CHAPTER TWENTY

The memorial is a solemn affair. After the spectacle of his death, it's almost unnerving to see how subdued his service is.

The crowd is small. Catherine, Hugo, the children, and I sit in the front row. Behind us sit Thomas Keller, Eleanor Strauss, and three other individuals who I gather are high-ranking executives in Frederick's company.

And that's everyone. Veronica is not here. I commend Catherine for refusing to allow her husband's mistress to attend, but I find it rather disrespectful to sit next to her own lover at Frederick's funeral.

The memorial room is small, but it still feels vast and empty. I have had a poor representation of Frederick Jensen's character so far, but I can't help but feel sorry for him. The man ran an empire and now dies an afterthought to all but a few. Perhaps that is the way of it for everyone, but it just seems so bleak to memorialize a man in an empty room.

The children do not weep. Their father's body is not here. Thankfully, his will asked that he be cremated, so his ashes sit in an urn next to a portrait of him. I believe it would be more difficult for them were their father's body present in the room. I am not one of those who believe that one must see the corpse of their loved one in order to receive closure.

An image floats across my mind of Annie's smiling face, followed immediately by one of the apparition with empty eyes that haunts my dreams. I push it away. Today is not about me.

Guilt creeps behind those thoughts despite my efforts to ignore it. I have been a poor help to this family. I suspected Olivia of killing him because of an angry outburst that is a perfectly natural reaction of any grieving teenager. I suspected Dr. Strauss for no other reason than that I don't trust therapists. True, Sophie's insinuations push me along that path, but I find it very easy to accept her evidence against Strauss, don't I? I was even excited for her to be the killer.

In the past, I've been able to convince myself that I act in the interests of the victims, that I want them to find justice they would otherwise not be able to find. Now…

Well, now I wonder if Strauss was right. Not for her ridiculous claim that I did something to Annie, but for her deduction that my own personal guilt is what motivates me. I've wondered this before and always deflected it. After all, the victims do deserve justice, whatever the motivation for obtaining that justice.

That's still true, but what help have I been? I've been here for the children to the best of my ability. I don't act on my suspicions of Olivia, thankfully, so I can say that I've been a good comfort to them, at least as much as I can be after only working here for a week.

But that help is given in spite of my suspicions, not because of them. I am at my best when I'm not actively looking into Frederick's death.

Perhaps it's time I heed the advice of so many who have known me over the past two years. The gardeners for the Carltons and the Greenwoods. Javier, the driver for the Ashfords. The police detective in Savannah who eventually arrests Lila Benson's killer. And now Sean. All have told me that I have no business as a detective, that I am endangering myself.

I wonder if it's not only me I'm endangering.

The memorial ends, and just as quietly as we enter, we leave. Dr. Strauss and Hugo don't return home with us, so I suppose that's a blessing. For her part, Catherine appears to feel grief for the first time. Whether it's guilt or sadness that her children are still not speaking to her or a genuine ache at her husband's loss, I'm not sure. Either way, tears track down her cheeks as Franz drives us home.

Thomas Keller remains. That is five passengers, so we are in an SUV today, a Bentley, rather than the Rolls Royce sedan. No one speaks. The children finally weep, crying softly in my arms in the back row. Catherine and Thomas ride in the second row.

We arrive home, and the children ask to be excused from dinner. I offer to read to them or put a movie on in the theater, but they want to be alone in their rooms. I grant that request, and they and Catherine leave to grieve in private. I want to exhort them to grieve together, to navigate this journey as a family, but then, I still suspect Catherine of being involved, and that suspicion I believe is still valid.

So, I find myself alone in the living room with Thomas Keller. Claude, the butler, brings us a bottle of champagne and pours our first glasses, then sets the bucket down on the table in between us.

This is an opportunity to learn something from Keller. I haven't had a chance to speak to him since the memorial, and with the children sequestered in their rooms, I don't have a higher duty to distract me.

So, despite the guilt I feel at my mismanagement of this investigation so far, I resolve to press forward. "Thomas, I know it's not my place to ask and certainly not to accuse, but I was interrogated by an Interpol agent who believes that Frederick's death might have been related to certain indiscretions that company was engaged in."

Thomas scoffs. "Moreau is a fool. They all are. Whenever a powerful person dies, the rodents all arrive to pick the bones clean. Where was Moreau before Frederick's death? What gives her the right to show up at his home and interrogate his wife and children the day after he dies? No, this is all about prestige. If she can cast some dirt on the corpse of Frederick Jensen, she can collect some accolades, look pretty for the news cameras and earn herself a promotion to Senior Inspector."

