- Location unknown413Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvS4jT2jiXi
Date unknown -
I suppose it would have begun on this day. I know it will seem odd to those innocent passersby who were simply enjoying a peaceful afternoon on this particular day, to think that events of such consequence could have been occurring less than a few yards away from them. Yet it's true. And this is how the whole ordeal started. It was a Saturday afternoon, I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday...
I'm sure you know who I am...for my name will soon become synonymous with this case with which I have undertaken...the case that has forever altered the course of lives untold, myself the least of them. Raymond Allison, private investigator. But folks just call me Ray. At any rate, I do not wish to drag on longer than need be, for the longer I dwell upon this episode, the more vividly my melancholy memories return.
It was the ninth of August, nineteen forty seven, it was, as I have said before, a Saturday afternoon. The sun was out...a good day to take off work and spend time with your loved ones. I was the exception. I wasn't married, I had no family of my own. This job was my life. And in any event, business had been slow that day...
- Saturday, August 9th, 1947
Office of Ray Allison, private investigator
Manhattan, New York -
I sighed as I leaned back in my chair. This was an unusual feeling for me, to be alone in my office, no clients to assist, no projects to work on. Perhaps it was for the best that business was slow today. For I had been working nonstop on a slew of cases for my clients over the past few weeks. Now for the first time in months, my slate was absolutely clean. Such is the fickle nature of the life of a PI. Some days, you're drowning in work, others, you're begging someone to let you take their case. It wasn't great for business to experience such low poimts, yet it could still turn out to be a net positive for me. For in this raging cesspool of corruption and greed we call home, there was always a new stone to be unturned, a new gang to be brought down, another shady character of underworld. Yes, there would soon be more cases to work on. And so perhaps this was a sign from the fates, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just leave the office for a little while and take a walk through the bustling streets, pick up lunch, swing by Central Park, take it easy for the first time in a long while.
I swiveled about and took a look through the window of my office, which was situationed high enough to provide a decent view of the wondrous cityscape. It was a rare sunny day in Manhattan, which bathed the skyline in a golden glow. The summer was in its final swoon, and it wouldn't be long before we were plunged back into the customary frigid winter. Yes, I thought to myself, it must be a sign. Today was my day to let my guard down and shake loose my burdens for a time. To leave work behind for just a few hours. And now that I thought of it, Sundays weren't usually much better for business. It was certainly conceivable that I could take the whole weekend off...I found this thought strangely satisfying.
I smiled as I pictured the plan coming together in my head. I could instruct my secretary to simply tell anyone who came in to come back on Monday. I was only human after all, I couldn't solve every crime in this city, as much as I would have liked to. I had just about talked myself into this idea when the startling ring of the telephone at my desk interrupted my thoughts. I quickly picked up the phone receiver and placed it to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Allison?"
That was the voice of my secretary, Miss Mosely. I heaved an internal sigh. And perhals deep within I knew although I didn't want to confess it. It seemed that the fates had, as they so often did, changed their minds on a whim. There would be no rest today.
"Yes, Ms. Mosely?"
"You have a visitor."
"All right, send them in please."
"Very well." And the phone call ended. I straightened out some papers and other items on my desk to neaten it up. I took a sip of my afternoon coffee, sat up in my chair and focused my vision on the door, wondering who would be walking in this time. Would it be like the man who claimed he had been framed by an infamous gang for a series of armed robberies? Or the wife who was concerned that her husband might be more involved in a murder case than he was letting on? I'd seen both of those and so many more. The depths of human depravity had seemingly no bounds, and that I'd something you must quickly grow accustomed to in this business. Yes, I'd seen some terrible things in this line of work. I thought I was ready for anything.
