- •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."
In other circumstances, she realized, she might not have believed herself.
How could six thousand dollars have vanished? It was impossible, impossible. And yet it had.
Time after time this afternoon she had searched her recollection of every single moment of the day to find some explanation. There was none. She had thought back over cash transactions at the counter during the morning and early afternoon, using the remarkable memory she knew she had, but no solution came to her. Not even the wildest possibility made any sense.
She was positive, too, that she had locked her cash drawer securely before taking it to the vault while she had lunch, and it was still locked when she returned. As to the combination, which Juanita had chosen and set herself, she had never discussed it with anyone else or even written it down, relying as usual on her memory.
In one way it was her memory which had added to her troubles.
Juanita knew she had not been believed, either by Mrs. D'Orsey, Mr. Tottenhoe, or Miles, who at least had been friendlier than the others, when she claimed to know, at two o'clock, the exact amount of money which was gone. They said it was impossible she could know.
But she had known. Just as she always knew how much cash she had when she was working as a teller, although she found it impossible to explain to others how or why.
She was not even sure herself how she kept the running tally in her head. It was simply there. It happened without effort, so that she was scarcely aware of the arithmetic involved. For almost as long as Juanita could remember, adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing seemed as easy as breathing, and as natural.
She did it automatically at the bank counter as she took money in from customers or paid it out. And she had learned to glance at her cash drawer, checking that the cash she had on hand was what it should be, that various denominations of notes were in their right order, and in sufficient numbers. Even with coins, while not knowing the total so precisely, she could estimate the amount closely at any time. Occasionally, at the end of a busy day when she balanced her cash, her mental figure might prove to be in error by a few dollars, but never more.
Where had the ability come from? She had no idea.
She had never excelled in school. During her sketchy high school education in New York, she seldom achieved more than a low average in most subjects. Even in mathematics she had no real grasp of principles, merely an ability to calculate with lightning speed and carry figures in her head.
At last the bus arrived with an uneven roar and diesel stink. With others who were waiting, Juanita climbed aboard. No seats were available and standing space was crowded. She managed to grab a handhold and continued thinking, straining to remember as the bus swayed through the city streets.
What would happen tomorrow? Miles had told her that FBI men were coming. The thought filled her with fresh dread and her face set tensely in a bleakness of anxiety - the same expression which Edwina D'Orsey and Nolan Wainwright had mistaken for hostility.
She would say as little as possible, just as she had done today after she found that no one was believing.
As to the machine, the lie detector, she would refuse. She knew nothing of how such a machine worked, but when no one else would understand, believe, or help her, why would a machine - the bank's machine - be different?