'Be careful!' Klaus snarled at him.
Harry opened the door of the box, then grunted.
'Papers,' he said in disgust.
Klaus pushed him aside, and pulled out various documents. He examined them quickly, then threw them on the floor. Then I knew for certain he was looking for some special document.
The sixth box yielded a pile of money and several documents. While Klaus was examining the documents, and Harry and Benny were putting the money into a carton, and Joe was busy cutting into the seventh lock, I pressed the control button, leaning my back hard against the shutter.
It happened in split seconds.
The vault door slammed shut. The shutter snapped up, and I fell into the garage.
I had a brief sight of Klaus, Harry, Joe and Benny, turning to stare at the closed doors of the vault. I scrambled to my feet, groped for the control button, my side of the wall. I found and pressed it, and as the shutter slammed shut, I saw Klaus, gun in hand, spin around, but he was just too late.
With my heart hammering, I pulled out my flashlight, snapped it on, and ran to the fuse box. I knew the right wire to cut. With a shaking hand, I inserted the wire cutter and cut the wire adrift.
Even if they found the control button inside the vault, the shutter would no longer work.
I had them trapped!
As I stood by the half-open garage door, looking cautiously out on to the side street, I glanced at my watch. The time now was 04.30. My thoughts were on Glenda.
The easiest and quickest thing to do was to take the Chevy, parked outside the bank, but I decided against this.
I had seen Joe remove the ignition key. The car was parked within ten yards of the sentry-box. I could have started the car, but it would have taken time, and have attracted the guard's attention.
I must get back to my apartment, and use my car. I peered up and down the deserted, narrow street, then closing the garage doors, I began to run down the street, away from Main Street, turning left, running down another street, then turning left again, and I was on Main Street, but some hundred yards from the bank entrance. I then slowed to a fast walk.
Sharnville was asleep.
It took me twenty minutes, half running, half walking, to reach my apartment. During the journey, my mind was active. Although I was desperately anxious to get to Glenda, I had to provide for going on the run. I would need clothes.
I had only three thousand dollars now, but that would be enough to get us both to Canada. I was confident, once there, I could find some means of earning more money.
Letting myself into my apartment, I paused to look around.
I had lived here now for more than four years. I felt a pang about leaving it. As I stood there, the realization that I was now a fugitive, to be constantly hunted, hit me.
Going into my bedroom, I got out a big suitcase and packed most of my more useful clothes. I then returned to the living-room and collected my various work tools, calculators and tables of reference. Without them, I would be lost,
I had few valuable possessions. I took gold cuff-links, a heavy gold signet ring that I never wore, and which my father had given me, a silver cigarette box I had won in a golf tournament, and I was ready to go.
I paused once more to look around, then snapped off the lights and rode down in the elevator to the garage. I heaved the heavy suitcase into the trunk of the car, started the engine and drove up the ramp.
As I drove along deserted Main Street, heading for the highway, I slowed as I passed the bank.
The guard, yawning, was in his sentry-box.
I wondered what the four men, trapped in the vault, were doing. There was no possible way for them to break out until Monday morning when Manson arrived.
They were desperate men. I had to warn Manson. If he opened the vault doors, even knowing that the vault had been tampered with, these four would come out, shooting.
I had no illusions about that. I decided, when I reached the nearest Canadian airport from the border, I would telephone Manson and warn him so the bank could be surrounded by armed police.
Now, my thoughts switched to Glenda, I longed to see her face when I shot back the bolt and walked into her prison. We would drive immediately to the airport and take the first available plane to Canada.
I was now on the highway, which at this hour, was deserted, but I knew there were police patrols, so I was careful not to speed. It took me twenty minutes of careful driving to reach the dirt road leading to Klaus's place.
My heart now thumping, my thoughts of walking into that house and freeing Glenda churning in my mind, I pulled up before the closed gate, As a precaution, I had turned off my headlights as I drove up the dirt road.
Klaus had said Glenda was guarded. In spite of what Harry had said, I was taking no chances.
