facets of her personality overtly incongruous. She was the only child of Amir Sharon, a Persian émigré who amassed a small fortune as an exporter in Iran and parlayed it by investing in commercial strips on the North Shore of Long Island. Her father indulged her every whim: whatever Esther wanted, Esther got. She was spoiled rotten. At 26, she was a child who had never grown up, her temper tantrums legendary; Sam was surprised both by their frequency and intensity but he found her other qualities endearing. She had a soft side, could melt a glacier with her pastel brown eyes and one smile was all it took for Sam to be putty in her hands. Her mind was extremely active, but the greater part of her mental energies was generated by her libido. She had been diagnosed by more than one shrink as an obsessive-compulsive with nymphomaniacal tendencies. She would spend an inordinate amount of time dreaming up ways of satisfying her sexual fantasies. And she had been remarkably successful—love triangles and adultery, mixed with international intrigue and murder.
Esther had all the necessary prerequisites to flourish within the context of her own sexual fantasy world: she was imaginative, intelligent, and of paramount importance, breathtakingly beautiful. Her face was perfectly proportioned. Her high cheekbones and magnificent pastel brown eyes blended in harmony to give her an exotic look—she could have played the part of Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile. She was, undoubtedly, the product of centuries of selection in a restricted gene pool, heralding an extraordinary aesthetic quality unique to Persian women. It was beauty in the classical sense; when Esther walked into a room, all eyes turned in her direction.
Despite her innate beauty, Esther was at war with herself. It was as if, the selection process, from which she derived her beauty, had left her wanting with respect to basic traits critical to a well-adjusted person. Esther could never find a middle ground. Her beauty and passion for conquest placed her in situations she had little or no ability to control. By the time she met Sam, she was already well down the path of self-destruction. He helped her reclaim her soul. And he thought, perhaps naively, that in time, he could harness her temperament.
Sam first met Esther nine months ago when she burst into his office demanding his help in what later was referred to in the press as the Code of Samuel murder case. She was gorgeous, mystifying, and sensuous. The chemistry between them was immediate—the irresistible object and the immovable force. Esther was a woman who could obtain everything and anything she wanted merely by expressing her desire to have it; Sam was a man who denied himself love as a consequence of his steadfast commitment to his work. He was every bit the masculine counterpart to Esther, just as Mark Antony was to Cleopatra. Sam stood six foot two inches tall, with a magnificent physique molded by hundreds of hours pumping iron. He had rugged good looks, deep brown eyes that matched his curly neck length dark brown hair. His eyes never looked away—no one could stare him down, and he had a charismatic personality that was hard to match. And like Esther, he had difficulty suppressing an abundance of sexual energy, which likewise propelled him into awkward relationships. But, in contrast to Esther, Sam had gained some control over his untoward inclinations. He stayed within the bounds of societal norms; Esther didn’t even know they existed. Sam was not generally inclined towards living a traditional life style, but he found himself in the peculiar position of having to set a good example for Esther. He had to be the perfect role model.
For Sam, it was love at first sight. From the day she first marched into his office everything that followed contributed to their fateful union, notwithstanding Sam’s surprising discovery that Esther had in fact murdered her own husband. She was exonerated on a plea of temporary insanity having been drugged and brainwashed by Mikhail Weijnstein, the former world chess champion. Weijnstein had been her husband’s business partner. It was only of late that Esther had come back to herself. Her improved mental health was the result of months of intensive therapy. She seemingly emerged as vibrant as ever; but Sam had been warned by her doctor—though Esther had been drugged and brainwashed, she was driven partly by her own demons. And he was also warned that despite her recovery, these demons might be lying dormant ready to return at any time. Her marriage to Daniel Rozan and her illicit affair with Weijnstein had served to hone her sexual prowess. She was an artist when it came to pleasing a man. But like an artist, she was continuously searching for inspiration. And although her doctor had given her a clean bill of health, Sam sometimes found her lapsing into distant worlds of her own machinations. It’s something that Sam struggled with, though not always successfully. He reasoned that keeping her busy might be the best therapy.
Sam made the ultimate compromise by taking her into the firm; it was a true testament to his love. Esther immediately became consumed by the detective business. But her involvement often spelled trouble. For one thing, her meddling frequently alienated the inveterate staffers of Sonn and Son Investigations. Esther viewed herself as second in command to Sam—ruffling feathers was her specialty. Worse, her presence cramped Sam’s freewheeling, two-fisted style. Like the Thin Man’s, Nick Charles, Sam always had to worry about his female counterpart.
Sam caught a glimpse of Esther as soon as he walked through the front door of the Water Club. She was sitting at their reserved table, on the balcony beneath the cathedral window. Mount Aetna prior to erupting could not have looked more ominous. Sam met her icy gaze briefly and smiled. He pointed with his forefinger indicating that he would be back shortly. Sam needed to use the men’s room. There was still some soot and tar on his hands and face as a result of the explosion. He washed thoroughly, combed his hair and splashed some cologne on his face. “That’s better,” he said inspecting himself in the mirror. He left a dollar bill in the tray for the attendant then marched confidently over to Esther’s table and kissed her gently on the neck. It settled her down just a bit.
“Where were you?” she asked. There were still daggers in her eyes.
“An unexpected delay,” Sam replied. It was then that she noticed the bruise on his cheek.
“What the hell happened to you?” Her expression softened.
“I was at police headquarters on business . . .”
“What business?” Esther interrupted somewhat incensed that he had undertaken a case without consulting her.
“Earlier this week I told you that I was negotiating a retainer for a big case. Well, the Moreau family hired us to assist the police in the investigation of her death. Eleanor Moreau was the last victim of the crossword puzzle murderer. The family isn’t pleased with the lack of progress that the police and FBI are making.”
“The crossword puzzle murderer! You didn’t tell me you were on the case.”
“I was going to tell you. Chief of Detectives, Patrick Morgan agreed to let me review the evidence the police had amassed. When I went by to pick it up, I was asked to help them solve the latest puzzle.”
“Sam, you know I’m an excellent crossword puzzle solver. I have a three star rating from the “Black Squares Club,” the leading crossword club in the country.
“I know, Esther, but between Lentz and myself, we succeeded in solving it.”
“Lew Lentz the crossword editor of the Herald Gazette?”
“The ex-editor of the Herald Gazette.”
“What do you mean, ex-editor, Sam?”
“After we completed the puzzle, Lentz and I walked out of the building together. We were both parked in the officers’ lot across the street from the station. Lentz went to his car and I got into the Volvo. The next thing I see is Lentz’s car ramming the import behind it. The gas tank of his Mercedes exploded, and the car was engulfed in flames. I ran over to him and shot out the window with my Colt 2000. I managed to get the door open and pull him out. Just then there was a secondary explosion. We were thrown halfway across the lot. Don’t worry. I’m okay. I only sustained some bruises. Lentz on the other hand . . . EMS couldn’t revive him.”
“He’s dead? What happened?”
“Heart attack. Happened as soon as he started his car. The shock caused his body to stiffen and his foot to lock on the accelerator.”
“Sam, you could have been killed.”
“And miss our trip to Monte Carlo, no way,”