Chapter 8
That evening, Harry spread the Parrish file on his kitchen table. After his divorce from Laura, he couldn’t bear to remain in their suburban backsplit house, and so he had moved downtown, where he could start again.
He never understood how his marriage had silently unraveled. Nor could he comprehend how Katrina had grown cool and distant. But he was convinced Peter had something to do with it. Although he had no specific reason, he feared he might lose Natasha if they could not plan for the future. Something nagged at the back of his mind. One moment she was close and intimate and at another, she seemed cool and remote. If only he could convince her to move into his downtown brownstone! After all, why waste time?
The knocker crashed at the front door. Opening the door, he saw a young man with long, scruffy hair standing under the porch light.
“You Harry Jenkins?” the man demanded.
Harry nodded.
“Got an old lady in my cab who wants to see you. She’s pretty strange.” The cabbie leapt from the front porch and was at his car in a few strides. From the backseat emerged a small, decrepit figure clad only in a red velvet dressing gown and slippers.
“Good grief, Norma! Come in.” Inside, she collapsed onto the chesterfield.
“Norma?”
“Don’t hurt me!” Harry caught her hand, which flew up like a tiny, frightened bird.
“Norma, it’s me, Harry. Your lawyer.”
She sat up. “Is it really you, Harry?” She began to weep. “How kind of you to come.”
“What happened?” He held her hands in his. “What do you need?”
“Those pills make me sick—I can’t think right.”
“What pills?” he asked softly, fearing she might slip beyond his reach.
“The red ones.”
“Who gave you the pills?”
“The doctor. Archie took me to him for my arthritis.”
“Where are they now?”
She smiled proudly. “Flushed them down the toilet.”
“Do you have the bottle?”
“Gone! I threw it out the window of the taxi.” Then she slumped back and closed her eyes.
Harry phoned 911. When the ambulance entered his street, the siren cut to a low growl.
In the hospital, several hours later, he was still waiting for Norma’s tests from the lab. When he entered her cubicle, she slithered from the bed.
“Norma! What are you doing?” Harry tried to steady her, but she pushed past him and hobbled to the washroom. From behind the closed door, he heard retching and then the roar of the toilet. At last, she reappeared and announced, “I want to go home now.”
“I know, but we need to wait until the doctor returns,” he said, putting his arm around her. As he helped her onto the bed, he was shocked at the bony pallor of her legs. Fortunately, she fell asleep promptly. Close to midnight, she was admitted. According to the doctor’s notes, she suffered from senile dementia, paranoia and a host of other conditions usually blamed on old age.
She slept peacefully until about 2:30 am, when she began to toss about. Norma had escaped in her dreams, back to Monaco and Florence.
Arthur was to address the Juridical Council of European Countries on proposed procedures for the International Court at The Hague. All expenses were paid at the Hotel de Paris in Monaco, and if his recommendations were accepted, they would have a year at The Hague to oversee their implementation.
Overcome by the grandeur of the hotel, Norma gawked at the gold-leaf ceilings and crystal chandeliers until her neck grew sore. Endless broad corridors led off the foyer to ballrooms and stone patios yet to be discovered. Checking in, Arthur looked pale and sickly.
Their room was large, with white double French doors open to the sea. Sheer curtains stirred in the soft breeze. Arthur stretched out on the huge bed, and Norma went to soak in the tub. Half an hour later, she emerged in a billow of steam to find Arthur rifling through a briefcase while speaking in low, rapid tones on the telephone. His glance was furtive. Then he slammed down the phone.
“Who was that, Arthur?”
“Nobody.”
From the tightening of the corners of his mouth, she dared not inquire further. The next day, Norma was shocked to see Archie Brinks down a distant corridor, angrily jabbing his finger at Arthur. He had nothing to do with the conference. When George Pappas appeared at breakfast in the cavernous dining room, Arthur nearly spilled his coffee. She could not fathom his presence. On a tour, she found Arthur kneeling in prayer in a small church on a hillside. In thirty-five years of marriage, he could not have said more than a hundred words on the subject of religion. Dread settled upon her as her eyes slid from his slumped form to the gaudy crucifix.
The following morning, Arthur gave his paper, which was greeted with great acclaim. A year in The Hague seemed very likely. Afterwards, they boarded the train for Italy.
