Gwen and I spent nearly an hour reviewing the police file together. I'd like to say we learned a great many insights into his death, but I had my suspicions that the police file would not prove to be a great help to us, which would also explain why Chief Pirelli was so eager to let me have it in the first place. It didn't take for it to appear as though my suspicions had been proven correct, for Gwen became so upset by the apparent whitewashing of this investigation that she decided to go for a walk to calm down, and asked me to call for her if there was any information of actual consequence contained in the file. She assured me that her father's former servants, who were now employees of hers as the sole heiress, were still working full-time and would be on hand to deliver the message...
Sunday, August 10th, 1947
Afternoon
1662 Seagrove Lane, Sanford Estate
Long Island, New York
I was of course reluctant to let her go. Gwen was a key part of the investigation now, and if anyone with ill intention knew that...well there wasn't much I could do from all the way across the mansion if someone decided to attack her. And there was still the prospect that if this was a murder, the Sanfords themselves may have been targets, meaning Gwen could still be very much in danger. I doubted I could go on in this case if something should have happened to her, I would have been driven to despair, possibly even resignation. But Gwen assured me she would be safe, and it was then that she showed me something that I certainly hadn't been expecting, a Colt .45, standard issue during the war. I wasn't surprised that Stephen Sanford, an arms manufacturer and a known gun enthusiast, would keep several firearms in his home, but I was surprised to see Gwen with one. It was yet another unexpected side of her.
"My father gave me this for my sixteenth birthday," she sighed.
I was stunned. "He gave you that?"
"But that wasn't all, he actually gave me a choice between this and a .357."
"That's some birthday present. I will say this, it shows he had trust in you."
"I guess so, but I know the real reason was because he didn't know what else to get me. He grew up in a culture worlds away from the everyday lives of children in white picket neighborhoods. He didn't understand why kids would want a new vinyl record or a bike, those things were frivolous, they were things my mother understood, but not him. To him, a gun was as endearing as any present, as a hug or a kiss."
"It's an odd way of showing you care, but I suppose he could've done worse..."
"Oh certainly," Gwen answered, though her tome indicated anything but certainty.
"You don't strike me as the kind who takes to guns, if you don't mind my saying."
"I don't care for them, no. But I can and will use it if the need arises. Daily practice at a private shooting range, another of my father's "activities", ensures that."
I shook my head, finding Mr. Sanford becoming a more unusual man all the time. First giving Gwen a gun, then giving her lessons? These were unusual things to be taking place in any household, but particularly one as wealthy and prominent as the Sanfords, who could afford to pay for round the clock security if they had wished, if Mr. Sanford had wished. According to what I knew of him, he was a very frugal man when it came such matters, not willing to pay a single dime beyond what he was already giving the usual staff of servants. Yet he invested such time in turning his daughter into a capable wielder. This wasn't adding up to much of anything. Unless...unless the old man was so paranoid that something was going to happen that he decided to arm his own family in order to protect himself. The thought struck me like s bolt of lightning. I nearly found myself opening my mouth to tell Gwen, but I knew it wasn't worth saying now, it was still just speculation, at least until I found evidence to support it. Even so, I had just become more convinced that whatever happened to Stephen Sanford was no accident.
"Well look, take care, all right? I can't solve this case without you."
"I will," she said quietly, and with that she slipped out of the library.
It was just another little piece of the larger overall puzzle. A small insight into the mind of Stephen Sanford and his only living child. The image of Gwen holding that gun, another pained reminder of her orphaned status, a symbol of that which she both disdained yet was practically forced to hold near...it was another frozen moment in time sure to follow me, sure to haunt me, until closure had been obtained. I tried to get back to work to allow the image to fade, and slowly it did, but it always remained there, in the back of my mind.
