Imperfect Strangers

CHAPTER 45

As soon as New York was open for business, Sandy called Sam Warren at the Mayfair Trust.

"Sam, I need another lawyer in San Francisco. Turns out that an art dealer sold Lars Larsen a picture that turns out to be a fake. It's the one in the inventory that's valued at seventy-five thousand dollars."

"Who's the dealer?" Warren asked.

"A man named Peter Martindale."

"Jesus Christ!" Warren exploded. "He sold me most of the stuff in our offices!"

"Well, my advice is to get somebody in and have everything you bought from Martindale authenticated." A bonus, Sandy thought, if one or more of Sam's pictures should turn out to be a fake. Then there'd be suits on both coasts.

"I'll certainly do that," Warren said.

"I want a very well-known lawyer, somebody of high repute, but somebody who'll nail Martindale to the wall. It wouldn't hurt if he enjoys a bit of publicity."

"Then you want Harry Keller; 'Killer Keller' they call him in the press. He's your man. Got a pencil?"

Sandy wrote down the name, address, and phone number. "Thank you so much, Sam, and will you let me know if any of your pictures are bogus?"

"I'll get right on that," Warren said.

Sandy hung up and turned to Cara. "Ever heard of this lawyer?" he asked, handing her the slip of paper.

"Killer Keller? You bet I have; so has everybody else west of the Mississippi. Oh, and he's in the same building with my lawyer; that makes things convenient."

"Let's start making some appointments," Sandy said.

They pulled into the private parking lot of Winthrop and Keys, and Sandy parked the car. "You mind if I come along with you?" Sandy asked. "My appointment isn't for another three-quarters of an hour."

"Sure; they have a comfortable waiting room."

They took the elevator upstairs, and when Cara was announced, she said to Sandy, "Why don't you come to my meeting? You might have some ideas about this."

"If you like."

They were shown down a hallway, past a number of empty offices, then greeted by a prosperous-looking man at his office door.

"Sandy, this is Mark Winthrop," Cara said. "Mark, this is Sandy Kinsolving; I've asked Sandy to come to this meeting; he might have some ideas about this trust."

"Glad to meet you Sandy," Winthrop said. "Cara, will you two have a seat and excuse me for a minute? My secretary and most of the office are still at lunch, so I'll have to find the file on this matter."

"Take your time," Cara said. When the lawyer had gone, Cara spoke in a low voice. "I've just remembered something. You said that Peter claimed to have left a letter incriminating you in his lawyer's safe?"

"That's what he said."

"Well, his lawyer is Keyes, and his office is just across the hall."

Sandy looked at her sharply. "Cara, we're not safecrackers."

"We don't have to be," she said. "I went to a meeting in Keyes's office with Peter once, and I saw him open his safe."

"Surely you can't remember the combination."

"I don't have to. You know those little panels that pull out of desks that stenographers used to use to rest their pads on?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Well, Paul Keyes pulled out that panel and read the combination to the safe from a little piece of paper he had taped there."

"Still, how are you going to-" He looked up as Mark Winthrop returned.

"Got it," Winthrop said, blowing dust off the file. "It's been a while since anyone had a look at it."

Sandy stood up. "Mark, excuse me, but I've just remembered that I have to make an important call to New York. Is there somewhere I could have some privacy?"

"Sure," Winthrop said. "Pick an empty office down the hall; everybody's at lunch."

"Thank you; I'll be back shortly." Sandy left Winthrop's office and walked a few paces. Paul Keyes's name appeared on an open door. Sandy closed it behind him and went to the desk. He punched the telephone for a line and dialed his home number in New York. The answering machine picked up. He laid the phone on the desk and started looking; it took only a moment to slide out the steno panel and find the piece of paper taped to its edge. He repeated the combination several times to himself, then turned to the safe.

It was a good four feet high, an old-fashioned model with a large center knob. Sandy went to work. Nervous as he was, it took two trips back to the desk before he got the combination right. He turned the handle, and the safe door swung open.

The safe was divided into a dozen compartments, and there was no way to guess where Martindale's letter might be, so Sandy began at the top left, riffling through every file and envelope in the safe. He had spent ten minutes working his way to the bottom right of the safe when he heard voices in the hallway. People were beginning to return from lunch.

Sandy took out a batch of blue legal folders from the compartment and went through them. The very last one bore Martin-dale's name. Sandy opened it and found a single, sealed envelope. On it, written by hand, was the message: "To be opened in the event of my untimely death." It was signed by Peter Martindale.

The door to Paul Keyes's office opened slightly, and a man stood there, apparently talking to someone in the hallway. Sandy straightened up and stuffed the blue folder containing the envelope into his belt, buttoned his coat, and picked up the phone. "Yes, yes," he began saying. "That's all very well, but we've got to get moving on this." He pretended to listen.

Paul Keyes finished his conversation and turned to walk into his office. He stopped when he saw Sandy. "What-"

Sandy covered the phone with his hand. "I'm sorry, this must be your office," he said.

"Yes, it is," Keyes replied, looking offended.

"I'm very sorry, but Mark Winthrop sent me in here to use the phone." He glanced down and, to his horror, saw that the safe door was still open.

"It's quite all right," Keyes said, entering the room.

"I wonder if you'd be kind enough to give me just another moment's privacy," Sandy said. "I'm nearly finished."

"Oh, of course," Keyes said. He stepped back into the hall and half closed the door behind him.

"Look," Sandy said into the phone, into his answering machine, "I'm not going to be back in New York until Monday, so I'm just going to have to rely on you to handle this the best way you can." He reached out with a foot and pushed the safe door closed. "I would be very grateful if you would do that," he said, continuing his half of the supposed conversation. "Thank you so much." He hung up the phone, took a quick step to the safe, pulled up on the handle, and spun the dial. He made it back to the desk before Keyes was upon him.

"I am sorry for the imposition," he said to the lawyer. "I think Mark must have thought you'd be out for a while."

"Quite all right," Keyes said, holding the door open for Sandy.

Sandy left the office, and he felt Keyes's eyes on his back as he returned to Winthrop's office.

"Oh, hello," Cara said. "Turns out I didn't need your advice. The trust is revocable, and I'm revoking it. It was very simple; we needn't have come into town, after all."

"Good. All ready to go, then?"

"All ready."

Sandy extended his hand to Winthrop. "So nice to meet you," he said. "I really can't thank you enough. Ah, for handling Cara's problem so expeditiously." He took Cara's elbow and guided her out of the office.

"Did you get it?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth as they walked down the hallway toward the reception room.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I certainly did."