left the room, returned with the water.
–What’s in that black box on the mantel?
–Human remains, I said.
–I figured. The big guy, right?
–Allan.
–I only met him once, early on, when he pretended to be a flunky at a meeting, that day you took my picture. That was nicely done.
–There were reasons for that. Business considerations.
–I imagine.
He flipped through a notebook until he came to a blank page.
–So how is the ol’ memory these days, Byron?
–That depends.
–Yes. Memory always depends on the situation. Right?
–I’m not sure what you mean. I have days…
–So, let’s start with the early days, with Albert, or Allan…We’ll call him Allan. Were there other names?
–I only knew Allan.
–Since?
–I think it was 1979.
* * *
—
The challenge in the chat with Nick was restraining my normal impulse to meet questions with smarter questions that would substitute for answers. Suppressing curiosity. To keep one thing in mind: you aren’t a lawyer now.
Revealing common things, like indignation, confusion, even fear—that would be okay. Sounding like the lawyer that I was—or used to be—could be fatal. I kept saying to myself: This is not normal, I am a person of interest now.
They all think that I’m not well.
They could be right.
To this policeman, who was acting as if he really knew me as a result of his obviously successful deception, I had become my disability—a country bumpkin with a limp, now diminished by an intellectual disorder. He assumed the upper hand because my brain was damaged, by disease or injury or both.
–So, let’s go back. Try to remember the Allan you first met.
–The pigs were Cedric’s.
–Come again?
–I was reading a book when we met. And we started talking about this guy named Cedric, a big landowner back in the Middle Ages. He had a bunch of people working for him. One of them was this guy who looked after the pigs. The guy’s name was Gurth…
–Gurth?
–So anyway, the rest is vague. It’s been a long time since I read the story, but the point of the story was…
Nick was standing, looking down.
–Could you excuse me for a minute?
–Sure thing, Nick.
He was gone for a few minutes. When he came back, he said,
–So, what does this pig story have to do with…
–You asked how I met Allan. Where’s Annie?
–She’s at the office.
–Her office?
–Yes.
–And Peggy. Where’s Peggy?
–She’s home. I’ll be upfront, Byron. They’re both having conversations with people, more or less like this one. Okay?
–Sure. They’re honest women.
–I believe that too. And I believe that you’re an honest guy. And you know as well as I do that as long as everybody is truthful, the conversations are all pretty well going to lead to the same place.
–What place?
–Reality, Byron. Fantasy will get us nowhere.
He grinned, the smile that made him so damned likeable.
–So how about we talk about where we stand, going forward.
–Oh. Please. Don’t ever say that to Annie, Nick.
He gestured his confusion with his hands. Big thick policeman hands. Big handsome blank policeman face.
–I don’t get it.
–She fuckin freaks out when anybody says “going forward.” Don’t ask me why, but when somebody says that in front of her, the conversation is o-ver.
–Everybody says “going forward.”
–That’s the point.
He was frowning now, flipping through the pages of his notebook.
–So let’s get back to your friend.
–Yes. Gurth.
–Who?
–I was explaining. I always used to think that Allan saw himself as Cedric. But one day he told me, “No, I’m Gurth.” His reasoning, when I asked him why, was he’d always rather be the underdog. In the end, as long as the underdog plays his cards right and doesn’t get too crooked or too greedy, he’ll always get a fair share.
–Of what?
–The pairings.
–The pairings of fucking what?
–I have no idea. I always assumed of the pigs. He’d get a couple of breeding pairs and be able to start his own herd.
–Okay.
He sighed.
–Obviously, Allan didn’t follow his own advice, did he?
–How so?
–He got crooked, didn’t he. And greedy too.
–How was he crooked?
–You don’t think that smuggling drugs and laundering money and fuck knows what else is crooked?
–But I don’t know anything about that.
–Excuse me. I have to take a whiz.
–I know the feeling.
He stared at me with the expression sophisticated folks reserve for fools.
–Like a dozen times a day, I said.
I stole a glance after he’d walked into the living room. I saw him standing, hands spread, as if he was trying to explain something to the other officer, who was looking at the floor, chin in hand.
When he returned, I said,
–I have a question for you, Nick. Who is Albert Rose?
–You’re saying you don’t know?
–I mean the guy who was using the name, the guy who’s working with your crowd.
–That’ll come out in due course. For now, just some schmuck who was afraid of your virtuous friend, this so-called Allan. Did you ever think you had any reason to be afraid of Allan?
–God. No. Or…well…maybe once.
–What was that about?
