Murder Mistress

by Robert Colby

  “But that wouldn’t end it. We would hang around for three, four days making deposits on these accounts, up to ten, fifteen grand each bank. It’s opening the account you have to be careful. After — who’s to question deposits? Some jerk teller? Hell, no. Right, Clay?”

  “That’s right, Roy.” Clay no longer wondered why Whalen bothered to explain the plan. He was proud of it and this was opportunity.

  “But still,” he continued, “we don’t gamble by dropping too many eggs in one basket. So after a few days we move on. To New Orleans. Same thing all over again. Then slowly, we head west, shedding gold all the way. In only the big cities. Finally, we wind up on the coast — like L. A. We drop the rest of the loot, maybe seventy-five grand between us, in banks around town.

  “Then we buy some kind of small business we can use as a dodge. For this we have a nice commercial account and very slowly we start pumping money into it from these nest eggs around the country. Neat, Clay?”

  “Quite.”

  “But we have one problem. First we have to get the money out of the state of Florida. And the newspapers, to say nothing of your personal contacts, tell us that trains, planes, ships and all roads are being watched. But how long do they set up roadblocks? A day? Two days? Three? Four at the most. After that, what the hell…. So we figure on five. But we have to know. We can’t guess. So I agree to go on ahead about half-way across the state on Route 27 to Haines City. If I get through without a whisper, then I phone Marty, tell him it’s okay to drive up and bring the cash, meet me at Haines in a certain motel. Also, this way we’re not two guys traveling together — just what the boys might be looking for.

  “Next day I go on ahead and cross into Georgia. If it’s okay, I phone Marty to follow right behind and we meet in Atlanta. We sell one car and shove off again. Don’t you think it would have worked, Clay?”

  “I think so,” he answered. “It was well thought out.”

  “You think so — and I know so. Now, Clay boy, you just tell me this, what went wrong? Who would have the best chance of crossing us up and grabbing that cash?”

  “How should I know!” said Clay sharply, reaching for some offensive position to cover his growing fear that Roy might have a clue. “From your story of the check you made after the accident, it seems to me you’ve overlooked several possibilities.”

  “For instance?”

  “Why for God’s sake, Roy, anything could have happened. You’ve got people milling all over the place at the wreck. Suppose the force of the crash had snapped that trunk lock open and — ”

  “Don’t hand me that, Clay. You got a lot of people around, one wise-guy won’t risk it. He don’t even know what he’s after. Don’t give me that.”

  “I’m not giving you a goddam thing, Roy. You sound like the prosecuting attorney. I don’t have to defend myself. You got more than your share. What you did with it is your business. If you don’t want a little friendly advice, don’t waste my time. Just get out.”

  Roy smiled his bored, I’m-waiting smile. “So what else is new, Clay?”

  Clay was silent. Might as well play all the cards and see if there was a trump out. If only the accident arrangement had gone as planned. There would have been no second car with a missing driver. Just Marty — careless, sleepy, drunk — but off the road without any apparent help. No questions.

  “It never occurred to me that Marty might have the money with him,” said Clay. “So I haven’t had much time to think about it. But right off the top of the mind, let’s see…. You said the car was hauled in by a wrecker. A wrecker has a crew. They couldn’t have been watched every minute….”

  “Anything else, Clay?”

  “Well, sure. You can think as well as I can. The cops take the case and put it in one of the patrol cars. Routine. Later, they check it. Right away they guess the money is stolen. One, they keep it. Or two, they hold it for investigation. If so, they’re certainly not giving out any information.”

  “Yeah,” said Roy. “But they would lay for some guy like me to come around. If that was the case, I’d be in the pokey right now. It was a chance I had to take. Give me another idea.”

  “As much as I hate to say this,” replied Clay, “did it ever occur to you that Marty could find that much money awfully tempting? He might have disposed of it before the accident.”

  “It occurred to me,” said Roy. “But then I got wondering why he was on the right road, headed in the right direction. See what I mean? Can you think of one more, Clay boy?”

