The door opened to reveal a handsome blond man in a tweed jacket and gray slacks, with lively gray eyes, and the look of someone who had gone to Princeton or Harvard. In fact, he had gone to both. He had done his undergraduate work at Princeton, and had gone to law school at Harvard.
“Mr. Patterson?” He came easily around the desk, and shook Arthur's hand, startled at first by how frail it seemed in his own hand. He had played football in college, and even as tall as he was, Arthur was dwarfed by the young attorney who was thirty years his junior. “Please sit down.” He indicated a chair with a warm smile, and sat down in the chair next to Arthur's.
“I'm very grateful to you …” Arthur coughed, trying to catch his breath. “… for seeing me on such short notice. It's a matter of both urgency and importance, and I'm afraid I … don't have much time.” He meant it just the way it sounded as he coughed again, but John Chapman assumed he was referring to a deadline associated with a court case.
“I was impressed that you were handling the matter yourself, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He knew who Arthur was, and it was most unusual for the senior partner of the firm to contact an investigation service himself, no matter how illustrious the outfit was, and John Chapman's was one of the best-known in the country. It operated more like a law firm than just an investigative bureau, and his own legal background made him extremely helpful. He grabbed a pad and pen as Arthur coughed again, and prepared to jot down some notes about what Arthur wanted.
“Would you like to explain to me, Mr. Patterson, so I can have an idea how we may be of service?” He was quiet and professional and had the precise diction of the upper classes, and yet he seemed oddly unassuming, easygoing almost, and Patterson found himself curious about him. Why hadn't he gone into his father's firm? His father was the head of the most important law firm in Boston, and two of his brothers were prominent attorneys in New York. And yet he had chosen this rather unorthodox career instead. It was intriguing, but Arthur didn't have the time to think about it now. He had to save his strength to tell him what he wanted.
“It's a personal … matter.” He wheezed, and then took a sip of the water Chapman had quietly poured him while he waited. “Of the utmost confidentiality and importance. You are not to discuss this with anyone.” Arthur flashed his eyes at him, but the effort was wasted on Chapman.
“I don't discuss my cases with anyone, Mr. Patterson. Period.”
“I'd also like you to do this yourself, if it's possible. One of my associates tells me you're the best in the business. I want to hire that talent, and no one else's.”
Chapman pursed his lips, waiting to hear the rest, making no commitment to Arthur. “That depends on what's involved. I try to stay involved in all of our cases, to as great an extent as I'm able.”
“I want you to do this yourself. And we don't have much time.” He coughed and took another sip of water. “I'm dying.”
Chapman watched him carefully, curious now. The old man was shaking with anticipation, and clutching a file he had taken out of a briefcase. Perhaps it was an old unsolved case he was determined to tie up before he died. It was odd the things people did when they were dying.
“The doctor thinks I might have three months, maybe six, maybe less. I think three months is more like it. I want to find three young women.” Chapman looked surprised. It was an odd request from an old man, unless they were his daughters. “They were the daughters of close friends of mine, my closest friends. Their parents died thirty years ago, and two of them were adopted shortly after, the third one was left with her aunt and uncle. They were respectively one, five, and nine years old when I lost track of them, and I have no idea where they are now. I know who adopted the two younger girls, and I know the oldest one wound up in Jacksonville, Florida, and then came to New York twenty-two years ago, but that's all I know. I've included all the information I have in this file, including clippings about their parents. Their father was a very well-known Broadway actor.”
“Did the parents die simultaneously in an accident?” It was only curiosity on his part. Thus far, it was an intriguing story.
“No.” Arthur took a painful breath and continued. “He killed their mother, no one ever really knew why, except that they had an argument and he seems to have gone crazy. I defended him in 1958.” Arthur's face went a little grayer as Chapman watched him, surprised that he had taken a criminal case. There had to be more to the story than he was telling. “He was convicted and committed suicide in his cell the night of his conviction. I tried to place the girls in a home together.” He seemed close to breaking down as John Chapman watched him, sorry for him, it was obviously painful for him to remember, and worse still to discuss it with this stranger. Any attorney would have felt responsible … but not responsible enough to go looking for the children thirty years later. Or was it that he felt guilty? “But no one wanted to take all three. I had to place them in separate homes, and leave the older girl with the aunt and uncle.” He didn't tell him that he had considered taking them himself, but didn't do it because his then wife wouldn't let him. “There was also a recent clipping about a young woman at CBA,” he went on, “by the same name as the oldest girl. I think there's a possibility it might be she, but it could be just a coincidence. I included the clipping and you ought to check it out.” Chapman nodded. And Arthur remembered finding the article in the Times only weeks before, and praying it was the right Hilary Walker. His hand had trembled as he held the column he'd clipped out and stared at the picture. She didn't look like anyone he knew, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Newspaper photos often didn't. “That's it, Chapman. I want to find those three young women.” Young to him perhaps, but certainly full-grown, Chapman thought to himself. He did a quick calculation and realized they were thirty-nine, thirty-five, and thirty-one years old. It wasn't going to be easy to find them. And Arthur confirmed that. “The adoptive parents of the two younger girls moved away years ago, and I have no idea where they went … I just hope you can find them.”
“So do I.” Chapman took the file in his hands, and looked somber as he questioned Arthur. “And when I do?”
“First, I want you to locate them, and then come back to me and tell me that you've found them. Then I want you to explain to them who they are, who I am, that I am an old family friend, and that I want to reunite them with their sisters. I'd like to do it in my home in Connecticut, if that's possible. I'm afraid I can't travel anymore … they'll have to come here.”
“And if they refuse?” It was possible. Anything was possible. He had seen everything in the seventeen years he'd been in the business.
“You can't let them.”
“They may not even remember having sisters, two of them anyway, and it may be a tremendous shock and disruption to them.” He wondered if there was a sizable inheritance being attached to it, but he didn't want to press Arthur on the subject.
“I owe it to them to bring them together again. It was my fault that they were separated … that I was never able to find a home for all of them. I want to know that they're all right, that they don't need anything … I owe that much to their parents.”
John was tempted to tell him that it was a little late, but he didn't want to be disrespectful. At thirty-nine and thirty-five and thirty-one, it couldn't matter very much to them anymore why they had been taken from their sisters, if they even remembered having any in the first place. But it was not his place to question the wisdom of arthur Patterson's final wishes. Arthur was sitting watching him with quiet desperation.
“Will you do it?” It was a barely audible whisper.