Man on a leash - By Charles Williams Page 0,26
to have it counted out and ready for him in the vault. As you’ll see, from my desk here I can see the whole lobby, from the vault on out to the front doors, and even the sidewalk outside, through the windows. I told Mr. Wilkins he would be here in a few minutes, so he was on the lookout, too. I think it was just ten forty exactly when your father came in.”
“Was there anybody behind him?” Romstead asked.
“No. Not immediately behind him. By the time he’d walked over to my desk there was another man came in, but I knew him. He owns a restaurant down the street and has been a bank customer for years. The captain came on over to the desk here. He was carrying a small bag—”
“Do you remember what kind it was?” Romstead interrupted. “And what color?”
“Gray. It was just the common type of airplane luggage you can buy anywhere, even in drugstores. I asked him to sit down, but he refused; he seemed to be impatient to get on with the transaction. I tried again to tell him how dangerous it was, carrying that much money around the streets, but he waved me off rather abruptly. So I told him if he’d write out the check, I’d go back to the vault and get the money for him, but he said he’d go with me. Mr. Wilkins came over, and the three of us walked back. The captain took out his checkbook and stopped at one of the stands out there to write the check and sign it. We went on to the railing there outside the vault, and I asked to have the money brought out. It was banded, of course, and the captain accepted our count as we put it in the bag. He thanked me, and Mr. Wilkins and I walked to the front door with him.”
“And nobody followed him out?”
“No. We were particularly on the lookout for that, but it was a minute or two before anybody else went out, and again it was a customer I knew. I still didn’t like the transaction, so I stepped out on the sidewalk myself just to be sure there was nobody waiting for him outside. He went up to the corner, waited for the light, and crossed Montgomery. He was still alone, nobody following him.”
Romstead glumly shook his head. “Well, that seems to be it.”
“Yes, there’s not a chance in the world he was being threatened or coerced in any way. All the time he was here at my desk he could have told me without being overheard. And back there by the vault Mr. Wilkins and I were both alone with him. Also, when he crossed Montgomery, he passed right in front of a police car, stopped for the light.”
But, damn it, Romstead thought, it had to be. There was no other answer. “How many people were in the lobby altogether?”
“Several came in and went out during the whole period, but I don’t think there were ever more than eight at one time.”
“Was there anybody who was strange to you? Who wasn’t a customer and you couldn’t remember seeing before?”
“Yes. There were two.” The answer was unhesitating and precise. “One was a young woman with blond hair, wearing dark glasses. I think she was buying travelers’ checks. The other was a hippie type with a big bushy beard, a headband, and hair down to his shoulders. He was wearing one of those poncho things and had a guitar slung over his shoulder.”
“What was he doing? He doesn’t sound much like a regular bank customer.”
“He was counting his change. I guess he’d been panhandling.” Distaste was evident in Richter’s tone. “He came in just a few minutes before the captain and was at that middle stand there with a double handful of nickels, dimes, and quarters spread out on it, counting them.”
“He didn’t have one hand under the poncho, any TV routine like that?”
“Oh, no. Anyway, he was still here after the captain went out. He was at one of the tellers’ windows. Getting currency for all that silver, I suppose.”
“I just don’t get it,” Romstead said. “There’s only one thing that strikes me as a little odd. You asked him to sit down here and write the check, but he refused. Then he stopped at one of the stands and wrote it. Didn’t he have a pen?”
“Oh, I offered him one.”
“Did it strike you as strange?”
“No-o. Not really. It