Run to You

by Lynne King

  That same morning Fred Baker, a telephone engineer, turned up at the bank claiming he was there to do final checks on the new phone lines that had been installed. Showing his identity pass and security clearance, he was then given free access to areas of the bank prohibited unless you were security, the monitor room being one of the places. Dressed in the uniform of the telephone company he had the stolen ID from, a cap hid his hair coloring and three days’ growth of beard disguised his features. Carrying a workman’s bag, Fred acknowledged the security guard at his desk. Reception had already rung through stating he had clearance to enter the monitor room. Beyond that room was the safety deposit vault.

  He walked down the corridor nice and casually. In his canvas bag, under the drill and box of screwdrivers, lay a TEC-9 machine pistol.

  “Hey, mister.”

  He froze—rooted to the spot. Finally he turned around. “Yeah, what’s the problem?”

  “Hey, no problem, but you have walked straight past the monitor room.”

  “What a jerk, sorry about that. I thought it was further down.”

  The guard pointed to a door on the man’s right.

  Stepping into the room, another guard looked up from his position behind the row of TV monitors. “I don’t know why they seem to think I need two lines in here.”

  Fred shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t ask me. I make sure they work properly and that’s it. Apparently the men who installed it reported interference and that’s why I’m here, to check it out.”

  “Well, it’s all yours,” the guard said as he turned his attention back to the screens.

  “It is now.” Fred brought the machine pistol out of his bag and pressed the muzzle into the man’s nape.

  With the guard tied up and gagged in one corner, Fred sat himself down with his feet up on the desk. On the screen in front of him two heavily set men wearing expensive-looking suits and carrying briefcases in each hand entered the bank. One had been more thorough with his disguise, silver hair dye and gel along with heavily tinted glasses meant he resembled someone older and of bigger build. Even his cheeks were puffier so his angled features were no longer evident.

  Making sure nothing was being recorded and with one eye on the monitor showing the corridor outside, he leaned over and turned on the sound monitor at the appointment desk and sat back to watch the performance.

  “Mister Costanzo’s party to see Mister Anderson.”

  “I will ring through to Mister Anderson,” the receptionist replied.

  Minutes later two men appeared. “Good day, I’m Michael Anderson, the bank’s president and this is my assistant vice president, Mark Hunter, who will be showing you around.” He held out his hand.

  A leather-clad hand reached out. “Good afternoon. I’m Mister Costanzo and this is my overseas partner Mister Green—the security will concern us both.”

  Mister Green held out his gloved hand to accept the handshake Anderson offered, but remained silent.

  Hesitation appeared on Michael Anderson’s face. “We don’t usually provide this service, but as your request is to hire a substantial amount of boxes, I can understand you wanting to make sure we have the best secure facilities here in New York. Still, the policy is one visitor at a time.”

  “You can show us separately if you wish, but as the question of security is a joint one, we both need to see the measures you have in place,” said Mister Green, the Irish accent hidden entirely by the English twang to his tone.

  “Of course, there is no problem. I’m sure that rule can be waived this time,” Anderson replied. “Now I will leave you in Mister Hunter’s capable hands. He will go through everything you need to know and will show you to the vault. I hope we can be of service.”

  Again hands were shaken and after signing in at the reception, Mark Hunter led the party through the doors marked Strictly Private, Deposit Box Holders Only.

  Fred looked to the next monitor that showed the security guard and watched as the three men filed through. They continued walking down the long corridor past the monitor room and the next room where the private cubicles were for customers checking their boxes. Onto the next monitor and there they were, outside the solid steel vault door. He folded his arms in anticipation.

  “As you can see, every measure of security has been met. The reception rings through to the guard back there when a customer wants to check a box or add anything. A member of staff will bring that person through. They will open the box with the bank’s key and then the customer takes out their key doing the same. Security will then accompany the person to the private cubicles. He will wait outside and then the whole process is repeated when the box is replaced.” Mark Hunter’s voice came across nervous on the monitor.

