by Barbara Ross
“Wyatt,” I asked gently, “did you ever have reason to doubt Geoffrey was who he said he was?”
She was silent, wiping her eyes with a tissue she clutched in her hand. Quentin shot me a look that said, “Go easy on her.” My mother reached over from the chair next to me and put her hand on my hand, the universal symbol for “hold back.”
I understood their concerns. I tried again, as softly as I could. “Was there ever a moment when he said or did something that made you think, ‘This doesn’t seem right.’?”
“Geoffrey was eccentric, of course,” Wyatt answered. “It took a while to figure out what was okay in his world and what wasn’t. Sometimes there were contradictions. He never saw anyone in the flesh, but he would e-mail, text, and phone people all the time. Oh . . .” It seemed to occur to her what she’d just said.
“Did he video chat with other people, like he did with you?”
“I don’t know. You should ask the crew.”
I planned to.
There was a knock at the front door. When I opened it, Jamie stood on the top step. “Is Wyatt Jayne here? I’ve looked all over. The lieutenant needs to see her, pronto. And you too, Julia.”
“I’m coming too,” Quentin said.
Chapter 23
Quentin and I sat on the benches in the nearly empty police station while Lieutenant Binder met with Seebold Frederickson and Wyatt Jayne. While we waited, Flynn showed up.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
He didn’t know any more than we did. “You got me.” He sat down with us.
After almost an hour the door opened and Wyatt emerged, face stained with the salt of dried tears.
Lieutenant Binder followed. “Mr. Tupper, would you accompany Ms. Jayne to Blount’s?”
“Of course.” Quentin put an arm around Wyatt’s shoulders and propelled her out the station door.
I stood, hoping to say something comforting to her, but her defeated look left me momentarily at a loss, and they were gone before I could get the words out.
“Julia, Tom, please come in,” Binder said. “There is someone I want you to meet.”
Inside the windowless multipurpose room the man who’d made the scene at the funeral home rose from a folding chair. Lieutenant Binder closed the door behind us. “Mr. Frederickson, meet Julia Snowden and Sergeant Tom Flynn. They’re the people I spoke to you about.”
I stuck my hand out. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“After what the lieutenant told me, about your theories about the case, I wanted to.” It was my first real look at him aside from the fracas at the funeral home. He was a smallish man with light brown hair and large tortoiseshell glasses perched on an otherwise undistinguished nose.
Flynn put his hand out to be shaken too. “Police?” Frederickson asked.
“Maine State Police detective, Major Crimes,” Flynn answered. “I’m on vacation this week.”
Frederickson looked up at him, still holding his hand. “If you’re on vacation, what’s your interest in Geoffrey?”
“My girlfriend is Genevieve Pelletier.”
Frederickson released his hand and nodded. “Ah, the chef. I’ve heard only good things about her. Okay if we sit?” he asked Binder. The four of us arranged the metal chairs into a rough approximation of a circle. “What’s your interest in all this?” he asked me.
“I went to school with Wyatt Jayne,” I answered. “I was the person she called when she found Geoffrey. I have another interest, as well, but let’s talk about it in a bit.” I cleared my throat. “Maybe it would help us all understand and get on the same page if you told us something about your relationship with him.”
The lawyer looked at Lieutenant Binder, who nodded.
“In addition to being Geoffrey’s friend, I’m his attorney,” Frederickson said. “I’ve already disclosed to the lieutenant everything I’m obligated to. I won’t tell you anything I deem confidential.”
“Fair enough,” Flynn responded.
Seebold Frederickson leaned back in his chair, like a man getting comfortable to tell a long story. “I met Geoffrey when my parents moved me into his elementary school district when I was nine. He was a strange kid even then. A genius with numbers, fascinated by patterns, but socially awkward. Before we met, I don’t think he’d ever had a single friend, but I don’t think he cared either. The other kids were vaguely repulsed, but I was attracted like a magnet. I’d never seen a mind like his. His enthusiasms were fascinating. We went through a space phase when we built real rockets, a collectible game cards phase, when his parents drove us to tournaments all over the state. I understood that there was no room in the relationship for my separate hobbies or interests, but as long as I was willing to go along for the ride, he’d let me.
