The Sandler Inquiry

by Noel Hynd

She looked at him as if to nod, her eyes soft and more relaxed than he'd seen them before. Some of the tension was gone from her face, even on a nerve-wrackin journey like this, even when about to face Zenger. Maybe a voyage on salt water, however short or rough, did that for someone. Maybe in the future, he caught himself thinking, they could take a voyage together. just off somewhere. No destination to speak of.

  He caught himself What the hell was he thinking about?

  "What would you do with it?" he asked.

  "Do with what?"

  "The money," he said.

  "All that Sandler money."

  She smiled.

  "Even if we win, it's years away."

  "But eventually if you got it. Even if you got a small portion of it.

  That's still a lot of dollars " She appeared pensive. Go off somewhere, I suppose' she said.

  "Stop worrying about my father. Never worry about money again She let a few more seconds go by.

  "Maybe continue my education She looked at him with a sly smile.

  "Want to hear something even funnier?"

  "What?"

  "I might even want to have a family someday," she said.

  "Who knows?"

  He returned her smile, then was abruptly aware that her smile had vanished and the tension had returned to her face.

  "I'll never have any of it while my father's alive' she said.

  "Never. This can only end in one of two ways. Him or me He placed his hand on hers, which were fidgeting in her lap.

  "We're doing all right," he said.

  "So far. The machinery of justice moves slowly, but it does move' "

  She glanced up at him, looking him squarely in the eyes.

  "I want to ask you something," she said.

  "And I want an absolutely honest answer. I won't be hurt, no matter what it is."

  "Go ahead."

  "Do you believe my story?" Several seconds passed.

  "As you sit there she said, 'looking back at me, can you honestly say that you believe that everything I've told you is the truth."

  "The honest answer?"

  "Yes He hesitated slightly, choosing his words with an attorney's care.

  "At first I believed you maybe because I merely wanted to believe you.

  But when you first told me your story, that day back in January, I accepted it. Then I began to doubt and question. I couldn't help it.

  I was trying to examine your-case rationally. I've trained myself to question, not to accept what isn't readily provable ."

  "I've come to grips with my doubts. I believe you're who you say you are. I believe you completely."

  Her eyes fell to her lap for a moment. He studied her and watched her lips move nervously for a moment. He was aware that she was huddled near him for warmth, her legs folded beneath her against the dampness.

  He thought of the warm body huddled inside those extra layers of clothes. He thought of the protectiveness he felt toward her, despite the fact that he knew she could probably protect herself better than he could himself.

  She leaned to him and kissed him softly on the cheek.

  "I'm glad you believe me she said.

  "Mr. Zenger's going to say I'm an impostor. I wanted to know if you would stick by me. No matter what."

  "I'm unshakable' he said.

  She hugged him suddenly, almost spilling both cups of tea. On the other side of the grimy gray window, with rain spattering into small rivers on the opposite side, the outline of Nantucket harbor was slowly becoming visible through the fog.

  Then she pulled away for a moment.

  "And what would you do with it?" she asked.

  "With what?"

  "The money. Your share if we win?"

  "I'd go off and get lost," he said.

  "With someone I liked."

  Their car had emerged from the hull of the ferry, had driven to the remote southwestern end of the island, and had pulled to a halt before the stone domicile of Zenger.

  The hour was late, well past eight in the evening. The windows of the stone house blazed warmly from within. Thomas and Leslie walked up the flagstone path as the rain, carried on sweeping easterly winds, continued to pelt them.

  Mrs. Clancy, the housekeeper, was gone for the evening. So when Thomas banged the brass knocker on the solid oak door, almost two full minutes passed before there came any response.

  "But today?"

  Then the door slowly opened and the light from within flowed out in a sudden wedge.

  "Thomas'" rasped Zenger, standing in the alcove, holding the door ajar.

  "I've been expecting-" His eyes hit Leslie, unseen until that moment.

  "Good evening, Mr. Zenger," she said with both civility and charm.

  Zenger recoiled rudely, stepping backward two steps into a darker spot in the hallway. His eyes were in a shadow and Leslie stepped forward with some effort to see him.

