by Tonia Brown
The lock seemed normal enough: a simple combination affair that locked automatically when the door was closed. Dodger could’ve cracked the thing in less than ten minutes if so inclined. If Dodger were further inclined, he could lay a few charges of dynamite to punch the whole lock through the casing and just let himself inside. But neither of these tactics was employed here, for the lock was quite unmolested, showing no signs of attempted break-in or removal.
“Does the town know yet?” Dodger asked, motioning behind him to the faces pressed against the glass.
“Not quite,” Sheriff Stanley said. “They know something isn’t right, but they don’t know the money is gone.”
“You should tell them the truth. And I’d do it soon. I’ve seen that look on a mob before. It only gets uglier when they’re left to draw their own conclusions.”
“That vault held their entire lives. It took some convincing to assure them the bank was the safest bet for their money in the first place. Now it’s all gone. I just want to be sure of what happened before I try to explain it.”
“Then explain it to me, if you don’t mind,” Dodger said.
“Mr. Biddlesworth, tell him what you told me.”
The banker sighed, his patience with the stranger obviously wearing thin. “I left the bank at five o’clock last evening. When I came back this morning and opened at seven, the money was gone. Just gone.”
“Was there anyone else here when you left last night?” Dodger asked.
“Yes. My assistant.”
“And he left with you?”
“After.”
“You left him here alone?”
“Yes, but I hardly think-”
“What time did he leave?” Dodger asked over the man.
Biddlesworth gave a thin smile. “I can’t say for certain, but I know William usually leaves an hour after me.”
“Why after? Why not together?”
“Because, as my assistant, William is in charge of cleaning up the place before we close every night. Those floors don’t wax themselves, you know.”
“And you’re positive he didn’t take the money?”
Biddlesworth’s thin smile had grown to comically compressed proportions. “Yes. I am.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I trust him.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s not here.”
“I can see that, sir. Did you send him home?”
“No. He never came in.”
“You mean he’s gone?”
The banker nodded, then began chewing his lip.
Dodger wanted to roll his eyes and sigh and huff, but he didn’t. “Well, I hate to seem like a smart-ass, but doesn’t that seem awfully convenient? The money is gone ,and so is the lad you left alone here last night? There seems to be an obvious answer here.”
“William did not take that money,” Biddlesworth said.
“I know that’s what it looks like,” the sheriff said. “But I don’t think that’s what happened here. At least not as easy as all that. I think what happened is a bit more complicated than that, all things considered.”
All things considered? Dodger wondered what things he didn’t have access to considering. And if he was going to get it or not. “I didn’t say that’s what happened. I just said it was the obvious answer. I often find the most likely conclusion is the least likely truth. But the fact remains, the kid was the last one here, and now he’s gone, and so is the money.”
Biddlesworth balled his fists and shouted, “I don’t know why we keep dragging my poor assistant into this. None of this would have happened in the first place if our town deputy wasn’t a drunken sod!”
“Mr. Biddlesworth!” the sheriff shouted. “I have asked you more than once to leave Duncan out of this. He had nothing to do with what happened here. He isn’t in charge here. I am. So if you have a problem with my work, then take it up with me. Understand?”
“How can you say that? He has everything to do with this. If he wasn’t drunk out of his gourd, the bank would’ve been guarded properly. Not left alone for the wolves of the night to have their way!”
“Gentlemen,” Dodger said. “Please. Let’s try to focus on what happened here. Who is Duncan?”
“My deputy,” the sheriff said. “He’s a bit of a night owl.”
“He’s a bit of a drunk,” Biddlesworth snorted just under the sheriff’s words.
Sheriff Stanley shot the banker a dirty look. “Duncan usually checks on the bank and the other businesses during the night, while I maintain the peace during the day. It works out well, since we get so little trouble and all.”
“And he was watching the bank last night?” Dodger asked.
“Well, yes, but …” The sheriff began to fidget at the question. “He ran his usual routes, made his usual check-ins and all. But … well … he claims-”
“He claims he didn’t see anything!” the banker shouted. “Thirty thousand dollars in money and valuables just gets up and walks away in the middle of the night, and he doesn’t see a damned thing.”
Dodger raised a brow at the sheriff, who shrugged but didn’t argue.
Biddlesworth wasn’t quite done yet. “And just how did he miss out on all of the action? Because he was drunk as a skunk. That’s why!”
“I’ve had just about enough of your mouth!” the sheriff shouted. “One more word about him and so help me, I’ll slap you in a cell faster than you can complain to your stupid uncle!”
“You would do well to remember that if it wasn’t for my stupid uncle, there would be no Sunnyvale!”
“Maybe that would’ve been a good thing! Then at least these fine folks would still have their money!”
“Gentlemen!” Dodger shouted over their arguing. This was going nowhere. Too many suspects. Not enough evidence. “Can we please try to keep our heads? Sheriff, tell me what Duncan saw.”
“That’s the problem,” Sheriff Stanley said. “He says he didn’t see a thing. I went home around six and left Duncan on watch. He claims he did his usual rounds, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Did he see the assistant leave?”
“I’m not sure. You can ask him if you like.”