It had now been several minutes since Gwen's departure, and I still found myself no closer to finding anything of value in the police investigation file. Stephen Sanford was an extremely private man, of that there was little doubt. While he wasn't shy of the press, he rarely ever discussed personal matters, nor apparently, did he reveal much of his motives to Gwen. Aside from the things that everybody knew, that he was a wealthy and powerful businessman, he kept almost exclusively to his inner circle. I'd hoped that perhaps the case file from the police investigation would at least shed some light on these matters. Would perhaps provide some reasoning behind their theory of suicide. Maybe some witness statements from people who could back up the claim that he was devastated at the losses his company was dealing with, that he was in a state that could lead to a manic decision like the one purportedly taken that fateful morning.
Unfortunately, the majority of investigation had established little more than the basic facts of the case that were published in the paper. That Sanford, his chauffeur Graham Godwin, and his business partner Alistair Burton, had gone out for a drive that morning, that at some point the car had ventured into a secluded area, and that it had crashed into the tree, causing a fire to erupt, killing Sanford instantly, yet miraculously leaving the other two unscathed. The police seemed to be under the impression that Sanford had somehow taken control of the car, and that this was how he killed himself. Godwin and Burton survived by throwing themselves out of the car at the last possible moment. The motive? He was in dire financial straits. He couldn't live with the possibility of losing everything. So, feeling the squeeze of his mounting bills and with no where else to turn, he had made the fateful decision that day. Perhaps he'd even planned it out. Intending all along to end his life on that drive all along.
On paper at least, the police explanation seemed somewhat plausible. It didn't directly contradict any known facts. Even so, I felt in my gut that there was something not quite right with these findings. There was something missing. For one thing, if Sanford wanted to end his own life, why do it this way? There were sinpler means of suicide. A firearm of which he owned plenty, or an overdose. Leaping from one of these balconies would have sufficed for that matter, as crude and terrible as it would have been to his family. Furthermore, he would have been taking a tremendous risk by attempting to do this with two other men in the car who could have stopped him. What if he had failed to completely take control of the car and had only ended up badly injured instead? It was far from a sure thing.
No, if he'd been intent on suicide, this wouldn't be logical. But there were other reasons for my suspicions to be aroused. Namely, business reasons. Sanford Munition Co. was jointly owned by Stephen Sanford and Alistair Burton. If both men had been killed in the crash, the company would've been in even deeper trouble than before. I didn't know much about Sanford, but I did know that Sanford Munition Co. was one of the few things in this world he was known to deeply care for. It was his inheritance, passed down from his own father. I also knew he was a family man, and if the company failed, his daughter would have been financially ruined.
On the other hand, if there was foul play involved, there was good reason to suspect Burton. He was a shadowy figure about whom little was known, besides the fact that he was part of that fabled inner circle of Sanford's, and that he stood to gain everything in the company from his death. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was becoming that Gwen was right, this was murder. The question was then, if it was murder, then who? Burton? He seemed the obvious suspect, but I couldn't rule anyone else out. Just as I had begun to give up hope on finding anything of value in the case file, I reached the very back of the folder, and there it was: a solitary witness statement, and some testimony from Mr. Burton, as well other servants in the Dare household. It wasn't much, but it was all I had to go on...
"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Allison?"
The voice shocked me so much, I nearly jumped out of the chair. I tried to calm my nerves as I glanced up at the middle aged maid addressing me. She looked harmless enough. But I was starting to realize that whoever had done this to Mr. Sanford would have almost certainly had to have either come from this household or been very intimate with its inner workings. I couldn't let my guard down for even a second.
"Ah, no thank you, I'm fine. But will you please tell Miss Sanford that I would like to speak with her privately? it's in regards the case."
"Yes of course, Mr. Allison."