  He reached to the breast pocket of his maroon robe, pulled from the pocket a pair of heavily tinted glasses, and seemed to study her through them. Thomas observed him with rising suspicion and dislike.

  She, in turn, returned the scrutiny, looking him up and down and trying to see past the glasses to his eyes.

  "Yes" said Zenger slowly, as if in appraisal.

  "This is the woman you spoke of last time " He glanced to Thomas, then back to Leslie with disdain.

  "The one calling herself Sandler's daughter."

  "It's not a matter of what I call myself, Mr. Zenger," she said flatly.

  "That's who I am."

  "Young lady," he said with condescension, his expression tightening with distrust and dislike.

  "I'm an old man. It's late in the evening. I'm not fair game for a lengthy argument' "His eyes, behind the tinted glasses, flashed with anger.

  "You're welcome to your opinion, your claim, and your day in court. But within my own house I'm entitled to voice my own view." He looked back to Daniels.

  "I know a fraud when I see one, Thomas. Why did you bring her here?"

  "It's important that we talk," said Thomas.

  "Who's 'we'?"

  "All three of us" He paused, then asked,

  "May we come in?"

  "Looks like you already are," he grumbled. Zenger spat on the porch.

  He stepped back and held the door open. He was walking without the use of the cane.

  "Come on," he said.

  "Come in. Let's have it out in the open."

  They hung their soaking coats in the front hallway, then followed the frail little man into his sitting room. The light there was dimmer than in the front hall. The embers of a fire smoldered in the fireplace and wheezed out an occasional spark or crackle. Outside the rain continued to pound against the square windows.

  Zenger eased himself into his favorite leather armchair. A half consumed brandy was on an end table beside him.

  "If you wish, either of you' he said, 'a drink to warm you" he motioned to a bar across the, room, 'help yourself. I'd serve' you myself if I were twenty years younger."

  Leslie declined. In silence, Thomas helped himself to a bourbon from the bar. He returned and sat down across the room from Zenger. The older man's eyes were scrutinizing his two guests.

  Zenker finally turned to the younger man.

  "Well, Thomas "he said with concession in his voice.

  "I'm alone in this house. You have me at your complete mercy. What is it this time?"

  "I came to you as an old friend and the@ on of a former partner. I need help. I need it badly."

  "What kind of help?" he snapped. Leslie studied his eyes.

  "I need answers'" said Thomas.

  "And I know you don't talk on telephones" "I've told you everything I know."

  "Impossible. Who was Vincent De Septio?"

  Thomas could see the reaction immediately, though Zenger did his best to mask it. It was a moment's hesitation, an infinitesimal jump on the part of Zenger. The old man replied by merely saying, "What?" Thomas kn
ew he'd struck close to something.

  "Vincent De Septio. I'm sure you heard me the first time' "He was a client of ours, your father's and mine, once upon a time many years ago The old man sipped his brandy calmly and shrugged, leaning back to relax under questioning. "Nothing important about De Septio. Why?"

  "I suspect he's very important."

  The old man shrugged again and gave Thomas an innocent smile.

  "Suspect anything you like. It's a free country."

  You old bastard, thought Thomas, knowing he was being lured into the usual verbal chess game. If Zenger had ever given an immediate straight answer in his life, Thomas had never heard it.

  "Let's talk about money," said Thomas.

  "All right. Let's' "Counterfeit money."

  Zenger was silent.

  "Ever defend a counterfeiter?" pressed Thomas.

  "Not to my recollection."

  "You're perjuring yourself, counselor!" snapped Thomas caustically.

  "You know God-damned well what I'm talking about. De Septio and Sandler were in the same business! Weren't they?"

  The old man shrugged complacently.

  "If you say so", he intoned calmly And he sipped his brandy as if bored.

  Thomas bolted upward from his chair and leaped at the older man, charging with fury across the small room. He smashed the end table away from Zenger's chair and sent it crashing against a wall.

  The lamp upon it shattered, its bulb bursting with a flashing pop.

