6 Tuesday, August 12th, 1947

I spent all the night tossing and turning, unable to stop replaying the conversation with Vera Walters in my head. Her seductive spoke to me, drawing me in with its alluring charm, finding every possible crack in my defenses. In spite of all my best efforts, I was powerless. She held all the cards, and she would play them as she saw fit. The worst part of all was that there was no way to know whether she was genuine in her desire to cooperate or simply the bait to lead me to my demise. I had suspicion, but suspicion and proof were two very different things, and Miss Walters had walked right up to that line without crossing it, yet. She had told me just enough to make herself valuable to the investigation, yet I knew there was something she was withholding, something that could cost me everything. It took me hours to find sleep, but whem my eyes finally forced themselves shut out of sheer exhaustion, my night only took a turn for the worse...

In my all-too-real nightmare, Miss Walters was standing just feet away from me, observing wordlessly while someone held a gun at me from behind. I could not make them out, they were as a shadow in the night, in the darkness, undetectable, unseen. I felt the cold steel barrel pressed against the back of my head, the cool wind blowing in my face, the steady rumble of the floor beneath me, as if I was directly above a steel factory with heavy machinery at work. The cacophony of noise did little to still my wildly beating heart. In the end, I had become just like all the others who had crossed paths with the Trident, a ragged, weak, tired victim. I had tried everything, done all in my power to do right by Gwen to take down Mr. Sanford's killer, but I was no match for them. My strength was gone. I had nothing left. All I could do was stay there on my trembling knees as I looked out into the pitch-black sky, waiting for death to come.

"It didn't have to be like this, Mr. Allison," the mystery man behind me said in a deep voice with a noticeable urban New York lisp that seemed to take relish in my current position. "You had a choice, and you chose wrong. You could have walked away, but you preferred to be the hero, to try and protect her."

The mystery man laughed. It was an oily, repugnant laugh. The laugh of a madman who cared not for the lives he left destroyed in his wake. I caught a whiff of smoke wafting in from somewhere, I could not perceive the direction, so hazy and impaired was my mind, as though I might pass out at any moment and spare them the trouble of killing me. A memory jogged briefly, then faded just as quickly. I could usually tell who I was up against just by their presence, and this man was foreign to me. Yet there was still something that seemed awfully familiar. Was it just a case of my dream manipulating my memory? Was this Burton, the leader of the Trident, the "T" figure who had possibly orchestrated all of this? Or was it someone else? Someone who had yet to come across my radar? Someone who had already escaped the clutches of the law, who's final problem, me, was about to be neatly disposed of?

Tying up loose ends

My thoughts shifted to Gwen. Where was she? I would have sensed her presence too if she were here. Had she already been claimed by the darkness? Was I too late?

"Don't you worry your little head about it now, Mr. Allison. We will take care of her shortly as well." The man chuckled to himself again, seeming to read my thoughts. "You know what they say, it isn't polite to keep a lady waiting."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vera raise her eyebrows ever so slightly at this remark. I wanted to lunge at her. I had no doubt she had landed me in this predicament. But I was too weak, too far gone. Everything around me was in a haze.

The man must have noticed that my head had slightly tilted in Vera's direction, for his tone suddenly changed. "Ah, I see. You were with her. You figured you could take us down together. You forget Mr. Allison, we own her. We own everyone, they just don't realize it. But you do, and that's why you've gotta go. It ain't good for the pocketbook. And what ain't good for the pocketbook doesn't stick around long."

I felt a sharp jab in the back of my skull as the gun barrel was jammed forward forcefully. I looked up at Vera. I half-expected to see that usual smirk on her face, but she was expressionless, refusing to meet my eyes. 

"Wait, don't shoot him," she said causally, still not looking my way, still looking out into the empty aether as if nothing was the matter. As if we were discussing tea and biscuits rather than my life. But the man listened, for the pressure on the back of my head was slightly eased, although not by much.

"I have a much better idea."

There it was again, that deviously charming smile. The one that stole men's hearts, that exposed their deepest vulnerabilities. But was she smiling at me, or the man behind me? Did it matter?