  Clay assumed an attitude of deep consideration. “On short notice,” he said finally, “that’s as far as I can go with it.”

  Roy shifted in his chair, lighted a cigarette, exhaled luxuriously. “You know,” he said, “it kind of disappoints me that a brain like you could miss one big angle. It’s a real surprise to me that an ignorant, stumble-along cluck like me could out-reason you. I’m too modest to believe it possible.”

  “Cut it, Roy. I’m already impressed.”

  “So now tell me, Clay. How could you forget about the driver of the Caddy? Huh? If the bastard could swipe a car, he could swipe cash, couldn’t he? And then beat it — fast.”

  “I didn’t overlook that,” said Clay quickly. “I passed over it because it didn’t make sense. Even if he had time for all that, and wasn’t hurt so badly he could just about crawl away, he wouldn’t stop to search for money he didn’t know existed.”

  “Ahhh,” said Roy, “that’s the rub. But suppose he did know it existed.”

  Clay swallowed. “How?”

  Roy got up and walked over to stand before Clay’s chair. All expression had left his face. “I’ll tell you how. You told him, pal. You told him.”

  “What? Nonsense!”

  “That’s it, you told him. You got hold of some punk for a few grand and you tipped him to follow Marty. He grabbed the case and brought it to you.”

  “Ridiculous! How could I tell him to follow Marty if I didn’t know the first thing about your plan?”

  “I haven’t figured that one yet. But I don’t need it. Because I can tell by looking at you I’m goddam close. When I came over here, I was in the dark. Just groping around for any kind of an answer, listening to a hunch. But when a guy like you forgets to mention some obvious angle like what gives with the missing stooge in the Caddy, it must be because he’s got something to hide. Where’s the money, Clay?”

  “Don’t try to start anything with me, Roy. You’ll come out on the wrong end.”

  “You scare me. Where’s that dough!”

  “Get out, Roy. For the last time, get out.”

  Roy ignored him and began to walk around, opening a closet, studying the room. “Of course,” he said, “knowing you, it’s probably so well hidden I’ll have to beat your head open to find it. But I’ll just go through the motions first.” He went towards one of the bedrooms — the wrong one.

  “Whalen! I wouldn’t go in there. I’ve got company.” Clay stood and let his hand rest behind him on the butt of the .45 beneath his coat.

  Roy turned. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “Let me guess. Come on out, Valerie!” he called.

  Valerie opened the door and walked into the room. Again she was wearing the tight skirt and pink sweater. In fear and haste she had obviously pulled the sweater over nakedness.

  With his eyes, Roy very carefully removed the sweater, then the skirt. He seemed to store the picture away before his gaze came up to her face. “Hello, Val. How’s it go? Getting your kicks?”

  Valerie gave him a look of icy disdain. But he stared her down and she walked away, settling into the chair by which Clay was standing.

  “What a cozy little nest,” said Roy. “All the luxuries. You have expensive taste, Clay. I’ve always wished I could afford a gal like Valerie. But I never had the money. Let’s see if we can’t find just what it is that holds her interest — aside from your own personal magnetism, of course.” Again he walked towards the bedroom.

  “D
on’t bother, Roy. You’re leaving.”

  It was said with such calm conviction that Roy paused to look over his shoulder into the wide mouth of the gun. He came back a ways, but did not seem frightened.

  “Expecting trouble, Clay? You don’t seem the type to carry a gun.”

  “My character changes with circumstances,” said Clay. “I adapt quickly. But just for your peace of mind — you wouldn’t have found what you came for. We don’t have it and never did.”

  Roy scratched his nose with an index finger. “Well now, it seems to me that with a big .45 in your hand you’re a little too anxious to convince me.”

  “Goodbye, Roy. And I mean goodbye.”

