Miriam waved a hand in front of her face, her eyes welling up with tears. ‘My husband is barely cold in the ground,’ she said quietly. ‘Can’t you people just leave me alone?’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Asner, but—’
‘Do you think I like living this life?’ she cried suddenly. ‘Do you think I enjoy being too scared to go to town? If there was money, I’d take it and find a new life on some far-flung desert island, believe me. My life has been ruined. My friends have gone. Everything’s gone: the beach house, the boats, the jet, even my golf clubs. The US marshals changed the locks on the house I’d been living in for thirty years.’
She took a drink of her tea and Sophie saw her hands were shaking.
‘They’re still watching me, you know that? Waiting in ca
rs on every corner, following me, listening on the phone.’
‘Who?’ asked Sophie, glancing at Josh. ‘Who’s following you?’
‘FBI, SEC, Donald Trump, who knows? But I’m sure of one thing: they all think I know where the money is.’
‘And you don’t?’ asked Sophie, her heart sinking.
‘No. No, I don’t.’
She took a ragged breath and blew her nose.
‘The irony is no one comes here, no one calls.’ She looked at them fiercely. ‘Not unless they want this buried treasure you all seem to think exists. Crackpots, con artists, they all send letters. And the lawyers, of course. Always the lawyers. No doubt you’ve seen this creature Andrea Sayer on Fox News?’
‘The lawyer trying to bring the class action?’ said Josh. ‘I read about that on the internet.’
Miriam nodded. ‘Yes. Her,’ she said, her voice dripping with disgust. ‘She plagues me almost daily, threatening to take even this,’ she said, gesturing towards the house, ‘unless I turn over the secret to this money. But I’m sorry to have to tell you this: it does not exist.’
Josh sat forward.
‘I think you misunderstand us, Mrs Asner. We’re not here to ask you about the missing money; we’re here to tell you about it.’
Sophie looked at him and he nodded.
‘Someone has tried to kill me, Mrs Asner,’ she said. ‘They think I have some of Michael’s money, a secret stash that he – or rather my father – siphoned off before the scheme collapsed.’
Miriam’s clear green eyes widened and she looked from Sophie to Josh and back.
‘Is this a joke?’ she whispered.
‘I wish it was,’ said Sophie, and taking a deep breath, she gave the woman a brief outline of the events since Nick’s death. The burglaries at her flat and at Wade House, the chase along the river, the near-miss in Nice and Lana’s revelation about her father’s involvement.
‘You’ve had quite an adventure, haven’t you?’ said Miriam when she had finished. ‘And I was sorry to hear about your father,’ she added quietly. ‘I know they hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but Michael spoke highly of Peter. I think he believed Peter was the only man who really understood him.’
‘And do you think it’s possible my father was involved in your husband’s investment scheme?’ asked Sophie.
Miriam gave a weary smile.
‘It’s possible, of course, but you’re really asking the wrong person. As I said to the police – and the FBI, the SEC and the lawyers – my husband did not discuss his business dealings with me.’
Sophie had to admit that would make sense, in the same way her own father would never tell Julia Ellis what he did in the office. Here, in polite American society, where divorce was just a career move, it would have been even less likely. Whatever else he was, Asner was a smart cookie, and he would never have given his wife – however close they were – ammunition to either blackmail him or take him to the cleaners should she take a shine to the golf pro.
‘Well I wonder if you could take a look at this?’ she said, reaching into her bag for her copy of I Capture the Castle. She knelt down next to Miriam and opened the title page to show her Peter’s inscription and the name of the previous owner – perhaps.
‘This name, Benedict Grear,’ she said. ‘We think this is the name of someone connected with Michael, perhaps a friend or an attorney who might be the key to where the money is. Does it ring any bells?’
Miriam shook her head. ‘Never heard of him, sorry.’
‘What about the number?’ said Josh. ‘A date of birth, perhaps? It could even be a bank account number.’