The man laughed again, seemingly unconcerned, even pleased, by this turn of events. "Far be it from me to say no to you, Walters. By all means, do you worst."

"Oh I intend to..."

"Vera!" I tried to shout, to channel my rage at her betrayal, at myself for being roped in. But no sound came from my mouth. My vocal chords were dry as a desert. My voice had taken leave of me, it had abandoned me just like everything else. I was helpless. And soon I'd be dead, discarded like trash, to be forgotten, and they would move on to their next victim. That was the way the Trident operated. It was the way Vera Walters operated.

The gun was gone, but suddenly I was being tackled to the ground by at least two or three men. They restrained me while they shackled something to my feet, which severely restricted my freedom of movement. Then they dragged me forcefully, despite my weak attempts at struggle, to the edge of the nothingness, the black void from which I would never return. I had little time to contemplate the massive jumble of thoughts racing through my head, to mourn for Gwen, to agonize over my failure, because seconds later I was falling into the abyss, watching the world get smaller and smaller as the darkness swallowed me whole. With each passing second, my thoughts were growing murkier, my breath being squeezed from my lungs, my mind shutting down forever. And there was only one thought that seemed to break through the sheer terror. A single name. The name of my cooperator, and possibly my betrayer.

Vera...

Vera...

Tuesday, August 12, 1947

1348 Beechwood Boulevard

Home of Ray Allison

Manhattan, New York

"Vera..."

I snapped awake. Sunlight flooded through my window. I felt myself to make sure I was really here. My face was drenched in sweat. The dream had seemed so vivid. In my mind I was still in free fall, still reaching for a safe haven that would never materialise. But now I was back in the realm of the living, back in the comfort of my bed. Slowly the images began to dissipate, however they were soon replaced by those of my meeting with Vera Walters again. It seemed I could not get rid of her, no matter what I tried. Not even the thought of seeing Gwen could bring me comfort, as I would be spending most of the day with Miss Walters attempting to corroborate her story.

After going out to retrieve the morning paper, I sauntered indoors to the kitchen and put some coffee on, not at all eager to associate with Vera after the nightmarish vision I had just experienced, but knowing it was inevitable. I twirled the dial on my radio until I found a station I liked, one that played piano instrumentals. While I sipped my coffee and meticulously worked through the paper, the lively melody of "Conversation On Park Avenue" by Willie Smith filled the room.

It wasn't all a stall tactic. I normally made a point to peruse the papers in order to search for any new leads in my cases, and to see if anyone had caught on to my investigation yet. Today's paper seemed just like any other. There was still not mention of the Sanford case, which was probably for the best at this point. It was better if the conspirators didn't know that I was on to them. The rest of the headlines were typical. The Yanks were favorites to take the World Series...again, the iron curtain was expanding its reach in Europe to the free world's dismay, Harry Truman was the most unpopular President since Buchanan and was on the way to a surefire landslide loss in next year's election to whomever claimed the Republican nomination. And that was what passed for the "good" news. The rest read like a brutally honest tourism guide of our city: police department corruption, mafia violence, turf wars, a murder every day...you name it. For New Yorkers, particularly here in Mahattan, it was business as usual during the age of the Great Crime Wave. In this dark cesspool of a city, nothing should have come as a shock any more. Yet what I saw in a small article buried deep within the paper not only shocked me, it shook me to my core. It had barely been worthy of a mention, and a less keen eye might have missed it. But there it was...

"Body of murdered man found in Long Island Sound," the tiny headline read. The story began normally, describing how a small boat motoring through had made the gruesome discovery of the body floating in the water. He was hauled on board, and quickly determined to have been killed by a single gunshot to the back of his head, execution style. However he had also been beaten severely, and had many broken bones. It was no doubt yet another case of a gang killing, and that's all it appeared to be. But then as I read on, the description of the dead man began to sound eerily familiar. Lanky build, mid-thirties, light brown hair. I was reading about the murder of Carter Matthews.

