He could see her face now, clearly enough to recognize her.
'I'm afraid my client owes her counsel a lot of answers' he said.
'Meaning?'
'Jacobus'' he said.
There was a hesitancy, then, 'What about him?'
'You should know,' he said.
'You killed him. Whoever you are.'
'Tom,' she said, acting hurt but shocked.
'What are-?'
'No, no 'he said, his voice rising, 'no more of the double talk. No more of the deception. I want the truth out of you. For once. I'm still your attorney and I'm still on your side. But I'm tired of being the dumb sucker in the middle.' 'I've never lied to you,' she said defensively.
'Not true.'
'Why?' she retorted sharply.
'It's not what you say, my dear,' he said caustically.
'It's what you don't say. Right now, for example. You still haven't denied shooting Jacobus ' She didn't answer. She took one step a4ay in the darkness, making him squint to see her.
'A nice little old man 'he said.
'Eccentric, maybe. Quarrelsome, at times. But you killed him, didn't you? Why?'
'All right ' she said, turning toward him.
'Yes. I did. So what?'
'So what? You shot him and you say
'So what'?'
'He was trying to kill you,' she said.
'He and some others 'Oh, brother,' he said with disbelief 'Tell me a better one. Explain the man in the blue car.'
'You'll know eventually. Soon, in point of fact 'Yes, sure,' he said.
'That's what I mean. You never lie completely, just omit the truth.
The man at Grover's house a few mornings ago was the same man who was in the parking garage the night you disappeared. Correct?'
'Correct ' 'And yet at Grover's you wouldn't even look at him, much less admit that you knew him. Correct?'
'Correct again.'
'And you do know him. He's a… how shall I phrase it? An 'associate' of yours. He got you out of the parking garage. You were in his car. The trunk, I'd guess.'
'Very good'' she allowed.
'And Peter Whiteside and George McAdam,' he pressed.
'They're alive, aren't they? As alive as you or I 'Of course,' she admitted.
'Their names on the Avianca passenger list was a hoax. I've always known that.'
'Then why-?'
'I didn't want you seeing them.'
'And the reason is that they could identify the real Leslie Mc- Adam,' he suggested.
'Correct?'
She nodded.
'What about the real Leslie?' he pursued.
'Arthur Sandler's daughter. Dead or alive?' He waited. When she didn't answer, he thought he knew.
'Dead?' he concluded.
'Right?'
She took a step or two away again. His attention was riveted upon her.
He half expected her to make a run through the darkness. Or pull a weapon.
'Well?' he said.
'I came here for answers. Before I do one more thing for you, I want answers. And you know where you can start?
With your identity. I want to know who you are and what you want.'
'You'll know soon enough,' she said, turning again.
'Men?'
'Soon,' was the calculated reply. But the voice was not Leslie's. It was a man's voice and came from behind Thomas.
'Now, in fact' The accent was American. Thomas Daniels spun around in terror, his vision clouded by his own breath.
But he could see well enough to discern the features of the man before him. The man from the parking garage, from the blue car, from Grover's front porch. The man was standing fifteen feet away and holding out before him the unmistakable form of a pistol, a long-nosed weapon with a thin mean-looking barrel which strongly suggested the presence of a silencer.
'Please,' said Paul Hammond, hesitantly and mustering courage.
'No heroics.'
Thomas looked at the two of them, bitterly and with exhaustion.
He was freezing. He'd been awake for twenty hours. He was too tired and cold for heroics.
'Damn you both' he said bitterly. He looked at Leslie, the most fascinating woman he'd ever met.
'Damn you in particular,' he cursed. How could he maneuver her now?
'It's all been necessary,' she said. That soothingly sweet voice again, the cultivated accent of royalty.
'If you've been frightened or inconvenienced, I'm truly sorry.'
'Inconvenienced?' He looked at the form of the gun.
'And you're 'sorry'?' He looked back and forth again.
'If you're so damned sorry, why did you bring me here?'
'Because, Mr. Daniels,' said the gunman, 'your time has come.'
Leslie spoke next.
'You're going to disappear,' she said sweetly but authoritatively.
'And I assure you, no one will ever find you.'
Part Seven
Chapter 31
Shassad grabbed the telephone impatiently as it jangled on his desk. An amateur like Thomas Daniels, lawyer no less, had managed to slip away from a professional surveillance team. Shassad was sore. Genuinely angry. It not only confirmed that Daniels was every bit as shifty as Shassad had thought, but also that the Department was promoting imbeciles to the rank of Detective. Daniels had now been missing for two days.
'Sergeant Shassad?' asked the exuberant voice on the line.
'De-tec-tive?' Shassad grumbled, already recognizing the caller.
'What is it now, Gary?'
'This is your favorite Keeper of Kadavers said Gary Dedmarsh, speaking by reason of vocation and avocation, and buoyant enough to refer to himself by the title he'd newly self-bestowed.
'Guess what I've got for you.'
'For Christ's sake, Gary,' implored Shassad,
'I'm not in the mood for games. What do you want?'
'I've got a floater for you. Someone you knew.'
