Noel Hynd - The Sandler Inquiry

"My family is away," she said.

"The flat is empty."

They returned to her home and, inevitably, after sipping wine and listening to jazz during the evening, went into her bedroom.

Without speaking they began to undress. She was excited. She liked Roberto-his firm body, the wide muscular shoulders. The anticipation of a strong young man in her own bed aroused her.

She'd never done it there before.

Then they lay back, enjoying each other passionately. He was good to her. Rarely in her life had she enjoyed such unrestrained physical pleasure. When it was over, she nuzzled against him, pressing her breasts to him and relaxing in the warmth of his body.

"You were gorgeous'" she said. Then, looking at him, she asked eagerly,

"Want to do it again?"

"No," he said.

"I don't think so."

She frowned, sitting up in bed by leaning on her elbow. The only light was from the window.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"It's me."

"What are you saying;" "Look out the window, Leslie."

Naked, she went to one knee on the bed. Outside there was nothing as she peered out the window. An empty street. Moonlight. A man standing in the shadow of a streetlamp across the cobblestones at a trolley stop.

"You're being silly," she said.

"I don't see anything."

She felt his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't you see the man?" he asked.

She looked again. The man below was gazing up at her. She couldn't clearly discern the face. But suddenly, in a hot flash, she knew. Her hand shot to her face while one arm covered her breasts.

Roberto smothered her scream.

"I'm sorry, Leslie," he said.

"I have my instructions."

As she turned toward him his hands went tightaround her neck.

The hands, moments ago affectionate, were now murderous. He was shaking her viciously and squeezing her throat at the same time.

Oh, God, she thought. He's done it. He's succeeded! My father's having me killed!

She struggled wildly, but was no match for him. He forced her flat on the bed. She groped for the sewing shears that she'd always kept beneath the mattress.

She was losing consciousness. Her fingertips skimmed the handle of the shears. But Roberto yanked her. Her fingertips slid away.

She groped for them a final time, clenched them in her fist; and the fist was out from under the mattress and slamming into his back.

He bellowed with pain. The twin blades dug deeply below the left shoulderblade. His grip was suddenly gone from around her throat. She coughed painfully. He bent back and tried to get off her. But she stabbed the shears even deeper into his left side.

She had hurt him. Badly. He arched back, straddling her, and looked as if he were trying to reach the open wound in his back. He looked at her with crazed eyes, not comprehending how a naked woman could harm him.

She threw her arm forward a final time. He curled forward on the bed and struggled for life…

It grew quiet in Thomas Daniels's office.

"There's not much more to say. Whoever he was, he died. His identity was false. My only regret was that it hadn't been my father. Arthur Sandler escaped again. It was the last time I saw him."

"What about-?"

"The police in Switzerland?"

"Yes he said.

"It was taken care of. My foster parents flew home from Majorca immediately. They contacted London. My foster father had, shall we say, friends in the usual places. The British Consulate in Geneva straightened things with the Swiss. But I had to leave the country. My identity was worthless. And besides, the Swiss don't like people who import trouble."

"Of course," he said in a low voice.

"I had a British passport, so I used it. I relocated to Canada, where I continued my education. Before I left, my foster father gave me the Bible and the letters. Said they'd been given to him to hold for me until the proper time. I guess that was the proper time."

She shrugged.

"That brings us to the present, actually."

She fell silent. Thomas searched for the words.

"You don't look like someone who's actually killed a man," he said.

"Don't deceive yourself, Mr. Daniels" she warned.

"I'm not helpless."

"I can see that" She paused. She shifted her position slightly and seemed to try a tack that was almost totally contradictory, almost as if a different person were speaking.

"Look," she said,

"I'm coming across all wrong." Her manner was sweeter now, less abrasive, less harsh.

"You can see what I've contended with all my life. I do value human life, just as much as any other civilised person. But I want to live without fear. And I can't do that with uncertainty."

"Uncertainty…?"

"About my father. I want to know that he's dead. He dealt with your firm. You must have had records Thomas glanced toward the charred remains of the files, but said nothing. Facts. All the facts were gone, he thought. Destroyed.

Where else could they be found?

"What if I find your father?" he asked.

"Alive."

"I hope you don't she said.

"But if I do?"

"I've told you' she said.

"For me to live, he must be dead." There was a long awkward pause.

Then the tension in her face melted and she seemed to relax again.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I know how that must have sounded.".

"But it's your basic position" he assessed.

"Yes she said.

"I'm afraid it is." She offered him an agreeable smile. He recognized it for what it was, one of her more subtle weapons. Meanwhile she appraised him carefully, wondering if he'd believed her story.

"You will be able to produce a Sandler file?" she asked.

"Of course" he said, marveling at the ease with which he could lie.

"It might take a few days. And I might speak with my father's former partner, Mr. Zenger."

"Good," she said pensively.

"Now, your fee…?"

"My normal hourly rate," he began to explain slowly, 'is-" "I have no money," she said, "other than what's due to me from the Sandler estate.

I'm willing to offer you twenty-five per cent of what you eventually collect. In the meantime, I can't pay you anything."

Thomas agreed with little hesitation.

"Why don't I contact you Wednesday of next week" she said. She glanced around the burned office.

"By the way. Where will you be?"

Thomas thought for a moment.

"I have an office in my apartment. You can contact me there." He wrote his telephone number on a sheet of paper and handed it to her. He looked up.

"There's one thing you didn't explain'" he said.

"There is?"

"From what you tell me your father and mother had a nice enough romance during the war. He loved her enough to many her. What happened that made him want to come back a decade later and kill both of you?"

"Maybe you can help me find out," she said.

She stood, straightened her skirt, and appeared thoughtful as she saw him watching her.

"I suppose I should add one thing," she said.

"Yes?"

"You might be wondering. Men unnerve me. So I never sleep with them."

There was a long silence.

"I thought I'd mention this'" she said.

"If you're like most men, you were probably wondering."

"It never crossed my mind," he said, lying again.

He watched her close the door. She was gone before he realized that she'd left him no way to contact her.

The small eleven-passenger de Havilland STOL belonging to Air New England left New York's Marine Air Terminal at nine forty-five A.M. Thomas Daniels was one of the nine passengers. For most of the flight, he was deep in thought,!

Strange about old Zenger, he mused. The man had once been close to a legend in New York legal circles. Bill Daniels's partner.