In Florence, their dark and narrow hotel room overlooked the River Arno. Arthur had scarcely spoken all day, and now he lay in a wordless trance upon the bed.
The room was stifling. She opened the leaded glass doors to a private garden. Tendrils, thick and rank, wound around the legs of the wrought iron table. Their progress unchecked, they had advanced across the stone patio to a murky, green pond of vegetation.
Norma turned into the room. His back to her, Arthur slowly unpacked.
“Arthur? We need to talk.” she said.
With a sickly smile, he said, “Of course, my dear, it looks lovely out in the garden. Perhaps we should sit there after dinner.”
Later that night in the garden, they talked of The Hague. Norma tried to push the climbing vines to one side.
Arthur attempted some joviality. He said, “You know, my love, we’ve had many wonderful years of marriage. Now there will always be enough money as we both move on to other things.”
Disturbed by his tone, she said, “Arthur, you talk as if we’re at an end. This is a new beginning for us.”
Smiling at her sadly, he reached across the open space between their chairs for her hand. In silence, they watched the sun sink below the burnt orange roofs, leaving the garden in darkness.
Next day, Arthur remained in bed, complaining of a headache. Restless, Norma roved the Ponte Vecchio, arching across the River Arno. She poked about in the dark and crowded jewelry shops and straw markets. She tried to read over a cappuccino, but could not concentrate.
By two o’clock, the fierce sun was too hot to bear. Seized with a desire to see Arthur, she rushed back to the hotel. The room clerk was dozing. When she banged on the bell, he startled then handed over the heavy metal room key.
She rested her head against the cool brass bars of the elevator cage and waited for the lift to rise. As she inserted the key in the lock, she noticed the transom was open. Arthur must have wanted to get a breeze.
It was dim, hot, and still in the room. Arthur lay inert under a single sheet. Dread seeped into her. When she opened the curtains, the pale afternoon lightilluminated his face. She saw the empty pill bottle in his hand and a note on the nightstand. She knew he was not breathing. She could not bear to touch him.
Betrayal was the first word that leapt to her mind as she picked up his note and began to read.
My Dearest Norma,
I am so ashamed. I have been involved in business with Archie, David Parrish and George Pappas. The money was raised by fraud and so I have decided it will be put beyond the reach of the perpetrators. There is almost five million dollars in an account under the code name Elixicorp Holdings. With my passport, you will find a share certificate, which you will need to access the funds. The account number is on the reverse side of the certificate. I thought the money was raised for legitimate medical research, but it is now clear that the scheme was fraudulent. They were peddling a wonder drug, which does not exist. I have hidden the money and I want you to keep half for yourself and donate the other half to a worthy medical cause, which does real research. I trust you to make the right decision. That way, perhaps some good can come of this fraud.
I have taken my own life because Pappas will kill me in an excruciatingly brutal fashion. He is no more than an animal. I know I cause you great sorrow, but in time I know you will forgive me.
With all my love,
Arthur
Norma was amazed at her control. She burned the letter and flushed the ashesdown the toilet. She retrieved the share certificate from Arthur’s passport and tucked it safely in her purse. From the bedside he removed the pill bottle from the bedside, and then called the front desk. Only after the police and undertaker left did she wonder what emotion would overtake her first.
Anger boiled up in her. George Pappas had murdered her husband by forcing him into suicide. The little room suffocated her. For the next four hours, she blindly strode the cobblestone streets of Florence. Finally exhausted, she collapsed in her hotel room and did not emerge until late the next day. By then, her plan was made.
Harry was at the hospital the next morning before seven o’clock. He strode down myriad green and yellow tiled hallways until he came to his father’s room on the fifth floor. Willing him to wake up, Harry took his hand and spoke close to his ear. He turned away in frustration. His father remained locked in another world.
In her tenth-floor room, Harry found Norma sitting up in bed and chasing the last of a scrambled egg around her plate.
“Norma?”
She looked up curiously in the direction of his voice. “Harry? You’re here?”
“Yes it’s me,” he smiled, relieved she was not off in some mysterious world. “Are you feeling all right? Last night, you were talking about some pills.”
“Archie made me take too many.”
“What kind of pills were they?”
“The red ones. They’re supposed to be for arthritis.”
“Do you have any left?”
