"Thank you; I'll be back shortly." Sandy left Winthrop's office and walked a few paces. Paul Keyes's name appeared on an open door. Sandy closed it behind him and went to the desk. He punched the telephone for a line and dialed his home number in New York. The answering machine picked up. He laid the phone on the desk and started looking; it took only a moment to slide out the steno panel and find the piece of paper taped to its edge. He repeated the combination several times to himself, then turned to the safe.
It was a good four feet high, an old-fashioned model with a large center knob. Sandy went to work. Nervous as he was, it took two trips back to the desk before he got the combination right. He turned the handle, and the safe door swung open.
The safe was divided into a dozen compartments, and there was no way to guess where Martindale's letter might be, so Sandy began at the top left, riffling through every file and envelope in the safe. He had spent ten minutes working his way to the bottom right of the safe when he heard voices in the hallway. People were beginning to return from lunch.
Sandy took out a batch of blue legal folders from the compartment and went through them. The very last one bore Martin-dale's name. Sandy opened it and found a single, sealed envelope. On it, written by hand, was the message: "To be opened in the event of my untimely death." It was signed by Peter Martindale.
The door to Paul Keyes's office opened slightly, and a man stood there, apparently talking to someone in the hallway. Sandy straightened up and stuffed the blue folder containing the envelope into his belt, buttoned his coat, and picked up the phone. "Yes, yes," he began saying. "That's all very well, but we've got to get moving on this." He pretended to listen.
Paul Keyes finished his conversation and turned to walk into his office. He stopped when he saw Sandy. "What-"
Sandy covered the phone with his hand. "I'm sorry, this must be your office," he said.
"Yes, it is," Keyes replied, looking offended.
"I'm very sorry, but Mark Winthrop sent me in here to use the phone." He glanced down and, to his horror, saw that the safe door was still open.
"It's quite all right," Keyes said, entering the room.
"I wonder if you'd be kind enough to give me just another moment's privacy," Sandy said. "I'm nearly finished."
"Oh, of course," Keyes said. He stepped back into the hall and half closed the door behind him.
"Look," Sandy said into the phone, into his answering machine, "I'm not going to be back in New York until Monday, so I'm just going to have to rely on you to handle this the best way you can." He reached out with a foot and pushed the safe door closed. "I would be very grateful if you would do that," he said, continuing his half of the supposed conversation. "Thank you so much." He hung up the phone, took a quick step to the safe, pulled up on the handle, and spun the dial. He made it back to the desk before Keyes was upon him.
"I am sorry for the imposition," he said to the lawyer. "I think Mark must have thought you'd be out for a while."
"Quite all right," Keyes said, holding the door open for Sandy.
Sandy left the office, and he felt Keyes's eyes on his back as he returned to Winthrop's office.
"Oh, hello," Cara said. "Turns out I didn't need your advice. The trust is revocable, and I'm revoking it. It was very simple; we needn't have come into town, after all."
"Good. All ready to go, then?"
"All ready."
Sandy extended his hand to Winthrop. "So nice to meet you," he said. "I really can't thank you enough. Ah, for handling Cara's problem so expeditiously." He took Cara's elbow and guided her out of the office.
"Did you get it?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth as they walked down the hallway toward the reception room.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I certainly did."
CHAPTER 46
They got into the car. Sandy took out the legal folder, ripped open the envelope, and turned on the dome light. He read quickly.
"Jesus Christ!" he said. "He's done more than relate what happened; he's completely reversed our positions. Listen to this: 'Mr. Kinsolving then told me that if I didn't murder his wife, he would kill my wife, Helena, and see that I was blamed. It was only under the greatest duress that I acceded to his wishes. I was very frightened of Mr. Kinsolving.'"
"It doesn't surprise me," Cara said.
"He's me and I'm him. The police would have a field day with this."
"I'm glad we got hold of it," Cara said. "If Peter had accidentally died and Keyes had opened that, well, I don't know what would have happened."
"Do you suppose he made more than one copy?"
Cara looked at the document. "This is an original signature, and it's notarized. I don't think he'd have gone to that trouble twice; he'd have felt safe, knowing this was in Keyes's safe."
Sandy looked at his watch. "We're due in Keller's office."
"Let's go."
Sandy pushed in the car's cigarette lighter, waited for it to heat, then set fire to the document. He got out of the car and held the flaming paper over a steel waste basket until it was nearly consumed, then dropped it into the basket, watching it turn to ash. Then he took Cara's hand and headed for the elevators.
Harry Keller turned out to be extraordinarily handsome- thick gray hair, dark eyes, a tall, trim figure, and a gorgeously tailored blue suit. He made them comfortable, then turned to Sandy. "Tell me how I can help you, Mr. Kinsolving."
"I'll be as concise as I can," Sandy said. "An art dealer named Peter Martindale sold two pictures to a man named Lars Larsen, the owner of a vineyard I recently purchased. The pictures were part of the property I bought, and I have been reliably informed that the larger of the two, allegedly a John Wylie oil, is not genuine."
"What is the value of the painting?" Keller asked.
"Larsen paid Martindale forty thousand dollars for it, and the dealer says the picture is now worth seventy-five."
"It would be, if it were genuine," Cara said.
"Ms. Mason, do you have some expertise in this field?"
"One of my degrees is in art history, and I was married to Peter Martindale, until recently. I worked in the gallery with him."
"In your opinion, is Mr. Martindale of such a moral makeup that he would perpetrate a fraud?"
"Indeed, yes."
"Would you testify to that effect in a court of law?"
"I would, if you think it would help."
The lawyer turned back to Sandy. "Mr. Kinsolving, what would you like to do about this?"
"As the current owner of the picture, I'd like to sue Martindale. Larsen has indicated he'd be happy to join me in the suit."
"Mmmm. The usual procedure would be for you to sue Larsen and Martindale, but if Larsen's willing, we could do it that way. What would you hope to accomplish in a lawsuit?"
"I want the current value of the painting, if it were genuine; I want Martindale to pay all of my legal bills in the suit."
"That seems reasonable, and, assuming we can get independent corroboration of the falsity of the painting, I believe we could accomplish that. In fact, I think we should be able to accomplish that in a settlement. Mr. Martindale has his reputation to think of, after all."
"I'm not much concerned about Mr. Martindale's reputation," Sandy said. "In fact, I think I would be performing a sort of public service if this incident became public knowledge."
Keller smiled slightly. "I suppose that in the normal course of events, the news might get out. Have you considered criminal fraud charges?"
"I don't want to send the man to jail. I think the spotlight of public attention on this incident would serve to teach him his lesson, not to mention the money it will cost him."
"Just as well," Keller said. "Unless we could establish that this is a common practice of Martindale's, the courts would rather see such a matter settled in a civil case."
"Will you represent me in this matter?" Sandy asked.