"park_9781436290630_oeb_c40_r1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robert B Parker- [Spenser 36] - Rough Weather)
RoughWeather
40
It was the way it was supposed to be in Boston in November. Gray and kind of chilly and a steady rain falling. Cars had their headlights on at ten in the morning when Hawk and I drove to Epstein’s office in Government Center.
“I be out here by the elevators,” Hawk said. “I not going in any FBI office.”
“J. Edgar’s ghost will be grateful,” I said.
“You think it wearing a dress?” Hawk said.
I went in. Epstein pushed a folder across the desk at me as I sat down.
“Been working with our forensic accounting folks,” Epstein said.
“The excitement never stops,” I said.
“You can learn a lot from accountants,” Epstein said.
“I have no doubt,” I said. “What’d you learn?”
“Van Meer and Bradshaw are both nearly broke,” Epstein said.
“Can Heidi take credit for that?”
“She costs both of them a sickening amount of money,” Epstein said. “Van Meer didn’t help himself much by being a drunk and slopping through most of his inheritance. Bradshaw pays a huge alimony, and he still maintains that private island. Essentially, since they’ve split, for her.”
“Tashtego,” I said.
“Yep. He was never as rich as Van Meer in the first place, though from the looks of what he spent, he tried to pretend he was. If it was to impress her, then she pretty well cleaned him out.”
“That college professor was lucky to escape with his life,” I said.
“Her first husband, yeah. Other than sort of a modest income from what investments he still has working for him,” Epstein said, “Bradshaw’s biggest asset is a very large life insurance policy with Heidi as beneficiary.”
“I were Bradshaw,” I said, “that might make me nervous. How about Van Meer.”
“He cashed his in for the surrender value,” Epstein said.
“So he’s not worth much to them dead or alive,” I said.
“The bank is moving to foreclose on his condo,” Epstein said.
“When you talk with him, he seems to have not a care in the world,” I said. “Except maybe he still misses Heidi.”
“He’s a drunk,” Epstein said. “Drunks are good at denial.”
“Have to be, I suppose,” I said. “How about the pre-nup and stuff.”
“Pre-nup, Lessard’s will,” Epstein said. “It’s all in there in more detail than you’d ever want. From the moment of marriage, Adelaide and Maurice became each other’s primary heir. And no matter what the family does later, each is entitled to the estate as it existed at the time of marriage.”
“And the Lessard lawyers bought that?” I said.
“Lawyers can only do what the client will agree to,” Epstein said. “Far as I can see, the Lessards thought they were marrying up. They probably thought the arrangement was in their favor.”
I picked up the folder. It was thick. I put it down.
“You suppose,” I said, “all this, helicopters, and shoot-outs, and assassination attempts, and kidnapping, and FBI and state cops, and Boston cops, and a lot of people dying . . . you suppose it’s all about fund-raising?”
Epstein shrugged.
“What is it usually about?” Epstein said. “Any crime?”
“Love or money,” I said.
“Or both,” Epstein said.
RoughWeather
40
It was the way it was supposed to be in Boston in November. Gray and kind of chilly and a steady rain falling. Cars had their headlights on at ten in the morning when Hawk and I drove to Epstein’s office in Government Center.
“I be out here by the elevators,” Hawk said. “I not going in any FBI office.”
“J. Edgar’s ghost will be grateful,” I said.
“You think it wearing a dress?” Hawk said.
I went in. Epstein pushed a folder across the desk at me as I sat down.
“Been working with our forensic accounting folks,” Epstein said.
“The excitement never stops,” I said.
“You can learn a lot from accountants,” Epstein said.
“I have no doubt,” I said. “What’d you learn?”
“Van Meer and Bradshaw are both nearly broke,” Epstein said.
“Can Heidi take credit for that?”
“She costs both of them a sickening amount of money,” Epstein said. “Van Meer didn’t help himself much by being a drunk and slopping through most of his inheritance. Bradshaw pays a huge alimony, and he still maintains that private island. Essentially, since they’ve split, for her.”
“Tashtego,” I said.
“Yep. He was never as rich as Van Meer in the first place, though from the looks of what he spent, he tried to pretend he was. If it was to impress her, then she pretty well cleaned him out.”
“That college professor was lucky to escape with his life,” I said.
“Her first husband, yeah. Other than sort of a modest income from what investments he still has working for him,” Epstein said, “Bradshaw’s biggest asset is a very large life insurance policy with Heidi as beneficiary.”
“I were Bradshaw,” I said, “that might make me nervous. How about Van Meer.”
“He cashed his in for the surrender value,” Epstein said.
“So he’s not worth much to them dead or alive,” I said.
“The bank is moving to foreclose on his condo,” Epstein said.
“When you talk with him, he seems to have not a care in the world,” I said. “Except maybe he still misses Heidi.”
“He’s a drunk,” Epstein said. “Drunks are good at denial.”
“Have to be, I suppose,” I said. “How about the pre-nup and stuff.”
“Pre-nup, Lessard’s will,” Epstein said. “It’s all in there in more detail than you’d ever want. From the moment of marriage, Adelaide and Maurice became each other’s primary heir. And no matter what the family does later, each is entitled to the estate as it existed at the time of marriage.”
“And the Lessard lawyers bought that?” I said.
“Lawyers can only do what the client will agree to,” Epstein said. “Far as I can see, the Lessards thought they were marrying up. They probably thought the arrangement was in their favor.”
I picked up the folder. It was thick. I put it down.
“You suppose,” I said, “all this, helicopters, and shoot-outs, and assassination attempts, and kidnapping, and FBI and state cops, and Boston cops, and a lot of people dying . . . you suppose it’s all about fund-raising?”
Epstein shrugged.
“What is it usually about?” Epstein said. “Any crime?”