What I wasn't ready for was for the young woman who came walking through the door a few moments later. At once, several thoughts occurred to me simultaneously, and all of them seemed jumbled and contradictory: the first, as she quietly closed the door behind her and walked towards me, was that she could have been any one of my previous female clients, plainly clothed as she was, with a simple dress and hat. The second, that in spite of this, she held a certain beauty that even this humble appearance could not contain. Her dark red curls, tucked beneath a hat, highlighted her emerald green eyes, which at the moment were reflections of unfathomable loss and grief. Their sorrowful gaze captivated me, and I instantly found myself wanting to know who this oddly enchanting woman was. To know her story, why she had come to me. But it was then that the third thought hit me, I did know this woman. Even before we'd spoken a word to each other, I recognized her at once, although her initial appearance had caught me off-guard. She was normally seen in far more elegant attire than this, but then again, considering the occasion of her visit, I could not blame her. The only trapping of her wealth was a Rolex watch, and even this she seemed reluctant to show. Yes, I did know her. It was difficult not to when she was a member of arguably the most famous family in New York aside from the Rockefellers. It was the only daughter of one Stephen Sanford, Gwen Sanford.
I'm sure you, as everyone else, know who Stephen Sanford was. The founder and President of Sanford Munition Co., one of the most powerful manufacturers and suppliers of arms to the military during the second world war. Sanford's wife had passed away some years ago, but this did not quash his ambitions by any scope. If anything, it only made him more of a workaholic. During the war, if you saw a tank, a gun, an aircraft, even a battleship, there was a good chance Sanford Munition Co. had either built it or played some role in commissioning it. They were the toast of the town in a time when patriotism reigned supreme. The Sanfords were heroes. Along with his young daughter Gwen and their contingent of servants and maids, they lived out a comfortable existence in the Sanford Estate in the wealthiest stretch Long Island. After the war ended, Sanford Munition Co. made the mistake of continuing to go on as if it were business as usual. But of course, that wasn't the case. The war was over, the hot one anyways. And the cold one had begun. The military didn't have as many demands as before. Sanford Munition Co. was experiencing some financial trouble, but that was the least of their worries, as we were all soon to find out...
"Miss Sanford? To what do I owe your presence this fine afternoon?"
Given her appearance and demeanor, I wasn't surprised to find that Miss Sanford looked deeply distressed. In fact, it looked as though she'd been crying. I knew why. Like everyone else, I had heard and read about the incident. The tragic car accident that killed her father, one of the most renowned millionaires in New York, maybe in the whole country, Stephen Sanford. This was a man who was held up by many as a true patriot and American hero. It was no surprise that the media had given his untimely passing a massive amount of coverage. They wanted answers, and soon they got them. The police had quickly concluded their investigation with the finding of suicide. Mr. Sanford was depressed because his company was losing business, so he got in the car and took his own life. There were others in the car, a business partner, a chauffeur, they'd been lucky enough to survive. At the time I hadn't thought much of it. But now, with the heiress to the Sanford fortune standing before me trembling like a leaf, now I took notice. It was so shocking to see a woman in such a position of power, a woman barely imto adulthood being asked to step up and deal with this awful tragedy, a wealthy socialite with no need for a plain guy like me, to see her like this, so vulnerable and afraid, it haunted me. Right then I just wanted to get up and put my arms around her and make everything all right, but of course I couldn't. So I stayed put and tried to keep my demeanor calm. After all, when the client is distressed, it's my job to be strong for them.
"You've heard about what happened to my father, haven't you Mr. Allison?"
"Yes I have, and I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Miss Sanford."
"That's the reason I wanted to speak with you today, I was hoping you could help me."
My eyes couldn't help but take her in. Her elegant dress was illuminated brilliantly in the afternoon sun. That same illumination was present in her eyes, but this time It was of a natural cause. It was mesmerizing.
"You would like to hire me? I thought the police had declared the matter closed?" I recalled the headlines in which the NYPD had issued an official statement closing their involvement and declaring the death of the mighty Stephen Sanford to be a suicide.
Gwen shook her head. "The truth is, Mr. Allison, I don't believe the police have done enough to find out what really happened."
I looked up. Now this was interesting. Was Miss Sanford implying that there was something more to this story than simple suicide? As if to answer my question, she continued speaking.
