Imperfect Strangers

CHAPTER 42

In the early afternoon Sandy sat in Sam Warren's conference room at the Mayfair Trust and listened to the phone conversation between Sam, his lawyer, and Larsen and his lawyers in San Francisco, as they worked through minute changes to the sales documents for the vineyard. Simultaneously, he went through the list of assets of the vineyard and through the appraiser's report, asking questions and looking for anomalies. At four o'clock Sandy affixed his signature to each of the documents, and their representative in San Francisco, having ascertained that Larsen had signed, presented the seller with a cashier's check for nine million dollars.

At last, Sandy had his vineyard. He walked back to the wine shop slowly, enjoying the summer afternoon and contemplating the changes and improvements he would make. There was an owner's house; Cara could furnish and decorate that. There was the change of name; Cara could design the labeling. He would gradually sell off the wines made under Larsen, and in the autumn, his first vintage would come in, the first wines bearing the name Kinsolving Vineyards. He was a happy man.

He was less happy when, back at the shop, his secretary intercepted him on the way to his office.

"Mr. Kinsolving, that Detective Duvivier and another policemen are waiting in your office; I didn't know what else to do with them."

"Thanks, that's fine," Sandy replied, gritting his teeth. He walked into his office and Duvivier and his partner, Leary, stood up from the sofa. "Afternoon, gentlemen," Sandy said, taking a seat at his desk. "Have you found my wife's killer?"

Duvivier walked toward the desk. "We're making real progress," he said, placing a pair of keys on the desktop.

Sandy looked at the keys; he knew exactly what they fitted and that they could have come from only one place. "Keys?" he asked.

"The keys to your building's basement and your storeroom," Duvivier said, then stopped.

"Whose keys?" Sandy asked.

"The killer's keys," Duvivier replied.

"You've arrested him?" He hoped to God not.

"Not exactly," Leary said.

"You're pursuing him, then?"

"Not exactly," Duvivier replied.

"Detective, please explain exactly what is going on here," Sandy said, with a note of irritation in his voice.

"We thought you might like to tell us," Duvivier replied.

"Tell you what?"

"How the killer got the keys."

"Why do you think I know that?"

"I believe you took your keys to the Third Avenue Locksmiths and had them duplicated, then gave the duplicates to the killer," Duvivier said.

"Then you're a fool," Sandy replied, "and you're wasting both your time and mine."

"We took your photograph to the shop and showed it to the locksmith," Duvivier said. "What do you think he said?"

"Detective, don't ask me questions to which I obviously do not have the answer."

"All right, Mr. Kinsolving, the locksmith said he had seen your face before. In his shop."

There was nothing to do but bluff, Sandy knew. They hadn't arrested him yet, so there was a chance that they were bluffing, too. "So what?" he replied.

"So now we can place you at the locksmith's," Duvivier said.

"Get to the point, Detective. What is all this supposed to mean?"

"Have you ever been into the Third Avenue Locksmith's?"

"Not that I recall," Sandy replied. "What if I have been? Would that have some meaning in my wife's death?"

"It would if you had your keys duplicated and gave them to a hired murderer," Duvivier replied.

"I didn't do that," Sandy said. "Where did you get the keys?" He knew, but he thought he ought to ask, for appearances sake.

"They were given to us by the murderer."

"You've arrested him, then?"

"He says you paid him to kill your wife."

"Then he's lying; I had absolutely nothing to do with my wife's death," Sandy replied. "But you haven't answered my question: Have you arrested somebody in the matter of my wife's murder?"

"It's you who must answer the questions, Mr. Kinsolving," Duvivier said.

Sandy stood up. "You're very wrong about that. I don't know what the hell you're doing here, but I told you that I didn't want to hear from you again, unless you'd found my wife's killer, do you recall that?"

"I do."

"Have you arrested my wife's killer?"

"Not yet."

"Then get out of my office, and if you have anything else to say to me, say it to my lawyer, Mr. Murray Hirsch. Is that clear?"

Duvivier said nothing.

"Detective," Sandy said, growing angry now, "are you here to arrest me?"

"No, sir."

"Then I bid you good day." He walked to his office door, opened it, and stood, waiting for them to leave.

The two detectives exchanged a glance, then reluctantly left the office.

On the street, Leary turned to Duvivier. "You didn't really expect that to work, did you?"

"It was worth a shot," Duvivier replied.

"Do you still think he was involved?"

"I'm certain of it."

"I wish I was as certain as you," Leary said.

Duvivier looked at his partner. "You're not with me on this, then?"

Leary shook his head. "Al, I'm sorry, but I don't read minds like you; I just go with the evidence, you know?"

Duvivier nodded.

"I mean, I respect your ability to sniff out perps; I've seen you do it before, but I've seen you wrong before, too."

Duvivier nodded. "Sometimes I am wrong."

"You think this might be one of those times?"

Duvivier shook his head. "No. This time I'm right."

"You remember what you said to me the first night we worked this case? You said you thought he did it, but we weren't going to be able to prove it?"

"I remember."

"Al, I think that's where we're at."

"Maybe so. Unless we hear more from the guy who sent the keys."

"You mean if the guy walks in and confesses? Because that's the only way he's going to break this for us. If we don't have him, we don't have Kinsolving; it's as simple as that."

Duvivier nodded.

Sandy sat at his desk. He was becoming very weary of Peter Martindale. Still, maybe this development was positive. The keys and the jewelry were the only physical evidence that could connect Martindale to the murder, and he had given up both of those. After all, Martindale couldn't implicate him beyond doubt unless he gave himself up, and somehow, he couldn't see Peter Martindale sending himself to prison. He had played things correctly with Duvivier, he was sure of that.

The only thing he wasn't sure of was Peter Martindale, and all he could do was wait for Martindale to make the next move.