Inmate 1577

17

MacNally returned to First National Thrift twice more that week, pretending to request information on opening an account. Fortunately, no one had noticed that he was wearing the same clothes-he owned only one pair of dress slacks and a single button-down Oxford.

On his second trip, he decided on the woman he wanted: Emily September. He had never known anyone named September-had not even realized it could be a real name. She was pert and on the younger side of thirty, with well-styled blonde hair and a tight knit sweater hugging her chest like it didn’t want to let go.

MacNally made small talk with her, then realized he had better leave before she-or anyone watching-would realize he hadn’t transacted any business.

He walked out and returned a couple of days later. Now, as noon approached, he watched Emily September push out the double doors of First National Thrift and turn left, headed toward the parking lot. MacNally followed her around back and watched her get into a light turquoise Ford Thunderbird. He didn’t know a whole lot about cars, but he did know that a T-bird was an expensive luxury car-and a sharp one at that. It was a convertible with a simple, elegant curved windshield, clean lines, and broad whitewall tires.

MacNally started the sky blue Buick Century he had stolen a few miles outside town and followed Emily as she maneuvered the vehicle onto the main drag. Her blonde hair flowed back off her shoulders in the breeze.

A Thunderbird? For a bank teller? She had money. Or, at least, it looked like she did. This presented an interesting dilemma: go after pretty Emily September when she arrived at home and steal what she had in the house, or go after the more risky-but potentially higher reward job-the bank.

He followed a good forty yards behind her, wondering if it was too great a distance. If she made a light and he did not, he would lose her. And how long could he keep this car before the police would discover it was stolen? Before they would find him and Henry?

He made sure to narrow the gap between them, taking care not to get too close: she had seen him-spoken to him-in the bank, and he didn’t want to risk her seeing him again. It could make her suspicious, or she could think he was following her around. Worse still, if he did rob the bank, she would be able to provide an accurate description of him to the authorities.

Ten minutes later, Emily pulled into a well-tended neighborhood with two- and three-story homes lining the green-lawned avenues. She hung a left into a driveway and parked. MacNally drove past her house and parked at the curb. He shut the engine and waited.

Emily went inside and was there for nearly forty minutes before getting back in her car and heading off in the direction of the bank. She must have come home for lunch and was now on her way back to work. MacNally waited until she had cleared the block and then got out of his car. Moving swiftly but cautiously, he walked down the street and into Emily September’s backyard.

The landscape was meticulously groomed, with several mature deciduous trees shading the grass from sunlight. A redwood picnic table sat in the center of the plot. MacNally moved past it and stepped up to the back door. He peered into the window, bringing his hands up to his face to block out the light. He looked around but did not see anyone. As expected-there had been no other cars in the nearby vicinity, so it made sense that no one was home.

MacNally balled up his shirt around his fist and looked for the best place to penetrate the door. He would be in and out as fast as possible. But first he would see if he could find some cash-or anything else of value that could be sold with ease.

“Okay, Emily. Let’s see what you’ve got for me.”