His tone gets increasingly angry as he speaks. He catches himself at the end and apologizes. "Sorry. I'm just sick of dealing with those rodents. They've stopped coming here, but I've had phone calls from Interpol every day. It's even worse at the office, from what I understand. The other executives have their hands full just trying to keep the wheels from falling off, and they have to deal with twats who want to complain every time they find an expense report without a receipt."

He chuckles bitterly and sips some of his champagne. I sip some of mind and work up the courage to press him further. "Was the company involved in illegal activities?"

Thomas's answer will tell me a lot. I know for a fact that he's managed some of those illegal activities. If he denies it now, I will know I can't trust him, and that will make me consider again whether he might be our killer.

His eyes narrow. He watches me for a while before responding. I feel my heartbeat start to quicken and pray that I haven't made myself a target. Finally, he sighs and finishes his glass of champagne, then pours himself some more.

"Finance is a difficult world, Mary. It's easy to sit on a high horse and judge people for every mistake they make, but when your clients are among the most powerful people alive, you don't have the option of failing. You can't make a mistake. You can't even lose their money through no fault of your own. So, did we do some things that fall outside the narrow fences of the law? Yes. Just like nearly every other financial management company on Earth. Did we act in ways that would bankrupt millions of people and cause widespread market collapse the way other hedge funds have? No. Our ‘activities' as you describe them were all incremental and all delaying tactics to deal with the fact that most of our clients are impatient fools who don't understand how the world actually works."

"Do you believe that pressure might have been too much for Frederick?"

He scoffs again. "No. No, Frederick lived for pressure. He thrived on it. He got nervous like anyone, but he didn't pull into a shell or go to drink or any of the numerous other vices men fall to when they succumb to pressure. He loved women, but show me a man of his wealth and status who hasn't slept with numerous women, and I'll show you a man who prefers men."

He reddens slightly and sips more of his champagne. "I apologize for that. That is not a polite way to speak. I just… no. No, the pressure wasn't too much for him.

"And the business was fine. That's another thing. Are you familiar with Bellevue Systems?"

"No, I can't say that I am."

"Well, you probably wouldn't know them unless you were in the technology industry, but they've invented a software that will improve the effectiveness of treatments of autoimmune diseases by fifty percent or more. Clinical trials have already shown drastically improved outcomes in patients with lupus, Guillain-Barre, multiple sclerosis, even HIV. Frederick bought thirty percent of the company ten years ago. We expected returns sooner than we achieved them, but there were some unexpected delays in fielding the technology. That's the root of the financial troubles we've had. Some people started threatening us, we had to find resources that were… outside of normal channels… and we had to fudge a few reports to avoid penalties that would have put us out of business."

He leaned forward, and his eyes came alive. "But now the corner's been turned. Bellevue's market value increased by nine hundred percent in the past year. By the time we sell the business in the fourth quarter, we predict the value to be three times that. I won't give numbers, but suffice it to say, it would be enough money to pay off all of our debts—including the less-than-legal ones—make restitution for the fraud charges we'd have to grant the courts to let them save face, and leave us with enough to turn a handsome profit for ourselves and our clients with enough left over to invest in the company's next ventures."

"So he had no reason to kill himself."

"None," he says firmly. "And he didn't kill himself. I guarantee you someone else pulled that trigger."

The door to the dining room opens, and Sophie pokes her head through. "Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, Mary, if you'd like to rouse the children."

Thomas starts slightly. He looks at the rest of the champagne in his glass and sets it on the table. "I believe I've had too much to drink," he says softly. He gives me a stiff smile. "Don't mind me. Frederick was a friend. I suppose I still haven't come to terms with his loss."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," I assure him.

He sighs and stands. "Well, thank you for listening. Just do your best for those children. Catherine's not the monster everyone assumes she is, but she's… well, I've had too much to drink, so I shouldn't say anything else. Have a good evening, Mary."

He leaves, and I wait until he's gone, then go to fetch the children.

I consider what he's revealed to me. It doesn't really tell me anything I don't already know. I already believe that Frederick was murdered, and I already believe that the crime is one of passion and not related to any financial benefit.

But I have learned one thing. Thomas Keller is innocent of Frederick's murder. The grief and anger he showed at his friend's death was genuine. It's true that killers often show guilt after the crime is committed, but there's a difference between the remorse of a killer and the anger of an innocent friend seeking justice.

So, one killer is off of my list. And one more victim cries out for justice. For the Jensen children's sake, and for Thomas Keller's, I will find the person truly responsible for Frederick's murder and bring them to justice.