The Benchminder

by Stan Mason

  ‘It has a hybrid petrol-electric engine.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A hybrid petrol-electric engine,’ he repeated, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling in despair. ‘A two-and-a-half horse power electric motor fitted to each of the rear wheels. Together they give a five horsepower pull, jointly capable of twenty horsepower for short periods. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  There was a long pause until Cavanagh plucked up enough courage to answer. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’

  ‘Under the bonnet is a four hundred cubic centimetre motor-cycle engine designed to replace the conventional engine and eliminate the need for a prop shaft and differential gears, making it far roomier inside. Along side it are four normal twelve-volt heavy duty car batteries. The electric motors are then charged and driven in parallel with the motor-cycle engine. As such, the car can run at over seventy miles an hour per gallon. Have you written all this down in your memo, Cavanagh?’

  The question was rhetoric because the other man could not have possibly written everything down in such a short space of time even if he understood the details.

  ‘No wonder you haven’t got approval yet,’ he returned calmly. ‘It sounds more like a rocket.’

  ‘I’m not asking for your opinion, Cavanagh!’ growled Rigby angrily. ‘I want someone to approve my application so that I can get the damned car! Get back to your Director and tell him this one is urgent. Urgent! If not, I’ll get the Assistant Chief Executive on his tail! And that’s a promise!’

  ‘Right, Mr. Rigby,’ returned the other man under stress. He tried to think of an appropriate reply but by that time the senior executive had hung up.

  The banker leaned back in his chair with a scowl on his face which soon broke into a smile. ‘I rather enjoyed that, you know,’ he told his secretary. ‘All day long people have been hurling problems at me and making demands. It was the first chance I had to retaliate,.,,,and I enjoyed it!’

  His euphoria was short-lived however because the telephone call he had dreaded for some time finally came through. Chief Inspector Church always had the knack of striking at his adversaries when they were at their weakest, and this was another occasion when he had chosen the right moment. The police officer had become tired of the cat-and-mouse game and he wanted to see some positive action taking place.

  ‘What is it, Chief Inspector?’ began Rigby with the pretence of boredom in his tone.

  ‘You realise you’ve lost the best part of the day as well was wasting our effort so far,’ criticised the other man.

  ‘If you think you can bluff that man out of the branch by using a loudspeaker, forget it! Let me remind you that you frightened him so much, he issued an ultimatum. It took a great deal of work to calm him down after that!’

  Church was unable to hide his anger at the harsh words of the banker. ‘How much longer can you hold out? He’s not going to sit there for ever!’

  Rigby drew deeply on his cigarette releasing the smoke quickly. ‘He’s been holding out so far... without your help!’

  ‘He’ll probably die of boredom the way it’s going!’ sniped the Chief Inspector. ‘I still say he hasn’t got a bomb. Why else would he hang on for so long if he had one?’

  The banker bit his bottom lip to suppress his frustration. The police officer still refused to believe that the threat was real. ‘If that was a hoax, he’d have run out of that branch like a frightened rabbit two hours ago. What’s the point of him sitting there without the means to carry out his threat?’

  ‘Because he’s a nut case, Rigby! Mad as a hatter! We deal with people like that every day!’

  ‘Why don’t you listen to me, Church?’ pleaded the banker earnestly.

  ‘You’re not listening to me!’ came the swift reply as the police officer began to show signs of frustration.

  ‘All right, if you’re so clever,’ continued Rigby irately, what do you suggest we do at this point in time. Give me the benefit of all the experience you keep talking about!’

  ‘Oh, no! This is your case, Mr. Banker. You insisted on handling the situation so you take the responsibility. Now that you’ve made a hash of it, you can’t pass the mess on to me! I’ll stand by to pick up the pieces!’

  A small smile showed at the edge of Rigby’s mouth. ‘With all that experience, you still don’t know what to do, do you? You’re stymied!’

  ‘What’s your next move?’ asked Church, ignoring the comment.

  ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ lied the banker. ‘We have an ultimate weapon up our sleeve. Something that would never enter your mind because it’s intelligent. Get the drift!’

  ‘Loud and clear! You’ve no idea what to do or where you going on all this. You’re in a jam. Well don’t expect us to bail you out! You warned us off in the first place... remember! No one gets recognition for arresting a lunatic with a bomb that he hasn’t got. Look, you’ve reached a point where you don’t know which way to turn so why not hand the case over to me. It’s got to end up with a rough-and-tumble. It’s bound to! There’s no other way!’

  ‘Rough-and tumble?’

  ‘No criminal turns to a policeman and says ‘All right, it’s a fair cop!’ That’s comic book stuff. The tougher the going, the more the criminal acts like a wounded animal. That man isn’t going to come out of the branch knowing that the police are waiting for him. It’s going to end like a rugby scrum!’

  Rigby took a short puff of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ash-tray. There was a lot of sense in what Church had to say but how could he take advantage of it? There was no easy way of winkling the man out of the branch. There was always the plan to place men on the roof of the branch ready to rush the bandit but that was far too risky when he held two wires in his hand with the threat of a bomb in the holdall on his lap.

  Rigby looked up to see Ben Howard frantically trying to gain his attention by indicating that there was an important call on one of the red telephones. The banker swiftly closed down the conversation with the police officer and diverted his attention to his assistant.

  ‘The caller says she’s a relative of the man in the branch,’ whispered Howard, pressing the palm of his hand firmly over the mouthpiece so that the caller couldn’t hear him.

  ‘Go on!’ ushered the senior executive urgently. ‘Get what you can!’

  The younger rman replaced the receiver to his ear and picked up a pen to write notes on the blank pad in front of him. ‘You say you’re a relative of the man in the photograph on the front page of the Evening Tribune,’ he said slowly. ‘How close are you?’

  ‘I’m his sister,’ declared the caller.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘It’s Phyllis.’

  ‘Phyllis what?’

  ‘I don’t want to get my brother into trouble,’ she went on. ‘He’s a very good man really. He really is.’

  ‘I assure you, Phyllis we‘re trying to help him,’ soothed Howard, realising that he would have to work hard to get the information he required. ‘What’s your last name?’

  ‘Phyllis D... ‘ she began and then halted. ‘I’d rather you called me by my first name.’

  ‘I do need your full name. You see, I have to fill in the names of all the callers on my answer sheet otherwise I’ll get into trouble with my boss. You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble, would you?’ He was pulling out all the stops to obtain the vital information he needed but she avoided his plea because of her concern for the welfare of her brother.

  ‘Can I do something which might help him?’ she asked hopefully, although anyone with the slightest intelligence would have grasped the situation long before now.

  ‘You last name begins with the letter D. What’s the rest of it?’ There was no reply as Howard pursed his line of enquiry from another angle. ‘All right, let me have your address or
telephone number in case we get cut off. Now that’s simply enough, isn’t it?’

  ‘What are you going to do with my brother?’

  By this time, Rigby had moved closer to the telephone to listen into the conversation. Howard and his superior met each other’s gaze at her comment, both understanding the difficulties which lay ahead of them. The woman was sincere but she failed to recognise her importance as a vital link in the issue.

  ’Did he tell you he was going to the bank?’ Howard decided that the best method in forcing the woman to divulge details about herself would be by asking leading questions.

  ’I’m not really sure,’ she replied candidly.

  ’He lives with you, doesn’t he?’

  ’Of course he does,’ she retorted, surprised that he needed to ask the question. ’Who else would look after him if I didn’t?’

  ’And you gave him his holdall this morning... to take with him to the bank. Is that correct?’

  ’Yes, I gave him his holdall.’

  ’Do you have any idea what’s in it?’

  Both men held their breath as they waited for her to reply which Betty Brewer praying for a worthwhile answer.

  ’Of curse I know,’ the woman replied instantly.