There are a few moments in your life when everything around you just seems to stop. This was one such moment for me. The surreality of it struck me like a blow to the stomach. Just hours ago, I'd been speaking to Mr. Matthews. He was alive, living and breathing, a man with a past, with a family, who had lost all but his life. Now that was gone too, discarded as a a corpse in the water, another soul claimed by this case. The sickening feeling from my nightmare returned to me. I knew I could put it off no longer. It was time to meet with Miss Vera Walters again.

1662 Seagrove Lane

Sanford Estate

Long Island, New York

"He's dead?"

"The name was never given, but the description matched Matthews too precisely. It had to be him. What are the odds that someone with the exact same profile happens to be a murder victim the very day after I met with him?"

"No, you're right. It must be him. But what does this mean?"

Gwen and I walked side by side through the maze of rooms, much as we had on my first visit, which felt like it must have been an eternity ago. We weren't looking for anything now, just enjoying out brief time together while I filled her in on what I had read in the paper. I decided not to tell her about my nightmare, it still felt too terrifyingly real, and I didn't want to further alarm her. I wished I didn't have to leave her soon. Certainly not for the company of Miss Walters. However I knew it was for the best. As risky a witness as she was, she held the potential to help snag everyone involved in the murder. It gave her leverage I had no argument against. And now that the Trident was closing in on us, it was more imperative than ever to end this quickly. There was also the matter of Gwen and I, a subject that was becoming as complicated as the case itself. My feelings were undeniable, yet they had to be denied, at least until this was all over.

"It means they know he talked. Whether they know he talked to me, I cannot say. But it won't be long before they put two and two together, and when they do, they'll come for me...and you."

A small portion of my terrible vision flashed across my mind again.

Don't worry your little head now, Mr. Allison, we will take care of her shortly as well...

Gwen was in danger just as much, if not more than I. That terrible knowledge was what finally gave me the push I needed to confront what lay ahead. It was time to tell her about my deal with Miss Walters.

"I spoke with Miss Walters yesterday," I started solemnly. "According to her, she's in on it, but she's willing to turn in the others.'

"And in exchange?" Gwen asked expectantly. 

"She wants immunity from prosecution."

"You didn't-"

"I told her that was not within my power to promise. Even so, she still decided to cooperate, even seemed eager to do so."

"An admitted co-conspirator cooperating without an agreement? Don't you find that strange?"

I sighed. I had known this was going to be a difficult conversation to have. "Of course I find it strange, Gwen. I find everything about Miss Walters to be frankly suspicious at best. However...at our current pace, we'll need several weeks at the least to gather enough hard evidence to present to the DA for them to bring charges, and that's if this mystery group, the Trident, doesn't get to us first. I'm doing this to keep you from harm, Gwen."

Gwen still didn't look happy about it, and I didn't blame her. I just needed her to understand why it had to be done. Suddenly she took my hand and squeezed it tightly. Her eyes seemed to be screaming a silent plea, which finally made its way to her lips.

"I'm frightened, Ray," she whispered. "I've tried not to show it, but I am. And I have the most awful feeling about this entire arrangement. Promise me you'll be safe. Promise me that and I'll drop it."

I placed my hand on top of hers in a protective gesture. "I promise, Gwen. And when this is all over...we'll see where we go from there. Until then, all I ask is that you trust in me."

"I trust you, it's her I'm worried about."

I had caught the double meaning in her words. And I quickly sought to reassure her. "I know. I'm not any happier about this than you. But it will all be over soon."

Gwen sighed, her face a picture of melancholy. "How can you be so certain?"

I managed a small smile for her sake. "Call it a detective's intuition."

Vera's guest house

"So detective, you showed up after all."

Miss Walters seemed all too pleased to see that I had decided to follow through on her offer of cooperation. She'd chosen yet another stunning dress, of red velvet color, and wore a matching handbag and sweet smelling perfume. She appeared to he more like a woman preparing for a date than about to assist in a matter of utmost importance.

"I still don't trust you, and if it was up to me, I would work this case without the likes of you getting involved. But this isn't about me. It's about getting justice and keeping Gwen safe. If what you say is true, then you are the only one who can help me get eyes on the inner workings of the Trident. And in return, I just may be able to get you a lighter sentence, but it is far from guaranteed. That is all I can say."