I nodded my thanks as she retreated from the library, leaving me alone once more. Figuring I had a few minutes at most before Gwen returned, I began to read all the statements that had been given to the police. The most important, and as it turned out only, eyewitness statement that had led to the police to their conclusion was given by man identified as Carter Matthews who lived just a few hundred yards away from the murder. It seems Mr. Matthews had told the police that he had been talking a morning stroll when he actually saw the car veer suddenly and crash. He became understandably alarmed by this terrible sequence of events, and quickly rushed to the scene. He said that he saw Godwin and Burton leaving the scene at about 1:30. This lined up with Burton's account, which was also contained in the file, in which he stated that they had left at around noon and gone at a leisurely pace, discussing business dealings, until suddenly Sanford suggested they take a different route, a more secluded, sparsely traveled road.
About half an hour later, Burton said, Sanford violently took control of the car and drove it into the tree. When police drove the same route as Burton had described, at the same speed at which he had claimed they were going, they found that it took them about 55 minutes to reach the bend, and about half an hour from there to reach the scene of the accident. In other words, the testimony seemed reasonable. Of course, it was possible Burton was lying about how fast they were going, but in the absence of other incriminating evidence, this would never hold up in a court of law. I needed more information. The servants didn't have much to say, other than it had been a typical morning. When asked if any developments had taken place recently however, several said that there had been a new maid in the house just weeks before the murder. Mr. Sanford apparently thought so highly of her that he gave her a guest house of her own on the estate property. A Miss Vera Walters...
I looked up again as I heard the door opening. As I glanced up in my guarded state, I half exepcted Miss Walters herself to walk through that door, but it was just Gwen, and behind her, a man I recognized by his photograph in the police file: the Sanford chauffeur: Graham Godwin.
He was a tall man, tall and slender. His classy attire, deferential posture, well-groomed appearance, and graceful mannerisms were that of a gentleman. I couldn't imagine him having any involvement in this case. And yet, I knew firsthand how deceiving appearances could be.
"Miss Nealy sent for me. Did you find out anything?" Gwen asked me.
I figured Miss Nealy must've been the middle aged maid I had spoken to earlier. "Not much more than we already knew. But I did come across some witness statements. And-" a thought reoccurred to me, one that had struck me as strange from the very beginning, as I looked at Graham Godwin's stoic face again. "And I noticed that you had nothing to say, Mr. Godwin."
The chauffeur nodded solemnly. He spoke with an accent that seemed to have a soft Scottish lilt, which only added to his aura of gentility. "I have humbly served the Sanford family for most of my life. It is not my place to speak of their affairs publicly."
I pondered this. Was it genuine humility or a convenient excuse? I decided to humor him. Anything to keep him from suspecting that I was on to him.
"A man out of time in this modern age, I'd say. Mr. Sanford was very lucky to have you."
Godwin nodded grimly. "Thank you, sir. We all miss him terribly. Miss Sanford was just speaking of you. She says you are a private investigator?"
"That is correct, sir," I confirmed, checking for any signs of nervousness or anxiety and finding none. I still refused to let my guard down however. I was speaking to one of only two people who were present at the scene of the accident. Assuming murder, there was at least a fifty-fifty chance I was speaking to a killer.
"Mr. Sanford was a complex man with complex motives. I'm afraid that is all I can say."
"Not to worry, I promised Gwen I'd get to the truth, and that's what I intend to do." I assured him.
"I wish you the best of luck."
"Mr. Godwin, may we please have some privacy?" Gwen asked.
"Yes, Miss Sanford, of course, I apologize for imposing."
"That's quite all right."
And just as quickly as he'd arrived, Graham Godwin was gone. The consummate professional, I couldn't help but think. Was this mild-mannered chauffeur really capable of a crime so heinous? It was a question only a more protracted search would reveal the answer to.
I focused my gaze back on Gwen as she pulled up a chair next to me. She looked somewhat calmer than before, which was a good sign. We were only just getting started. "He's quite the gentleman, isn't he?"
"He certainly is. He's been my father's driver since before I was born. Incredibly loyal. One of the very few people who ever earned my father's trust."