“Has anyone searched the assistance’s place? Maybe he left behind a clue as to where he took off to?”
“Truth is, I haven’t had much of a chance. We’d just discovered the robbery when you arrived.”
“Look here, Mr. Dodger or whoever you are,” Biddlesworth said. “My William didn’t take that money. He’s a fine, upstanding young lad.”
“How long has William worked here?” Dodger asked.
“Sheriff Stanley,” Biddlesworth said in a huff. “This is too much. I will not stand here and allow this total stranger to-”
“Just answer the question,” the sheriff said.
Biddlesworth huffed again. “As long as we’ve had the new safe.”
“New safe?” Dodger asked. He looked to the vault again. “You mean this was recently installed?”
“Yes.”
“What was wrong with the old safe?
“We didn’t have an old safe. We employed a caged lockbox system for the first few years, but it proved … unreliable. The vault became a necessity. I employed William to help me maintain it.”
“And how long has that been, exactly?”
“Six months now.”
“I see. And how long did you know him before that?”
Biddlesworth made a noncommittal noise.
“What was that?” Dodger asked. “I’m afraid I’m a bit deaf in this ear. If you don’t mind speaking up?”
“I didn’t,” Biddlesworth snapped. “I didn’t know him before then.”
Dodger wasn’t surprised. “Didn’t anyone here know him? Can anyone vouch for him?”
Sheriff Stanley shook his head. “He moved to town around the time we got the vault. He seemed like a good kid. Quiet, but pleasant.”
“If you didn’t kno
w him,” Dodger said, “then how did you trust him enough to hire him, much less leave him alone with the keys to the castle every night?”
“Because he was sent to me by someone I trust,” Biddlesworth said with an air of smugness.
“From?”
“From a friend of mine.” The room grew ever smugger.
“From?”
“New York.”
Leaps of logic abounded as Dodger’s synapses fired at will. Or rather, fired at William. “In other words, he was sent to you by the same friend who made the vault.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. And from the way Biddlesworth’s eyes went wide, the way the man wiggled and squirmed, Dodger had to assume the accusation was spot on.
“Jesse?” the sheriff asked. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Because I knew what it would look like,” Biddlesworth said. With each word, the man lost his previous smugness, growing more and more hysterical. “But it’s not like that. I swear I didn’t know this was going to happen. You must believe me. I had nothing to do with this!”
“Calm down, sir,” Dodger said. “I’m not saying anything has happened. Or that anyone did anything. I’m just pointing out the obvious again. That’s all. Now, will you please open the vault for me?”
“Do you plan on making a deposit?”
“No. I want to have a look about. See what I can see.”
Biddlesworth reeled away in horror, appalled by the idea. “I will do no such thing! I won’t have you fiddling about in my vault like it’s some kind of common romper room.”
“Come on, Jesse,” the sheriff said. “Open the fool thing for him so he can take a look around. You should consider yourself lucky I don’t arrest you on suspicion.”
“Why I never,” Biddlesworth said but shuffled about to do as asked.
The banker made an elaborate display of locking the main door and pulling the curtains tight before he deigned to open the vault. Dodger stepped into the strong room, all the way to the back, allowing his toe to come to rest against the rear wall. Casting a glance about, left then right, he took in as much detail as he could in the low light that filtered through the doorway, though there wasn’t much to take in. The place was bare. Even the shelves were gone. Dodger could just make out where the brackets were welded to the lead walls.
Dodger backed out of the vault and said, “Were the shelves gone too?”
“All of it was gone,” the banker said. “When I opened the vault this morning, that is exactly how I found it. Empty.”
Which was another mark for the odd column. What kind of bank robber stole shelves? Atop this oddity, another small matter niggled at Dodger’s mind. “Will you gentlemen excuse me for a moment?”
“Why?” Biddlesworth asked. “Would you like a moment alone with my vault so you can further defile her in privacy?”
Dodger did his best to repress a tacky smirk. “No, sir, I just want to check on something. I’ll be right back.”
Before either man could argue, Dodger made his way out the front door.
“Excuse me, sir?” a young woman asked. “Is there something wrong with the bank? We’ve tried to ask the sheriff, but he won’t tell us anything. Is there something wrong?”
“Yes,” Dodger said. “But we’re taking care of it. Don’t you worry.”
“Is our money safe?” a man asked.
“I’m not at liberty to answer that, sir, because I’m afraid I don’t work for the bank.”
“Then who do you work for?” another woman asked.
“Right now,” Dodger said with a tip of his hat, “I’m workin’ for you. So if you’ll allow me to get back to it, ladies and gentlemen.”
Leaving the crowd atwitter with excitement, Dodger slipped around the side of the building. There he walked, from one corner of the bank to the other, taking slow, deliberate steps as his mind catalogued the requisite details.
“I figured as much,” he said under his breath to no one in particular.
Feeling the pressure of eyes on him, Dodger whipped about to catch sight of a silver-haired man staring out through the barred window of the jailhouse next door. The fellow’s bloodshot eyes lay bordered by black circles from either lack of sleep or excessive worry, probably both. Dodger smiled and touched the brim of his hat. The stranger nodded and turned his sad eyes away without saying a word. Dodger suspected this was the deputy, but it could’ve just as well been the town drunk drying out in confinement. Of course, if what the banker had been spouting for the last ten minutes was to be believed, the town drunk and the deputy were one and the same.