Miss Walters almost seemed to pout, although I could not tell if she was simply playing around or not. "You speak of it as if it were a business transaction, Mr. Allison," she protested.

"Give me one good reason why it isn't." I stared back at her silently, waiting for her to take my challenge. And she did.

"I told you yesterday Mr. Allison, I want out of the Trident. They have become too dangerous, too risky to associate with if you ever want a life outside of it. This isn't what I signed up for."

We own her. We own everyone, they just don't realize it.

Another memory jogged. Of the nightmare, of the deep voiced man who had held me at gunpoint while Vera stood by and watched nonchalantly. He had definitely said that. Could it be possible that Vera Walters was actually telling the truth that she was trapped in the Trident and wanted a way out? Could I trust anything she said?

"If you truly want out, then fully cooperate with the investigation. Don't associate with the other guilty parties, let me handle them first. Give me reasons to trust you, Miss Walters."

She gave a small smile. "I've earned the trust of far more obstinate men than you, Mr. Allison. You strike me as gentle hearted, always willing to see people in their best light. It's an admirable trait, but it won't help you take down the Trident. They won't play by your rules."

"That's all right with me. I don't often play by those rules myself. Suppose about half the time."

"And the other half? That's where I come in," she finished smoothly. I caught a whiff of her perfume. It was intoxicating in the worst way, inviting my mind to spiral down into a world of fantasy rather than remain grounded by the case. "I can make myself useful in more ways than one, Mr. Allison."

I couldn't deny that her constant insinuated advances were having an effect on me. My mind did its best to keep focus, for I simply couldn't allow her to distract me. "Listen Miss Walters, I don't know what game you're playing at, but all I need is for you to take me to the bank so I can prove that Burton wrote the check to the chauffeur. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I can certainly do that," Miss Walters replied, having seemingly given up for now. "The teller has a photographic memory. She knew what Old Man Sanford looked like. If it makes you feel better, you can bring his picture and the check. It'll only further confirm that I'm right."

That was exactly what I planned on doing. I wasn't prepared to take anyone's word for it, not when this case would ultimately end up before a jury. Since only two people had access to the master account of the Sanford Munition Co. through which the check had been written, I only needed to prove that Sanford had not written it in order to demonstrate that Burton was the sole remaining possibility. Although I had no photo to compare Burton to, it seemed unlikely that anyone would mistake him for Sanford or vice versa.

I was getting closer. My gut was telling me that when I found the person who signed that check, I would find T, the boss of the Trident, and likely the person who ordered the death of Stephen Sanford. Whether the actual triggerman was Godwin or somebody else was still to be determined. Only one thing was for certain, I wasn't going to wait around to find out.

"Let's go."

The drive to Manhattan

Within minutes, I was on the road to Manhattan once more, Miss Walters casually riding in the seat next to me while I tried to think of anything to distract myself from this fact. It didn't help matter when I recognised the name of piece that was playing on the radio...Scandal in A flat by Benny Carter.

"Why don't you trust me, Ray?"

The question had caught me off-guard, we had been riding in silence for several minutes, simply allowing the tinny sound of jazzy piano chords ring throughout the car. What surprised me more was her tone. For the first time since I'd met her, she sounded completely serious. What could have gotten into her? Or was it just another ploy to get me to lower my guard?

"...Trust is a fickle thing, Miss Walters. I can't measure it or define it. It's just a feeling I get, when I meet somebody. And I know there's something you're not telling me about the murder."

"I assure you I have said all I know. There are a great many things I haven't told you, but that is not one of them."

"My gut is rarely wrong, Miss Walters. I need to see more before I change my mind about you."

We rode in silence for several minutes before I finally decided to confront her with the terrible news I had learned this morning.

"Carter Matthews is dead."

For once, Miss Walters did not have a response ready right away, so I continued.

"He was killed. For talking to me. For spilling his conscience. He lost everything to the Trident...his livelihood, his family, and ultimately, his life. This case has already claimed too many lives, and the cycle won't end until we put a stop to it. He was a decent man, got dragged into the belly of the beast like so many others..."

