somebody else—Coogan, Officer Thomas P.—had processed prisoners into Central Lockup.
And the both of them looked at me long and hard when they saw me later in the parking lot. If he sees me here, he will recognize me!
But what the hell is he doing here?
I’ve already cross-checked the names I got from his record against the names of people who rent safe-deposit boxes here, and there wasn’t a match.
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