“He discovered the stock and commodity markets when we were sixteen. He was accepted at MIT, but declined so he could focus on investing. I took a more traditional route, college and then law school. Afterward, he asked me to set up his firm, so he could invest for a limited number of others. It took boning up and a lot of complex corporate and securities law, but I was successful. I’ve worked for Geoffrey exclusively ever since.” He went to the bubbler on the other side of the room, extracted a funnel-shaped paper cup from the holder, and filled it with water. “Is that the sort of thing you want to know?”
“Partially,” I answered. “I’m still trying to work it out. At some point the man in the coffin became Geoffrey. Did you know?”
Frederickson put down his cup, nodding as he did. “Absolutely. I facilitated it.”
“Then why were you surprised by the identity of the victim today?”
“We’ll come to that.” He drained the cup in a single swallow. “After he made a killing in the housing collapse, Geoffrey got what he considered an undue amount of attention. He managed to stay out of the major books and movies and avoided having his photo in the paper, but even the articles that appeared in the financial press were too much for him. Whether you think what he did was horrible or an act of financial genius, it was all too public for such a private man. He purchased the Garbo and moved aboard, roaming the earth. His investment business is incorporated in the US, but he is essentially stateless. He still invests for himself and his clients, but I have become the public face of the company. He was a shy man who became a true recluse. His parents were gone. His only real tie was to me. Leaving his identity behind was the next step, a momentous, but not an inconsistent one.”
“All because of a little publicity?” I asked. Geoffrey’s behavior was extreme.
“It was more than that. Even though Geoffrey wasn’t as well known, there was a constant stream of nasty e-mails, letters, public postings. I’ve read many.” The lawyer shuddered. “They are horrific. Some of them threaten physical torture, graphically described. And then there are the sad ones. They’re worse than the threats. Long tales of houses, jobs, and health lost. Hope lost. Some beg for money, but most solely want him to know that his gain has been their catastrophic loss. Geoffrey felt guilty about the money. He was plagued with guilt.”
“So you hired whoever was in the coffin,” I said.
“I did.”
“Unless he had a very hard life, that man was older than Geoffrey,” Flynn observed.
“A little of both. Geoffrey asked me to go through the e-mails and letters and find someone deserving, capable, and appropriate to take over his life. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Eventually, I found Bert Sand, a former character actor, never successful enough to be recognized, who thought he’d found his way out of the acting game and into making a fortune by flipping houses in Orange County, California, during the boom. Bert made a lot of money at first, but like most people, he thought the good times would roll forever, the price of property would never go down. He invested in higher and higher end projects, until it all came crashing down. He lost his money, his home, his wife.
“When I first tracked him down, I thought I’d find a shadow
of a man, but Sand was a congenital optimist, friendly, charming, and more than eager to take on a life with no expenses, where he could bank his pay and visit some of the most glamorous places in the world.”
“Even though he couldn’t go ashore?” I asked.
“He did go ashore sometimes, when Geoffrey didn’t need him to be seen on the boat. It was easy for Bert to do it. Once they got him off the boat, all he had to do was go back to being himself—a short, bald man in his fifties, no connection to Geoffrey Bower.”
“Bert didn’t look like Bower?” Flynn seemed surprised.
Frederickson laughed a hollow little laugh. “Not hardly. Geoffrey’s my age, more than a decade younger than Bert. And he’s tall and good-looking. I always thought his handsomeness was so annoyingly wasted on someone with no interest in attracting other humans.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I think Geoffrey saw Bert’s homeliness as a plus. Geoffrey made a fortune in his late teens and a humongous fortune in his thirties. His relationships were never easy, and after he was rich, he never trusted people to like him for himself. He suspected they wanted something from him and he was usually right. I’m sure that was part of what turned him away from the world. There were a few women who threw themselves at him, before he moved permanently to the Garbo. He never showed the slightest interest. I think for Geoffrey, Wyatt loving him, in spite of thinking he looked like Bert, was like a test she passed.”