I couldn't tell what the expression on Vera's face was, but when she next spoke, her tone had softened again.

"And you're wondering how someone like me got dragged into the belly of the beast?" She said more as a statement than a question.

"The thought did cross my mind."

"Well, since I'm being fully cooperative, I'll tell you..."

Somewhere in the background, my ears perceived the souful notes of "Melancholy Charlie" by Frank Crum streaming through the radio, but my attention was now fully on Vera.

"It's true what they say about those who turn to a life of crime. We're not born, we're made. Me? I had a normal life in childhood. My parents weren't outcasts, they were even respected in the community. Until one day, my father decided he'd had enough, and ran off with another woman, leaving us to fend for ourselves. It broke my mother's heart, and I suppose it's not surprising that she didn't last much longer herself."

My eyes shifted. "You don't mean-"

"Yes. Suicide. A single gunshot to the head. And if you're wondering whether she at the very least had the common decency to ensure that I, her ten year old daughter, was safely away by then, you would be sorely mistaken. Instead, I woke up one morning and ran into her bedroom to find that I had become an orphan overnight. And that's where I ended up, at the orphanage. The life I had known...was gone. My father had abandoned us, and was never coming back. My mother...my final image of her lifeless body haunted me. It still haunts me, Mr. Allison."

I hadn't expected to hear this from Vera. Nor did I expect to find myself empathising with her, yet that seemed to be exactly what was happening. First Carter Matthews, and now Vera Walters. The people I met in this case had not turned out to be who I thought they would be. They had stories to tell, stories of tragedy and loss. It wasn't making my job any easier. Then again, l had always allowed for this possibility, as one must in this business, where most people we meet reside not in black and white, but in shades of grey. 

"Pardon my asking, Miss Walters, but how then did you become involved in the Trident?"

"Once you've lost everything, there's not much incentive to play by the rules any more. I'm sure Carter Matthews understood that. I ran away from that orphanage the first chance I got, and I never looked back. I lived on the streets for years, doing what I had to do to survive. I didn't like stealing, or robbing people at knifepoint, but it was the only way to keep going, and eventually, your mind dulls to such things. They become as routine as waking up each morning. Then, one day, a day like any other, by cruel fate, I attempted to rob the wrong person."

"A member of the Trident?" I guessed, which was confirmed moments later.

"Yes. I guess the first sign that something was up should've been when he didn't look frightened of me in the slightest, even when I held the point of my knife to his neck. Instead all he did was laugh, which unnerved me, and I never felt that way anymore. Not in years had someone gotten that sort of reaction from me. I had his life in my hands, yet he still held all the power over me...Do you know why, Ray? Because what he had to offer was more than any amount of money I could have stolen from him. A place to belong. A purpose. A home. That is why I joined the Trident that day."

Yes, it was difficult to deny that her story had been compelling. It did make me feel for her, this outwardly confident street-wise young woman with a tortured soul. It was not so different from the story of Carter Matthews, and it was no less tragic. Although it did not explain away my suspicions of her, and though I wasn't aware of it at the time, something about the way I perceived Vera fundamentally changed after this conversation. Those feelings became less black and white, and moved into that vast expanse of grey...

Public National Bank

Manhattan, New York

Vera's story was still running through my head as we gradually drew closer to our destination. Our conversation had fallen silent save for the times when she told me which streets to turn at. Otherwise, the only sound was that of the radio, which continued to play evocative jazz pieces such as Harry Sosnik's River Reverie that only deepened my introspection as we wended through the bustling streets of the city.

Not surpsiingly, it took quite a bit longer than expected given the constant stream of pedestrian traffic congesting the streets. Even on a workday, one could always count on this city to be out and about. Now however, with the knowledge that the Trident was catching up to me, these scenes took on a far more ominous tone. How could I be certain, for example, that the lone man who strolled by while lighting a cigarette was an innocent passerby and not sent by the Trident to eliminate me? How could I feel safe around anyone here? I knew it was likely all in my head, but just the same, we were a sitting duck in this traffic, and it would've presented a prime opportunity. I had my revolver in my pocket, ready to draw at any time. Fortunately, I had no need for it, at least not yet.