  Whalen went to the door and turned. “Of course you haven’t got the guts,” he said. “But you’d be a lot safer if you just pulled that trigger right now, Clay. I never saw the inside of a jail, but I risked a long stretch to get that money. I gambled my whole life on it. Marty Bates died for his share which I now consider to be mine. And as far as I’m concerned, without that three hundred seventy-five thousand, I’m just as good as dead. I’ll be a dead man walking around looking for his life-blood. Twenty-four hours a day, awake or asleep, I’ll be scheming ways to beat you, Clay — if I have to kill you to do it. Wherever you go, whatever you do, just keep thinking about that. Enjoy yourself, buddy boy. S’long.”

  They looked at each other.

  He went out the door.

  “My God, he means it,” said Valerie in a husky voice. “He means every word. Clay, I’m scared. What are we going to do? What can we possibly do now …?”

  NINE

  The head teller of the Second National Bank in the Commercial Exchange Building on Flagler Street, was a small thin man with a narrow face, a wiry mop of gray hair and placid gray eyes behind steel-rimmed glasses.

  “I thought you looked familiar, Mr. Daniels,” he said leaning forward from his window. “And now that you mention WKSR, it comes back to me right away. The wife and I used to watch you on that NIGHT PATROL program. Interesting show. Yes, indeed. Well, sir, what can I do for you?”

  “The station,” said Scott, “is considering a new program called CLASSIC CRIMES, UNSOLVED. It would be a series of interviews with police officials and laymen having knowledge of any of the more spectacular crimes which have gone unsolved. Aside from its news and entertainment value, we would hope to enlist the aid of the public in furnishing clues which previously might have been thought unimportant. The police would bring to light some of the lesser known facts of the case and this in turn might stir the public memory. There are all kinds of possibilities. And, for a starter, I’ve been assigned to investigate the details surrounding the robbery of this bank.”

  Actually, Scott had dreamed up the idea the night before as a gimmick to get information, only to find that it was surprisingly sound. Clint Rolley, the Program Director, was dubious but could see no harm in giving sanction if Daniels was willing to expend his own time gathering material for a pilot show.

  “Well,” said the head teller, whose name was Wilkins, “you can count on me for full cooperation. Anything that would help to bring those men to — ”

  “Thank you,” said Scott. “Now, what time did the robbery occur?”

  “It was just about ten minutes before ten on a Thursday morning, the 29th. We opened as usual at 9:30.”

  Scott smiled. “You wouldn’t forget that, would you?”

  Wilkins gave his head a vigorous shake. “Never. We had to meet several payrolls on the following day. Firms in this building and others in the neighborhood that issue their paychecks on the fifteenth and thirtieth of the month. An accumulation of two-weeks’ pay per employee can add up to a lot of money. The cash had to be counted on Thursday and dispersed on Friday.”

  “Now where did this money come from, Mr. Wilkins?”

  “Depends on how far you want to go back. Originally it came with a larger amount from the nearest Federal Reserve Bank in Jacksonville. Brinks handled the delivery to the First National.”

  “A branch of this bank?”

  “No, sir. There are no branch banks in Florida by state law. But First National has the largest amount of cash on hand in the city and smaller banks like this one have accounts there. When we need extra cash to meet large payrolls, we draw it from them. As in this case, the money is delivered by a local armored trucking outfit.”

  “All right,” said Scott. “Now we know where it came from and for what purpose. But the robbery took place after the money was delivered. Right?”

  “That’s right. Within a minute or two. I was just getting ready to transfer it to the vault until we were ready to count it.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Well, it seemed like the guards had hardly gone out the door when I found myself looking into the barrel of a revolver. There were two men, both wearing white coveralls — the kind painters use. They wore white gloves and those peaked painters’ caps. One of them even had a paint brush tucked in his belt.”

  “And masks?”

  “Yes, of a sort. Black strips of cloth which hung down from under their caps, covering their faces and leaving slits for the eyes.”

  “Strange get-up,” said Scott. “You could tell nothing about them?”

