After the Darkness

"Like betting on a horse, you mean?"

"I suppose so. Yes."

"Kind of a big risk, don't you think?"

"That depends on how much you trust the manager."

People had trusted Lenny. They had trusted Quorum. But something had gone terribly wrong. The more she studied the press reports, the more Grace understood why the FBI had failed so singularly in their attempts to trace the missing money. With so much secrecy and funds passing between countless different accounts, onshore, offshore, all over the planet, it was like combing a beach for a specific grain of sand. Shares were sold before they had been bought, creating "phantom" profits that were then leveraged, multiplied three, four, ten times before being reinvested in derivative structures so complicated they made Grace's eyes water.

DAVEY BUCCOLA FINALLY CAME TO VISIT HER. From the look on his face, Grace could tell he had news. She could barely contain her excitement.

"It was John Merrivale, wasn't it? He stole the money. I knew it."

"I don't know who stole the money."

Grace's face fell. "Oh."

"My investigation took a different turn."

Davey's expression looked sober, his lips pressed together in a grim line. Grace's stomach began to churn.

"What do you mean? What sort of a turn."

Davey thought, When I walked in here, she looked so happy. I'm about to blow her world apart. And what if I'm wrong? Then he thought, I'm not wrong. He leaned across the table and took Grace's hand.

"Mrs. Brookstein."

"Grace."

"Grace. I'm sorry to have to tell you this. But I believe your husband was murdered."

"I'm sorry?" The room began to spin. Grace clutched the table for support.

"Lenny didn't kill himself."

"I know that. It was an accident. The storm..." Her words trailed off into silence.

"It wasn't an accident. I spent months looking into Merrivale's activities at Quorum," said Davey, "but I found I was chasing my tail. So I decided to look at your husband instead. I went back over his disappearance, the investigation, what happened on Nantucket the day of the storm. Finally I looked at the autopsy."

Grace swallowed. "Go on."

"It was a shambles. A joke. Death by drowning was assumed because the cadaver was washed up and because there was water in the lungs. When all this Quorum shit came to light, they ruled suicide because they figured there was a motive. But water in the lungs doesn't necessarily mean the person drowned."

"It doesn't?"

"That body had been in the water for over a month. Of course the lungs were saturated. The question you need to ask yourself in a death like this is how did the person get into the water in the first place, and was he alive or dead when he got there."

"So you think..."

"I think your husband was dead before he hit the water. There was no blood in the lungs. Drowning at sea, in a heavy storm like that...the pressure of so much water entering the lungs so suddenly would almost certainly cause a hemorrhage."

"Almost certainly?"

"It wasn't just the lungs. There were other signs, the bruises to the torso. Scratches on the fingers and upper arms that could have been indicative of a struggle. And the way the head was severed. I saw the pictures. Just look at the vertebrae. That wasn't fish. Not unless the fish had a guillotine. Or a meat cleaver."

Grace put her hand over her mouth and retched.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so graphic. Are you okay?"

Grace shook her head. She would never be okay again. She took a deep breath, struggling to control her emotions.

"Why didn't any of this come out at the inquest?"

"Some of it did. The bruising was mentioned, but dismissed. No one wanted to see the truth. Not at that time. You have to remember, your husband was the most hated man in America. Maybe it was just easier to think of him as a suicide, a coward, rather than a victim?"

"Easier?" Grace's head was spinning. It was all too much to take in.

Davey said, "I wanted to tell you first. I know it's a hell of a shock, but this is actually good news. I think we have enough here to ask to have the inquest reopened, Grace. It would be the first step toward launching a murder investigation."

Grace was silent for a long time. At last she said, "No. I don't want the police involved."

"But, Grace..."

"No."

Someone had killed Lenny. Butchered him like an animal and tossed him into the waves. What use were the police, or the courts, or the whole corrupt, disgusting so-called justice system? What justice was there for Lenny, or for me? America damned us both, for no better reason than that it was "easier." They let Lenny's killer walk away and left me here to rot. Well, damn America. The time for justice is past.

Davey was confused. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to find out who did it. If it was John Merrivale or someone else. I want to know who killed my husband. I want to know how he did it, and why. I want to know everything and I want to be sure. I'm not interested in reasonable doubt."

Davey said, "Okay. And then?"

"And then we'll think about next steps."

And then I'm going to kill him.

AFTER LIGHTS-OUT, GRACE LAY AWAKE, HER mind racing.

Whoever murdered Lenny had to have been on Nantucket the day of the storm. It could have been a stranger. But she knew that was unlikely. It was someone close to us. It had to be. Someone close to Quorum. To the missing money.

She thought back to the vacation, to their houseguests.

Connie and Michael.

Honor and Jack.

Maria and Andrew.

Caroline and John.

The Quorum family. Except they weren't family. They weren't friends. All of them had abandoned Grace in her hour of need.

One of them had killed Lenny.

Grace no longer wanted justice. She wanted vengeance. She would have vengeance.

That night, Grace Brookstein began planning her escape.