I waited while he opened his notebook to a fresh page.
–I once got the impression that Allan thought I had the hots for his wife. Peggy. You know Peggy?
–And did you?
–And did I what?
–Did you have the hots for Peggy?
–Actually, yes. Even though I introduced them way back when. Although it never went anywhere with me and Peggy. You want to know why?
–Why what?
–Why it never went anywhere with me and Peggy.
–Sure.
–I think back then she thought that I was queer.
I wish I had a picture of the expression on his face. He was scratching at his head, just beside his ear. There was dandruff drifting to his shoulder. I wanted to reach over and brush it off.
–Why would she think that?
–Think what?
He sighed.
–Think that you were queer.
–Because I didn’t try to fuck her when I had the chance. I’m surprised Annie didn’t tell you all about that.
His face flushed and he stiffened. He closed his notebook, put his pen away. Sat back, stared at me for a while.
–I have some advice for you, Byron. Don’t overplay your hand. Okay?
–I’m listening.
–You have a good hand. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Or to your wife.
–Did you fuck my wife, Nick?
He stood. Stared down at me. I thought for a moment he might grab me.
–You aren’t obliged to answer, I said.
He walked away, stopped in the doorway, turned back, face blazing.
–Isn’t that the way it works, Nick? Fuck everyone you can, every chance yo
u get?
I smiled.
He checked whatever he was going to say, then left.
* * *
—
Chaos settles down, even when it’s unresolved. We tidy up our physical surroundings and we retreat into a reasonable contemplation of practical solutions to a specific set of challenges. We fret. But we never call them problems anymore. The big things are challenges. The little things are issues.
After the raids, Annie announced that she was going to stay at Peggy’s for a while. Peggy needed her, she said, and she wanted distance from the condo. I think she also wanted distance from Allan’s ashes and from me. She suspected there would be other visits from the police. She came home briefly to collect some clothes, her toothbrush, a makeup bag.
–I have to distance myself, she said.
–From me.
–No, from here.
–Nick?
–I’ll explain sometime.
–You don’t have to.
–I had no idea he was anybody. He was nobody. You have to understand that. I thought that I was using him, making sure the Russians were playing straight with us. So believe me, I deserve what’s happened. But you don’t deserve this. I hope you understand.
–I understand that everybody is somebody, always needing something.
–Yes. Maybe you do.
–How is Peggy?
–You can imagine. This, just after Allan.
–Lucky Allan.
–Please, Byron.
–Timing is everything, he always used to say.
If she thought that I was my normal self, she’d have snapped at me, but now, here, she just seemed sad.
–We’re not supposed to talk too much, Byron. But just tell me, is there anything important that I should know?
–How would I know that? You three ran everything. I have no idea what you know and don’t know.
–You were his friend, she said.
–Peggy was his wife. Talk to her.
–I hear you.
At the door, she paused and turned. Her eyes were full of questions. I almost went to her. So much she needed, so much she wanted me to say.
–Try to get some sleep, I said.
* * *
—
And then I was alone—a lot. It wasn’t tactical. I just didn’t matter. I attended a meeting with a team of lawyers. Then there was a session in a boardroom with the prosecutors. Tom was on the sidelines with some other men who looked like cops.
Nick was there too, but it was as if he couldn’t see me. As far as Nick was concerned, I was out of it. Before he’d left that first day, he came up behind me at the mantel, where I was checking Allan’s flowers. I could see him coming—there was a mirror above the mantel. I started speaking—to Allan.
–Here comes trouble. You let me do the talking.
Nick stopped. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He walked away.
* * *
—
I was asked, frequently at first, about my medical issues. They knew everything, it seemed, except the results of my last meeting with the doctor.
Nick’s undercover investigation had been thorough, but his files were incomplete. And so they treated me the way wounded people are so often treated—talked at in a loud and mannered way, smiled at kindly, or at least the way strangers imagine kindness looks.
And then I’d find myself alone, with no one talking to me at all, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. All things considered.
Annie often answered for me. A childhood injury. Family history. Recent physical collapse. A hospital. Early-onset dementia.
I would just sit there, nodding seriously.
As we were all finding out, Annie insisted, there was a whole world of deception beyond anything we knew about Allan’s businesses. A whole history about which we were unaware.
The system that he put in place was hard enough to figure out when one’s brain was working normally.
–Even for his accountant, she said.
Her smile, as usual, was pure vulnerability, which was probably why she rarely let it show.
One of the lawyers frowned.