  ’What was in it?’ asked Howard after a brief pause.

  ’His white rabbit box.’

  The younger banker wasn’t sure whether he had heard the woman correctly and he became concerned that it was another crank call. ’Why did he take his white rabbit box?’

  ’He was taking Edgar to the vet before going to the office.’

  ’In Croydon?’

  ’Of course! His boss told him he didn’t have to go in early today.’

  ’Edgar’s the rabbit... the white rabbit, I presume.’ Howard puffed out his cheeks with exasperation. The last thing he needed was to become involved in a discussion about a white rabbit.

  ’Will he lose his job? It took him such a long time to get one.’ continued the woman dolefully.

  ‘Who does he work for?’

  ‘She suddenly shied at his forceful approach. ‘Why are you asking me all these questions? Can’t you do something to make sure he’s coming home for his tea at five o’clock?’

  ‘I can help him, Phyllis, but only if you answer my questions,’ he told her frankly. ‘Can I collect you in my car and take you to him?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ she insisted. ‘I haven’t got time to do that. I have to make him his tea!’

  Howard rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in despair. It was clear that he was getting nowhere. They appeared to be communicating on different wave-lengths.

  ‘If I took you to him, you could bring him home for tea yourself.’

  ‘He won’t listen to anything I say. He’s always been stubborn.’ she responded sadly.

  ‘You’re his sister, Phyllis. He needs your help. He needs it very much at the moment.’ He pressed his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Rigby. ‘It’s a faint hope,’ he told him, but why don’t you trace the call. I’ll try and keep her on the line as long as possible.’

  The senior executive pull a face and moved into action, picking up another telephone and asking for the call to be traced.

  ‘What’s going to happen to Edgar?’ asked the woman on the point of tears.

  ‘Could it be that he didn’t take Edgar? If not, what might he have taken in the box?’ There was a further silence until the junior banker pursued his enquiries. ‘Had your borther been playing with explosives? Perhaps doing something with a bomb?’

  ‘Now that’s a silly thing to say,’ she retorted strongly. ‘When did Dennis ever play with explosives?’

  Howard’s eyes flickered for a moment. Dennis! That was the man’s first name. He was making headway at last. If the man knew nothing about explosives and he was as backward as his sister, there was a distinct possibility that the whole thing was a hoax. ‘Are you in Croydon at the moment?’

  The woman hesitated for a few moments which seemed to him to be a lifetime. ‘Where else would I be?’

  ‘Croydon area!’ whispered Howard to his superior who immediately passed on the information to the switchboard. Phyllis, why don’t you come with me to help your brother? You can help him, you know. I can collect you by car. What’s your address?’

  ‘Dennis might not want to see me,’ she responded dryly. ‘He might want me to keep what he’s doing a secret.’

  ‘I ought really to tell his employer why he didn’t come in today,’ continued Howard desperately. ‘At least let me do that! won’t you let me help him?’

  ‘Mr. Harris is a very understanding man,’ she went on.

  ‘Perhaps I ought to take Mr. Harris to see Dennis,’ he suggested. ‘What’s the name of the company?’

  ‘No... Dennis wouldn’t like that. He wouldn’t want Mr. Harris to come and see him.’

  It was like getting blood out of a stone but he persisted with a firmer line of approach. ‘Phyllis,’ he told her, ‘Your brother needs you to visit him now. He’s in deep trouble and you’re the only one who can help.’

  ‘Dennis is not a bad man.’

  ‘I’m afraid Dennis is in a difficult situation at the moment. He’s sitting in a bank manager’s office and says he has a bomb in his holdall. You see if he lets the bomb go off he’ll kill himself and other innocent people. Now we can’t have that, can we?’

  ‘It’s only Edgar in his holdall.’

  ‘No... it’s not Edgar!’

  ‘Hold on a moment,’ she told him. ‘I’ll soon tell you. I’ll check if Edgar’s in his hutch.’