It was early afternoon by the time we reached the Public National Bank, the institution where Sanford and Burton had supposedly conducted their underhanded dealings. It was long and elegantly designed in the style of the turn of the century, having all the appearances of a reputable bank. In this case, however, appearances seemed to have made to he dismantled.

"This is it?"

"This is it, detective. You'll find your answers in there."

I nodded, and we quickly entered.

The bank's business was slow, for a Manhattan institution anyways. The small, but steady stream of visitors appeared orderly and respectful, unlike plenty of other banks I had visited. The decor was warm and inviting, and the tables were filled with men in expensive suits with hats and cigarettes and ladies in modern-chic dresses engaging in lively discussions. In an adjoining room thatcI guessed to be a lounge area as it was separated from the bank itself, the upbeat sounds of Café Society by Belle Fenstock softly drifted through the walls. It was, in other words, the sort of institution that presented itself more as an exclusive country club for the wealthy than a typical bank. It was just the sort of place one would expect to find the likes of Stephen Sanford and Alistair Burton conducting business.

Vera quickly pointed out a particular teller. "That's the one. She was the only one Old Man Sanford and Burton trusted enough to work with."

We approached her as discreetly as possible. The teller was an older woman, likely near retirement age, with grey hair and a grandmothetly complexion. I caught a glimpse of her name tag: "Enid". In spite of her elderly appearance however, she appeared as alert as ever, and her eyes instantly zoned in on us as we neared. Or were they zoning in on Vera in particular?

"It's been a long time, Miss Walters," she spoke, seeming to confirm this thought.

"Let's cut the chit-chat, Enid. I need a favor of you."

The woman, Enid, said nothing at first, offering only a mysterious smile. "Well now...this is different, my dear. I wonder what has gotten into you. Perhaps this gentleman here knows the answer. But all right, since you're doing the asking, I'm happy to help. What is it you'd like to know?"

Vera turned to me, seemingly eager to avoid Enid's gaze. "Show her."

So I produced the check written out and signed by "T", and handed it to Enid. Then I slid the photo of Sanford onto the counter for her to look at.

"This check was signed and dated three days after the death of Mr. Sanford. It was written by someone who had access to the master account of the Sanford Munition Co., and it was delivered to a suspect in the investigation. What I need to know is firstly, who had access to the account, and secondly, who was the signer of this check?"

Enid carefully examined the photo of Sanford. "Ah, Stephen Sanford, I remember him ever so well. He was always such a gentleman. When his wife died, he was never quite the same afterwards. There seemed to be something...off. Yet he would always make a point to conduct his business in a timely manner. In fact, he was still keeping to his routine schedule, until one day, when somebody else walked in, someone I had not seen before. I can assure you it was not Mr. Sanford. This man was well over six feet tall, and he had black hair amd eyes of dark brown. His mannerisms were different. He behaved downright imperiously, as though he owned the place.'

I looked again at the photo of Sanford. While the black-and-white image did not show it, I knew from his profile that Sanford had reddish-brown hair and light brown eyes, and that he was only five foot ten. Adding to this, Gwen had already confirmed that it was not the old man's handwriting. He could not therefore have been the individual who wrote the check. And that meant...

"So if Sanford didn't write this check..."

"There were only two individuals with access to this account. Mr. Sanford was one, and for years he was the only one I ever saw. While I had never seen him until that day, I had been given his general description, and when I asked for verification, he provided all the necessary documents. I do believe it would be reasonable to conclude that it was in fact Mr. Burton himself."

The case was getting stronger, I thought. All that was left now was to confront the two co-conspirators, Burton and Godwin, then take the case to the DA. It would all just be a formality after that. As for Vera...I didn't know what would become of her, but I was starting to wonder if I really should try to get her a lighter sentence. This was counterbalanced with my continued suspicions of her story. I still believed there was more that she was hiding. So far, however, she had appeared to be nothing but cooperative. I was caught between two minds. One to turn her in with the Trident for participating in the murder, the other to help her get out, as she had told me she wanted, by pleading that she was different. The push and pull was agonizing, even as I forced a smile and thanked Enid for her assistance.