A reverse Cyrano. “How long has this charade been going on?” I asked.
“A little over four years.”
I thought back through our conversations. “So Rick, the steward, knew, and Emil, the security guy, knew.”
“Yes, Rick and Emil were the only members of the crew who knew the secret. Everyone else has been hired since Bert stepped in. We’ve had, in fact, two captains since Bert took over the role.”
“Where has the real Geoffrey been all this time?”
Frederickson shook his head. “I never really know. Until last Friday, he was always available to me via voice mail, e-mail, and text.” He raised and lowered his shoulders. “I accepted his location as something I was not to know. I do know he sometimes followed the ship, staying in the same ports, because he was needed to sign documents related to his business that were couriered to the boat. I would ask him where to send the stuff, and he would say, always, ‘Send it to the Garbo, care of this or that harbormaster.’”
“What happens to Bert Sand now?” Flynn asked.
Frederickson pointed to a laptop sitting on another chair. “I’ve gone through my paperwork from when we originally hired him. I was able to locate a niece and nephew, children of an estranged sister. Lieutenant Binder was kind enough to call the young woman.”
“How did she react?” I asked.
“She was thrilled someone else paid the burial expenses for an uncle she and her brother didn’t know they had,” Binder answered. “I’m sure they’ll happily split the salary Bert banked once everything is sorted out.”
“When you arrived today, who did you think was dead?” Flynn asked the lawyer. “Why didn’t you put a stop to the funeral earlier?”
“It never occurred to me Ms. Jayne would hold the funeral so soon. I thought I had time to deal with these matters. I hadn’t been able to reach either Bert or Geoffrey. Neither Rick nor Emil had seen the body. Ms. Jayne had discovered the body, and from all that happened after, we assumed it was Bert. But there was a chance it wasn’t. Geoffrey had planned to reveal himself to her on Friday, the day the body was found. I didn’t think he had, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t know if my client was living or dead, or what my obligations were for confidentiality.”
“Why didn’t Rick Enrique or Emil Nicolescu say something?” Flynn was clearly annoyed, as he would have been in his official role.
“I asked Rick and Emil to wait until I arrived to tell the police the whole story. Like me, they couldn’t reach either Geoffrey or Bert, and like me, they didn’t see the body until they got to the funeral home today. But there’s another reason. They have both signed confidentiality agreements that give them huge bonuses for every year they keep the secret.”
“Why did Bower plan to tell Ms. Jayne the truth? Why then?” Flynn asked.
I bounced in my seat. “Because he was about to propose to her.”
Frederickson looked down at his hands. “I believe so.”
“Geoffrey wrote the e-mail and the cards,” I guessed. “He was on the other end of the text conversations and the all-night phone calls. He sent the flowers and the gifts. He collaborated on the plans for the Garbo. He fell in love with Wyatt. But what about the video conferences?” I asked.
“Bert Sand did those,” Frederickson answered, “but within tight guidelines. Sometimes he’d mute the call like he was conferring with Rick, though actually he was getting the answer to a question Ms. Jayne had asked about the refit. Bert was a gifted mimic. Their voices were similar enough, at long distances, over the Internet . . .” Frederickson’s voice trailed off.
“When Bert Sand was killed, why didn’t Bower himself come forward? It’s more than some silly game at that point,” Flynn pressed.
“I don’t know.” Frederickson stared at his hands. “I don’t know why he didn’t return my calls, or Emil’s or Rick’s. If I had to guess, I’d say Geoffrey contemplated staying dead. At some level, it was the ultimate solution for his desire to disappear. But he’s thought better of it. He’s finally answered my texts. He’s coming to talk to Lieutenant Binder and tell him what he knows. He’s arriving within the hour.”
