"Well" he said, fumbling with the words. His heart left his throat and tumbled back to where it belonged in his chest.
"Life is filled with surprises."
He eyed Leslie appraisingly as she stood by a light switch in the living room. He was close enough to see her eye movement, close enough to notice that she was checking to be sure he was alone.
Satisfied, she stepped away from the light switch. With a graceful, feminine gesture she swept her skirt under her and sat down on his sofa.
"You lied to me," she said.
"At least three times."
"I? Lied to you?" he repeated. Both anger and confusion marked his words. He tried to fathom her statement.
"Yes she said flatly, as if it made no difference. But of course it did.
He pulled off his coat and tossed it onto a chair. He sat down a few feet away from her across an open space of room. In one of the tributary channels of his mind it occurred to him that his door had shown no signs of tampering. How-had she gained entry-magic?
"Lie number one: You told me you have an office here. You don't. Two:
You said originally that you had access to the will. You haven't. And three, you said we were speaking in confidence.
You've broken that confidence. Those men tonight were police."
"You're right," he conceded.
"Well?" she asked impatiently.
"Aren't you going to offer an excuse?"
"Should I bother?"
"I wish you would" He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, acting just as a witness must when trapped with perjured testimony.
"My offices were completely destroyed by arson. You saw what was left.
The arson may or may not have had to do with this case" He looked at her carefully, trying unsuccessfully to see how the story was being received.
"When you came and presented your story, I believed you. I wanted to take your case and retain you as a client. So I misrepresented my files as being intact. I needed time."
"What about the police?"
"I had to account for my time on the night of the fire. They were questioning me on another matter."
"And the will?"
"I don't have it."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know. I'm grateful for the benefit of the doubt," he said heavily.
Her left hand played with a strand of brown hair by her shoulder.
"What worries me," she said thoughtfully, 'is how proficient you are at lying. Tell me, is it hereditary?"
He let a moment pass before answering.
"I might ask you the same thing."
Her hand was still.
"Excuse me?"
"A lot of people maintain that you don't exist' ' "They're all lying' " she said with a stiff smile.
"In fact he continued, 'you're the only one who maintains that you exist. That's something of a minority opinion " "What about you?" she asked.
"Do you still believe me?"
He allowed a few moments before answering.
"Yes' he said finally.
"But I wouldn't mind an answer or two."
"Such as?"
"For starters, how did you get out of that garage?"
"I can't tell you."
He looked at her with a pained expression.
"I'm sorry," she said firmly.
"If enough attempts are made on your life, you'll always have a few escape tricks ready, too. Next question " How did you get past those locks?" he asked, motioning toward the apartment door. She smiled.
"Your mistake is with your reasoning" she said.
"The way you phrased the question precluded outside possibilities.
I didn't use the door." His gaze was skeptical.
"Look in the next room," she said.
Thomas was hesitant to take his eyes off her. But he stepped into the bedroom and glanced around. The small pane of one of the windows was broken inward. She'd climbed the fire escape from the outside, broken the glass, then unlocked the window and climbed in.
"Pretty fair job of breaking and entering," he said without admiration.
"Have you had practice?"
"I needed to get in," she said.
"I was frightened."
"Of what?"
"Of those men!"
"They we're merely local police. Detectives. From a homicide investigation. He grimaced slightly and sat down again.
"I don't think running away from them made them any less suspicious.
And the vanishing act. That will have them working overtime' ' "I'm very selective about whom I trust," she said evenly"I consider myself honored " He was about to ask why he'd been so chosen as a recipient of trust. Then the telephone began. It rang twice loudly.
"It was ringing when I came in, too," she offered.
"Someone's been trying to get you " He looked at her as he picked up the receiver.
"If I'd known you were going to be here I would have had you take a message' ' Thomas picked up the telephone and heard the voice of Andrea Parker on the other end. To say she was angry would have been to understate greatly.
"What the hell are you trying to do to me?"
"What are you talking about?" asked Thomas.
"The fingerprints" snapped Andrea, not assuaged a bit.
"Did you level with me a about them?"
"Completely."
"The one thing I don't need is a hassle."
"You're rambling. Tell me what you're talking about."
"The fingerprints " she said icily.
Thomas turned and looked at Leslie. She was still seated across the room on a sofa, now leafing through a magazine. But Thomas got the impression that she was listening to his end of the conversation very intently.