"So, what do you think, detective?" Vera appeared to be back to herself again as we exited the bank. "It looks like you were right after all."

I was about to respond when I spotted something from the corner of my eye. Or rather, someone. Someone who had seen us exit the bank, who had been casually leaning against the wall, as if waiting for us. For a moment he just stood there, but when I looked back again, he had moved from his position and began to slowly walk in our direction. His attire was similar to the other men in the bank, suit, hat, and cigarette. The appearance seemed innocuous enough, yet I had a terrible feeling in my gut that he was heading straight towards us. With great anxiety, I suddenly found myself wondering how much he had overheard. Had he been spying on us, listening in when Enid was telling me about her encounter with Burton? What did he intend to do now?

"I think we'd better leave now," I said hurriedly, taking Vera's hand without thinking and quickening our pace to the car, overriding her protests.

"Wait!" The man suddenly called out. He couldn't have been more than thirty yards away.

I ushered Vera and myself into the car and stepped on the gas. I'd hoped that would be the end of it, but then I saw another car, with black-tinted windows, leaving the bank and coming in our direction.

"What's going on?" Vera asked with confusion and even fear in her voice for the first time. "Are you going to fill me in or am I just your tag-along?"

"With all respect, Miss Walters, you're the one who volunteered your services," I shot back, before realizing there was no use arguing at a time like this. The most important thing was for us to get out of this situation safely. "We're being tailed, and if they saw what just took place, we'll be lucky to see tomorrow if they get to us."

Vera still seemed upset. "What exactly do you intend to do then?"

"Simple. Let them chase us. Lose them in the streets. They'll have to give up sooner or later."

"You're quite mad, do you know that, Mr. Allison?"

"So I've been told, Miss Walters."

The Mysterious Car Chase

My hopes of quickly eluding the mysterious driver were rapidly fading. He seemed to know these streets every bit as well as I did, and no matter how many sharp twists and turns I took, he was always behind me, determined, unrelenting. In order to pursue me this doggedly, he must have had a serious motive, and I had my deep suspicions about what that motive was. That was why I could not allow him to catch us under any circumstances. Despite the tension of the moment, the pursuit almost seemed to take place in slow motion with pedestrians constantly blocking our path.

It had already been about twenty minutes since we left the bank, and we were no closer to eluding our pursuer. We were supposed to return to Long Island after finishing this errand, but now I realized that this would be far too great a risk to take. I had no idea what this man was capable of or what his purpose was, but I couldn't risk leading him back to the estate where he might try to harm Gwen as well. There was only one course of action now...confrontation. I once more became aware of my gun, which I kept with me for an occasion such as this. But I didn't want it to be here, and I had no intention of killing him unless I had to. No, what I wanted was information. I wanted to know who had sent him, And how much they knew. And so, with all these thoughts running through my mind, I changed our route, heading north for the countryside, where we could have a nice private chat...

It was eerie to think that at this time yesterday I had been driving these same roads through upstate New York to visit Carter Matthews. And now Matthews was dead, and we were being tailed, quite possibly by one of their hitmen. It hadn't taken the Trident very long to figure out something was amiss. I was determined however, and if they thought I was going to give up without a fight, they were in for a rude shock.

"You have a plan don't you?" Vera asked pointedly.

"Of sorts." I had not taken my eyes off the car since we left the city behind us. Over time, I noticed that the other driver would not try to gain on us, but rather remained at the same, consistent distance, enough to make his presence known.

"That doesn't exactly inspire assurance, Ray."

"He's not trying to overtake us," I explained, voicing the theory I had been formulating. "That means he's caught on to what we're doing, he's waiting us out."

"Well there's two of us and one of him, why not just settle it right here and now?"

I smiled. It was exactly what I had been thinking. "That's the best idea you've had all day."

Vera returned my smile. "I knew you'd come around to me eventually."

I had no time to reflect on our first positive exchange as I rapidly hit the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road, and before the car had even stopped its motion, I had my gun drawn and ready to return fire. But to my surprise, the other car didn't stop, instead, it slowed down as it passed us, then sped up again, leaving us behind.

