Imperfect Strangers

CHAPTER 6

At seven forty-five Sandy knotted his black satin bow tie and slipped into his dinner jacket. He slipped the Patek-Phillipe pocket watch into his waistcoat pocket and ran the chain through its special buttonhole. Satisfied with his appearance, he left his dressing room and walked across the bedroom. Joan was on schedule, which meant she would be ready about ten minutes after he told her what time they must leave.

He went into his study and, dabbing a light film of perspiration on his forehead, sank into a chair and picked up the telephone. He had a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach, and he wanted to make it go away He dialed the Pierre and asked for the concierge.

"This is Mr. Bart," he said to the man. "I left a message a couple of hours ago for Mr. Peter Martindale."

"Oh, yes sir, the urgent one. I handed it to him myself half an hour later, so you may be sure he got it."

"Did he read it in your presence?" Sandy asked.

"Yes, sir, he did."

"What was his reaction?"

"He looked, well, relieved, I suppose. He asked me to get him on an evening flight for San Francisco, and he checked out about an hour ago."

"I see. Thank you very much indeed," Sandy said. He hung up the phone feeling elated. He had been afraid of some slip-up, of Peter's somehow not getting the message.

"Are you ready, Sandy?"

Sandy looked up, surprised. Joan was ready on the stroke of eight o'clock.

"Yes, let's go down. Albert is collecting us first, and we'll pick up Laddie and Betty on the way to the Waldorf."

"Fine," she said.

In the elevator she was quiet, primping in the mirror, making tiny adjustments to her clothing and makeup. The elevator stopped at the main floor.

"I'll go down with you," Sandy said suddenly.

"That's not necessary, Sandy."

"Well, it's dark down there, and you know that outside door doesn't always close the way it should."

"You're very solicitous this evening," she said.

"Just part of the service." He managed a smile.

The old elevator door took some time to close, and as it began to, Albert, Jock's longtime servant and driver, stopped it. "Excuse me, Mr. Kinsolving," he said, "but Mr. Laddie is on the car phone for you."

"He probably thinks we'll be late," Joan said. "You'd better reassure him."

"All right," Sandy said, stepping out of the car. Then he had a thought. "Albert, will you go down to the basement with Mrs. Kinsolving? I'd rather she didn't go alone."

"Really, Sandy, I've done it a thousand times," Joan said irritably.

Sandy took Albert by the elbow and guided him into the elevator. "I'll wait for you in the car," he said. Joan glared at the ceiling. Sandy strode through the lobby and got into the back seat of the old Cadillac. It was an old-fashioned limousine, with jump seats, not the contemporary stretched job that took up half a block. He picked up the phone. "Laddie?"

"Yes, Sandy. I tried the apartment, but you were gone. I take it you're on time?"

"Yes, we are; we should be there in under ten minutes; Joan's just getting her jewelry from downstairs."

"Well, I'm glad I caught you. Betty is unwell; she's dressed and everything, but she's just tossed her cookies into a flower pot, and she's a distinct shade of green. Will you forgive us?"

"Of course, Laddie; tell Betty I hope she feels better soon. Get some Pepto-Bismol into her."

"Right," Laddie said. "See you later." He hung up.

Sandy replaced the phone on its cradle, and remembered what a hard time he had had getting Jock to install the thing. Once he had had it, though, he had begun terrorizing the office the moment he left home, and he started again the moment he drove away from the office. The staff had talked of sabotaging the car phone.

Sandy glanced at his watch: ten past eight. He looked out the open door of the car and into the building: No sign of Joan and Albert. He rested his head against the back of the seat and thought. Monday, he'd see a lawyer, then ask for a meeting with Laddie, to give him the opportunity of doing the right thing. He hoped there'd be no necessity for a lawsuit.

"Mr. Kinsolving?"

Sandy jumped. Barton, the doorman, stood at the open car door. "Yes, Barton?"

"Sorry, sir, I've just come off my break, and I saw you in the car. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you, Barton, but could you have a look in the basement and see what's keeping Mrs. Kinsolving and Albert? I'm deep in thought, here."

"Of course, Mr. Kinsolving." Barton disappeared.

Sandy returned to his reverie. If Laddie didn't make a better offer, perhaps he'd entertain a sale, at the right price, of course. He couldn't see Laddie paying a new executive a high salary to come in and run the division; neither could he see Laddie wanting to do it himself. Sandy closed his eyes.

"Mr. Kinsolving!" Barton's voice was urgent.

"Yes, Barton?"

"You'd better come with me, sir," Barton said. "I don't know what's happened."

"What?" Sandy asked, confused, but Barton was already headed back inside.

Sandy snapped back to reality and got out of the car. She's having trouble with the lock, he thought; that's happened before. But his heart was beating fast. He saw Barton whisper something to the lobby man, Jimmy, and Jimmy picked up the telephone. The elevator was waiting.

The doors closed and the old elevator crept downward. "What's wrong?" Sandy asked.

"I think it would be better if you saw for yourself, sir," Barton said.

Sandy led the way from the elevator. He turned a corner of the corridor and strode toward the storage room. The basement was lit by twenty-five-watt bulbs to save the building electricity, and Sandy could see ahead only dimly. Then, as he approached the storage room, he saw something blocking the corridor, something like a laundry bag. A few steps more and Sandy could see that Albert was lying across the hallway, his cap several feet away. He knelt beside the elderly man.

"Albert!" he said. "Can you hear me?"

Albert moaned and opened his eyes.

Then Sandy noticed that one side of his head was a dark color, and something was seeping down the servant's neck.

"Good God!" Sandy breathed. "Barton, call an ambulance!"

"I've already asked Jimmy to do that, sir," Barton replied.

Sandy reached for Albert's cap, then lifted the old man's head and let it down gently onto the cap. "Come with me," he said to Barton. He moved on down the hallway more gingerly, afraid of what he was going to find. The door to the storeroom stood ajar, but no light came from inside. Sandy reached into the room for the light switch, then flipped it on.

Joan lay on her back, her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Her arms were askew, and her mouth was open. There were dark bruises on her throat. Across the room, the door to the old safe was open.

"Joan!" Sandy cried, moving to her side and slipping his hand under her head. He withdrew it quickly, and it came away bloody.

"Is she all right, sir?" Barton asked from behind her.

Sandy looked for a pulse at her wrist, then at her throat. "No, Barton," he said. "I don't think she's all right."