  The locking mechanism on the vault door was deactivated and the steel door sprang open. The three men disappeared inside.

  Standing up, Fred went over to the guard to make sure he was still securely bound and gagged. Leaving the room, he walked up the corridor to the guard who had his head buried in a newspaper. The weapon was secured under the flap of his jacket and as soon as he was within a few paces of the guard, he brought it out. Fitted on the end was a silencer. The guard looked up, features fixed in horror and surprise as he stared into the muzzle of a weapon capable of spitting out thirty-six rounds.

  “Stand up, now. Yeah, you know what this beauty’s capable of so don’t try anything foolish. Don’t even fucking move a muscle,” Fred hissed into the guard’s ear as he unclipped the guard’s gun belt. It dropped to the floor. Kicking the gun under the desk, he motioned for the guard to walk forward. The whole time, he kept the muzzle pressed into the man’s back as he pushed him forward into the room containing the cubicles. Costanzo joined him seconds later and assisted him in stripping off the guard’s jacket and then bounding and gagging him. With the guard’s jacket covering his blue workman’s one, the security desk hid the rest of him as he took up position and Costanzo returned to the vault.

  Keeping an eye on the time, his fingers drumming the wood surface, it wasn’t long before footsteps were coming down the corridor. Jumping up, he stripped off the guard’s jacket.

  “Had to dump the drill, but what we replaced it with, I think will compensate.” Shaun sneered and placed the engineer’s bag on the desk. The machine pistol was placed on the top and covered with the flap of the canvas bag.

  “Let’s go and remember, play it cool, no wrong moves.” The Irish accent was back.

  “Right, darling, it all checks out just fine. You got some forms for me to fill in?” He placed his engineer’s bag on her desk, a hand casually placed on the top of the flap. From a side-glance he could see the other two emerging. In each hand was a briefcase. He knocked the pen she had handed him off the desk, causing her to duck down and retrieve it. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the other two were now close to the exit.

  “You need to sign here and here.” The receptionist was pointing out places on the form.

  Fred continued chatting away as he signed. “Right, I’ll be seeing you, then. Sure you’re not free tonight?”

  “I told you I have a boyfriend.” She gave a small giggle.

  He picked up his bag. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.” Then throwing her a wink, he strolled out the bank.

  The getaway car was waiting around the corner. He hurried his pace and jumped in the back. “We done it.”

  “We sure the hell did.”

  “We aren’t home and dry yet,” Shaun snapped.

  Few words were exchanged after that until they arrived at the warehouse. Once inside they removed the merchandise from around their waists.

  “Hey, Shaun. You sure you’re able to shift these bonds? There’s frigging thousands.”

  “Forget bonds. Look at these rocks. I’m no jeweler, but I know priceless beauty when I see it.” A glittering jewel-encrusted pendant was being held up for the others to see.

  Fred was busy counting the money bundles, but stopped when Shaun approach
ed with the machine pistol in his hands pointing toward the other two. They looked up as he pressed the trigger. A rain of machine fire cut them to shreds. Their peppered bodies lay motionless in pools of seeping blood. On seeing this he ran out to the car and frantically tried to hot-wire it. By the time the wires were in place, Shaun was standing there.

  “Get out of the car, Fred. I’m not going to kill you. Those two punks were too dangerous to have around. Eventually they would have grown impatient and tried to fence the stuff too fast.”

  He didn’t trust Shaun, but knowing it was no good trying to make a run for it, Fred slowly got out. He realized too late how right he had been in his judgement as the barrel of the gun lifted and fired. The pain and force of what seemed a hundred holes ripped through his chest as he slid down the car. He stared up at that cold mask of indifference. No emotion, nothing, the eyes were those of an executioner who was ridding himself of loose ends.

  Liz entered the bank at the precise time the alarm was sounded and chaos erupted. All doors were shut, confining customers and staff within its walls as sirens echoed in the distance growing louder with every passing second. She was immediately ushered into the offices at the back by Joe, head of security, who was shouting orders to anyone in earshot. Julie was huddled with several others in one corner. On seeing Liz, she rushed over.