  Thomas grabbed the brandy snifter from Zenger's hand and furiously, with one motion of the hand, hurled it crashing against the back of the fireplace.

  The old man's eyes were wide with surprise and fright now. The brandy whooshed into flame.

  Almost before Thomas knew what he was doing, he had picked up Zenger by the lapels and was shaking him.

  "God damn you God damn you!"roared Thomas over and over.

  "Are you going to talk to me or do I have to beat it to hell out of you?"

  He shook Zenger mercilessly, forgetting totally about Leslie, who sat calmly to the side and watched the scene as it transpired. She studied the two combatants as dispassionately as one might watch a dull movie.

  The old man's voice could be heard screaming over the younger man's.

  "All right! All right!" he was yelling.

  And then, with a hand that was suddenly more agile and dextrous than it had previously admitted being, Zenger reached to the cane beside his chair. As the shaking stopped and as Thomas threw the octogenarian back into the leather chair, Zenger swung the cane around and caught Thomas with it. Daniels was able to raise his arm slightly in defense, blocking the blow partially and catching the brunt of it on the left of the skull.

  The force sent Thomas staggering backward a step or two. His left hand rose quickly to where he'd felt the impact. The side of the skull was pounding and when he lowered his hand he saw blood on it.

  But he was almost glad it had happened. The old man, defending himself like a cornered frightened animal, had literally knocked Daniels back to his senses. Thomas wondered if he otherwise could have killed the old man in a blind rage.

  "Just like your father," muttered Zenger, bitterness and perhaps even a dash of hatred creeping into his voice.

  "A hothead" Several seconds passed as the two men stood glowering at each other. Zenger sat in his throne of retirement, bitter, frightened, but composed. Thomas stood in the center of the room, a thin trickle of blood on the side of his head, panting for breath with arms hanging at his side.

  Zenger finally spoke.

  "Sit down, young fellow," he said in a labored, sarcastic, and mock avuncular voice.

  "You'll get your cursed answers. You'll get everything you deserve.

  And more." Zenger continued to glower at the younger man. He glanced past Daniels to Leslie.

  "Both from me and your fraudulent friend here." He motioned his head contemptuously toward her.

  Thomas didn't move until he felt Leslie beside him. One of her hands was on his left shoulder, the other on his arm. She was telling him to calm down, to sit down, and she offered him a handkerchief for the cut on his temple.

  He nodded to her and eased into the nearest chair. She sat behind him and watched Zenger from over Thomas's shoulder.

  "Isn't this sweet?" asked Zenger.

  "De Septio," Thomas repeated.

  "I want to know about Vincent De Septio' ' "He was a counterfeiter."

  "Was?, "Was. A good one, too, but he got careless. Your father got him off the hook twice" "What did De Septio have to do with Sandler?"

  Zenger hesitated slightly.

  "They knew each other."

  "Well?"

  "They were friends "Did they work together?"

  Zenger answered with silence.

  "Did they work together!" screamed Thomas a second time.

  "Yes!" roared the old man.

  "Yes! Yes! Yes!" He was seething with anger but had no choice but to respond. He shook his head violently from left to right.

  "Boy," he said in calmer tones, 'you don't know the half of what you're asking. Yes, damn you, they worked together!

  For a short while, very closely."

  "What did they do?"

  Zenger's face took on a dyspeptic look.

  "What the hell do you think they did? They made money. Take that literally."

  Thomas eased back in his chair slightly and massaged the side of his skull with his hand and Leslie's handkerchief.

  "What about the war?" Thomas asked.

  "World War Two."

  "The Allies beat the Axis ' "I'm talking about De Septio' "He was in the army."

  "That's not a good enough answer. De Septio doesn't have an army record."

  "He certainly does-," said Zenger quickly, in a response that Thomas believed.

  "But maybe he was a little embarrassed to tell anyone about it." A faint smile returned to Zenger. He laid his cane aside.

  "Know what his job was for five years?"

  "That was my next question."

  "Trash collection, "said Zengtr casually. Thomas voiced no response, so Zenger, almost merrily, repeated.

