"Sounds like you were close," said Nick. "You were lucky."

"We were miserable," she blurted, then laughed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Why were you so miserable?"

Sylvia put her hands in her lap, bunching up her napkin, and stared at Nick as if deciding whether his interest was earnest or just flattery. She looked away from him, then said, "My father was a difficult man. He spent his whole life working for the railway, so everything had to be perfectly organized- just like a train schedule- or he wasn't happy. I think that's why he never got over losing my mother. He hadn't approved it. God hadn't asked whether he could take her from him. You can imagine who bore the brunt of his discontent. Me. Mostly it was because he didn't know how to handle a little girl."

"What'd he do?"

"Oh, he wasn't a bad man. He was just very demanding. I had to get up at five to fix his breakfast and prepare a sack lunch. Then, of course, there were the twins, who were four years younger than me. I had to get them up and out the door in time for school. That's a tall order when you're nine years old. When I look back on it, I don't know how I did it."

"You were strong. You still are."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment."

Nick smiled. "I was the same way. After my dad died, I always felt like I had to catch up. I worked hard in school. I tried to be the best at everything I did. Sometimes at night, I'd get out of bed, take out my books, and check if my homework was where I had put it earlier. I was scared someone had stolen it. Crazy, huh?"

"I didn't have that problem. What I hated was having to be this perfect little family. Sargans was a small town. Everyone knew my father. Naturally we had to be on our best behavior. We couldn't show that our life was any harder without having a wife or a mother around. Maybe I was the only one who wasn't happy. My brothers had it great. I tidied their rooms, washed their clothes, helped them with their homework. They had a full-time servant."

"They must love you for that."

"As Rudy Ott said to me a few days ago, 'in the best of all possible worlds, of course.' " She gave Nick a sardonic smile. "Unfortunately, they followed their father's example and took me absolutely for granted. They thought I didn't go out on Friday nights because I didn't want to, not because I was too tired. I think they even believed I enjoyed changing their beds every week."

"You're not close to them?"

"Oh, I make the usual efforts, birthday cards, Christmas presents. But I haven't seen Rolf or Eric in three years. It's easier that way."

"And your father?"

Sylvia raised a finger. "Him, I still see."

Nick nodded his head, reading in her expression that she had gone as far as she would on that subject. He looked away and spotted his briefcase in the hallway. Inside was the faded yellow binder she had given him earlier in the day. He had become so enraptured in his discussion with Sylvia that he had forgotten he'd brought it with him. He smiled inwardly, feeling warm and content. He had forgotten the pleasure of spending time with an interesting, attractive woman. He had missed it.

After dinner, Nick laid the binder on Sylvia's dining room table and threw open its cover. Inside, filed in chronological order, were monthly activity reports submitted by his father for the period January through June 1975.

The monthly activity report for January 1975 was divided into four sections. First, a summary of fee-producing business; second, an evaluation of new business opportunities; third, a request for additional personnel and office supplies; and last, a section entitled "Miscellaneous Items of Interest."

Nick read the report.

I. Business Activity Summary for the period 1/1/75-1/31/75

A. Deposits of $2.5 million received, of which $1.8 from new clients (see attached client profile sheets).

1. Fee Services: Trade Financing fees of $217,000 accrued.

2. Pro forma Financial Statements for fiscal 1975.

B. New Business: Swiss Graphite Manufacturing, Inc.; CalSwiss Ballbearing Company; Atlantic Maritime Freight

C. Proposal to increase staff from seven (7) to nine (9) persons.

1. Request for new IBM Selectric Typewriters (4).

D. Miscellaneous: Dinner at Swiss Consulate (see report).

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.