- •It was Alex Vandervoort who said, “We`re obviously here to celebrate.” He motioned with his sherry glass. “The question is - what?”
- •In the center of this last area, a new large building and the steelwork of a second stood out against the skyline.
- •It was while they were having coffee that a waitress brought a message to their table.
- •It was from Juanita Nunez`s cash drawer that the money was missing.
- •It was then that Tottenhoe had telephoned Edwina.
- •In due course Mr. Rosselli, for whom counsel appeared in court, was fined heavily for reckless driving and awarded three demerit points, to be recorded on his license. He was exceedingly angry.
- •It was obvious he meant it and the banker snapped, "I don't respond to threats."
- •Vandervoort said, "I see the difference, though I wouldn't have without the glass. How do the counterfeits look under ultraviolet?"
- •Vandervoort whistled softly. A single plastic sheet would produce sixty-six Keycharge credit cards. That meant, potentially, almost twenty thousand fraudulent cards.
- •Vandervoort looked surprised. "You think you can get someone?"
- •Vandervoort said drily, "We prefer to speak of it in percentages. That way it doesn't sound as much, and the directors don't get alarmed."
- •In other circumstances, she realized, she might not have believed herself.
- •In one way it was her memory which had added to her troubles.
- •It was a three-block walk from the bus to the nursery school where she had left Estela this morning on her way to work. Juanita hurried, knowing she was late.
- •It was obvious from the stillness that the other children were all gone.
- •It had been a month and a half since Alex had seen Celia and, though he had been expecting some deterioration, her present appearance chilled him.
- •It was during that time - the thought of it shamed him now - he had suggested they divorce. Celia had seemed shattered and he let the subject drop, hoping things would get better, but they hadn't.
- •It was close to midnight. A log fire, blazing earlier, had burned low in the hearth of the snug room in the small, sumptuous bachelor suite.
- •If not Nunez, who?
- •It was like pricking a bubble. The audit chief flushed crimson as he admitted, "Yes, it is. But even we miss things occasionally when a thief has covered his tracks well."
- •Innes grunted understanding. "If you could show that, any reasonable judge would send him straight to jail. But can you?"
- •Innes glanced toward his colleague who shrugged.
- •If the phone had been answered, Wainwright would have made an excuse about a wrong number and revised his plans. As it was, he now headed for his car, parked in the headquarters' basement garage.
- •Immediately ahead was an elevator which he ignored. He saw a stairway to the right and went up it, two stairs at a time, to the second floor.
- •In the end he compromised. Instead of arresting and charging Wainwright he took him, the same night, to the police gym and, in Bufflehead's own words, "beat the b' jesus out of him" in a boxing ring.
- •It was possible that the security chief dozed off, but a key inserted in the apartment lock alerted him. Cautiously he sat up. His illuminated watch dial showed it was shortly after midnight.
- •In the row ahead of Alex were Jerome Patterton, the vice-chairman, and his wife.
- •It was the director with the longest service, the Honorable Harold Austin, who announced the board's decision.
- •It was like a fencing match with shadows. He said in exasperation, "I'll never understand you."
- •It was the second such offer she had had in the past few days. "Maybe."
Innes grunted understanding. "If you could show that, any reasonable judge would send him straight to jail. But can you?"
"I intend to. Because I personally want that son of a bitch behind bars."
"I know what you mean," the FBI man said thoughtfully. "I'd like to see it happen, too.”
"In that case do it my way. Don't pick up Eastin tonight. Give me until morning."
"I'm not sure," Innes mused. "I'm not sure I can."
The three of them waited, conscious of knowledge, duty, and a pull and tug within themselves. The other two guessed roughly what Wainwright had in mind. But when, and to what extent, did an end justify the means? Equally to the point: How much liberty nowadays could a lawenforcement officer take and get away with?
Yet the FBI men had become involved in the case and shared Wainwright's view about objectives.
"If we do wait till morning," the second agent cautioned, "we don't want Eastin to run. That could cause everybody trouble."
"And I don't want a bruised potato either," Innes said.
"He won't run. He won't be bruised. I guarantee it."
Innes glanced toward his colleague who shrugged.
"Okay, then," Innes said. "Until morning. But understand one thing, Nolan - this conversation never took place." He crossed to the conference room door and opened it. "You can come in, Mr. Gayne. Mr. Wainwright's leaving and we'll take your statement now.”
Chapter 14.
A list of branch bank officers, maintained in the security department for emergency use, revealed Miles Eastin's home address and telephone number. Nolan Wainwright copied down both.
He recognized the address. A medium income residential area about two miles from downtown. It included the information "Apartment 2G."
Leaving FMA Headquarters Building, the security chief used a pay phone on Rosselli Plaza to dial the telephone number and heard the ringing continue unanswered. He already knew Miles Eastin was a bachelor. Wainwright was hoping he also lived alone.
If the phone had been answered, Wainwright would have made an excuse about a wrong number and revised his plans. As it was, he now headed for his car, parked in the headquarters' basement garage.
Before leaving the garage he opened the trunk of the car and removed a slim chamois case placing it in an inside pocket. He then drove across town.
He walked toward the apartment building casually but taking in details. A three-story structure, probably forty years old and showing signs of disrepair. He guessed it contained two dozen or so apartments. No doorman was visible. Inside a vestibule Nolan Wainwright could see an array of mailboxes and call buttons. Dual glass doors opened from the street to the vestibule; beyond them was a more solid door, undoubtedly locked.
The time was 10:30. Traffic on the street was light. No other pedestrians were near the apartment house. He went in.
Next to the mailboxes were three rows of buzzers and a speaker-phone. Wainwright saw the name Eastin and depressed the button beside it. As he expected, there was no response.
Guessing that 2G indicated the second floor, he chose a bell button at random with the prefix 3 and pressed it. A man's voice on the speaker-phone rasped, "Yeah, who is it?"
The name beside the button was Appleby.
"Western Union," Wainwright said. "Telegram for Appleby."
"Okay, bring it up."
Behind the heavy interior door a buzzer sounded and a lock clicked open. Wainwright opened the door and went in quickly.