"Trust?" And as I pondered that one word, as it made its way into the corners of my mind, my instincts kicked in again, spinning the wheels on the beginnings of a new theory of the case. That perhaps this perfect servant, who just happened to be one of three people in that car, who happened to be the one in complete control of the car, wasn't so perfect after all...
"He practically became a member of the family. Sometimes my father wouldn't even have to tell him where to go, he just...knew."
"A consummate professional," I said aloud this time as I picked up the folder with the most critical information we had yet and handed it to Gwen for her to examine. As she was reaching for the folder, our hands brushed, and I felt that current of electricity run through me again, although I tried my best to ignore it. This was becoming ever more difficult, so I tried to focus on a specific part of the dossier to avoid having to meet her gaze. "Well let's see what we've got so far. Seeing as how your father has passed on and Mr. Godwin didn't give a statment, the only account of the incident is from your father's business partner, Alistair Burton. There's no photograph of him here, may I ask if you know what he looks like?"
Gwen shook her head. "I've never met him. He was even more shady and secretive than my father."
"Well, according to the police, everything seemed to support Burton's telling of events. He even had a witness to back up his timeline who said that he witnessed the accident, as well as Burton and Godwin leaving the scene at around 1:30, the approximate time of the crash."
Gwen gave me a dejected look. "So that's it then."
"No, that's not it. And let me tell you why. Eyewitness testimony can be powerful, true. But it can also be subject to manipulation, misidentification, falsification, and human error."
"What are you saying, Ray?"
"I'm saying that the entire case for suicide or accidental death is based on two accounts, one from a person who was in the car, the other from a single eyewitness who didn't even see the actual incident."
"But you just said-"
I smiled because I already knew for a fact that this "witness" was lying. "I said what he claimed, not what actually took place. Take a look at these photos of the scene-" I pointed out several of the photographs I had pored over. It had taken me a while to reach the conclusion I did. I suspected it would not take Gwen nearly so long.
Gwen looked them over for several seconds, and sure enough, I saw her eyes light up, she'd realized it. "There's no skid marks!"
I couldn't help but smile. She was every bit my match in smarts. "No. And one would think that, if, as Mr. Burton and Mr. Matthews had said, there was a violent struggle for the car and a sudden change of direction at a high rate of speed, there would be some evidence of it. And yet the road appears completely undisturbed. This puts serious doubt into the suicide angle. In fact, it seems to suggest that there may not even have been a crash at all."
"A staged scene?" Gwen inquired breathlessly.
"Precisely," I answered. "And there's something else that points in this direction. This report from officers at the scene-" I showed her the paper, which had obviously been either ignored or buried by the police, if not misplaced by sheer incompetence. It blew the entire theory of a crash out of the water.
"Arson?" Gwen said in shock as she read the findings.
"That's right," I agreed. "The police on the scene clearly detected an accelerant which they identified as gasoline. Meaning not only was there no crash, but this whole thing is a set up. Someone wanted to make it appear like a crash to cover up the fact that it was murder. But we'll need to speak to that witness just to make sure."
"So you think Burton could be responsible for this?"
I sighed. The evidence so far was pointing that way, but the truth was far messier. Now that the car crash theory had been practically disproved, it meant Sanford could have been killed at any time from the morning of the 20th until the time when his body was found. It meant that everyone in close proximity to Mr. Sanford, with the means and opportunity, including Gwen, was technically a suspect. And there just wasn't going to be an easy way to tell her this.
"The way I see it, Gwen, there are five clear possibilities here. One: that this is exactly what it seems, exactly what the police said, a suicide. Two: that it was an accident. Three: that a complete stranger killed your father, Four: that someone else from your father's household or family killed him, and Five: that Graham Godwin or Alistair Burton, acting together or independently, killed him."
I then walked her through my logic as to steadily eliminating the other options. For the reasons we had already discussed, I didn't believe options one or two were likely. Three was equally unlikely. Four couldn't be ruled out. Five was probable. That left either four or five as the most likely probabilities.
