“Is that so? I would’ve thought, Mr. McNeal, you would have preferred to spend your time more constructively during this very sad time for you.”
McNeal thought Graff’s words were tinged with sarcasm. “I would’ve preferred to spend this time more constructively too. But my wife unearthed some documents. It looks like there were two different autopsies carried out on your late wife. Rather bizarre, I thought.”
Graff went tight-lipped. Then, quietly, “Finally you get to the point.”
“Would you like me to show them to you?”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“The autopsies show inconsistencies. Did you know about this?”
Graff’s skin seemed to drain of color. Bone white. “Listen here, Mr. McNeal. Just so you know, I have no idea what kind of conspiracy theory you are trying to prove. Frankly, I don’t care about such matters. My wife suffered from bipolar disorder. She was either manic or suicidal. She died after taking a massive overdose. That’s what the medical examiner found.”
McNeal sat quietly, wanting Graff to keep on talking.
“I have given you time to talk about whatever it was you wanted to talk about, but I believe you have now overstayed your welcome. I would ask you, respectfully, to leave the premises, or you’ll be escorted out.”
“Your late wife was by all accounts a very popular lady. In social circles. Life and soul of the party. A wide circle of male admirers.”
Graff stared at McNeal. “Ordinarily, I would have had you thrown out for such scurrilous suggestions. But you have lost a wife, too, so I understand the pain and poor judgment it causes.”
McNeal nodded. He allowed the silence to linger. It was an interview technique he used in Internal Affairs.
“What exactly do you want, Mr. McNeal?”
“Some answers.”
“If I’m not able to furnish you with answers, what then?”
“I’ll have to go elsewhere and ask questions. I’m like that.”
“Jack, I know loss. And I know what it’s like. I know what you’re going through. Could I have done more? Why wasn’t I there for her?”
McNeal nodded.
“You know that my wife was very fond of parties. And had a very active social life. Just so you know, we had drifted apart, years earlier. We weren’t living together when she died. I work abroad a lot. I understand your insinuations. I know what people said about her. Her reckless lifestyle. The liaisons with other men. I heard it all. But I was devastated when she died, as I’m sure you are about your wife.”
McNeal nodded. He knew Graff wasn’t going to confess to killing his own wife or McNeal’s. He turned his attention to the window, suddenly contemplative. “I wonder what it was about your wife’s death that intrigued my wife. Did Sophie know too much? Was that it?”
“My wife was a charitable soul. She raised hundreds of millions of dollars for worthwhile charities across the world. Starving children, cancer charities, educational charities—the list went on and on. Her death was a tragedy.”
What he wanted to do was put Graff on notice, and he’d accomplished that and more. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Graff. I’ll let myself out.”
Graff sighed. “A little bit of advice to you before you go. Sometimes you just need to let go. Death comes to us all. And we just have to accept it.”
Thirty-Two
It was nearly midnight when Graff’s office door opened. He saw Karen Feinstein’s reflection in the window while he stared out at the near-deserted parking lot, watching a pair of security guys with flashlights and a dog patrol the area. He turned around.
Feinstein pulled up a seat, ashen-faced.
Graff stared daggers. “So, Karen, do you want to explain how this is possible? How some Internal Affairs guy from NYPD comes to my office. Do you have any idea what this means for me? For our cover story? The whole thing has been blown to shit. Complete mess.”
“Henry, if you just sit down, I’ll try and explain.”
Graff remained standing, hands on hips. “Don’t tell me what to do. When I was in New York, you told me this was all under control. Did you or did you not?”
“We’re working on this.”
“This is you working on this? Karen, you’re going to have to do better than that. Don’t you see what the fuck is happening? Can’t you see it? This fucker is toying with me.”
“We will deal with him, trust me.”
“I paid your firm over a million dollars for your work on this contract. And there are bonuses on top that could work out to two million.”