"What just happened?" Vera asked. And for once, I had no answer.

Of all the mental scenarios I had prepared for, this was certainly not one of them. Sure, it was possible that he'd simply been spooked by the fact that there were two of us, but I had met enough gang members to know that they didn't frighten easily. And the person who had pursued us through Manhattan and into the backcountry in spite of all our efforts to evade him must surely have had a good reason for doing so. It seemed odd then, that he would suddenly give up so easily.

I kept staring in the direction the mystery car had fled, half-expecting it to come roaring back, but when that didn't happen. i realized he wasn't returning. And that meant it was time for us to leave. And that wasn't the only thing I had resolved to do as I reversed our course to return to Manhattan, and ultimately, Lnng Island. Enough was finally enough, I was prepared to confront Alistair Burton with the evidence I had before any harm came to Gwen or anyone else.

"You can't do it, you know."

"Pardon?" I had been so distracted by my own thoughts that I nearly forgot that Vera was in the car with my until her voice cut through.

"You can't just go to Burton and waltz in like some old western film. You'll be dead before you get a single word in."

"I never said I would do any such thing."

"You didn't have to. Your face says it all."

I sighed. I had to admit she was good at reading me. It was no wonder she had survived on the streets as long as she did. That didn't mean I agreed with her point of view, however.

"I suppose you have a better idea?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Let me meet with him first. I can convince him to talk to you."

"And how do I know you won't turn on me as easily as you turned on Burton?"

"I've been helpful so far, haven't I?"

And she had a point. She didn't have to help me track down that bank. I could grant her that much. Even so, I still found it difficult to look past that nagging feeling that something wasn't right. And the thought of leaving her alone with Burton didn't exactly give me comfort...

When I didn't answer right away, Vera heaved a frustrated sigh. "Listen Ray, I'm trying to help you here, whatever you may think. You don't know how the Trident operates. I do. I can play their game."

I considered this for several moments. Weighed the pros and cons of leaving my case in the hands of Vera Walters, and once again came to the conclusion that as far as my choices went, they were limited at best. I could try to take down Burton on my own and risk certain death, or I could trust Vera and have a slim chance. Neither option appealed to me, but the unfortunate fact was that with Carter Matthews dead, my case against the others depended on Vera. At some point I knew I was going to have to make a decision like this, I just didn't think it would be here and now...

"All right Vera, I suppose I never really had a choice to begin with. Talk to Burton, tell him whatever you need to. Arrange our meeting."

We drove on in silence for several minutes until I noticed a gas station with a phone booth and pulled up to it.

"What are we doing here?" Vera asked.

"Gwen will be worried, we were meant to be back hours ago."

Vera gave me a knowing look. "You really do care for little Miss Sanford, don't you?"

"Yes," I answered simply as I disembarked, "I do."

Phone call with Gwen

"Ray, is that you?"

I was so relieved to hear Gwen's voice that I didn't immediately notice that anything was amiss. "It's me, Gwen. What's going on over there? Are you all right?"

"Yes," Gwen replied, although by now I had noticed that she seemed short of breath. "I might ask the same of you, where did you go? I was so afraid that I'd lost you too."

"I'll explain it all when we get back-" wait. "What do you mean "lost you too"?"

Her voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. "He's gone, Ray."

"Who's gone?" I tried to keep my voice calm, but those old nerves were already kicking into high gear. And I had a pretty good suspicion of who she was referring to, although I had to hear it to be certain, and a moment later, I did.

"Mr. Godwin. He's disappeared. After you left, I figured I could help by talking to the staff, and one of them saw Vera Walters going into his room on the morning of my father's death. I tried to find him, but he was gone."

It was another of those moments, like reading about the murder of Carter Matthews. Right as I had thought the case was close to being solved, Godwin had....what had be done? Fled the state? The country? Or had he become the Trident's latest victim? In those frantic moments I couldn't help but wonder if all my work had been for naught...

"Ray? Ray are you there?"

Gwen's desperate voice brought me back to my senses. Once again, it seemed I was running against the clock. For all I knew, I might already be too late.

"Stay put. I'll be right over."