Lawrence Sanders - Tenth Commandment

'Let's take a table,' he said.

He picked up his drink and led the way to a small table in a far corner. I followed with my bottle of beer and a glass.

That was the difference between us: I would have asked the bartender, 'Is it all right if we take a table?'

I must admit it was more comfortable sitting in the soft chairs, walls at our backs. We sat at right angles to each other, but we turned slightly so we were facing each other more casually.

Knurr rattled on for a while, gabbing mostly about inconsequential things like the weather, a cold he was trying to shake, how every year at this time he began to yearn for warmer climes, a hot sun, a sandy beach, etc.

I looked into his eyes as he spoke. I nodded occasionally. Smiled. It was the oddest feeling in the world — sitting drinking, exchanging idle talk, with a murderer.

How had I thought a killer would be different — disfigured with a mark perhaps? That would be too easy.

As it was, I had to keep reminding myself of who Knurr was and what he had done. But all I was conscious of was the normality of our conversation, its banality. 'A miserable day.' 'Oh yes, but they say it may clear tonight.'

Finally he stopped chattering. He put both elbows on the 354

table, scrubbed his face with his palms. He sighed and looked off into the emptiness of the room.

!I counsel a great many people, ' he said, talking to the air. 'As I told you, mostly women. Occasionally they come to feel that my interest in them is not purely in their immortal souls. They assume I have, uh, a more personal interest. You understand?'

'Of course,' I said. 'It must lead to difficulties.'

'It does indeed,' he said, sighing. 'All kinds of difficulties. For instance, they demand more of my time than I am willing to give, or can give, for that matter.'

I made sympathetic noises.

'Would you believe,' he went on, 'that some of my — well, I was about to say patrons, but not all of them are that. For want of a better word, let's call them clients.'

'How about dependants?' I suggested.

He looked at me sharply to see if I was being sarcastic. I was not. He punched my upper arm lightly.

' Very good, Joshua,' he said. 'Dependants. I like that.

Much better than clients. Well, as I was saying, occasionally some of my dependants become jealous of others, believing I am devoting too much time to them. I don't mean to imply selfishness on their part, but I have found that most unhappy people, women and men, are inclined to be self-centred, and when sympathetic interest is expressed, they want more and more. Sympathy becomes an addiction, and they resent it when others share. That's what my disagreement with Mrs Kipper was about. I am currently counselling other women, of course, and she felt I was not devoting enough time to her and her problems.'

It wasn't a clumsy lie, but it seemed to me unnecessarily complex. There was no need for him to explain at all. But having started, he should have kept it simple.

I looked at him as he signalled the bartender for another round of drinks. He did have an imperious way about him, lifting a hand and gesturing curtly.

'How is your social club coming along?' I asked.

'What?' he said vaguely. 'Oh, fine, fine. The barkeep put a shade too much vermouth in that last martini. I hope this one will be drier.'

The bartender himself brought the drinks over to our table but did not hover. Knurr sipped eagerly.

' Much better,' he smiled with satisfaction, relaxing and sliding down a bit in his chair. 'Dry as dust.'

He was certainly a craggily handsome man, brooding and intense. I could understand why women were attracted to him; he radiated vigour and surety. The slightly bent nose and steady brown eyes gave the appearance of what is known as 'a man's man.' But the slaty beard framed rosy, almost tender lips that hinted of a soft vulnerability.

'I hope you and Mrs Kipper parted friends,' I said.

He gave a short bark of hard laughter. 'Oh, I think I persuaded the lady,' he said with a smile.

I didn't like that smile; it was almost a smirk. Did it mean that the photo of Glynis Stonehouse and the Mrs Kletz letter had gone for naught?

I considered what he knew about me — or guessed. I thought my cover in the Kipper case was still intact, that he accepted my role of law clerk making a preliminary inventory of the estate. In the Stonehouse matter, Glynis would have told him of my investigation into her father's disappearance. He knew that I had uncovered the arsenic poisoning. What he did not know, I felt sure, was that I was aware of his intimate relationship with Glynis.

'That was my last visit to the Kipper home,' I offered.

'The expert appraisers will take over now.'

'Oh?' he said in a tone of great disinterest. 'Well, I suppose you have plenty of other things to keep you busy.'

'I certainly do,' I said enthusiastically. 'I've been ordered to devote all my time to a case involving a man who disappeared without leaving a will.'

'That sounds interesting,' he said casually, taking a sip 356

of his martini. 'Tell me about it.'

I imagined that was what fencing must be like: lunge, parry, thrust.

'There's not much to tell,' I said. 'Just what I've said: a man disappeared — it's been two months now — and no will has been found. The legal ramifications are what make the case so fascinating. All the assets are in his name alone. So it will require a petition to the court to free living expenses for his family.'

'And if he never shows up again?'

'That's the rub,' I said, laughing ruefully as I tried to recall what Mr Teitelbaum had told me about applicable law. 'I think that five years must elapse before a missing person's estate can go to probate.'

'Five years!' he exclaimed.

'Minimum.' I said. I laughed merrily. 'It would be a lot simpler if the missing man's body turned up. If he is, indeed, dead, as everyone is beginning to suspect. But I'm boring you with all this.'

'Not at all,' he said genially. 'Good talk for a rainy afternoon. So if the missing man turned up dead, his estate could be distributed to his legal heirs at once?'

Got him, I thought with some satisfaction.

'That's right,' I said airily. 'Once proof of death is definitely established, the man's will goes to probate.'

'And if no will exists — or can be found?'

'Then the estate is divided under the laws of intestacy. In this case, it would go to his wife, daughter, and son.'

'Is it a sizeable estate?' he asked slowly.

Greedy bugger.

'I believe it is,' I said, nodding. 'I have no idea of the exact dollar amount involved, but I understand it's quite sizeable.'

He pulled pipe and tobacco pouch from his jacket pocket. He held them up to me.

'You don't mind?'

'Not at all,' I said. 'Go right ahead.'

I watched and waited while he went through the deliberate ceremony of filling his pipe, tamping the tobacco down with a blunt forefinger, lighting up, tilting back his head and blowing a long plume of smoke at the ceiling.

'The law is a wonderful thing,' he said with a tight smile.

'A lot of money there. I mean in the practice of law.'

'Yes, sir, there certainly is.'

'Sometimes I think justice is an impossible concept,' he went on, puffing away. 'For instance, in the case you were describing, I would think the very fact of the man's disappearance for two months would be enough to allow his family to share in his estate. He left voluntarily?'

'As far as we know.'

'No letter or message to his lawyer?'

'No, nothing like that. And no evidence of foul play. No evidence at all. He may still be alive for all we know.

That's why the law requires a diligent search and a five-year grace period. Still, it's murder on the family.' I couldn't resist, but, then, neither could he.