"I don't believe he committed suicide at all. I think the police are just plain wrong. My father isn't the kind of man to do that."
I stroked my chin thoughtfully. "Well if he didn't commit suicide, then what do you suppose happened? An accident?"
"No sir, I think he was murdered."
"Murdered?" I asked. This was a serious allegation. "Have you got any evidence to support this?"
Miss Sanford gave me a defeated look. "No sir, it's only an intuition, a hunch, I suppose."
I gestured for Miss Sanford to sit down, and she did so. It seemed we were going to have a serious conversation about this. Now I have been called upon many times to investigate incidents that family members had deemed suspicious. They would often come to me as Miss Sanford had done and tell me about how wonderful their relative is, how they would never take their own life. It is difficult to accept, true. It is easier in a way to suppose that it is murder because that takes control out of the victim's hands. It means they did not willingly abandon their family. But in the vast majority of these cases, I had the unfortunate, yet necessary, responsibility of informing these clients of the terrible reality. Ssometimes suicide was the best and only explanation. I hated it as much as anyone, but it was my job to tell these hard truths. For I had already learned by now that ninety nine percent of the time, these things were exactly as they seemed.
It was that rare one percent that kept me on my toes, that made me feel a pang of sympathy for Miss Sanford. Maybe she was right. Maybe old man Sanford finally crossed the wrong fellow. He didn't exactly have the cleanest reputation in this town. He was your typical business tycoon, a man with a big bank account and an ego to match. He had no shortage of potential enemies. The communists for one, would have been happy to see this major weapons manufacturer out of the picture for the US. His domestic enemies might have been even more worrisome. Mr. Sanford was known to deal underhanded and do anything to either merge with competitors or drive them out of business. So was it at least plausible that Miss Sanford's claims held water? Certainly. But it was just as, if not more, likely that this would be another case where the simplest explanation was the actual one.
"Tell me, Miss Sanford, when did you begin to have these suspicions that your father's death may not have been as it was portrayed?"
"It was just about right away, to be perfectly frank. The police already had their theory, they told me nothing could be done, but I felt something telling me it was wrong. That was when I had the idea to get a second opinion of sorts. And that's how I ended up here."
I found myself avoiding eye contact with her as we spoke. This is not typical for me, nor is it for your average PI. The goal of the investigator is to get to know your client as well as possible, to show them that you are invested in their plight. But in this case, I knew that her startlingly melancholy emerald green eyes would have only distracted me further, would have increased the sense of . So I made myself look at anything else, at my stacks of files, at the clock hanging on the wall. I watched those clock hands slowly move, ticking and tocking methodically, and tried to ignore the odd sensation that was washing over me. Miss Sanford would not be just another client for me, I needed to be wary of accepting her offer. At the same time, I also had to be attentive to her story, so I took out a notepad and started jotting down notes.
"All right, you've got my attention. Why don't you start from the beginning, Miss Sanford?"
Miss Sanford shuddered as she sighed. She seemed lost, without any direction whatsoever. "Well...where do I begin?"
"Just tell me everything that happened starting with the day your father died leading up to where we are now."
So she told me. It was the 20th of July, just a few weeks earlier. She'd been asleep especially late that morning for whatever reason, but when she awoke she found that her father, the chauffeur, a Mr. Graham Godwin, and the car were gone. A note had been left on the kitchen table: "Gone for drive with Burton, will be back by two." But of course, he never came back. And later that day, the police showed up with the awful news, there'd been an accident. Stephen Sanford was dead. The accident happened in a secluded area, no one had witnessed it. It seemed Mr. Sanford had fought Mr. Godwin for control of the car, and ended up crashing it into a tree. Miraculously, Mr. Godwin and Sanford's business partner, Alistair Burton, survived. Possibly by throwing themselves out at the last possible moment. It all seemed to line up with the police version of events, but Miss Sanford still had the terrible feeling that something was amiss...
"And you believe that this was no accident or suicide, but intentional murder?"
