interesting,” Fletch said. “You’re never sure with whom you’re making love.”
Alston cleared his throat. “I think the two of you alone in a bedroom would make for quite a crowded room.”
Fletch took the envelope out of his back pocket. “I came because I need a couple of favors.”
“You name it,” Alston said.
“There are some ashes in this envelope. I need them analysed chop-chop.”
“Sure.” Alston stepped over and took the envelope and put it in his own pocket.
“Second,” Fletch said, “are you of sufficiently august rank in the District Attorney’s office, Alston, to make a call to the United States Embassy in Geneva?”
“Never have done such a thing before,” Alston answered. “Guess that’s one of those things you do first and ask permission for second—Marine style.”
“Good. I need the particulars on the death of an American citizen named Thomas Bradley. About a year ago. He may have died in hospital, or some kind of a special sanitorium. He may have committed suicide.”
“From California?”
“Yes.”
“You say about a year ago?”
“His widow says a year ago this month. His death was not announced here, though—or so it seems—until about six months later. The operation of a family business, Wagnall-Phipps; Bradley’s wife running the company while she’s waiting for someone else to take over—it’s all mixed up somehow.”
“How?”
Fletch said, “I don’t know. I guess you could say: confusion has been caused, I suspect, deliberately.”
“Suicide,” Alston said. “You said the possibility of suicide. Isn’t
that enough of an explanation?”
“Not really.”
“You’d be amazed,” Alston said, “to know what my office still puts up with to permit people to conceal the fact of suicide. I don’t disagree,” he said. “I’m sympathetic. I go along with it.”
Audrey said, “Alston, I think Fletch is considering the possibility of murder.”
Alston looked at Fletch and Fletch continued looking at Audrey.
Alston said, “Are you, Fletch?”
“Suspicious death,” Fletch said. “The guy may have died a year ago. But I suspect his kids weren’t told until six months later. His neighbors and the president of the company he owned weren’t told until eight months later. And, I have good reason to believe, his own Vice-president and treasurer wasn’t told—really told—until last Thursday.”
“It would be nice to have a look at the probate record,” Alston said.
“Would there have to be one?”
“Sure. Property within the state …”
“Then I’d appreciate that, too.”
“My fast answer is,” Alston said, “really off the top of the head, is that somebody is trying to postpone, or evade altogether, death taxes, inheritance taxes. Was this a young guy?”
“Less than fifty.”
“Death caught him with his pants down. In what kind of financial shape is this company of his, what’s it called?”
“Wagnall-Phipps. I don’t know.”
“I suspect that’s the answer,” Alston said. “People don’t expect to die so young. He died in Switzerland. Sounds to me like the estate’s trying to take advantage of that fact to get the estate in shape, fiddle the taxes.”
“I never thought of all that,” Fletch said.
“You never went to Law School.”
“Gee,” Fletch said. “Is that why I haven’t got either a mortgage or a credit card?”
“That’s why,” Alston said.
“I do have all those people called Moxie waiting for me.” Fletch stood up. “Will tomorrow be too soon to call you, Alston?”
“Nope. I’ll put highest priority on the chemical analyses, D.A. Demands, and I’ll put in the call to Switzerland before I leave the house. Might even have the answers before noon. I’ll call probate when I get to the office.”
Audrey looked at him. “Don’t you have anything else to do? I mean, any work of your own?”
“I seem to remember once or twice in the past Fletch dropping everything to help
Alston cleared his throat. “I think the two of you alone in a bedroom would make for quite a crowded room.”
Fletch took the envelope out of his back pocket. “I came because I need a couple of favors.”
“You name it,” Alston said.
“There are some ashes in this envelope. I need them analysed chop-chop.”
“Sure.” Alston stepped over and took the envelope and put it in his own pocket.
“Second,” Fletch said, “are you of sufficiently august rank in the District Attorney’s office, Alston, to make a call to the United States Embassy in Geneva?”
“Never have done such a thing before,” Alston answered. “Guess that’s one of those things you do first and ask permission for second—Marine style.”
“Good. I need the particulars on the death of an American citizen named Thomas Bradley. About a year ago. He may have died in hospital, or some kind of a special sanitorium. He may have committed suicide.”
“From California?”
“Yes.”
“You say about a year ago?”
“His widow says a year ago this month. His death was not announced here, though—or so it seems—until about six months later. The operation of a family business, Wagnall-Phipps; Bradley’s wife running the company while she’s waiting for someone else to take over—it’s all mixed up somehow.”
“How?”
Fletch said, “I don’t know. I guess you could say: confusion has been caused, I suspect, deliberately.”
“Suicide,” Alston said. “You said the possibility of suicide. Isn’t
that enough of an explanation?”
“Not really.”
“You’d be amazed,” Alston said, “to know what my office still puts up with to permit people to conceal the fact of suicide. I don’t disagree,” he said. “I’m sympathetic. I go along with it.”
Audrey said, “Alston, I think Fletch is considering the possibility of murder.”
Alston looked at Fletch and Fletch continued looking at Audrey.
Alston said, “Are you, Fletch?”
“Suspicious death,” Fletch said. “The guy may have died a year ago. But I suspect his kids weren’t told until six months later. His neighbors and the president of the company he owned weren’t told until eight months later. And, I have good reason to believe, his own Vice-president and treasurer wasn’t told—really told—until last Thursday.”
“It would be nice to have a look at the probate record,” Alston said.
“Would there have to be one?”
“Sure. Property within the state …”
“Then I’d appreciate that, too.”
“My fast answer is,” Alston said, “really off the top of the head, is that somebody is trying to postpone, or evade altogether, death taxes, inheritance taxes. Was this a young guy?”
“Less than fifty.”
“Death caught him with his pants down. In what kind of financial shape is this company of his, what’s it called?”
“Wagnall-Phipps. I don’t know.”
“I suspect that’s the answer,” Alston said. “People don’t expect to die so young. He died in Switzerland. Sounds to me like the estate’s trying to take advantage of that fact to get the estate in shape, fiddle the taxes.”
“I never thought of all that,” Fletch said.
“You never went to Law School.”
“Gee,” Fletch said. “Is that why I haven’t got either a mortgage or a credit card?”
“That’s why,” Alston said.
“I do have all those people called Moxie waiting for me.” Fletch stood up. “Will tomorrow be too soon to call you, Alston?”
“Nope. I’ll put highest priority on the chemical analyses, D.A. Demands, and I’ll put in the call to Switzerland before I leave the house. Might even have the answers before noon. I’ll call probate when I get to the office.”
Audrey looked at him. “Don’t you have anything else to do? I mean, any work of your own?”
“I seem to remember once or twice in the past Fletch dropping everything to help
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