“I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “There might be some at home, under the bed.” Norma’s frail shoulders poked from beneath her hospital gown as she sighed. “He’s trying to kill me, Harry.” She spoke with such solemnity, Harry had to believe her
“Then we must call the police.”
Norma shook her head vigorously. “The police can’t stop people like Archie. He’ll just say that’s what happens when you help a crazy old lady. I can’t prove a thing.”
“But if we find the pills …”
“I really don’t think there’s any left.”
“If you give me the keys, I’ll look for them.”
Norma rummaged through her purse and handed him the keys.
“It’s really important to have them analyzed.”
Norma nibbled on her toast. “Harry, I want you to sue Archie Brinks.”
“Sue him for what?” Harry took out his legal pad. “I suppose you could get an injunction to keep him away from you.”
“Yes, but something else.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “To return a share certificate he took from Arthur and me.”
She seemed very clear in her mind. Harry took down a note.
“And George Pappas.”
Slowly Harry set down his pen. “You mentioned him the day I was at your apartment. How is he involved?”
If Archie doesn’t have the shares, Pappas does. They were business partners years ago.”
“Whose name is on these shares?”
“Arthur’s and mine. They stole them from us.” Norma fiddled with her coffee pot. Harry poured for her. “The company is called Elixicorp. Arthur and I had control of it.
The same shares Brackley’s after in the Parrish estate, he thought. “Norma, they must think they have some claim to them. Most people aren’t out-and-out crooks.”
“Ha! Pappas is. And Archie will make up any kind of story. He’ll tell you Arthur promised him all sorts of things, which he didn’t. But now he’s dead, he can’t deny anything.” She measured Harry’s sympathy in a glance. “Please help me, Harry.”
“If we’re going to sue them, I’ll have to ask you a lot of questions, and you must be very clear.”
Norma grinned like a small child. “Shoot, Harry.”
After half an hour of questioning, Harry set down his pad. “It’s pretty thin, Norma. I doubt you’ll be successful.”
She looked at him as if he were a backward law student. “I was married to Arthur for thirty-five years. I know there’s not a lot to go on, but I’ve given you enough to make some real trouble.”
Norma was right about the legal action. If he made an application to court, Archie and Pappas would have to produce lengthy affidavits refuting the accusations, which could be rigorously tested on cross-examination. Provided it was not an obvious ‘fishing expedition,’ very interesting information could be revealed. He packed up to leave.
Back at his office, Harry spent the next few hours dictating a Statement of Claim and supporting affidavit for Norma. The trick was to reduce several centuries of legal doctrine regarding the tracing of assets from one hand to another into one or two relevant principles.
Norma insisted that the shares, and the money they represented, belonged to Arthur and her. Any increase in the value of the shares was due to Arthur’s genius at investing. With Arthur dead, the shares passed automatically to Norma by joint ownership. Either Archie, Pappas, or the two of them working together had taken them without color of right—a legal euphemism for theft. Simple enough, thought Harry. But then the waters became murky. Archie and Pappas would claim they were perfectly entitled to at least a sizeable interest in the shares. It would be tough to exclude any claim by Arthur’s former business partners.
Norma’s mental status was enough to send him into a tailspin of panic. As soon as he filed her affidavit in court, she would be subject to cross-examination. She would make a poor impression if she began picking at tiny, invisible creatures inhabiting the courtrooms of Osgoode Hall.
Although Harry grumbled at the increasing difficulty of protecting clients, he decided to involve the Public Guardian from the outset. A civil servant, who knew nothing of Norma, would interview her and check off boxes on his Assessment of Competency Form.If Archie really were pushing pills on Norma, that might explain her lurching between clarity of mind and madness.
Later in the day, Harry was back at Norma’s bedside. She read her affidavit with great care and signed it with a flourish.
“Norma? At five o’clock today, someone from the Public Guardian’s Office will be here. I want them to assess your competence so we can launch this lawsuit.
“Don’t worry.” She patted his hand. “I’ll pass with flying colors.”
“Good. I’ll have these papers served on Archie and Pappas immediately.”
Harry gathered his case up and headed down the hallway. He stopped off again at his father’s room. For an instant, he thought his father’s eye-lids flickered, but it must have been a trick of light. Harry sighed. Still comatose!
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