I had to watch as it finally began to sink in for Gwen that somebody close to her father had committed the ultimate betrayal. She looked so physically ill at this point, I feared she might pass out. I already knew what her next question would be.
"When you say someone from our household-"
"I'm so sorry, Gwen. But it seems your suspicions may be correct. Someone has betrayed both you and your father's trust, and heaven knows how many others. This is a person who is conniving, manipulative, and a menace to society. It could be anyone from your father's inner circle."
As soon as I said that final part, I found myself regretting it, for Gwen appeared to have become expotentially more anxious.
She quickly wiped her tears away. "You don't suppose- that I had anything to do with it, do you?"
"I have no reason to think that, and I will always be truthful with you in who I suspect is the culprit, but you must also promise to be completely truthful with me."
"Of course. I promise."
"Good. I also was hoping you could tell me if you're familiar with a young woman named Vera Walters."
Gwen's eyes lit with recognition at the mention of the name. "Yes, I am. She was new here, but my father already seemed to have taken a liking to her. She worked odd hours, and often took weekend trips to visit relatives. Or so she said. She still lives in that guest house, quite comfortably, but she won't be back in town until tomorrow."
"You...don't sound too impressed by her," I noted as diplomatically as I could manage.
"Oh she's all right I suppose..." She heaved a sigh, as if weighing whether to say more. I wonder if I would have pressed her, but then she resumed, as if to keep our recently made bargain to be completely honest with each other. "Well if you want the truth, Ray, I don't trust her. She was here for a matter of weeks, then this happened. I don't like it. I think something's up."
I placed my hand on her arm in an attempt to calm her. She was so tense, it seemed as if she might shatter at any moment. I couldn't help but feel partly responsible for having caused her to feel this way. I always knew it was a risky venture to allow a client to become so closely involved in case, especially when she had such a intimate ties to the victim. This was my fault. My selfishness for wanting her near me. But it was too late to change that now.
"I'll talk to her the first chance I get. I promise whoever did this won't get away with it."
"I don't know what I'd have done without you." Gwen said gratefully.
"You said it yourself," I replied with a grin, "You'd have kept pressing. I believe you have more than a little investigator in you. That said, I'm glad you came to me, because the police clearly weren't interested in the truth. But together, I think we may just be on to something."
Gwen gave me another one of those smiles that made me glad I had let her assist me. It was this constant back and forth between my head and my heart, and at the moment, my heart was winning.
"I do need to ask you something, Gwen. May I search the rooms? Mr. Godwin's room specifically?"
She didn't respond at first, all I could see was look in her eyes...it was a reflection of what must surely have been in my own. We were all alone in here. I felt my heart pounding in my chest like a drum at an ever increasing tempo. "You may search whatever rooms you need to, on one condition. Actually, make it two."
"And what might those be?"
"The first, that I help you conduct your search. The second, that you stop acting so formal around me. It makes me feel even more aristocratic than many already perceive me, and I don't like that."
"I apologize if I've made you feel uncomfortable in any way. It's a courtesy in my profession to ask this of all our clients. It's not considered proper to simply intrude where one does not belong."
"I trust you."
"You hardly know me, Gwen."
She moved ever closer to me. I could smell her perfume, sweet as a rose from a spring meadow. To understand it you'd have had to have been there. To feel the subconcious gravitational pull that had come over me. This had never happened to me before. Not like this. "I know you well enough to know that you'll respect the boundaries that need respecting and disregard the ones that don't."
I took a deep breath and gave my best attempt at a calm tone. "All right Gwen, I accept your terms. Where is Mr. Godwin anyhow? Would he mind me searching his room?"
"Mr. Godwin has gone to visit an auto dealership."
"Just now getting a new car?" I mused.
"It's been such a traumatic couple of weeks, we hadn't even thought of it until recently."