As I got out of the car, I pulled the gun from my pocket.
I stood by the gate and looked towards the house. It was in total darkness.
Was someone there, lurking behind the closed curtains, aware that I had arrived?
Gently, I opened the gate, far enough for me to slip through. The faint dawn light made me visible if anyone was watching from the house. I hesitated, then bracing myself, I ran quickly across the coarse grass of the lawn until I reached the front door.
I paused, then turned the door handle and gently pushed.
The door opened. I looked into darkness, waited, listened, then hearing nothing, I stepped into the lobby. Again, I paused, listening. Then slowly, the gun pointing ahead of me, my finger on the trigger, I began to move down the passage that led to Glenda's prison. Pausing again, I took out my flashlight.
If someone was lurking in the living-room, and came out shooting, I was as good as dead. The urge to see Glenda again was too much for me. I switched on the flashlight and swung its beam on the door ahead of me.
The door stood open!
Forgetting any danger of a possible ambush, I walked quickly into the room, groped for the light switch and snapped it on.
The bright light blinded me for a moment, then I took in the familiar room which Glenda and I had shared.
It came as a crushing blow when I saw Glenda wasn't there. I rushed into the bathroom . . . no Glenda.
Not caring now, I snapped on the passage light, ran into the living-room and turned on the lights.
It took me only a few seconds to go over the whole house.
No Glenda!
chapter eight
Faint sunlight came through the curtains and lit up the carpet. A blackbird shrilled a warning. The refrigerator in the kitchen started up with a growl.
I stirred and looked at my watch. The time now was 05.45. I had been sitting in a despairing heap in the living-room, crushed with the knowledge that I had been too late to save Glenda.
I was sure now that when I left with Harry, Benny had murdered her, and had buried her. My suspicions that Klaus would order her killing were now confirmed.
I thought of her, the only woman I had found that really meant something to me. I saw her again: her red hair, her eyes, and that lovely body.
Somewhere on this farm, she had been buried. I had to find her grave! I couldn't continue to sit here, grieving for her. Getting to my feet, I walked out into the cool early morning air. The sun, now rising above the trees cast pale shadows.
I looked around. The barn? I crossed the lawn and entered the barn, then came to an abrupt standstill.
I had forgotten the faked security truck. There it was, standing in the middle of the barn. I crossed to it, and looked through the driver's window. Lying on the bench seat were the two guards' uniforms. I checked my watch. In twenty-four hours, if not less, the two men, posing as guards, would be arriving. Here was danger! If they drove the truck down to the bank as arranged, and found they couldn't get into the cellar garage, what would they do? If the bank guard spotted them, trying to get in, would he set off an alarm?
My mind was in a turmoil, but the urgent need to find Gle
nda's grave prevailed. I looked around the barn, examining the hard, dirt floor. She certainly wasn't buried here. As I started to die door, I heard a car approaching.
My heart thumping, my hand in my pocket, gripping the butt of the gun, I moved out into the pale sunshine.
A shabby Chrysler car had pulled up close to where I had parked my car, and two men got out. I recognized them as the two men who were to act as guards.
Seeing me, they stopped short. They looked at each other, as I waved to them. They had seen me with Harry, and I hoped they would imagine I was one of the gang.
As they came forward, I went to meet them.
The taller of the two peered suspiciously at me.
'Is it okay?' he asked. With a feeling of relief, I was sure they thought I was working for Klaus.
'The operation is off,' I said, my finger on the gun's trigger. 'The boss told me to come out here, and tell you. You can forget it.'
The man looked at his partner,
‘You mean we don't handle the truck?'
'That's it. The operation is off.'
The shorter of the two demanded aggressively, 'How about the money?'
‘You keep it. There's no problem.'
For a long moment they stared at me, then looking at each other, they grinned.
'Boy! That's good news! You tell the boss any time he wants us, we're ready, okay?'
'I'll tell him.'
I watched them return to their car and drive away.