  “Oh! My God, it’s terrible. Mark’s been hurt, real bad. They’ve robbed the safety deposit vault.”

  “Who, what are you talking about?” Liz stammered.

  “While you were at lunch. I don’t know how many. They got away and Mark was found lying in the vault and Joe says he looked real bad. Two other guards were found bound and gagged.”

  “Where’s Michael?”

  “He’s in the foyer waiting for the medics and police. He’s in a dreadful state, seeing he allowed Mark to show the men around. He actually shook hands with them and booked them through.” Julie was holding her hand up to her mouth and shaking her head in disbelief. “Liz, I actually caught sight of them, I think, when I was returning from lunch.”

  “Did you recognize any of them?” Liz blurted out.

  “What do you mean?” Julie gave her a strange look.

  “Have they been in the bank before or hanging around?” she quickly added. Inside Liz felt caught up in a nightmare where she was now playing a part. It was sucking her further and further into a never-ending hell of lies with no way out.

  “No. Well, I don’t think so,” Julie replied. “I only saw them briefly talking to Michael and Mark. One wore glasses, the tinted type.”

  She carried on talking, rumors and what-if scenarios. Liz was no longer listening as she thought more and more about Mark. She was partly responsible, an accomplice to robbery and possible murder. He can’t be dead. She mustn’t think that way. She had actually assisted the robbery, so whatever happened she would be found guilty of something. She had never been involved with the police except as a victim when they interviewed her about Simon back in the UK. This was America and she was a foreigner with no family here and her only friends Michael and Eve Anderson.

  “Liz, are you listening?”

  She broke free of her thoughts and glanced at Julie. “No, sorry. All this waiting and being told nothing and not knowing how Mark is.”

  “I know. We’re not being told anything except to stay here and wait our turn. It’s been half an hour. Anyway, I asked if you wanted another coffee.”

  “No thanks. Any more and I shall want the loo and apparently even that is out of bounds.” Liz looked over to the uniformed police officer standing by the door.

  “Yeah, I just heard forensics is checking it all out. You know like what you see on CSI.” Julie sounded now like she was enjoying this.

  With her elbows on the desk, Liz brought her head forward and buried her face in her hands. She wanted to cry, scream, anything to end this turmoil.

  “I understand you are Mister Anderson’s secretary. Would you please follow me through to his office, Miss Saunders?”

  Her whole body froze at the sound of that smooth velvety voice. Removing her face from her hands, she slowly looked up into that blue penetrating gaze.

  “We seem to have a habit of crossing each others paths.” A small smile appeared. “I have a few questions and I think we need to go somewhere more private.” The smile vanished. “They’ve finished dusting it for prints now.” He gestured with his hand toward the office. “Please.”

  Her legs felt like jelly and she could feel the perspiration building up beneath her blouse. Even her hands felt clammy as she clenched them together and slowly made her way into the office with him leading the way. Everyone else had been questioned out in the open and not by him. Even Julie was now talking to an officer as he scribbled in his notebook, her gaze catching Liz’s glance and raising her eyebrows in surprise at where she was being led. Upon entering, her gaze fixed on the missing New York skyline. That switch in the recess where the picture had hung jumped out at her like an accusing finger, pointing to her guilt.

  Chapter Eight

  Detective Jack Willis stood in the vault looking at the metal boxes strewn across the floor. With them were the two jimmies used to pry the boxes open, which had obviously arrived via their briefcases. Foam padding was also by the vault door, removed no doubt from under their jackets and replaced with wads of notes and secured by orthopedic belts. These were professional, but cocky sons of bitches. To stage a heist in broad daylight took careful planning and a whole lot of luck, and the two didn’t go together. He estimated over fifty boxes had been pried open, randomly picked it appeared, with time a major factor. They had allowed themselves thirty minutes inside the vault. Items of little financial value or too much bulk were left scattered around him. There was no way of knowing how much they had got away with, seeing half these boxes were probably rented out to hide certain things from the IRS or by crooks to store their loot. Already the word had got out and legitimate customers were beginning to line up outside, waiting to check whether their boxes had been raided. He left the scene to forensics and went back out into the foyer.

