Sons of Fortune Read online

  Nat introduced himself to Mario, who suggested a quiet table in the corner. After Nat had read the menu several times, he looked at his watch again, becoming ever more nervous. He must have checked a dozen times to be sure he had enough cash on him in case they didn’t accept credit cards. Perhaps it would have been more sensible if he had walked around the block a couple of times.

  The moment he saw her, he realized he’d blown it. Su Ling was wearing a smart, well-cut blue suit, cream blouse and navy shoes. Nat rose from his place and waved. She smiled—a smile he hadn’t experienced until then, which made her look even more captivating. She walked over to join him.

  “I apologize,” he said, rising from his place as he waited for her to be seated.

  “What for?” she asked, looking puzzled.

  “My clothes. I confess I spent a lot of time thinking about what I should wear, and still got it wrong.”

  “Me too,” said Su Ling. “I expected you to turn up in a uniform covered in medals,” she added as she slipped off her jacket and placed it over the back of her chair.

  Nat burst out laughing, and they didn’t seem to stop laughing for the next two hours, until Nat asked if she’d like some coffee. “Yes, black please,” said Su Ling.

  “I’ve told you about my family, now tell me about yours,” Nat said. “Are you, like me, an only child?”

  “Yes, my father was a master sergeant in Korea when he met my mother. They were only married for a few months before he was killed at the battle of Yudam-ni.”

  Nat wanted to lean across and take her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said simply. “Mom decided to emigrate to America so that we could meet up with my grandparents. But we were never able to trace them.” This time he did take her hand. “I was too young to know what was going on, but my mother doesn’t give up that easily. She took a job in Storrs Laundry, near the bookstore, and the owner allowed us to live above the shop.”

  “I know that laundry,” said Nat. “My father has his shirts done there—it’s very efficient and…”

  “…And has been ever since my mother took it over, but she’s had to sacrifice everything to ensure that I had a good education.”

  “Your mother sounds just like mine,” said Nat as Mario appeared by their side.

  “Everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Cartwright?”

  “An excellent meal, thank you, Mario,” said Nat. “All I need now is the check.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Cartwright, and may I say what an honor it has been to have you in the restaurant.”

  “Thank you,” said Nat, trying to hide his embarrassment.

  “How much did you tip him to say that?” asked Su Ling once Mario had slipped away.

  “Ten dollars, and he’s word-perfect every time.”

  “But does it always pay off?” asked Su Ling.

  “Oh yes, most of my dates start taking off their clothes even before we get back to the car.”

  “So do you always bring them here?”

  “No. If I think it’s likely to be a one-night stand, I take them to McDonald’s, followed by a motel—if it’s serious, we go to the Altnaveigh Inn.”

  “So which group are chosen for Mario’s?” asked Su Ling.

  “I can’t answer that,” said Nat, “because I’ve never taken anyone to Mario’s before.”

  “I’m flattered,” said Su Ling as he helped her on with her jacket. As they walked out of the restaurant, Su Ling took his hand. “You’re really quite shy, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose I am,” said Nat, as they continued walking toward the campus.

  “Not at all like your arch rival, Ralph Elliot.” Nat didn’t comment. “He asked me for a date within minutes of meeting me.”

  “To be fair,” said Nat, “I would have too, but you walked away.”

  “I thought I was running at the time,” she said. He turned and smiled. “And even more interesting is how much action you actually saw in Vietnam to turn you into such a hero.” Nat was about to protest when she added, “Answer, about half an hour.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Nat.

  “Because I did some research on you, Captain Cartwright, and to quote Steinbeck, ‘you’re sailing under false colors.’ I learned that quote today,” she said, “just in case you might think I’m well read. When you jumped on the helicopter, you weren’t even carrying a gun. You were a warrant officer who shouldn’t have been on that aircraft in the first place. In fact, it was bad enough that you jumped on the helicopter without permission, but you also jumped off it without permission. Mind you, if you hadn’t, you might well have been court-martialed.”

  “True,” said Nat, “but don’t tell anyone else, because it will stop me having my usual three girls a night.”

  Su Ling placed a hand in front of her mouth and laughed. “But I did read on, and your action after the helicopter crashed in the jungle was that of an extremely brave man. To have dragged that poor soldier on a stretcher with half your leg blown away must have taken immense courage, and then to discover he had later died can only have left an irremediable scar.” Nat didn’t reply. “I’m sorry,” she said as they reached south campus, “that last remark was inconsiderate of me.”

  “It was kind of you to search for the truth,” he said, looking down into her dark brown eyes. “Not many have bothered to do that.”

  18

  “Members of the jury, in most murder trials it is the responsibility of the state, and rightly so, to prove that the defendant is guilty of homicide. That has not proved necessary in this case. Why? Because Mrs. Kirsten signed a confession within an hour of her husband’s brutal killing. And even now, eight months later, you will have noted that her legal representative has not at any time during this trial suggested that his client didn’t commit the crime, or even challenged how she went about it.

  “So let us turn to the facts in this case, because this was not what could be described as a crime of passion where a woman seeks to defend herself with the nearest weapon at hand. No, Mrs. Kirsten was not interested in the nearest weapon at hand, because she spent several weeks planning this cold-blooded murder, well aware that her victim would have no chance of defending himself.

  “How did Mrs. Kirsten set about her task? Over a period of nearly three months, she collected several vials of curare from different drug dealers who reside in the shadows of Hartford. The defense tried to suggest that none of the dealers’ evidence could be relied upon, which might have influenced you had Mrs. Kirsten herself not confirmed from the witness stand that they were all telling the truth.

  “Having collected the vials over several weeks, what does Mrs. Kirsten do next? She waits until a Saturday night, when she knows her husband goes out drinking with his friends, and covertly pours the drug into six bottles of beer, and even replaces the tops. She then puts these bottles on the kitchen table, leaves the light on and goes to bed. She even places a bottle opener and a glass next to them. She does everything except pour out the drink herself.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this was a well-planned and cleverly executed murder. However, if you can believe it possible, there was even worse to follow.

  “When her husband arrives home that night, he does indeed fall into her trap. First he goes to the kitchen, probably to turn off the light, and, seeing the bottles on the table, Alex Kirsten is tempted into having a beer before going to bed. Even before he has put the second bottle to his lips, the drug has begun to take effect. When he calls for help his wife leaves the bedroom and walks slowly down to the hall, where she hears her husband crying out in pain. Does she phone for an ambulance? No, she does not. Does she even go to his assistance? No, she does not. She sits on the staircase and waits patiently until his agonized cries have stopped and she can be certain he’s dead. And then, and only then, does she raise the alarm.

  “How can we be so sure this is what actually took place? Not just because the neighbors were woken by