I nodded. We had some time before he returned. Valuable time to search with absolute privacy. It was better if Mr. Godwin was not present. If he was innocent, then he would not know we had ever suspected him. If he was guilty...well, we'd already be one step ahead.
Together, Gwen and I returned to the room of Graham Godwin. While plain and unadorned compared to the family's rooms, it was rather elegant for that of a mere servant. Sleek, contemporary furniture, top of the line air conditioning and lighting. It even had its own bathroom, like the master bedroom. It was just further proof that Stephen Sanford had indeed felt a strong affinity for Mr. Godwin, for whatever reason. Loyalty, perhaps. Again, I found myself wondering what the chauffeur's motive for murder would be, if it existed. He seemed to be content working for Dare. There hadn't been any reports of incident or ill will by the other servants in the police file on the case.
Together, Gwen and I looked in every nook and cranny that we could possibly think of. The bed, the nightstand, inside the closet, in the bathroom. Still we couldn't find anything. Then I started pulling open the drawers of the large dresser. I dug through nearly folded clothes, hoping to find something, anything, that might point us in the right direction. That was when I saw it. Or rather, felt it. My fingers collided with it as a shovel might with a buried treasure chest, initially unaware, then rushing to procure the elusive object and bring it to the surface. And there it was: a plain envelope addressed from the Sanford Munition Co. to Graham Godwin himself. That was odd. Certainly I wasn't exactly privy to the inner workings of the Sanfords' business operations, but it did seem odd that the chauffeur would be on the receiving end of official company business.
Stephen Sanford could have told him anything he wanted in person, so there did not seem to be a need for such correspondence. As for the shadowy Burton...well, it could be assumed since Gwen had never even met him, that he and Graham Godwin weren't likely to have a particularly close relationship in any way either. Unless...I gently scooped up the envelope and looked at it more closely. Whatever was inside here could provide the break we were looking for, or it could lead to yet another dead end. Gwen had by now noticed that I had found something and quickly rushed to my side.
"What is it, Ray?"
"...I think it may be our first major breakthrough."
"How do you figure?" She asked, then she saw what I had seen, and she fell silent, as if pondering the very same implications that I had.
I showed her the envelope, more specifically, the date on it. July 23rd, 1947, just three days after the death of Stephen Sanford, enough on its own to raise suspicion. Then I slowly opened it, not knowing what I'd find. Well what I found was both unsurprising and a great shock. There were in fact two items, which I delicately handled. One was a check for no less than five thousand dollars from Sanford Munition Co. made out to Graham Godwin. The other was a cryptic note or letter that simply said:
"A token of appreciation from us to you. The loose end has been taken care of. Take care, T."
Gwen gasped and covered her mouth in disbelief.
"Theory number five looks awfully good right about now," I quietly mused more to myself, though of course Gwen was hearing my every word, was no doubt having to experience her world crashing down around her yet again at this latest devastating blow. "Tell me, Gwen, who has access to the checkbook of Sanford Munition Co.?"
"Only two men. My father, and Alistair Burton."
"Look at this handwriting," I showed her the bottom of the check, where the signatory had written only "T", the same T that appeared as the signer of the letter, which she also read. Who was T? Was it Sanford? Burton? Someone else?
Gwen immediately shook her head. "I don't know who wrote that, but it certainly was not my father."
That left only the grim conclusion that it must have been written out by Alistair Burton himself. And if the other two men in the car on that day were corresponding so soon after Sanford's death, that could only bode poorly for both of them.
"This...this can't be," Gwen murmured. "Burton I could believe, I've never trusted that man. Always in the shadows, never seen, like a puppeteer pulling the strings. But Graham Godwin? He's always been like another grandfather to me. How could he betray us...betray me?" She looked to be on the verge of tears again, so I squeezed her hand and implored with all my heart for this to pass.
"Listen Gwen, this doesn't prove anything just yet. It's a strong clue, but we need to investigate more if we're to get to the truth. But you need to be prepared if Godwin really has...done this."