  “Any news on Hunter?” He addressed another detective standing by the entrance.

  Detective Reid shook his head. “Didn’t make it. Took a bullet to the head, execution style. The guards, they allowed to live, which makes it look like Hunter was the threat.”

  Jack wished his partner wasn’t on leave. Reid and he didn’t usually work the same cases. He didn’t like the guy much and he felt the feeling was mutual. Still they had a job to do so he aimed to be civil until Reid did or said something to the contrary which wouldn’t take long.

  “You mean he could have been the one on the inside.” Jack took out a piece of gum from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. It was times like this he needed a cigarette. It helped him think.

  “Like you said, they had to have help. This was too organized and they were too well informed. There has to be someone and that person has to be quite high up,” Detective Reid replied.

  “Hey, is that the list of employees?” Jack called over to a uniformed officer who had been handed a sheet of paper.

  “Yes, Detective. It’s a printout that the receptionist at security has compiled.

  He walked over and took the piece of paper, his eyes scanning down to see if any names jumped out at him. One did—Miss Elizabeth Saunders, PA to the bank’s president, Michael Anderson. This was one hell of a coincidence and like fate, he didn’t believe in it. He headed for the offices at the back of the bank where a lot of the staff had been placed. In the far corner of the open plan room he spotted her seated at a desk. She was talking to the peroxide blond with the smart mouth. Appearance and presentation, they couldn’t be more opposite. The redhead with her classy act was subtle in her sex appeal. It made one want to strip away her defenses knowing there was a lot more beneath the surface. Something about her both intrigued and fixated him and the worrying thing was he kidded himself by pretending it was purely d
own to her involvement with Shaun O’Riley.

  He had her seated opposite him in Michael Anderson’s office, his tone and manner allowed for no familiarity. It was as if they had no previous contact. He noticed how she carefully avoided looking at him, her eyes downcast. Definitely not the same confident class act she had displayed in his car. She was certainly nervous, the wringing of her hands and the fidgeting confirmed this, but it didn’t mean she was guilty of something. Most people in a similar situation—being where a holdup has occurred and then subjected to police questioning—acted as if they were as guilty as hell. Those who were cool, detached, and with an answer to everything usually turned out to be guarding a secret.

  “Now, Miss Saunders. I understand here by the personal details held on file that you are twenty-five, with English parentage. You arrived in New York almost four months ago with the new bank’s president, Michael Anderson, who arranged a visa and is also supporting your green card application for you to stay on under immigrant status. You must be pretty good at your job for him to go to such lengths for a mere secretary.”

  Her gaze met his head-on. The effect startled him—the green irises blazing with indignation and yet at the same time drawing him into their depths. “Next you’ll be asking if I’m having an affair with my boss.”

  “Are you?”

  “No,” she flung back. “Michael and Eve happened to be close friends with my parents before I even went to work at the London branch. When they were killed in a car accident, they helped me through it. Then this transfer came through for Michael. At the time I was looking for a change and they both suggested I transfer with him.”

  “I’m sorry, that question was uncalled for.” Jack didn’t know what possessed him to suggest it. He knew damn well she wasn’t involved with her boss, seeing he had never seen her alone with him and he had been watching her quite a lot of late.

  She lowered her gaze, her voice calmer. “I don’t care what people say about me, but I do care when it slanders Michael.”

  Jack removed the piece of gum from his mouth, wrapped it in a piece of paper, and threw it in the trash bin. Taking out another piece of gum, he popped it into his mouth. She was watching him now. “Bad habit, quit smoking two months ago and now I’m addicted to gum.”