him.”
“She was blond, too.”
“He said you were quite a baseball player.”
“Prep school and in college,” Romstead replied.
“Professional, too, I understand.”
“I only lasted one season; I couldn’t hit big-league pitching. It was a way to get through school, but I couldn’t see minor-league ball as a career.”
“You put yourself through college?”
“Not entirely. I had a jock scholarship and worked summers, but he sent me money and would have sent more, but I didn’t need it.”
“You’re in his will, of course. Or have you seen a copy of it?”
“No. I didn’t even know he had one.” Romstead paused and then went on musingly. “I guess the reason I’ve never thought about it is that I must’ve always assumed he’d outlive me. I know that sounds crazy as hell—”
“No. Not to anybody who knew him. You haven’t seen his place, of course?”
“No. I didn’t even know about it until last night. And now I’ve just found out he had an apartment in San Francisco.”
Bolling nodded. “He rented it about five months ago. I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted.”
“But why?”
“Why did I advise against it, you mean? On account of taxes.”
“No, I mean the whole bit. Why did he retire here, and buy a place, and then rent an apartment there?”
“There were several reasons, actually, but the primary one, of course, was taxes. It’s easy to get to San Francisco, which he loved, but still not in California, which he detested. But the sad truth is he was bored here, and he spent more and more time in San Francisco, going over for the opera, concerts, plays, and so on, always having to get confirmed hotel reservations each time, so he decided to rent the apartment. He said that as long as his voting residence was here and he owned property here and only spent a total of a couple of months a year in San Francisco, California could go to hell for its income and inheritance taxes. He was a very stubborn man, and beyond a point there was no use arguing with him.”
“But why this obsession with taxes? Would it have made that much difference?”
“Well, considerable. Your father’s income was in excess of fifty thousand a year, from his retirement pay and his securities. A lot of it was political bias, however; he loathed the whole idea of the welfare state, Social Security, unemployment benefits, the welfare rolls, and so on. He was a very charming and talented man, but politically he was somewhere off to the right of the Hapsburgs and Plantagenets.”
“And it’s true, then? He was a millionaire?”
“Oh, yes. His net worth was considerably over a million.”
“Well, you don’t believe that crap of Brubaker’s, do you, that he was mixed up in the drug racket?”
“No,” Bolling said. “Of course not. He said he made it in the stock market, and I see no reason to doubt it.” He reached into a drawer for a document bound in blue paper and set it before him. “I won’t bother to read you all this at the moment because a good deal of it is meaningless now until somebody finds out what happened to that two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” He glanced up. “Brubaker told you about it?”
Romstead nodded. “But why do you think he drew it out in cash? And what did he do with it?”
“I couldn’t even guess,” Bolling replied. “I’ve been racking my brains for ten days, and I get absolutely nowhere. It was a stupid thing to do, and your father was far from a stupid man. But what we’re concerned with right here is that there are two immediate effects regarding the will, and one of them, I’m sorry to say, is very bad news for you. If that money is never recovered, you bear the whole loss.”
“How’s that?” Romstead asked.
“All the other bequests were fixed sums, and you were to get the residue of the estate.”
Romstead tried to think of something to say, but there didn’t appear to be anything. There was a moment of silence, and