Gwen shuddered as she sat on the bed and sighed. I sat next to her, still holding her hand for comfort.
"I know you're right. I just...can't accept it. I'm not ready for that yet."
"We can take this to the bank and ask them who withdrew it. That would confirm the identity of whoever gave Godwin the cash, and it might lead us to this mysterious T. Once we find T, we find the person that is responsible for this."
Gwen just went on shaking her head in disbelief, tears rolling down her face. "My father's life, worth five thousand dollars? After they'd been so loyal to each other..."
Another important aspect of being a PI is knowing when to take a short break from investigation. Sometimes all it took was a bit of fresh air to provide you with the inspiration to keep going, to find new clues and new leads that you hadn't seen before. It was the best defense we had against the dreaded phenomenon of tunnel vision.
"Listen, I think we've done enough for today. To go on would only be to the detriment of our states of mind. We can't talk to that new maid, Vera Walters, until tomorrow anyways, or this mystery witness, Mr. Matthews. And I'd rather not confront Godwin until we have further proof of his involvement. We'll need to take a closer look at Burton's part in all this to see if it matches up with what we've found out so far. But for now I want you to forget about all that."
"Well what shall we do then?" Gwen asked, looking up at me with eyes eager to escape the nightmare she was living in.
I tried to put on a brave face. We would solve this case sooner or later, I had already determined. But I was more right than I realized when I suggested we take a break. It was not only taking a toll on Gwen, it was taking one on me as well. I needed this just as much as she did. And I knew the perfect way to relieve our stress for today. The answer had presented itself in one of the first rooms I had seen in the estate, the parlour with its vast music selection. Music was the medicine that would soothe our souls today, I decided.
"Would you care for a waltz, Miss Sanford?"
Believe me, I know it sounds foolish. And hypocritical. That for all my claims of trying to maintain a professional distance between us, I was the one who made the offer. But you have to understand that she was under a lot of stress, nearly to the point of collapse. We both were. We needed a break. That was genuine. Did I hope that something more might become of it? I guess you could say so. But up till then it had all been flirtation, skirting the edges but never diving in. I was beyond curious by this point. I wanted to find out if it was just me. If I was deluded. Or if she felt something too. So what else could I do? I invited her to dance with me, and she accepted...
"You have a lovely record collection. And I say this as a man from a musical family. I'm impressed."
Gwen smiled sadly as she leaned back on one of the comfortable couches in the room while I began to peruse the shelves which must have contained hundreds of records from popular artists.
"It's all thanks to my mother. She loved music, and my father would dote on her by buying whatever record she wanted. We've got just about everything in there. Whatever genre you can think of. Jazz, waltz, blues, ragtime, classical, country, you name it."
As I continued to brush my way through the seemingly endless rows of discs, I began to see that she was right. They had everything from classical music to modern jazz hits. It was truly an impressive collection, and it left me in awe.
"Your mother was a very cultured woman."
I notice Gwen sit up slightly, and I caught the glimmer of sadness from the corner of my eye.
"Yes, she was."
"Aha," I exclaimed as I found something I liked. It was one of my favorite waltzes from childhood. The "Valse Septembre" by Felix Godin. I was very careful and deliberate as I removed the disc sleeve from the shelf, and then the shiny black vinyl disc from the sleeve.
"May I?"
Gwen nodded and I walked over to the record player and carefully placed the disc onto it before dropping the needle. I extended my hand, as if a gentleman inviting his lady to dance in a ballroom of days long past. Again, I asked with those two little words.
"May I?"
Gwen only hesitated for a moment before she accepted my hand and allowed me to sweep her into the dance. At last we were free. For now at least, the troubles of the investigation were left far behind us as we swayed to the music, focusing only on each other, as if nothing else in the world mattered. As if all our burdens had been lifted. As if those boundaries of which we had spoken had fallen away, safely disregarded. She wasn't just my client any more, and there was no point in trying to hide that fact. I did feel for her, of course I did. And now we were as close as we had ever been, or would be again, I was sure. That's when she leaned in and whispered in my ear as we continued to slowly move in time.