I spent the next hour, tramping around the farm. I found no newly dug ground. Defeated and crushed, I returned to the living-room of the house. The time now was 07.00.
I dropped into a chair. For some minutes, I submitted to my grief. Glenda was dead! I mourned for her for more than half an hour, recalling those precious moments we had spent together, then I began to accept the inevitable. Now, I asked myself, what was I going to do?
Going on the run with Glenda would have been an exciting challenge to me, but going on the run on my own was a frightening, lonely thought.
Forcing myself not to think of her, I began to consider my own position. Klaus and his three men were trapped in the vault. There was no escape for them, but there was also little chance of escape for me. Once the police swung into action, they would know I was the only possible suspect who could have broken into the safest bank in the world.
Suddenly, I didn't care anymore. Being a fugitive, being hunted day and night without Glenda to sustain me, was more than I could face. I came to the decision that I had to talk to Brannigan. I must explain everything to him. He was my only hope, but I couldn't wait until Tuesday when he was expected back at the bank. Sometime tonight, I must alert Manson that men were in the vault, but before doing this, I must talk to Brannigan. I had to find him, and find him fast.
I knew his home telephone number. Forgetting, in my anxiety, that the time was only 07.50, I dialled Brannigan's number. There was a long delay, then a woman's sleepy voice demanded, 'Who is this for God's sake?'
I had met Brannigan's wife several times at cocktail parties: a tall, fifty-year-old, clinging to her youth, jet-black tinted hair, lean and madly interested in her health. I recognized her voice.
'Mrs. Brannigan, excuse me. This is Larry Lucas. I . . . '
‘Larry Lucas?' Her voice shot up a notch. 'Well, for God's sake! I haven't seen you in months! How are you, Larry? Wonderful, I'm sure. God! How I wish I could say the same.' Once Merle Brannigan got talking, it was impossible to stop her. 'You wicked man! You woke me up! Now, let me tell you something, Larry. I can't remember when I've had a good night's sleep. You know what I mean? A good night's sleep. I get pains in my knees, and there's Farrell snoring his head off, and I lie awake, hour after hour, with pains in my knees every goddamn night. Isn't that something? I talked to Dr. Schruder, and he says I walk too much. What a thing to say! I scarcely put one foot before I the other. Walk! That's a four-letter word to me!' She gave a trilling laugh. 'What do you think, Larry? Farrell says I'm hysterical. Just imagine that. Hysterical! Last night, right against my will, and I'll let you know, Larry, I really have a very strong will, but right against my will, I took three of those Valium - is that what you call them? - anyway, three sleeping pills. And what do you know? Those goddamn pills actually kept me awake! They did absolutely nothing for me, and do you know what I did? The pain was terrible, but in sheer desperation, I got right out of bed, and I went on my knees. God! How I suffered, but I did it, and I talked this problem over with God. Do you believe in God, Larry - of course you do! Well, I talked my problem over with God, and then I got back to bed, and for the first time in months, I went right off to sleep, and now you, you wicked man, have woke me up.'
'Mrs. Brannigan,' I said, trying to keep from yelling at her, 'I'm truly sorry about waking you up, but I must contact Mr. Brannigan. It's a bank emergency.'
'You want to speak to Farrell?'
I closed my eyes, feeling sweat running down my face.
‘Yes, Mrs. Brannigan.'
'Did you say it's an emergency?'
‘Yes, Mrs. Brannigan. I must contact Mr. Brannigan.'
'It's Saturday, isn't it, Larry? It's not Monday, is it? God! I'm not awake yet. If it's Monday, I have a date with my hairdresser at nine. Now, isn't that a terrible time to have to go to a hairdresser? He's just so busy...'
'It is Saturday!' My voice turned into a shout.
'Larry, dear, please don't shout. My nerves are all on edge. If it's Saturday, how can there be a bank emergency? The bank closes on Saturday... at least, I think it does.'
Somehow, I controlled my voice.
'I must contact Mr. Brannigan. Can you tell me where I can reach him?'