"Yes, Mr. Allison, that is what I believe," Gwen repeated to me. "In fact I know. Don't ask me how, I just do. Could you please look into it further? I know you must take cases that are far less speculative, with better prospects of resolution. I'll pay you extra, if you'd like-"
"That won't be necessary, Miss," I cut her off. "Compensation is but one comsideration to be taken, and it is always secondary to seeing that justice is done. And anyhow I reckon you've suffered enough with the loss of your father. I'll gladly look into your case."
"You will?" Gwen asked with renewed hope in her eyes. In that moment I knew I never wanted to see that hope burn out. Now that I had accepted her case, she was my client, and her cause was my own. Certainly, I could change my mind and say no, I could tell her that the greater likelihood pointed towards suicide or accidental death before murder, that I appreciated her coming to see me, but I had to recommend that she simply try to accept the police verdict and move on with her life. I might even have suggested she try to find another investigator. I could have said any of those things. But I didn't. After all, cases like these are the reason I took the job. For people who's stories weren't believed. Who were ignored by the police. If I didn't take this case, there was good chance nobody would.
"Yes, Miss Sanford. I'll take your case."
A thin smile widened across Miss Sanford's face as she wiped a year from her eye. "How can I ever repay you, Mr. Allison? Do you know that I went to just about every private investigating firm in this town, and not one of them would take this case, no matter how much I pleaded. They all pointed me to you. And now I understand why. I have faith in you, Mr. Allison."
This time I did allow myself to gaze into her eyes, and too late, I realized they had drawn me in. Their hold on me, her hold...was magnetic. It was such that my overwhelming desire was to promise to find the killer. Of course, I could make no such promises, not yet. Not when I didn't know for a fact yet that there had even been a crime...
"The first thing I will need to do is to determine whether a crime has been committed. I'll need to examine your estate as well as photos of the scene of the incident to make a determination on how we should go forward. I can obtain the latter from the police department. Would you be willing to let me search your home?"
"Yes, of course. Would you like to drop by tomorrow?"
"As early as possible. We have got a long day ahead of us."
"Whenever is best for you. I'll have the servants tidy up in preparation for your arrival."
"Just to the contrary, perhaps it would be best that my presence not immediately be announced."
"Do you suspect something?"
I sighed. This was never an easy subject to discuss with a client. "If it is as you say, Miss Sanford, then at this stage, I must suspect everybody and everything. What I can assure you is that I will do my utmost to uncover the truth, whatever it may be."
"Until tomorrow then, Mr. Aliison," Miss Sanford said with s nod as she stood to leave.
I extended my hand to shake hers. Her skin was soft and cool against mine. Yet again, I found myself entranced by her eyes, their tragic melancholy. I was struck by the thought that I might be the only one she had left in this godforsaken world. If that was the case, then I would see to it that justice was done, so that her soul might at last be at peace.
"Don't lose heart, Miss Sanford. Remember, those in pursuit of justice must never despair."
She smiled sadly at me. "I fear what hope I once had has been extinguished by inaction...however, you may just be able to restore it."
And with that we shook hands and I bid her a polite farewell. I didn't realize it then, but in my mind, the Sanford case had already begun to take precedence above all else. It would become my sole pursuit for however long it took until I had found the truth. I cannot explain what brought this on. Perhaps it was the image of Miss Sanford, a broken young woman, adrift and alone, yet still bravely pursuing justice for her father. Perhaps it was the man who had been murdered, the enigma that was Stephen Sanford. For one of the most prominent families in the state, very little was known of this man and his private dealings. Perhaps then, it was mere curiosity. Or maybe it was the thought that there might indeed be a killer out there. A killer willing and cunning enough to pull off a crime of this magnitude and get away with it. Maybe it was my desire to see this killer put away for the immeasurable pain he had wrought. Whatever the reason was, I could not deny the odd sense of anticipation that grabbed hold me when I contemplated the tine I would see the mysterious Miss Sanford next...
ns 172.70.131.170da2
然後按「加至主畫面」