A Fountain Filled With Blood

“Not for him. I’m his partner. Bill handled the physical plant, and he did so beautifully. I handle everything else: land acquisition, limited partnerships, permits, financing, insurance.” Opperman smiled faintly. “Which is why, unlike Bill’s, my office fits inside a laptop.” His smile faded. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now that he’s gone.”

“Will this project have to fold? Or will you be able to replace Ingraham?”

Opperman gave him a sharp look. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replace Bill. If I can find a sufficiently skilled construction manager, we can proceed. I hope we can. It would be a damned shame if his final project were left unfinished.”

“What happens to BWI if you do have to abandon the project?”

Opperman rubbed his knuckles against the bottom of his chin. “It’s going to be tough. We’re insured for any catastrophe that might cancel the project. But our reputation will take a hit. Then again, our reputation will take a hit just because Bill’s gone. He was the driving force behind BWI. He was the reason people invested in our projects.”

“What about Peggy Landry? How would she fare if you had to cancel?”

“Peggy? She’s one smart businesswoman. Part of our deal was primary partners’ insurance and a pay-or-play clause.” Russ’s blank look must have given him away. Opperman laughed. “I won’t bore you with the legal details. The end result is, she’s a beneficiary of our partners’ insurance policy. And if the Algonquin Spa doesn’t get built, she still receives rental on her land for five years. Or until she finds another developer.”

“She gets a payout from insurance? Insurance on Ingraham?”

“That’s correct.”

“How about you?”

“The death benefit for either Bill or myself goes directly into the business. That’s the purpose of having partners’ or principals’ insurance—to cover the business losses when one of the key players dies.” He sat down in his late partner’s chair and spread his hands. “To be blunt, if you’re looking for a financial motive for either Peggy or myself to have…have”—he looked away, then back at Russ—“butchered a man we respected, you’re going to come up blank. We both relied on Bill.”

Russ leaned back, catching the edge of a long folding table under his thigh. It felt too insubstantial to sit on. He folded his arms across his chest instead. “Seems to me you’ll do okay. She gets a big insurance payoff and money for her property, and you get sole control over the business. It’s not public, right? So all the profits go back to whoever owns it.”

“In the first place, I can show you projected net and gross earnings of the future Algonquin Spa for the next ten years. Peggy Landry stands to make considerably more money if the project goes through. To address your second point, yes, I am the sole surviving partner of our privately held company. But not for long.” Opperman pushed himself out of Ingraham’s chair. “Despite the fact that we do very upper-end, high-margin projects, this is still fundamentally a construction company. And I don’t do construction. I can quote you the cost of bricks and the provisions of our contract with the bricklayers’ union and the amortization rates of the equipment needed to haul them here, but I couldn’t lay one brick on top of another to save my life. I’m a lawyer. And if I’m not going to become a retired lawyer, I need to find another partner who can step into Bill’s shoes.” He leaned over and turned on the desk computer. “I understand why you need to pursue this line of inquiry.” He tapped in a name and password. “I just hope you aren’t letting whatever scum took Bill’s life slip away while you’re digging through our old files.” He stepped back from the desk. “It’s all yours. Hard copies and correspondence are in the filing cabinet. There’s no diary. As far as I know, Bill kept his schedule on his computer and in his Palm Pilot.”

Russ made a mental note to ask Lyle MacAuley if he had found a Palm Pilot after searching Ingraham’s room at the inn. He looked at Opperman. “Thank you. And I can assure you that Bill Ingraham’s killer isn’t going anywhere. We’ll find him.”

Which was bold talk, since the initial autopsy and the early-morning search of the crime scene hadn’t given them anything new. Ingraham had had a meal and some booze a couple of hours before his death. He hadn’t engaged in any sexual activity—or at least none that left any traces on him. MacAuley’s and Durkee’s search of the grounds down to the river had turned up several cotton threads that might be helpful to the state prosecutor, if they ever found a viable suspect and if they could find a matching article of clothing belonging to him.

“If you don’t need us to be here, I’m going to have Peggy take me into town to retrieve my car.” He handed Russ a business card. “Here’s the number for my cell phone. “I’ll be heading back here afterward to close up, so we can talk again if you need to.”