  Howard heard the telephone receiver being put down following by a series of departing footsteps. ‘We may have an even break in tracing the call,’ he told his superior. ‘She’s gone out back to see if the rabbit’s still there. Take your time, lady! Take as long as you want!’ He tapped his fingers on the desk waiting for the time to elapse, gratified that it was over half a minute before the woman returned.

  ‘You’re wasting my time!’ she reproached angrily. ‘Edgar’s not there so my brother must have taken him to the vet! All that stuff in the newspaper’s lies. All lies! I knew there was a reason for not giving my name and address. You leave my brother alone, I tell you! Leave him alone!’

  There was a loud click and the line went dead much to the disappointment of the younger banker. ‘Hell!’ he swore. ‘She’s gone! She thinks her brother’s walking his white rabbit. Damn, damn, damn!’

  Rigby shrugged and indicated to his secretary to cancel tracing the call. ‘You must have acquired some useful clues,’ ventured Rigby although he wasn’t too hopeful.

  ‘Her name’s Phyllis and her surname begins with the letter D. She lives with her brother in the Croydon area. His name is Dennis. That much I know. The voting records must record the names of Dennis and Phyllis D in the Croydon area. He works, although I don’t know of which capacity, and his boss is called Mr. Harris. He may have taken Edgar, his white rabbit to the vet in the district. His name and address will be recorded on the vet’s files.’

  ‘Well done, Ben. Will you call Chief Inspector Church and give him all those facts. It’s about time he made himself useful. I’m going out to get a breath of fresh air. I need a break.’

  He took the lift down to the ground floor and stepped out into the street. The warm breeze caressed his face and he took in some fresh air believing that it was doing him some good. He sat down on a bench close to the fountain and fumbled for a cigarette from his gold case only to find that it was empty. It was all so different out here in the open without the depressing atmosphere of the office. In fact, by escaping from the building, he experienced a psychological release which allowed the tension to drift slowly away from his body. At last he could assimilate his thoughts and evaluate the situation without feeling
pressure or constraint without the constant interruption from noise or telephones ringing which contributed to his mental fatigue.

  Despite the benefits gained from the tranquil rest, Rigby was impatient to achieve a successful result to the main problem. However it was beyond his control... left to fate and fortune... to the whim of the Gods! He looked up at the sky and spoke into the wind with a tinge of anger in his voice. ‘Why do you treat me like this?’ he demanded irately, waving a fist upwards at an invisible spirit. His action merely frightened a number of pigeons which fluttered their wings to retreat a little further away. ‘Are you having fun up there at my expense? Well don’t let me stop you!’ he went on, shaking his head sadly before returning to the bank. There was nothing else he could do to release the frustration and, in any case, it was important for him to be in his office whether he was able to tackle the problem or not. When he entered the room, Betty Brewer was engaged on the telephone. She seemed very tense and swallowed hard before communicating the message to him.

  ‘It’s Mr. Carlisle on the line,’ she told him flatly.

  ‘Oh hell! What’s wrong now? All right, put him through.’

  ‘There have been some developments, Mr. Rigby,’ the Assistant Manager informed him.

  ‘Carry on!’ muttered the senior executive, grateful to learn that the branch was still intact.

  ‘Mr.. Brown refused to give up his safe key and his code. That’s the first thing. The second is that the bandit wants to speak with you.’

  ‘How can he do that when the telephone wires have been ripped out of the wall, unless he has a mobile?’

  ‘He has a mobile. He just wants to speak with someone in charge, that’s all.’

  ‘All right,’ Rigby told him shrugging his shoulders. ‘Put him on!’

  There was a long uncomfortable silence and before the bank robber’s voice could be heard on the line. ‘Your manager’s as stubborn as a mule,’ he said in a high-pitched tone. ‘I don’t really want to blow everyone to bits. So will you tell him to hand over the safe key and tell us his code?’

  ‘Yes, Dennis. We had a problem with the man from Head Office bringing the spare key. He was mugged. But I think I can sort things out.’