–Your husband knew him since forever, as did you. While Byron might not have been part of the conspiracies, it’s really hard to imagine that you or he never picked up on things along the way. Think back now, Anne. Even if it didn’t register as criminal behaviour at the time, things might take on different significance now that we have a clearer picture.
–I’ll let Byron speak for himself.
All eyes turned toward me.
I fiddled with my most expensive pen, a Montblanc. Made a quick note on a pad. Cleared my throat.
–I’ve been a lawyer for many years, as you all know. My friend, Allan Chase, has been, from time to time, a client. Real estate transactions. The like. I acted as his proxy CEO during some complex business deals, mostly taking care of negotiations, or making small decisions on the fly. My dealings were with bankers, brokers, other lawyers.
–He must have had a lot of faith in you.
–Yes, he did.
–Surprising that, at some point, he didn’t confide…
–Actually, he did confide in me. Let me tell you a little story. I think it is a useful allegory. I think, in retrospect…maybe. Anyway. Let me run it by you. In the Middle Ages, there was a wealthy landowner whose name was Cedric. He had a lot of people working for him and one of them was a guy named Gurth, his swineherd. Cedric had a lot of pigs, you see, and he delegated all the dirty work…
And so on.
They were courteous, always.
* * *
—
Annie caught me by surprise, after one exhausting day.
–Peggy isn’t doing well.
–Really?
–I think we’d all be better off if we were together at the condo. She isn’t sleeping. She keeps reliving the moment she discovered Allan. She’d be better here, I think. She’s always been more relaxed when you’re around.
She poured drinks. I accepted mine. I hadn’t had a drink for what felt like weeks by then. Maybe it was even longer.
–She’ll be with us only for a little while.
I pretended I was thinking deeply.
–Will you be okay with that?
–Yes, of course, I said.
–She needs us, Byron. We’re going to need each other, all three of us.
I sipped briefly, then said,
–That means you’ll be coming home to stay.
–Yes.
–That’s good, I said.
* * *
—
So we three were together then, a little family. And when they talked, I listened, which was easy given they didn’t seem to notice I was there.
It’s odd how a single adjustment in perspective on what we know about a person can overwhelm everything we’ve previously known.
Misplacing a book or car keys or a pen; forgetting why I was in the pharmacy; losing track of time; taking a wrong turn on my way home. All meant something different now, something ominous and burdensome for everyone around me.
I knew that they’d soon suggest I shouldn’t drive. And now, with Peggy in the condo, it was just a matter of time before power of attorney was broached—legal custody.
I was pretty sure they were already thinking long term. Assisted living. Nursing home. Crematorium.
* * *
—
I came out of the bathroom one morning. Annie hissed,
–You forgot to pull your zipper up.
I looked down. She was right. I zipped up and said,
–At least I remembered to pull it down.
Once, they would have laughed their heads off.
Any time I’d stumble,
; –Sure as hell he’s going to fall again.
–Here, dear, let me take your arm.
–Fuck off and leave me alone. And stop calling me dear.
Dramatically shrinking away from me, from every outburst, then exchanging glances full of meaning.
There he goes again.
Goes where?
I could have told them everything I knew. I could have walked them through my last lunch with Allan, the last meeting with the doctor, but it would not have mattered. Anything I said was now evidence that I was in denial, which was evidence that I was disconnected from reality.
I could have walked them through my meetings with Tom, the cop.
But somewhere deep in my consciousness, I heard Allan, loud and clear.
–Get serious! Or better still, don’t get serious.
Like Allan, I was gone for good.
* * *
—
I said to Annie, when we were alone one evening,
–The thing we have going for us is that we’re telling them the truth. The truth is shatterproof if it has consistency. With consistency, the truth survives everything, even if it consists of lies. Conversely…
She was staring at me as if I were a dog who had just recited a line from Homer.
–Where’s that coming from?
–Just something Allan told me long ago.
–So, what else did Allan tell you long ago?
–He used to talk a lot about trusting people.
–Do you trust us, Byron?
–If I may say so, I’m not so sure about Peggy.
–Not so sure about what?
–Her consistency.
–Go to bed, Byron. You need your rest.
29.
My phone was ringing. It hadn’t rung for ages. First, I thought it was for someone else, but I was home alone. I answered and it was Tom, the policeman. I feigned confusion. I apologized.
–I’m terrible with names.
–Tom, he said.
–Right. Tom. What can I do for you today, Tom?
–Can you remember where we had our coffee, a short while back?
–Remind me, Tom.
–Just down the street…
–Yes, yes, Harbourfront.
The Winter Wives Page 21