  “Nothing worthwhile. Two men, hard-voiced but not particularly — you know, ungrammatical in their speech. One was taller than the other. I can’t tell you another thing. You couldn’t see much of their builds in those loose coveralls.”

  “Just what did they do and say?”

  “I didn’t see them approach,” said Wilkins. “I was bent over the sacks. I felt the presence of someone at the window and looked up into the gun.

  “ ‘It’s not your money, bud,’ this voice said. ‘So don’t take a chance on a slug through your brain. Press the little button and let my friend in through the door. And don’t press any other buttons or you’re dead.’ All this was said in a very hushed voice. There were two typists at work addressing statements a few feet away and also the deposit box girl at her desk. They heard nothing. As you see, the bank is L-shaped and we are around the corner from the main section, out of sight. No one saw.”

  “So you opened the door?” said Scott.

  “I opened the door and the other man who had been standing back with his hand in his pocket came in. He drew his gun and made the girls and myself get face down on the floor. He said, ‘If one of you turns a hair in this direction you’ll get it right in the head.’ My God, we certainly weren’t going to argue the point. We did exactly as we were told.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “We heard some quick movements, heavy breathing as they wrestled with the sacks, some whispering. Then one of the voices said, ‘Okay, Rick. You and Junky load the car and take off. I’ll hold a gun on these jerks another five minutes.’ After that it was perfectly still. But it wasn’t much over a minute before one of the tellers came back on an errand and found us. Of course, the robbers had gone and we turned in the alarm. It didn’t seem like two minutes before the first police car arrived. Then the whole area was swarming with them and in no time all the exits from the city were blocked.”

  “But there never was a single clue?”

  “No. The police now have come to believe they calmly loaded the money in a paint truck, drove somewhere and unloaded it with their fake equipment. But not one person can be found who remembers such a truck parked outside or cruising the streets. A woman remembers seeing two painters carrying something down the hall of the building between them. She said it was white and looked like a big folded tarp. Of course the money must have been in it. As you know, there are two entrances to the bank. This one right here in the building corridor. And at the other end, the one to the street. Two people tried to enter here and found a sign which said, Painters at work, use street entrance. And that, Mr. Daniels, is how they sealed off this door.”

  “Neat,” said Scott. “They didn’t miss a trick.”

  “Abs
olutely professional,” said Mr. Wilkins. “Timing, costume, escape — all perfect.”

  “What was the exact amount stolen, Mr. Wilkins?”

  “All told, five hundred thousand, seventeen hundred dollars.”

  “Coffee and cakes for quite a while. About the names you heard-”

  “Rick and Junky? Well, of course there are a lot of Ricks with police records. Junky might imply a dope addict. The police are checking — not to successfully, I’m afraid.”

  “Was there ever any mention of a woman in this case?”

  “A woman? No, sir. Not that I know of.” Wilkins bore a look of studious perplexity.

  “It seems to me,” said Scott, thoughtfully, “that the timing was a little better than professional. Tell me this, does the name Valerie mean anything to you? Was there ever an employee by that name in the bank?”

  Curiosity shadowed the mild features of Mr. Wilkins. He kept the question to himself. “I’ve been here a good many years,” he said, “and I’m pretty sure there was never a girl we called Valerie. Could you give me the last name?”

  “It would be one of the great pleasures of my life,” said Scott. “But I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “If it’s important, I could check.”

  “Would you?”

  “Certainly.”

  Wilkins departed. He returned in a few minutes with a negative shake of his head. “Sorry. No Valeries in our personnel records. It isn’t a name you hear very often. I do know of a depositor by that name. A Mrs. Valerie Hobson.”

  “How old is she?” said Scott excitedly.

  Wilkins considered, requesting an answer of the ceiling. “I’d say about fifty … fifty-five at most.”

  “Damn!” said Scott.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m looking for someone younger. In any case, I don’t think she would be a depositor. Wouldn’t that be a funny one….?”