My Laugh Comes Last

Chapter Eight

Faint sunlight came through the curtains and lit up the carpet. A blackbird shrilled a warning. The refrigerator in the kitchen started up with a growl.

I stirred and looked at my watch. The time now was 05.45. I had been sitting in a despairing heap in the living-room, crushed with the knowledge that I had been too late to save Glenda.

I was sure now that when I left with Harry, Benny had murdered her, and had buried her. My suspicions that Klaus would order her killing were now confirmed.

I thought of her, the only woman I had found that really meant something to me. I saw her again: her red hair, her eyes, and that lovely body.

Somewhere on this farm, she had been buried. I had to find her grave! I couldn’t continue to sit here, grieving for her. Getting to my feet, I walked out into the cool early morning air. The sun, now rising above the trees cast pale shadows.

I looked around. The barn? I crossed the lawn and entered the barn, then came to an abrupt standstill.

I had forgotten the faked security truck. There it was, standing in the middle of the barn. I crossed to it, and looked through the driver’s window. Lying on the bench seat were the two guards’ uniforms. I checked my watch. In twenty-four hours, if not less, the two men, posing as guards, would be arriving. Here was danger! If they drove the truck down to the bank as arranged, and found they couldn’t get into the cellar garage, what would they do? If the bank guard spotted them, trying to get in, would he set off an alarm?

My mind was in a turmoil, but the urgent need to find Glenda’s grave prevailed. I looked around the barn, examining the hard, dirt floor. She certainly wasn’t buried here. As I started to die door, I heard a car approaching.

My heart thumping, my hand in my pocket, gripping the butt of the gun, I moved out into the pale sunshine.

A shabby Chrysler car had pulled up close to where I had parked my car, and two men got out. I recognized them as the two men who were to act as guards.

Seeing me, they stopped short. They looked at each other, as I waved to them. They had seen me with Harry, and I hoped they would imagine I was one of the gang.

As they came forward, I went to meet them.

The taller of the two peered suspiciously at me.

‘Is it okay?’ he asked. With a feeling of relief, I was sure they thought I was working for Klaus.

‘The operation is off,’ I said, my finger on the gun’s trigger. ‘The boss told me to come out here, and tell you. You can forget it.’

The man looked at his partner,

‘You mean we don’t handle the truck?’

‘That’s it. The operation is off.’

The shorter of the two demanded aggressively, ‘How about the money?’

‘You keep it. There’s no problem.’

For a long moment they stared at me, then looking at each other, they grinned.

‘Boy! That’s good news! You tell the boss any time he wants us, we’re ready, okay?’

‘I’ll tell him.’

I watched them return to their car and drive away.

I spent the next hour, tramping around the farm. I found no newly dug ground. Defeated and crushed, I returned to the living-room of the house. The time now was 07.00.

I dropped into a chair. For some minutes, I submitted to my grief. Glenda was dead! I mourned for her for more than half an hour, recalling those precious moments we had spent together, then I began to accept the inevitable. Now, I asked myself, what was I going to do?

Going on the run with Glenda would have been an exciting challenge to me, but going on the run on my own was a frightening, lonely thought.

Forcing myself not to think of her, I began to consider my own position. Klaus and his three men were trapped in the vault. There was no escape for them, but there was also little chance of escape for me. Once the police swung into action, they would know I was the only possible suspect who could have broken into the safest bank in the world.

Suddenly, I didn’t care anymore. Being a fugitive, being hunted day and night without Glenda to sustain me, was more than I could face. I came to the decision that I had to talk to Brannigan. I must explain everything to him. He was my only hope, but I couldn’t wait until Tuesday when he was expected back at the bank. Sometime tonight, I must alert Manson that men were in the vault, but before doing this, I must talk to Brannigan. I had to find him, and find him fast.

I knew his home telephone number. Forgetting, in my anxiety, that the time was only 07.50, I dialled Brannigan’s number. There was a long delay, then a woman’s sleepy voice demanded, ‘Who is this for God’s sake?’

I had met Brannigan’s wife several times at cocktail parties: a tall, fifty-year-old, clinging to her youth, jet-black tinted hair, lean and madly interested in her health. I recognized her voice.

‘Mrs. Brannigan, excuse me. This is Larry Lucas. I...’

‘Larry Lucas?’ Her voice shot up a notch. ‘Well, for God’s sake! I haven’t seen you in months! How are you, Larry? Wonderful, I’m sure. God! How I wish I could say the same.’ Once Merle Brannigan got talking, it was impossible to stop her. ‘You wicked man! You woke me up! Now, let me tell you something, Larry. I can’t remember when I’ve had a good night’s sleep. You know what I mean? A good night’s sleep. I get pains in my knees, and there’s Farrell snoring his head off, and I lie awake, hour after hour, with pains in my knees every goddamn night. Isn’t that something? I talked to Dr. Schruder, and he says I walk too much. What a thing to say! I scarcely put one foot before I the other. Walk! That’s a four-letter word to me!’ She gave a trilling laugh. ‘What do you think, Larry? Farrell says I’m hysterical. Just imagine that. Hysterical! Last night, right against my will, and I’ll let you know, Larry, I really have a very strong will, but right against my will, I took three of those Valium — is that what you call them? — anyway, three sleeping pills. And what do you know? Those goddamn pills actually kept me awake! They did absolutely nothing for me, and do you know what I did? The pain was terrible, but in sheer desperation, I got right out of bed, and I went on my knees. God! How I suffered, but I did it, and I talked this problem over with God. Do you believe in God, Larry — of course you do! Well, I talked my problem over with God, and then I got back to bed, and for the first time in months, I went right off to sleep, and now you, you wicked man, have woke me up.’

