“She was, but we were having a drink in the Oak Bar of the Plaza one evening, and I guess she’d had a couple, and she showed me the check.”
“Did she say what she was going to do with it?”
“Only that she was Federal Expressing it to a bank in the Cayman Islands the following morning. She said she was making an investment with a friend.”
“She didn’t say who the friend was?”
“No.”
“Have you any idea who it might have been?”
“None.”
“Is there some way I might trac
e the money?”
“I shouldn’t think so. Cayman Islands banks are a lot like their Swiss counterparts, in that their transactions are held secret. It’s said there’s a lot of drug money down there. Even if I knew the name of the bank, and I do not, they wouldn’t give you the time of day. They won’t even give the IRS the time of day.”
“It appears from her records that she had paid the taxes on her profits in the market,” Stone said.
“I’ve no doubt of that,” Woodman replied. “Sasha was punctilious in her financial dealings. But when people put large sums of money into Swiss or Cayman banks, they’re often trying to avoid paying taxes on the income from that investment. That she may very well have been trying to do, although I would have advised her against it, if she had asked me.”
“Do you know how Sasha had planned to pay for her new apartment?”
“What new apartment?” Woodman asked, surprised.
“You didn’t know that she was moving?”
“She never mentioned it to me,” Woodman said. “Oh, a couple of years back she called me about the availability of mortgages on co-ops in the city, and I told her I would be happy to help her with an application, but, as far as I know, she never applied for a mortgage. Certainly, she had the income to raise one, if she had wished.”
“Was Sasha the kind of client who might have been lured into a fast-buck investment by a friend?” Stone asked.
Woodman thought about that. “Yes,” he said. “Sasha loved money, loved making it. But she would only have taken that sort of plunge if she had checked it out carefully, and if she trusted the friend implicitly.” Woodman’s eyebrows went up. “I find myself speaking of her in the past tense,” he said. “Of course, I did read the papers this morning.”
“Is that why you let Barron Harkness know that Sasha had appointed him executor of her estate?”
“I did that before I saw today’s papers. When I heard about her fall and when I was unable to locate her, I wrote to Harkness simply as a precautionary step. It seemed the prudent thing to do.”
Stone stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Woodman,” he said. “If you think of anything else that might help me, I’d appreciate a call, day or night.” He gave Woodman a card.
“Of course,” the lawyer said. “Do you think you can find your way back to reception? I’d like to rejoin my meeting.”
“Sure, thanks,” Stone replied. The two men shook hands, and Stone turned back toward the front of the office.
Halfway there, someone called his name. Stone stopped and backtracked a few steps to an open office door. A grinning man was rising from a desk.
Stone struggled for a name. “Bill Eggers?” he managed finally.
Eggers stuck out a hand. “Haven’t seen you since graduation day,” he said, “although I’ve seen your picture in the paper from time to time.”
“So what have you been doing with yourself for all these years?” Stone asked. He remembered Eggers as a companionable fellow; they’d had a few beers after class more than once.
Eggers spread his hands. “This,” he said. “I joined a downtown firm after law school, but I’ve been here for the past eight years.”
“What sort of law are you practicing?”
“Oh, I’m the general dogsbody around here,” Eggers said. “I do whatever needs doing – some personal injury, a little domestic work, the odd criminal case, when one of the firm’s clients crosses the line.”