"Go ahead", said Thomas noncommittally.
"Okay," said Andrea, calming slightly.
"Augie Reid sent them to the State Detective Bureau. Nothing. Then, automatically, they went into a New York Police Department computer at One Police Plaza. From there, when nothing turned up in N.Y.C. records, they went through a computer linked to Washington. It took a couple of hours."
"And?" asked Thomas calmly.
"Nothing turned up in New York. But in that Federal computer the lights must have started flashing from here to hell and back."
"Oh, really?" asked Thomas with guarded evenness. He watched Leslie as he listened. Her position on the sofa was now subtly seductive. Or perhaps it was the angle from which he was watching her.
"I had a visitor this afternoon," said Andrea.
"A Fed."
"A what?" He'd heard it properly the first time, but wanted to be sure.
"A Fed. A pricky career Treasury Department type named Hammond. Paul Hammond. Name mean anything?"
"Nothing. Should it?"
"Secret Service" crackled Andrea as Thomas Daniels listened without replying.
"Those prints blew a fucking gasket on the Federal computer. Not only were the prints classified as to identity, but this Hammond prick was God-awful anxious to find out where I'd gotten them."
"Did you tell him?"
"No. But I might have to."
Why?"
"I told him they were from a minor piece of evidence in an article on a case I was working on. Not important at all."
"What did he say?"
"He told me I was a liar. Which I was."
"Then what?"
"Then I told him I wasn't telling him anything else. I told him I had the right to protect my source of information. He cursed my God-damned ear off and told me I'd be getting written orders from the nearest Federal court to tell everything. Then he stalked out."
Thomas put his hand slowly to his head, as if to welcome an enormous headache. He was still looking at the woman who, in some way, had begun this.
"I'd love the publicity of a court fight," she added, 'but I don't have the stomach for it. Not now. And I doubt that this is the end of this."
"No, I doubt it, too," Thomas said with resignation.
There was a pause on Andrea's end.
"Tom," she finally said, "this is my first brush with Feds and I'm not looking forward to the next one. But…" she added slowly "I did ask around a little bit!
"About what?"
"Fingerprints in that category. The classified category."
"And?"
"One gets two words of advice on any investigation involving prints like these." "Go ahead ' "Drop it!" It's more than either of us bargained for."
Thomas slowly placed the telephone back down on its hook. He could feel a thin film of sweat on his face and he felt slightly hot. He also thought he felt a sensation he'd not felt for a long time, and never in such a circumstance. Fear.
He turned to the woman in his apartment.
"What was that?" she asked.
"Really want to know?" He smiled.
"Sure" "A girl friend;' he said.
"I'm glad I didn't say anything," she said.
"I might have made her jealous."
He smiled weakly and searched uneasily for the proper words.
"Look" he said, groping.
"This is all getting very much out of control " He paused.
"If I've betrayed your trust, I'm sorry. But I've been trying to put things together on this case as best I can under the circumstances." He hesitated.
"Maybe that's not very good.
Maybe what you need is a bigger firm with more power to represent you.
Why don't we both think things over for a day or two?
Then you can decide whether or not you wish to continue with me.
And vice versa."
She peered at him. He had the distinct impression of being transparent.
"You're trying to get out of the case. Aren't you?" she said.
He wanted to say 'no. But so far, lies hadn't been successful.
"Maybe," he said, wondering how his father might have played the hand.
"All right," she said.
"You think about it. And I'll think about it.
But… you won't have to go very far to find me."
"What do you mean' "I'm not leaving here' tonight' she said politely.
"There's no way I'm stepping out on the street"' "What are you talking about?"
"I can't take the chance that your police friends have found where I was staying. Not in the dark anyway. So' she said casually, "I didn't think you'd mind if I installed myself in your study. The sofa looks comfortable"
"The final word'in lawyer-client relationships," he mumbled. But then, uneasily, he was convinced he had to agree.
The sound of the bedroom door opening made him turn over on his mattress. He was instantly awake. The light in the room was dim but there was no doubt what he was hearing.
He suddenly felt sweaty. He tried to think of something to take in his hand as a weapon. But there was nothing.
The door opened fully. He sat up quickly. In the dimness he saw her hands. They were empty.
"I'm sorry," she said very softly.
"I couldn't sleep Relieved, he leaned back against the headboard.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
. She moved forward. There was light from the other room now.