‘Mrs. Brannigan,’ I said, trying to keep from yelling at her, ‘I’m truly sorry about waking you up, but I must contact Mr. Brannigan. It’s a bank emergency.’

‘You want to speak to Farrell?’

I closed my eyes, feeling sweat running down my face.

‘Yes, Mrs. Brannigan.’

‘Did you say it’s an emergency?’

‘Yes, Mrs. Brannigan. I must contact Mr. Brannigan.’

‘It’s Saturday, isn’t it, Larry? It’s not Monday, is it? God! I’m not awake yet. If it’s Monday, I have a date with my hairdresser at nine. Now, isn’t that a terrible time to have to go to a hairdresser? He’s just so busy...’

‘It is Saturday!’ My voice turned into a shout.

‘Larry, dear, please don’t shout. My nerves are all on edge. If it’s Saturday, how can there be a bank emergency? The bank closes on Saturday... at least, I think it does.’

Somehow, I controlled my voice.

‘I must contact Mr. Brannigan. Can you tell me where I can reach him?’

‘He’s off somewhere, playing golf. You know F.B. When he isn’t making money, he’s playing golf. I remember once, when we were talking to Jerry Ford, Farrell said...’

‘Mrs. Brannigan! I am asking for your help! Have you any idea where I can contact Mr. Brannigan?’

‘He never tells me anything.’ Her voice turned sulky. ‘You know, sometimes Farrell is very inconsiderate, but I guess most husbands, after they’ve been married for twenty-five years, get inconsiderate.’

‘So you don’t know where I can contact him?’

‘Well, if it is an emergency — and I can’t imagine what emergency — you could ask his secretary. She knows more about my husband’s movements than I do. Isn’t that terrible? Some chit of a girl knows more...’

‘Thank you, Mrs. Brannigan,’ and I hung up on her.

I picked up the telephone book, and found Lois Sheldon’s home number. A minute later, I was speaking to her.

‘This is Larry, Lois. It is urgent that I contact F.B. Do you know where he is?’

‘How urgent?’ Lois’s voice was brisk.

‘It’s an emergency to do with the bank. I can’t tell you more than that. F.B. would want this to be kept top secret, Lois. I must speak to him!’

‘I’ll see if I can get him. Give me your telephone number. I’ll call you back.’

‘Can’t you give me his telephone number?’

‘No. I’ll call you back.’

I read off the number on the telephone I was using.

‘You are sure this isn’t something that can be handled on Monday?’ Lois said. ‘F.B. will be wild if I disturb him for nothing.’

‘He’ll be even wilder if you don’t. Hurry it, Lois. I’ll wait,’ and I hung up.

It was while I was sitting at the desk, I remembered the incriminating photos of Marsh and myself. I began searching the desk drawers. One of them was locked. I went fast into the kitchen in search of tools. I found a long screw-driver in one of the kitchen closets. Returning to the living-room, I attacked the drawer, and in a few minutes, had it open.

Lying in the drawer, was the envelope containing the copies of the two tapes and my statement to Brannigan. In yet another envelope were the blackmail photographs showing Marsh and myself fighting, and better yet, the negatives.

I had seen a can of gasoline in the kitchen. I fetched it, then putting the two envelopes into the big fireplace, I soaked them in gasoline, then striking a match, set fire to them.

I stood back, watching the blaze.

When the fire had died down, I stirred the debris, poured on more gasoline, and again threw in a lighted match.

Finally, I was satisfied that nothing now remained of the blackmail pictures nor the tapes and my statement.

Still no telephone call from Lois!

I began searching the closets in the living-room. I came across the trenching tool, wrapped in plastic, that I had handled while they had buried Marsh. I went into the kitchen, found a rag dipped it in water and stripping off the plastic, I wiped the wooden handle free of my fingerprints. Then using the rag, I wiped over the surface of the desk, the arms of the chair and wrapped the rag around the telephone receiver. This was the best I could do.

I looked at my watch. The time now was 08.50. I thought only for a moment of Klaus, Harry, Joe and Benny trapped in the vault, then my mind shifted to Glenda.

I was sitting at the desk, grieving for her, when the telephone bell broke up my thoughts.

I snatched up the receiver. It was Lois.

‘Larry, I’m sorry, but I can get no reply,’ she said. ‘I’ve called three times. He’s either not answering the telephone or he isn’t there.’

‘Keep trying,’ I said feverishly. ‘This is a real emergency, Lois. I’ll wait.’

‘I can’t! My mother is sick, and I have to go to her. I have only a few minutes before I get my train!’

