Catch Me If You Can Page 0,47

a Sherlock Holmes to make the connection. And the case.

I suddenly felt hotter than a blast furnace. I started thinking again of leaving the country, jumping the border into Mexico. Or even more southerly climes. But this time I contemplated the idea reluctantly. In Eureka I'd devised what I considered a grand new theft scheme, one that paid off better than doctored dice in a crap game. And heady with the success of the system, I'd set aside my fears of being closely pursued and had convinced myself that I was as cool as an arctic ice floe. I had intended to work my counterfeit check scam from coast to coast and border to border. It chafed me to have to abandon my plans because I'd stupidly blown my cover.

But did I have to give up the game? Had I blown my cover at this point? If I hadn't noticed the scribbling on the back of the check, maybe no one else had, either.

There was also a good possibility the check was still in the bank. I'd cashed it early in the afternoon, and it was possible it wouldn't be routed to New York until the morrow. If it hadn't left the bank, perhaps I could purchase it back. I could tell them Pan Am had issued the check in error and I shouldn't have cashed it, or some such concocted tale. I was sure I could come up with a good story if the check was still on hand. I fell asleep mulling feasible excuses to offer.

I packed, stowed my gear in my car and paid my motel bill before calling the bank the next morning. I asked for the head teller and was connected with a woman who identified herself as "Stella Waring" in brisk tones.

"Mrs. Waring, a Pan Am pilot cashed a check in your bank yesterday," I said. "Can you tell me..." She cut me off before I could say more.

"Yes, a bogus check," she said, abruptly indignant and without asking my identity or my reason for calling. "We've notified the FBI. They're supposed to be sending an agent for the check."

I wasn't challenged. I acted on impulse, an incitement to protect my real identity. "Yes," I said. "This is the FBI. I wanted to alert you that our agent will be there in about fifteen minutes. Do you have the check, or is there someone else he should contact?"

"Just have him see me, sir, I'll have the check," Mrs.

Waring replied. "Of course, we'd like a Xerox of the check for our records. That is all right, isn't it?"

"Of course," I assured her. "I will instruct Mr. Davis to provide you with a copy."

I was at the bank within five minutes, dressed in a blue business suit, but I discreetly cased the interior before entering. The teller who had cashed the check was nowhere in sight.

Had she been, I would not have entered. I didn't know whether she was on a coffee break or what, and I was uneasy about her appearing while I was in the bank, but I was driven to take the risk. I strode into the lobby and the receptionist directed me to Mrs. Waring's desk at one side of the floor. She was a trim, handsome woman in her thirties, with the dress and air of the complete businesswoman. She looked up as I stopped in front of her desk.

"Mrs. Waring, I'm Bill Davis of the FBI. I believe my boss called you earlier?" I said.

She nodded with a grimace. "Oh, yes, Mr. Davis," she said. "I have the check right here." She did not ask for credentials or seem suspicious of my status at all. She merely produced the check from a drawer and handed it to me. I examined it with a professional air, an attitude easily assumed since I was the manufacturer. On the back, barely perceivable, was my real name and my father's address.

"It looks pretty junky," I observed dryly. "I'm surprised anyone would cash it."

Mrs. Waring smiled sour agreement. "Yes, we have some girls here that, well, they see a handsome pilot or some other man that presents a romantic figure, and they tend to lose their cool. They're more interested in the man than in what he's handing them," she said in disapproving tones. "The girl who took this check, Miss Caster, was so upset she didn't even come in this morning."

I relaxed at the information and began to enjoy my pose as a G-man.