“Arriving how?” Flynn asked
“I don’t know. He can’t be far from here if he was going to reveal himself to Wyatt last Friday night.”
“How did you know Geoffrey was going to ask Wyatt to marry him?” I asked.
The lawyer hesitated. I thought he might claim attorney-client privilege. His client was alive. But after a minute or so, he went on. “Two reasons. Geoffrey had created a foundation to provide housing to people in need. Last month he changed his will and left Wyatt in charge of it in the event of his death. That seemed like a big deal to me, more like something you’d ask of a family member. When I questioned him about it, he told me not to worry—I’d understand everything soon.”
“How could he have thought she would agree to marry him? His deception was so enormous. I’d have—” I floundered, at a loss for words.
“Killed him?” Binder prompted, then smiled as I stammered.
Frederickson went to the water bubbler again and filled his cup. He returned to his chair and looked at Binder, who nodded for him to go on. “I’ve described Geoffrey’s life to you. Even before he ‘disappeared’ it was one of extreme isolation. I am, as I said, his only friend. He’s never dated, never been in love. Never showed the slightest inclination, truth be told. I always assumed he was uninterested. Given his lack of experience, it’s not surprising he thought Ms. Jayne would be delighted and persuaded by his big reveal. To me, it’s more surprising he wanted to do it in the first place.”
“You said there were two reasons you knew Geoffrey planned to marry,” Flynn reminded him.
“He also asked me to acquire a piece of antique woman’s jewelry.”
“A necklace,” I said. “The Black Widow.”
Frederickson nodded. “How did you know?”
“Long story. I recognized the setting of the diamond ring when I saw it on the table at the . . .”
“Scene of the crime,” Flynn finished for me.
The lawyer didn’t respond. Clearly he wasn’t satisfied with my answer, so I continued, filling in the blanks with my guesses. “You acquired the necklace at auction, last April. Right after Wyatt visited Geoffrey . . . er . . . Bert Sand on the boat the second time.”
Frederickson relaxed, smiling. “So you’re not clairvoyant. I bought it for Geoffrey a little over a month ago, as the Garbo was crossing the Atlantic. From a private owner. We paid way too much for it, but the owner
had overpaid for it not long before.”
Now it was my turn to be surprised. Geoffrey hadn’t bought the Black Widow at the auction. He’d bought it from whoever had bought it at auction, or perhaps there were several steps in between.
“He had me send the Black Widow via private courier to a jeweler here in town who was familiar with the necklace,” the lawyer continued. “The jeweler fashioned the engagement ring from one of the stones near the top of the strand.”
“Why buy a necklace if he wanted a ring?” I asked.
“As I understand it, the necklace had ties to Busman’s Harbor. That’s the kind of thing that would appeal to Geoffrey. And, I think the ring was meant to symbolize the promise, and eventually the necklace was to symbolize the more to come.” He stopped speaking and looked at me, the light slowing dawning. “So that’s why you know about the necklace. It belonged to your family.”
I admitted it. “Yes, my mother was a part-owner of the Black Widow. It’s an unfortunate name for a piece of jewelry. Especially for poor Wyatt. Do you know where the necklace is now?”
“As I said, Lieutenant Binder has told me about your robbery theory. When Geoffrey gets here, the lieutenant is going to accompany us to the Garbo to check on the safe.”
“Did Bert Sand know the combination to the safe?” Flynn asked.
“No. Only Geoffrey and me. He traveled extensively and couldn’t carry much with him. When he’d go onto the ship to sign documents in the middle of the night, he’d leave his copies in the safe.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t tell me whom you purchased the Black Widow from,” I said.
Frederickson shrugged. “Don’t see why not. Nothing about the transaction was confidential.”
I sat forward in my chair. I’d wondered about the anonymous bidder on the phone since the day of the auction.
“It was a local guy,” Frederickson said.
My heart beat faster. I thought I knew what was coming.
“Name of Quentin Tupper.”
Indeed. I stood. “I’d have to go, I need—”