  "That's right. Trash collection" "I don't understand' "Of course not" said Zenger.

  "There's nothing to understand. De Septio collected trash for five years in the army. Imagine. Pearl Harbor. Iwojima. The Bulge.

  Berlin. Stalingrad. And Vincent De Septio was busy picking up trash."

  The old man laughed like an elf.

  "something's missing' "You don't believe me?" Zenger's eyebrows shot upward, as if recoiling from an affront.

  "No," said Thomas crisply.

  "Then you can ask Mr. De Septio yourself."

  Leslie leaned forward, as if suddenly absorbed in what Zenger was saying. Thomas noted her movement.

  "What do you mean?" asked Thomas.

  "That was your next question, wasn't it? You've done your homework, I can see that. You were going to ask me where De Septio went after 1954, weren't you? You wanted to know why his case got tossed out and where he went. Didn't you?"

  Humbled slightly, Thomas replied,

  "Yes" Zenger had jumped ahead of him again. They both knew it.

  "Do you know anything about patriotism, Thomas?"

  "Patriotism?"

  "No " scoffed Zenger.

  "Of course not. The younger, folks don't even know the word anymore' "

  Zenger's eyes burned at Daniels.

  "Vinnie De Septio, whatever else his faults, was a patriot. That's why, despite his transgressions, the government chose twice not to prosecute him. Patriotism, Thomas," Zenger continued in lofty tones and after a slight pause. The old man glanced at Leslie.

  "That's what this is all about He raised a finger and stabbed at her.

  "That's what she's all about. Remember that, you young moron. You heard it here first."

  Thomas let the insult pass.

  "Where's De Septio?" he asked.

&nbs
p; "In a town in Pennsylvania. A town outside of Scranton. It's called Barnstable. De Septio retired from crime in 1954. Out of gratitude, the government gave him a new identity, a new name, and a new start in life." Zenger was philosophical.

  "I've always liked that phrase, 'a new start in life' "What's his new name?"; "New? We're talking about twenty-one years'" taunted the old man.

  "But the name is jonathan Grover. He's easy enough to find.

  He's the only one in town by that name," Zenger smiled.

  "Runs a stationery store. Get it? He prints stationery now, not money. And he will have been undisturbed for many years until you darken his doorstep " Zenger paused.

  "Anything else?"

  Thomas shook his head. The left temple still throbbed. He felt Leslie's hand on his shoulder and glanced at her to see if she had any questions for Zenger. She shook her head. She didn't.

  "That's all," Thomas said.

  "You better hope so. You're never getting into this house again. If I ever see you or expect you again, I'll have our local gendarmes waiting. The police like me here" he added with cynicism.

  Thomas motioned toward the' door to Leslie. Without speaking they rose from their chairs and returned toward the front door.

  Thomas could feel the old man's icy gaze on his back the entire time and he somehow felt, though he'd gotten the answers he'd come for, that the old master had ended with the upper hand again.

  That feeling was reinforced as Thomas opened the front door to leave.

  "Hey Tom, boy!" called the old man from the next room. Thomas looked to his left as he felt the rainy night before him through the open door. Down to his left through the alcove he could see into the sitting room. He looked squarely at the old man, seated merrily again in his chair despite the broken table and lamp beside him.

  "Tom, boy!" Zenger called.

  "There's something else. As long as I'm in the business of shattering images this evening. I've got something else."

  Daniels stood in the doorway, saying nothing but waiting to hear.

  Leslie stood outside, struggling to put up an umbrella against the rain.

  "Do you know what your own old man did during the war? Big brave Bill Daniels? Remember all those high command stories he told you when you were a boy? A younger boy?"

  Thomas listened, waiting.

  "A pack of lies, Tommy. A mound of bullshit'" shouted the old man enthusiastically.

  "You can check it for yourself, but Bill Daniels sat on his cowardly ass in New York for the whole war. He was a recruiting sergeant. Get that? Too chickenshit to go out and pull a trigger himself So he lined up other people to do the fighting. Ask De Septio what a'recruiting sergeant' is, if you live long enough to find him!"