Which means either I was not doing my job well-which seems possible, since I have had other things on my mind-or that the box is rented in the name of somebody whose name I don't have.
I have to find out what box he's going into.
Calhoun was no longer in sight.
Matt looked across the lobby toward the office of Vice President James C. Chase. It was empty.
He quickly scanned the desktop looking for a list of telephone numbers under the plate glass. There was none. He pulled out first the left, then the right, shelf on the desk, and on the right found a list of telephone numbers.
Chase, James C. was not on it.
Of course not, stupid. The guy whose desk this is damned well knows the boss's extension number by heart.
He punched one of the buttons on the telephone and punched in the numbers listed on the phone.
"Good morning, First Harrisburg!"
"Mr. Chase, please."
"Mr. Chase's office."
"My name is Matthew Payne…"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Payne. How can I help you?"
"I'd like to speak to Mr. Chase, if that's possible."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, but it's not. Mr. Chase won't be in until this afternoon. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"It'll wait. Thank you very much."
"Mr. Chase left instructions that you're to have anything you need."
Somehow, I don't think that includes asking you to walk across the lobby and find out what box the guy in the blue jeans and athletic jacket is going into.
And, Christ! They keep a record of who goes into what box, and the time. I don't need her.
"It's not important," Matt said. "It'll wait. Thank you."
"I'll tell him you called."
"Thank you," Matt said and hung up and looked at his watch. It was five to twelve.
He looked at the door through which Calhoun had disappeared. No Calhoun. He looked through the lobby.
Susan was at one of the stand-up desks, looking-nervously-his way.
What do I do? Send her in there with him? They're liable to both come out at the same time, and being normal, Calhoun will take a look at her tail, and then maybe spot me in here.
He fixed what he hoped was a smile of confidence on his face and winked at Susan.
She smiled in relief, and his heart melted.
What did you tell her about Poor Pathetic Jennie? That when Jennie knew what was going down was really wrong, she had a choice to make, and made the wrong one? Does that have an application here?
He watched Susan until she disappeared from sight, then got out the list of names of relatives of Officer Timothy J. Calhoun and stared at it, wondering again whether he had screwed up, or the name of the box Calhoun was going into wasn't one of his names.
He looked up, from behind the hand shielding his face, and saw Calhoun coming back into the lobby. Calhoun looked quickly around the lobby-a little nervously, Matt thought-and then walked out of the bank.
But I've got you, you son of a bitch!
Said Detective Payne, literally in the middle of the commission of a felony, with monumental hypocritical self-righteousness.
He shrugged, and reached for the telephone.
"Special Operations Investigation, Sergeant Washington. "
"Officer Calhoun, Timothy J., just went into-at 11:54-a safe-deposit box at the First Harrisburg Bank and Trust."
"I am almost as glad to hear that as I am to hear your voice, Matthew. You have the number of the box? That will permit me to have the search warrant all ready for the signature of a judge at the auspicious time."
"Not yet."
"I'm sure I don't have to tell you that banks keep records in minute detail of the time their clients gain access to their boxes?"
"That's right. You don't. But I want to get it-I want the guy from the bank to get it for me. He'll be in this afternoon."
"And you will relay the number to me immediately after you have it?"
"Yes, sure."
"And how are other things going in Harrisburg, Matthew? Mr. Matthews tells me you had dinner in Hershey."
"That's going slowly."
"And carefully, Matthew? I devoutly hope carefully. You've heard the gentleman has added gunsmith to the long list of his other skills and accomplishments?"
"Matthews told me."
"Then let 'caution, caution, toujours caution' be your creed, Matthew."
"That's audacity, not caution. 'L'audace, l'audace, toujours l'audace.' "
"Don't correct me, please. I'm a sergeant, and sergeants are never wrong. And the one thing I absolutely do not want from you is audacity. I will, with more or less bated breath, await your next call."
"Sometime this afternoon," Matt said.
The line went dead.
Matt hung up and looked into the lobby.
Susan, looking uncomfortable, was walking across the lobby toward his office.
He started to get up, then changed his mind. His newly acquired attachй case was in the well of the desk. He planned-while he hoped anyone looking would think he was tying his shoe-to transfer the bank loot from Susan's purse there.
"Ready for lunch?" Susan asked at the door.
"Come into my office, my dear, and I will explain why the bank has to repossess your Porsche."
He waved her into the chair beside the desk. She put her purse on the floor in front of her. Matt bent over, grabbed the purse, and put it into the desk well. Then he opened the attachй case, went into Susan's purse, and moved the money, noticing as he did that some of the stacks of currency were bound with paper strips bearing the names of the banks from which they had been stolen.
These people are really stupid! Those currency wrappers would really tie them to the robberies. Didn't Chenowith think about that? Or did he simply assume that Susan would take care of getting rid of the wrappers and she was too stupid to do it?
He closed the briefcase and ran his finger over the combination lock.
Jesus, if the combination wasn't set at 000, I'm going to have to break the lock to get back into it. That wasn't too smart, Matthew!
He slid Susan's purse back across the floor to her, then straightened up.
"Done," he said and smiled.
She nervously smiled back.
Not too stupid to get rid of the currency wrappers; she's not stupid. Naive. That's the word. Naive.
"Well, let's go," Matt said. "For some reason, I'm starved."
"That's because you didn't eat any breakfast," she said.
"After you left, I did," Matt said. "It was cold, but I needed the strength of good red meat."
He waved her ahead of him out of the office.
When they passed Mr. Chase's office, his "girl"-she was at least forty-smiled approvingly at them.
"I wish I had more time, Peter, to enjoy this," Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin said indicating the Rittenhouse Grill Room's "Today's Luncheon Specials"-a mixed grill-a waiter had just set before them.
That's not a simple expression of regret, Wohl thought, that he is a busy man who had trouble fitting lunch with me at the Rittenhouse Club into his busy schedule. I don't know what the hell he really means, but let's get whatever the hell it is-from half a dozen possibilities-out in the open.
"I belong here now," Peter said.
"I thought that might be the case when you invited me here," Coughlin said.
"Matt's father-maybe I should say Amy's father-called me up and said he would like to put me up for membership. I told him I'd like to think it over, and then I thought it over, and decided, what the hell, why not? It is a good place to have discreet little talks… like now. So I told him, 'Yes, thank you.' "
Coughlin nodded.
"You should have said 'Matt and Amy's father,' " Coughlin said. "The background of that is Matt went to his father about getting you in here. He didn't want it to look as if he had his nose up your rear end. Amy went to her dad, and asked him what about getting you in here like I'm in here, what do they call it? — ex officio, it comes with the job."