The Key to Midnight

they?'
        'Maybe we can find out.' He pointed to the telephone that stood on a rosewood desk in one corner of the living room. 'As a start, maybe you should make a call to J. Compton Woolrich.'
        'I thought you'd decided he doesn't exist.'
        'There's a telephone number on his stationery. We're obliged to try it, even if it won't get us anywhere. And it won't. After that, we'll make a call to the United British-Continental Insurance Association.'
        'Will that get us anywhere?'
        'No. But I want you to make the call for the same reason that a curious little boy might poke a stick into a hornet's nest: to see what will happen.'

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    29
        
        Joanna sat at the small rosewood desk on which stood the telephone. Alex pulled up a chair beside her and sat close enough to hear the other end of the conversation when she turned the receiver half away from her ear.
        Midnight Kyoto time was two o'clock in the afternoon in London, and the insurance company's switchboard operator answered on the second ring. She had a sweet, girlish voice. 'May I help you?'
        Joanna said, 'Is this British-Continental Insurance?'
        After a pause the operator said, 'Yes.'
        'I need to speak to someone in your claims department.'
        'Do you know the name of the claims officer you want?'
        'No,' Joanna said. 'Anyone will do.'
        'What sort of policy does the claim involve?'
        'Life insurance.'
        'One moment, please.'
        'For a while the line carried nothing but background static: a steady hissing, intermittent sputtering.
        The man in the claims department finally came on the line. He clipped his words with crisp efficiency as sharp as any scissors. 'Phillips speaking. Something I can help you with?'
        Joanna told him the story that she and Alex had concocted: After all these years, the Japanese tax authorities wanted to be certain that the funds with which she had started life in Japan had not, in fact, been earned there either by her or someone else. She needed to prove the provenance of her original capital in order to avoid paying back taxes. Unfortunately, she had thrown away the cover letter that had come with the insurance company's check.
        She felt that she was convincing. Even Alex seemed to think so, for he nodded at her several times to indicate that she was doing a good job.
        'Now I was wondering, Mr. Phillips, if you can possibly send me a copy of that letter, so I can satisfy the tax authorities here.'
        Phillips said, 'When did you receive our check?'
        Joanna gave him the date.
        'Oh, then I can't help. Our records don't go back that far.'
        'What happened to them?'
        'Threw them out. We're always short of file space. We're legally obligated to store them only seven years. In fact, I'm surprised it's still a worry to you. Don't they have a statute of limitations in Japan?'
        'Not in tax matters,' Joanna said. She hadn't the slightest idea whether that was true. 'With everything on computer these days, I would think nothing ever gets thrown out.'
        'Well, I'm sorry, but they're gone.'
        She thought for a moment and then said, 'Mr. Phillips, were you working for British-Continental when my claim was paid?'
        'No. I've been here only eight years.'
        'What about other people in your department? Weren't some of them working there twelve years ago?'
        'Oh, yes. Quite a few.'
        'Do you think one of them might remember?'
        'Remember back twelve years to the payoff on an ordinary life policy?' Phillips asked, incredulous. 'Highly unlikely.'
        'Just the same, would you ask around for me?'
        'You don't mean now, while you hold long distance from Japan?'
        'Oh, no. If you'd just make inquiries when you've got the time, I'd appreciate it. And if anyone does remember anything, please write me immediately.'
        'A memory isn't a legal record,' Phillips said doubtfully. 'I'm not sure what good someone's recollections would be to you.'
        'Can't do any harm,' she said.
        'I suppose not. All right. I'll ask.'
        Joanna gave Phillips her address, thanked him, and hung up.
        'Threw out all the records. Convenient,' Alex said sourly.
        'But it doesn't prove anything.'
        'Exactly. It doesn't prove anything - one way or the other.'
        At twenty minutes