“I don’t really know. I suppose he ignored it, as if it were a temporary aberration on Leonard’s part. Leonard was married once, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“For five years. Ruth divorced him when she found out he had male lovers.” A faint smile. “I was one of them.”
“Do you know his ex-wife?”
“No, not really.”
“Was the divorce bitter or amicable?”
“Not as bitter as it might have been, I guess—Leonard didn’t talk about that much, either. She did let him have the house.” Pain moved through his expression again, like something dark and restive just beneath the surface of his features. “He really loved that house. So did I, until … well, now it’s as dead for me as he is.”
“How long had you been living there with him?”
“Two years, ever since Ruth moved out. It was a permanent relationship.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“We were going to be married one day,” he said.
I knew that gays sometimes had unofficial wedding ceremonies, without benefit of marriage licenses, presided over by ministers from the Unitarian church or some other liberal congregation. But I did not want to discuss that sort of thing with Washburn. It was a private matter, and painful for him now—and I was still old-fashioned enough to feel uncomfortable with some of the more open and iconoclastic attitudes of the homosexual community.
I said, “Let’s get back to the man on the telephone. Do you have any idea who he might be?”
“No, none.”
“Was he young, old?”
“Young—twenties or thirties, I’d say.”
“Black, white, Oriental?”
“I’m not sure. Latin, perhaps.”
“Did he have an accent?”
“A faint one. I couldn’t quite place it.”
“Anything else distinctive about his voice?”
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
“Did he sound educated?”
“Well, he used proper English. But he didn’t seem very well-spoken.”
“Any other impression of him?”
“I’m afraid that’s all.”
“If what he said to you is true he must either have been at Kenneth’s house that night and witnessed what happened, or he’s close to someone who was there and witnessed it.”
Washburn worried his lower lip for a time. Then he said, “He didn’t strike me as the type Kenneth would invite to one of his fancy parties. His friends were mostly rich people.”
“An acquaintance of one of the guests, then?”
“Kenneth’s daughter,” Washburn said musingly. “She’s the wild type.”
“Wild in what way?”
“Oh, you know, drugs. The whole scene.”
“Where does she live, do you know?”
“With some fellow on Mission Creek. She has a houseboat there. At least she did a few months ago.”
“‘What’s the fellow’s name?”
“I don’t remember Leonard mentioning it.”
“What’s her name? Purcell?”
“Yes. Melanie Purcell. Kenneth’s daughter by his first marriage.”
“Would you know if she was at the party that night?”
“I’m not sure. I think she might have been.”
“What can you tell me about the other guests?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. Alicia is the person to ask.”
“Kenneth’s widow?”
“Yes. She’s his second wife.”
“What happened to the first one?”
“They were divorced.”
“Where would I find Alicia?”
“Well, I think she’s still living at the house.”
“In Moss Beach, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“Did Leonard handle his brother’s legal affairs?”
“No. He didn’t feel it was proper.”
“Who did?”
“An attorney here in the city. I don’t remember his name.”
“I can get it from the police. Did Kenneth leave a will?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Who inherited the bulk of his estate?”
“Alicia, Melanie, and Leonard.”
“How much was the estate worth?”
“I don’t know exactly. Quite a lot.”
“What was Leonard’s share?”
“I don’t know that either,” Washburn said. “Talking about it was so painful for him; I tried not to pry.”
“Do you know if the will has cleared probate yet? If the inheritance has been paid?”
“I’m sure it hasn’t. I’d know if it had been.”
“Let’s assume Kenneth was pushed off that cliff,” I said. “Who do you think did the pushing?”