CHAPTER SIXTY–ONE
Mary–Ann Henner was a drunk. You could see it and you could smell it. Her sixty–something face, obviously once very pretty, was now puffy and lined, her complexion rough and uncared for. She smelt of booze and bars and cigarettes, and so did her little home in Queens.
‘Come in, come in,’ she said, leading Jemma into her small living room. It was chintzy and neat and there were pictures of two children everywhere – on the walls, in silver frames lined along the shelves, even on the top of a kitsch trinket box on the sideboard, the sort of thing you could have made up at funfairs.
‘My two kids, Lauren and Jerry,’ said Mary–Ann. ‘They’ve long since flown the nest. Same can be said for their father,’ she added with a hard smile, directing Jemma to the red velveteen sofa. Mary–Ann used the remote to flick the television off, and Jemma noted that it had been showing It’s A Wonderful Life. Ain’t it just, she thought. There was a bottle of nail polish and tumbler of clear liquid on the coffee table. It looked like water, but Jemma knew it wasn’t.
‘So you work for Meredith Asgill?’ said Mary–Ann, picking up the tumbler. ‘I have to say Brooke’s done well for herself. Then again, she was always such a pretty girl.’
Mary–Ann Henner had been Howard Asgill’s PA for almost forty years, ‘retiring’ just before his death when her drinking was beginning to interfere with her ability to do her job. However, she was an obvious point of contact when Jemma had agreed to join in Tess’s investigation. Jemma had first called Olivia Martin’s sister but that had thrown up little beyond her theory that Olivia wouldn’t have taken her own life, and that she had clearly fallen into the river drunk and high. Howard Asgill was dead, so Jemma couldn’t talk to him. But his secretary was very much alive, and didn’t secretaries often know where the bodies were buried – perhaps literally in this case. Jemma had meant what she had said when she and Tess had quarrelled at the apartment. Her friend seemed to be chasing her tail in some futile search for the truth, and she feared that her life would come crashing down if she found it. So it was with mixed emotions that Jemma had volunteered to help when Tess had called her from Louisiana with the latest information she had found.
‘You worked for Howard for a long time, didn’t you?’ said Jemma.
Mary–Ann wiggled her scarlet painted toes and looked out of the window as if doing mental arithmetic. ‘Started when I was sixteen. I was the assistant to Howard’s PA back then, the assistant’s assistant,’ she laughed.
‘And did you go to his wedding?’
‘’Course I did,’ said Mary–Ann. ‘The most glamorous thing I’d ever been to. I’ve ever been to. Cary Grant was there, ferchrissakes!’
Jemma shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This was awkward, but Mary–Ann with her world–weariness and her vodka looked ready to talk.
‘Did Howard Asgill have an affair with Olivia Martin?’ she asked flatly.
Mary–Ann offer a weak smile. ‘Has that story raised its head again? Thought it might with all this wedding business. Papers, they can’t seem to write enough about Brooke and David, can they?’
She took a cigarette out of its packet and lit it, blowing out a smoke ring. ‘Police interviewed me about this at the time.’
‘I know, Mary–Ann, but it would help if you could remember anything about those days. For instance, was Howard having an affair with Olivia?’
‘As I said back in Sixty–four, I never saw anything that made me think Howard was doing the dirty,’ said Mary–Ann. ‘I sent flowers to Olivia from Howard – tiger lilies mostly, she really loved tiger lilies – and they met for lunch in New York, but she was an Asgill’s ambassador, so there was nothing that made me think it was anything other than work.’
‘Was Howard ever unfaithful to Meredith?’
After a few moments, she nodded. ‘Couldn’t keep his pecker in his trousers, if that’s what you mean. But then, aren’t most rich, powerful men like that? Most men, in fact,’ she added, casting a glance at a framed picture of her children,
‘Do you remember anything strange about the night of the wedding? Anything unusual? Did you see Howard with Olivia, for instance?’
‘Sure. They had a dance. Howard danced with all the Asgill ambassadors, showed them off in front of the crowd. He always did mix work with pleasure, even on his wedding day. I’m not sure Meredith liked it much, though. I saw her having quite a ding–dong with Olivia.’
‘Did you tell the police this?’
Mary–Ann looked sheepish and shook her head.
‘I was seventeen years old, honey,’ she shrugged. ‘It was my first job and I didn’t want to rock the boat. They asked me if Howard was running around with Olivia. I said no and that was the truth, but I wasn’t going to go digging up any more trouble. Still, he’s dead now,’ she said, blowing out a long stream of smoke. ‘I can say what I like.’
‘Where did Meredith and Olivia have this conversation exactly?’
‘Just across from the big fountain in front of the house. It was about ten p.m.’
‘You’ve got a good memory,’ said Jemma.
Mary–Ann snorted. ‘Big night for me, baby, it was the night I lost my cherry. You remember nights like that.’
‘I see,’ said Jemma awkwardly.
‘Should have been the most romantic night of my life,’ said Mary–Ann, looking wistful. ‘All that beautiful jazz music, the smell of the flowers in the rose garden – that’s where we did it,’ she whispered. ‘First night a man let me down, but not the last. Said he’d meet me at midnight for the fireworks. Son of a bitch never showed.’
‘Do you remember seeing Howard Asgill around midnight? Maybe after the fireworks?’