She moved to the edge of his bed and sat down. She looked at him.
Her manner was totally different now, as if she were a different woman.
No longer the toughened woman used to defending herself Now she was nine-year-old Leslie, defenseless and threatened.
"I'm worried," she said.
"What about?"
"You, "Me?" He was baffled.
"Why?"
"You're hesitating" she said.
"I'm afraid you're going to drop my case."
"Jesus," he thought to himself. Here he was half scared of her.
And now she was upset that she'd be dropped as a client.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I've trusted you this far. I've trusted you with my story, with my claim, practically with my life. I was speaking rashly before. I was upset" Her hands were folded in her lap.
The thin nightgown, one of Andrea's, clung snugly to her legs and body.
"I don't want to start all over with someone else," she said.
"I want you to continue."
She sat sideways to him. He could see the nightgown's low neckline.
Her face in the soft light was even more delicate and alluring than it was by day. He knew he was being manipulated. She established eye-to-eye contact, but he broke away from it, looking down her trim arms to where the hands and fingers were folded in her lap.
"That telephone call earlier," she said.
"It concerned me, didn't it?"
He didn't speak.
"The truth," she said evenly.
"Yes ' "You don't trust me anymore, do you?" she asked.
"You think there's something wrong."
"I took your case for two reasons," he said softly.
"One, I needed money. Two, I believed you. I believe in simple justice under the law, you see" His smile was pained.
"You appeared with a credible, interesting Story. You had been wronged. You had documented proof and a certain amount of apparent sincerity. I felt you deserved your day in court."
"But something has changed she observed.
"Why are your fingerprints in Washington?"
For a moment her eyes were angry. But they softened quickly.
She calmed herself. Her body was motionless. The question hung in the air.
"How long have you been checking on me?" she asked.
"From the start?"
"I do background on all my clients' he said.
"You believe in simple justice and 'the honor of the individual" she said, mocking slightly.
"But with a security probe tossed in For good measure" "I'd feel a lot better if you'd answer my question" "Beneath it all, you're as cynical as the next man." She looked away.
"But you do deserve an answer."
"I'm waiting" Again there was a pause.
"My father," she said.
"I'm afraid nothing's obvious ' "Arthur Sandler was a spy. You've confirmed that for yourself.
He's still alive and he still knows the proper people in United States intelligence. He doesn't want me alive," she said bitterly "Of course my fingerprints are on file somewhere. And if you've been good enough to trigger that central computer, it's only a matter of time before my father comes looking for me again' "If you're claiming his estate, it's only a matter of time anyway."
"True," she said. She fell silent, reflective.
"Consider Arthur Sandler. For every minute of his life that you've been able to account for already, he's wielded power. Every day, from every angle.
In whatever identity he has now, he knows I'm the one person who might give him away. Do you need any further explanation of why my fingerprints would be on file?"
Gently, with a certain defensiveness, she was resting her case, leaving her story open to his judgment. She waited for a reply.
"What I need" he said slowly, 'are photocopies of your documents. Your birth certificate. The marriage certificate. May I?"
She broke into the first natural, calm smile he'd seen from her.
"All right," she said, and nodded enthusiastically.
"I'm going to disappear for a few days. I want to build a case for you. Will you be able to take care of yourself for a week?"
"I've taken care of myself for over twenty years" she said.
Her self-assurance was back. Theyd reached an understanding.
She looked at him for a moment, then, in her excitement, leaned toward him. She embraced him as a friend would, then slowly she felt his strong arms around her shoulders. Her own arms responded in the same manner. She pulled away from him slightly.
"I'm glad we finally trust each other," she said.
"It was lonely in the next room " Understanding, yet mystified, he watched her as she stood up for a moment. Gracefully she reached to the front of the nightgown.
The light was dim, but he could see every bit of her perfectly. She slid the two short sleeves away from her arms. He was almost speechless.
"Leslie…?" he stammered.
"It's my decision. Don't say no."
The thin gown slipped away, sliding to the floor. She stood before him, slim, delicate. He was no longer conscious of the scar across her throat. His eyes were elsewhere as she moved onto the bed.
He hesitated.
"I thought…?"
"I changed my mind " she said spiritedly with her gentle British accent.
"Now. No more discussion."
As his anxious arms reached for her, her own hands, the hands that had left the fingerprints on the photograph, reached to him and formed an embrace.