"What's happening to us right now?"
I turned her around, our feet never missed a beat. "I don't know," I whispered back, whatever it was, I didn't want it to stop. Not until we figured it out.
She whispered again. "Why do I feel for you the way that I do? I know it's not right, that we'll never-"
I just couldn't take it any more right then, and I pulled her in all the way, closing all distance between us. It didn't really register at first in my mind. It just seemed like a dream. I wasn't really kissing Gwen Sanford, my client, the woman who hired me to solve her father's murder. This was the sort of thing that happened in a novel or film, not in real life, not to a man like me. Only it wasn't a dream. It was real. I was kissing her. And it was the most wonderful and thrilling sensation I had ever felt in my life. The softness of her lips pressed to mine, my hand stroking her soft cheek, then moving to the back of her neck and finally to her red curls, feeling her hands doing the same exploration of me, the desire that passed between us, first in our eyes, and finally having its release. And as we stood there for what felt like an eternity afterwards, long after the music had stopped, I knew, we both knew, that for better or worse, the line had been crossed. We were truly now, in every sense, in this together. In that moment I tell you, the case was the furthest thing from my mind.
Unfortunately, our momemt was cut short when who else but Graham Godwin came in through the front door. This seemed to be enough to finally snap Gwen and I out of our respective trances. We were still catching our breath, flush-faced, and no doubt Godwin at least had his suspicions about what had passed between us, even if he didn't show it.
"Mr. Godwin, how did it go?" Gwen asked quickly, trying to play down our sudden closeness.
Godwin was either in the dark I'd content to play along. "It was perfectly lovely, Miss Sanford. I believe I have found a suitable replacement for your father's car. Another loose end tied up, I suppose. And I do hope you and Mr. Allison have been having an...enjoyable time as well?"
The way he said that last bit made me believe that he had indeed caught on to what was happening, yet still he wouldn't give any outward appearance of acknowledgment. I was also troubled by his use of the phrase "another loose end tied up." it seemed to be an almost perfect paraphrase of the note found in his drawer. What was the old chauffeur thinking? I wished my mind-reading talents were as refined as my sleuthing.
"Ah, yes, indeed we have," Gwen replied in what seemed like her attempt at a casual remark. "Mr. Allison was just showing me one of his favorite records."
For the first time since I'd met him, Godwin seemed to crack a small smile. "Mrs. Sanford was quite the collector, wasn't she?"
"She had excellent taste, I can say that much," I agreed.
"Well then, I shall leave you two to your own devices."
"Thank you Mr. Godwin," Gwen said politely as the chauffeur went upstairs to retire to his room. I know I should have become worried that he might realize that the five thousand dollar check was gone, but I really didn't want to leave Gwen's side right now. So I stayed. My heart had won the battle. The question now, was it a pyrric victory that might cost everything? I didn't want to think about it. I had spent years alone, working late at night, knowing I had no one to go home to. Maybe it was wrong of me to put my own desires over my duty as a civil servant, but damn if I was going to let my one opportunity to have a life outside of this business slip away. So I stayed.
We sat on the couch together for hours, talking, holding each other, kissing. It was a whole new reality for both of us. For the first time I began to think about my life after being a private investigator. Maybe I would be a family man, settle down, have a normal life where I wasn't constantly dealing with the lowest of lowlifes in society. Where I could spend every day with Gwen doing the mundane things that people take for granted. The things a private investigator simply can't do. Deep down I knew that was little more than a dream. One that would soon, I knew, come into conflict with the world of crime that I had made my bed in. But for now, that didn't matter. All that mattered was that we had each other. And this moment, with our defenses lowered at lasr, would join the chorus of memories that was flooding through my mind. For the first time though, it would be a memory I looked forward to replaying again and again.