Returning to the task at hand, Dodger joined the men inside the bank once more. There, he took the same walk, from front door to the back of the vault, just to be sure.
“Eleven,” Dodger announced. “Which leaves us two short.”
Biddlesworth grabbed the sheriff by the arm and said in a low voice, “That man has lost his mind.”
“No,” Dodger said. “You’ve lost some length. Or rather width. Your bank is thirteen paces from end to end outside, but inside it’s only eleven. Taking into account the width of the walls and whatnot, two paces is an awful wide space missing. Isn’t it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Biddlesworth said. “This bank was made to my specifications.”
“And you’re saying you know the exact proportions of the thing?” Sheriff Stanley asked.
“Well, perhaps not the exact sizes, but I’m sure it’s just as big inside as it is outside.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I supervised the construction. That’s why. And unlike you, I take my job seriously.”
While the banker jabbered on about his assured knowledge, Dodger ran his hands along the back of the vault. Yes, it was sturdy, firm under his wandering fingers … no … wait now, there was a soft space just at the bottom. A square that gave way just a bit under his hands.
“I think I would know if there was something amiss,” Biddlesworth said.
“Something like this?” Dodger asked, pressing against the square, which gave way with a soft click and swung open.
“What on earth …” was all the banker had to say to that.
“Can I get a light?” Dodger asked.
The sheriff scurried over with a lit oil lamp. Dodger pushed the lamp into the cubby, not sure what to expect to find, if anything at all. The lamp slid inside with ease, and Dodger knelt to follow. Just as he entered the hole, he hissed and pulled back. Dodger glanced down at his hands, to the small shard of glass jutting out of his right palm. He picked the thing free with a wince, and turned it over in his fingers. It sure looked like a piece of glass, but what was it doing here?
More cautious this time, Dodger re-entered the hole, sweeping his arm before him across the floor. And a good thing too, for he cleared away a thin layer of the sharp shards, all waiting to cut his palms to shreds like a crystalline booby trap. From what he could tell, the cubbyhole ran a healthy couple of feet across, a little more than that in height, and a few paces deep. It would’ve been more than big enough for a man to fit inside if it had been empty. Which it was most certainly not. Dodger twisted in the hole, half in and half out, to see what was taking up so much space.
A curious sight met his eyes. A curious sight indeed.
“Well?” the muffled voice of the banker asked.
“I’ll be a son of a gun,” Dodger whispered in awe.
“What do you see?” Sheriff Stanley asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” Dodger shouted to the opening. “But I know someone who will.”
“Sharge!” Ched shouted.
Dodger jumped in surprise and banged his head on the strange metal contraption looming in the darkness. Rubbing his now-tender noggin, Dodger backed out of the hole to find Ched barging into the bank with a stranger in tow. The same stranger from the jailhouse window.
“What is that man doing in here?” the banker asked.
“I le
t him in,” the stranger said.
Dodger could see now, from the brass star the man wore, that he was indeed the deputy. The man was three times the age of his sheriff, and if anything, the poor soul looked even more exhausted up close and personal. As though the man hadn’t seen a decent night’s sleep in weeks, maybe even years. Considering the recent events, Dodger could sympathize.
“Oh I see,” Biddlesworth said. “Sober enough now, are we?”
“That’s enough,” the sheriff warned.
The banker huffed and spun on his heel, shunning the four men with all the snobbery available to his upturned nose.
“I’m Deputy Tyler Duncan,” the man said, holding his hand out to Dodger. “Most folks just call me Duncan.”
“Rodger Dodger,” Dodger said. He gripped the deputy’s hand, noting the way it trembled, ever so slightly. Nerves? Dodger doubted it. “And I see you’ve met Ched.”
“Sure. I remember him from last time.” The older man wrinkled his nose a bit. “Who could forget him? Only he came with a different man then.”
“I hate to cut into your little dansh here, Sharge,” Ched said. “But your five minutesh were up ten minutesh ago. What’sh the verdict?”
“The verdict is … well, it’s complicated,” Dodger said. “Ched, would you do me a favor and go back to the line and ask the professor to join us here?”
“Join ush?” Ched snorted. “You know that man don’t like to make pershonal appearanshesh.”
“Why not?” Deputy Duncan asked.
“Becaush when the doc comesh into a town, folksh tend to run him out the shame day. Ushusally there are pitchforksh and torchesh involved. It’sh never pretty.”
“Tell him we need him,” Dodger said. “There is something here he is going to want to see.”
Ched remained unimpressed.
“Tell him there is science to be done,” Dodger added.
“Shiensh?” Ched asked, rubbing his chin. “Why didn’t you shay sho in the firsht plash? If there’sh anything that will shtoke a fire under that mansh behind fashter then an ash-high flame, itsh the idea that he can shtrut his shtuff.” Ched tipped his hat to the men. “Shee ya in a few.”