The list detailed six documents: a framed Society of Boston Membership Certificate and a personal letter, both signed by George Washington and valued at $11,500 and $9,500, respectively; a judicial writ signed by Abraham Lincoln, dated December 1847, valued at $6,500; a wartime document signed by John Hancock, valued at $5,500; a ten-page fragment from an original manuscript by Arthur Conan Doyle valued at $7,500; and a letter signed by John Adams, valued at $9,000.
"I'm impressed," I said. "I don't know beans about rare documents, but these seem fabulous."
"They are. Those prices you're looking at are twenty years out of date. They'd be worth more today."
"How did Patty Maddison's father get his hands on items like these?"
"Nobody really knows. He was an amateur collector. He picked some up at auction and the rest, who knows? He might have stolen them for all I know. My fathered heard about 'em, but Francis-Mr. Maddison-would never let him examine them."
"His widow must have been an idiot to hand 'em over the way she did."
Trasatti made no comment.
"How did Guy hear about the letters?" I asked.
"Patty probably told him."
"Why would she do that?"
"How do I know? Showing off. She was nuts. She did all kinds of weird things."
I saw him glance at his watch. "You have an appointment?" I asked.
"As a matter of fact, I'm hoping we can wrap this up. I have work to do."
"Five minutes more and I'll be on my way."
Trasatti shifted restlessly, but motioned me on.
"Let me try out a little theory. None of this came to light until after Guy took off, right?"
Trasatti stared at me, without offering encouragement.
I was forced to go on, feeling like Perry Mason in a courtroom confrontation, only this wasn't going as well as his always did. "So maybe Jack was the one who got Patty knocked up. I heard Jack was the randy one. According to Guy, he screwed anything that moved."
"I told you he was off at college. He wasn't even here," Trasatti said.
"He came back for his mother's funeral and again for spring break. That was March, wasn't it?"
"I really don't remember."
"As I understand it, Guy had hit the road by then. Jack felt betrayed. He was crushed that Guy'd left without him so maybe he turned to Patty for consolation. At that point, she must have needed comfort as much as he did."
Trasatti kept his face expressionless, his laced together on the desk. "You're never going to get me to say anything about this."
"Jack could have forged the letters. You two were buddies. Your father was an appraiser. You could have cooked up the scheme yourself and showed Jack how to do it."
"I'm finding this offensive. It's pure speculation. It doesn't mean a thing."
I let that one slide, though what he said was true. "Everything was cool until Guy came home again."
"What difference would that make?"
"In the old days, Guy took the blame for everybody's sins, so it just stands to reason everyone felt safe until he showed up again."
"I'm not following."
"Maybe the motive for Guy's murder was never money," I said. "Maybe Jack was just trying to protect himself."
"From what? I don't get it. There's really nothing at stake. The theft was eighteen years ago. The statute of limitations has run out. There's no crime on the books. Even if your guess is correct, Jack's the one, who ends up with his ass in a sling. You said you were here to help, but it's blowing right back on him."
"You know what? Here's the truth. I don't really give a shit what blows back on him. If he's guilty, so be it. That isn't my concern."
"Well, that's nice. You want me to pick up the phone and call Lonnie Kingman? He's going to love your attitude and so will Jack. As far as I know, he's the one paying your bills."
"You go right ahead. Lonnie can always fire me if he doesn't like what I'm doing."
TWENTY
I stopped at a pay phone and put a call through to Lonnie, who had the good grace to laugh when he heard my account of the conversation with Paul Trasatti. "Forget it. The guy's a prick. He was just on the phone to me, whining and complaining about harassment. What a jerk."
"Why's he so worried about Jack?"
"Forget Jack for now. I'll take care of him. You better go talk to Bennet; I couldn't get to him. According to the grapevine, he's talking to an attorney in case the hairy eyeball of the law falls on him next. He's still got no alibi, as far as I've heard."