'He's off somewhere, playing golf. You know F.B. When he isn't making money, he's playing golf. I remember once, when we were talking to Jerry Ford, Farrell said . . .'
'Mrs. Brannigan! I am asking for your help! Have you any idea where I can contact Mr. Brannigan?'
'He never tells me anything.' Her voice turned sulky. ‘You know, sometimes Farrell is very inconsiderate, but I guess most husbands, after they've been married for twenty-five years, get inconsiderate.'
'So you don't know where I can contact him?'
‘Well, if it is an emergency - and I can't imagine what emergency - you could ask his secretary. She knows more about my husband's movements than I do. Isn't that terrible? Some chit of a girl knows more…’
'Thank you, Mrs. Brannigan,' and I hung up on her.
I picked up the telephone book, and found Lois Sheldon's home number. A minute later, I was speaking to her.
'This is Larry, Lois. It is urgent that I contact F.B. Do you know where he is?'
'How urgent?' Lois's voice was brisk.
'It's an emergency to do with the bank. I can't tell you more than that. F.B. would want this to be kept top secret, Lois. I must speak to him!'
'I'll see if I can get him. Give me your telephone number. I'll call you back.'
'Can't you give me his telephone number?'
'No. I'll call you back.'
I read off the number on the telephone I was using.
‘You are sure this isn't something that can be handled on Monday?' Lois said. 'F.B. will be wild if I disturb him for nothing.'
'He'll be even wilder if you don't. Hurry it, Lois. I'll wait,' and I hung up.
It was while I was sitting at the desk, I remembered the incriminating photos of Marsh and myself. I began searching the desk drawers. One of them was locked. I went fast into the kitchen in search of tools. I found a long screw-driver in one of the kitchen closets. Returning to the living-room, I attacked the drawer, and in a few minutes, had it open. Lying in the drawer, was the envelope containing the copies of the two tapes and my statement to Brannigan. In yet another envelope were the blackmail photographs showing Marsh and myself fighting, and better yet, the negatives.
I had seen a can of gasoline in the kitchen. I fetched it, then putting the two envelopes into the bi
g fireplace, I soaked them in gasoline, then striking a match, set fire to them.
I stood back, watching the blaze. When the fire had died down, I stirred the debris, poured on more gasoline, and again threw in a lighted match. Finally, I was satisfied that nothing now remained of the blackmail pictures nor the tapes and my statement.
Still no telephone call from Lois!
I began searching the closets in the living-room. I came across the trenching tool, wrapped in plastic, that I had handled while they had buried Marsh. I went into the kitchen, found a rag dipped it in water and stripping off the plastic, I wiped the wooden handle free of my fingerprints.
Then using the rag, I wiped over the surface of the desk, the arms of the chair and wrapped the rag around the telephone receiver. This was the best I could do, I looked at my watch. The time now was 08.50. I thought only for a moment of Klaus, Harry, Joe and Benny trapped in the vault, then my mind shifted to Glenda.
I was sitting at the desk, grieving for her, when the telephone bell broke up my thoughts.
I snatched up the receiver. It was Lois.
'Larry, I'm sorry, but I can get no reply,' she said. 'I've called three times. He's either not answering the telephone or he isn't there.'
'Keep trying,' I said feverishly. 'This is a real emergency, Lois. I'll wait.'
'I can't! My mother is sick, and I have to go to her. I have only a few minutes before I get my train!'
'Then give me the number! I'll keep trying!'
'I can't do that!' A pause, then she went on, ‘Larry! He's not playing golf! Every so often he goes off for a long weekend, but he doesn't play golf. I don't have to spell it out, do I?'
This shook me. I had always imagined Farrell Brannigan was above the way so many men lived.
'I don't give a damn! I must talk to him, Lois! A situation has come up that could cause a hell of a stink at the bank! I can't tell you more than that, but I have to talk to him, and immediately!'
'But he's not answering!' There was a wail in her voice, 'It would be a breach of confidence if I gave you the number.'
1977 - My Laugh Comes Last Page 14