Numbered Account

Nick lifted his head from the binder. Nothing in the contents hinted at anything untoward, but he hadn't expected to find anything of interest in reports written five years prior to Alex Neumann's death. Still, he was determined to read each and every page of the report. This particular set might not hold the information he needed, but he was on the right trail. More important, he had a willing guide.

The patter of footsteps approached from the hallway.

Sylvia placed her hand on Nick's shoulder. "What are you looking for?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "You really want to get involved in this?"

"You promised that you'd fill me in on what you were looking for. I mean, that's why we're here, isn't it?"

Nick laughed, but behind the smile a tightness gripped his throat. The time for truth had arrived. The time for trust. He knew he couldn't go any further without Sylvia's help and deep down, he wanted it. Maybe because with every passing minute he was growing fonder of her golden hair and more dependent on her crooked smile. Maybe because he saw so much of himself in Sylvia: the child forced to grow up too quickly, the tireless striver never satisfied with his accomplishment. Or maybe just because Anna hadn't given a damn.

"I'm looking for two things," Nick said. "Mention of a client named Allen Soufi- a shady character who did some business with the bank in Los Angeles. And, any reference to Goldluxe, Incorporated."

"Who's Goldluxe?"

"I don't know the first thing about them. Just that my father's decision to end a commercial relationship with them caused a small uproar at the head office in Zurich."

"So they were clients of the bank?"

"For a while, at least."

"What drew your attention to Mr. Soufi and to Goldluxe?"

"Some things my father said about them. Wait here and I'll show you."

Nick walked into the hallway to retrieve something from his briefcase. He returned carrying a slim black book. He set it down on the table and said, "This is my father's agenda for 1978. It came from his office at USB in Los Angeles."

Sylvia eyed it warily, sniffing at it as if its contents were as suspect as its odor. "It doesn't smell like it came from an office."

"Floodwater," said Nick, matter-of-factly. He'd gotten used to the smell of mildewy leather a long time ago. "Believe it or not, I found it in a U-Rent-It storage facility. It was on top of a pile of old junk my mother had kept for years. The place flooded twice during the time she rented it. Everything stacked below three feet was completely destroyed. When she passed away, I flew back to take care of her effects and to make the necessary arrangements. That's when I found this book. There's one for 1979, too."

He opened the first agenda and leafed through the pages, stopping to point out several of the entries that had merited his attention. "Oct 12. Dinner with Allen Soufi. Undesirable." "November 10- Soufi in office." And beneath it, "Credit check" followed by an incredulous "Nothing?!" And finally, the infamous notation of September 3, "Bastard threatened me"- florid commentary to a twelve o'clock lunch engagement at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel with the oft-appearing Allen Soufi.

"There's more like this in the next agenda. You'll see."

"You only have the two of them?"

"They were the only ones I could find. Luckily, they were the last two he kept. My father was killed on January 31, 1980."

Sylvia drew her arms around herself, as if suddenly chilled. Nick stared into her warm brown eyes. Once he had found them remote and selfish. Now he found them caring and sympathetic. He leaned back in the stiff wooden chair and stretched his arms. He knew what he had to say, knew that he had to tell the whole story. He was suddenly struck by how few people he had actually told about his father's murder: a few kids from school after it had happened, Gunny Ortiga, and, of course, Anna. Normally the prospect of sharing the story left him antsy and uncomfortable. But tonight, sitting close to Sylvia, he felt calm and at peace. The words came easily.

"The worst part of it was the ride over," he began softly. "We knew something had happened to him. The police had called. They said there had been an accident. They sent a squad car for us. My father wasn't living at our house at the time. I think he knew someone was after him."

Sylvia sat as steady as a rock, listening.