'So far, I believe her.' He thought for a moment.
'She has those documents. They look strong. Damned strong. If I went to England, say, and got more corroborating evidence for her…
Well, she'd be in an even stronger position.'
'Before you take any trips there's more you ought to know.'
'Go ahead ' 'With the help of some of our financial editors at the paper we've put together quite a bit on our favorite family.
Interlocking corporations. Phantom ownerships. Trusts. Holding companies and such.'
'In chemicals?'
'Chemicals and real estate. But that's not the point. It's mostly an odd assortment of smaller companies owned by slightly larger companies, equally strange. A merry-go-round of ownership, and no one can find where it started to spin.'
'In other words,' he said, 'no one can find out where the money came from to start with. Sounds familiar.'
'Right' she said.
'And none of the companies do anything except hold wealth that seems to accumulate ' She paused for a moment. Thomas tried to conjure up an image of Arthur Sandler, the enigma at the center of the case.
Sandler's finances were like the master himself, invisible but very much alive.
'What do you think it's all worth?' she asked.
'Zenger guessed twelve million. Tops.'
'Try again.'
'More?'
'We're figuring it conservatively and we've got it up to fifty million.
That's five zero. And it's still growing. The more you trace, the more you find. It simply doesn't end' 'Jesus ' he said with a low whistle and now, suddenly, an uneasy fearful feeling.
'You could finance a small country with money like that.'
'You said it, I didn't There was a pause on both ends of the line.
When she spoke again there was uncharacteristic concern in her voice.
'Tom?'
'What?'
'You know you might consider dropping it. The whole thing's starting to look a lot kinkier than anyone realized.'
'I should just drop it?' he scoffed.
'Maybe a different approach would be better. A newspaper expose which then tosses it at the feet of the justice Department. it's just a suggestion.'
He could feel a headache begin.
'It's not quite that easy after someone has fried your office,' he said.
He pondered it. She, too, was thoughtful on the other end.
'You have no idea whom you're dealing with,' she said.
'None at all. If only you could take some sort of precaution…'
'Do you have any police contacts through the paper?'
'What sort of police contacts?'
'Someone on the force who could check fingerprints. On the sly.'
She thought.
'I don't know anyone. Wait! I know someone who does 'Who?'
Another reporter, she explained, a man named Augie Reid. He was an older journalist who now worked Albany for the paper but who over the years had developed friends within the New York State Police. It was worth a shot, she suggested, to try him.
'The girl gave me a photograph,' Thomas said, 'of her father. If I give it to you first thing tomorrow morning will Reid see what he can do with it?'
'He'll do anything,' she said, seeming confident.
'He loves me.'
He changed the subject.
'What's happened about that mugging murder in front of my building?'
'What normally happens about muggings?' she answered.
'Nothing. Why?'
'I got a note from some detective today. They're talking to everyone in the building. They want to see me.' He shrugged.
'The guy didn't even live in our building.'
He could hear distant traffic in the background, and Mrs. Ryan's discordant piano was playing upstairs. Andrea continued to speak.
'You didn't tell me the end of the first story,' she said.
'Which?'
'The automobile claims case. What finally happened?'
'I lost it,' he said.
'The woman who came to me was lying completely.'
The afternoon of the next day Thomas walked down Third Avenue to the Nineteenth Precinct. He asked for Detective Aram Shassad by name and was shown through a large squad room cluttered with desks, chairs, and patrolmen in uniform. Then he was guided upstairs to where Shassad sat alone in the small space he shared with Hearn.
'I'm Thomas Daniels,' said Thomas, offering his hand.
'I received a note saying you wanted to see me.'
'Seventy-third Street?' asked the harried Shassad.
'Yes, 'Of course. Sit down.'
'I don't know how much I'll be able to help you Thomas said.
'I didn't know the victim.'
'We're talking to everyone' said Shassad.
'Formality really.'
'I understand. I'm an attorney-, 'I see' said Shassad.
'Single? No wife?,? Thomas nodded.
At that time Patrick Hearn entered the cubicle, drew up a chair and sat at his own desk. Shassad introduced his partner brusquely to Daniels.
He also sought to dispel the inner dislike and distrust he had of lawyers. Lawyers and judges, to Shassad, were the people who kept the felons on the street.
Shassad briefly outlined the problem with which the police were posed.
A homicide had been committed in front of Daniels's building. Was Thomas home that night or at that hour, they asked, and had he seen or heard anything at all unusual? They omitted mentioning that they had linked the dead man with a woman, and that the victim had stepped from Daniels's building just prior to being murdered.
'To tell you the truth' said Thomas routinely,
'I left the building in the middle of the night' Hearn's attention perked, as did Shassad's.
'Why did you do that?' asked Hearn politely.
Thomas explained about the fire in his office.
'Do you know what time it was?'
Thomas thought for a moment.
'Yes, I should be able to recall exactly. Let me think.' He pondered it for a moment then answered assuredly.
'Three forty-five.'
Hearn and Shassad recognized the almost pinpoint time of the slaying.
But they refused to even exchange a glance.