‘Then give me the number! I’ll keep trying!’

‘I can’t do that!’ A pause, then she went on, ‘Larry! He’s not playing golf! Every so often he goes off for a long weekend, but he doesn’t play golf. I don’t have to spell it out, do I?’

This shook me. I had always imagined Farrell Brannigan was above the way so many men lived.

‘I don’t give a damn! I must talk to him, Lois! A situation has come up that could cause a hell of a stink at the bank! I can’t tell you more than that, but I have to talk to him, and immediately!’

‘But he’s not answering!’ There was a wail in her voice, ‘It would be a breach of confidence if I gave you the number.’

‘He’ll thank you. I swear he will!’ I was shouting now.

‘You know he trusts me! This is an emergency! Now, come on, Lois! Give me the number!’

There was a long pause, then she said, ‘It’s 333-447-7880. I must go or I’ll miss my train,’ and she hung up.

I scribbled the number down on a memo pad, lying on the desk. 333 was the code number of Pennon Bay, a small beach resort some ten miles from Sharnville. Bill Dixon and I had once considered renting one of the many beach cabins there with the idea we could work together Sundays, and sunbathe at the same time. I had gone down there, but had decided there were too many screaming children around to allow us to work in peace. I remembered the Bay: sand, sea, palm trees, well-appointed bungalows, and a couple of decent restaurants. When I had inspected a few of the bungalows with the estate agent, I had thought many of them could be love nests, although most of them were weekend family accommodations. The more isolated bungalows, which I was sure were love nests, the agent told me regretfully weren’t for rent.

My hands unsteady, I picked up the telephone book and flicked through the pages until I came to Pennon Bay. There were not more than two hundred entries. Carefully, I went down the list of numbers until I came to 447-7880.

Brannigan’s mistress?

Picking up the telephone receiver, I dialled the number. I listened to the ringing tone for over a minute, then I hung up. I looked at my watch. The time now was 09.25.

I had to see Brannigan! I had to throw this whole mess into his lap! I was beyond caring what would happen to me. I couldn’t care less if he took the occasional weekend away from his wife, and found consolation with another woman. He had done so much for me in the past, and I felt that if I told him the whole sick story, he would help me... no one else could!

Leaving the house, I ran to my car, climbed in and started the engine. As I reversed to drive down the dirt road, I thought of the four men, trapped in the vault, then I thought of Glenda. Well, they were trapped. At least, her murder would be avenged!

At the end of the dirt road, I had a long, impatient wait before I could drive on to the highway. Already families were driving to the beaches. The usual Saturday morning exodus from Sharnville was on.

Finally, I was on the highway, but my progress was slow. Cars, with inflated rubber boats strapped to their roofs, were almost bumper to bumper. Kids, leaning out of car windows, screamed and yelled, anticipating the excitement of the sea. Bored-looking husbands, sitting behind the driving wheels, turned, from time to time, to swear at their children, while harassed-looking mothers, dragged the kids back on to their seats. It was a typical Sharnville Saturday morning.

Ahead, were Hampton Bay, Bay Greek, Little Cove, Happy Bay, and then Pennon Bay,

The most popular Bay was Little Gove. Once past the turn-off to Little Cove, the traffic thinned and I could increase speed. Only one car signalled to turn left at Pennon Bay. I followed it down the sandy road that led to the beach.

The car, ahead of me, pulled up outside a de luxe bungalow, facing the sea, and four kids tumbled out, and ran yelling across the sand while the driver got out to open the gate leading to the garage.

I kept on until I reached a parking bay, then got out of my car. I had no idea where to find Sea Road. I looked to right and left, then seeing a youngish man in swim shorts coming my way, I stopped him and asked.

‘Sea Road?’ He was overweight, and had a mat of black hair on his chest. He looked as intelligent as an amputated leg. ‘Sea Road?’ He scratched his hairy chest. ‘Yeah... Sea Road.’ He frowned. ‘Yeah... you go straight ahead, turn left, and you’re on it.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘You’re welcome. Have a nice day,’ and he plodded away towards the sea.

I started off down the road, then as I was about to turn left, I heard a voice calling. I stopped and turned.

The hairy-chested man was running after me.

‘Bud, I’m sorry. You want Sea Road... right?’

The sun was now up, and in my city clothes, I was sweating.

‘Yes.’

‘My error, bud. You turn right.’

I could have strangled him.

‘You mean I go back to the intersection, and take the right-hand road?’

He scratched his chest, frowned, then nodded.

‘Yep. You’ve got it, bud.’ As I started back, he said, ‘you got kids, bud?’

Without pausing, I said no.

‘If you knew how lucky you are...’ His voice faded away as I kept on.

The bungalows along this beach road were more de luxe than the others I had passed. They stood in fair-sized gardens which were screened either by laurel hedges or stone walls. None of the bungalows had numbers: just names like The Nest, Happy Home, You & Me: crazy names people dream up for their houses.

I had walked some hundred yards when I came upon a teenage girl, swinging on the gate leading to a big bungalow. She was pencil thin, fair and wore jeans and a sweat shirt. She regarded me with worldly eyes and an impish grin.

‘Hello,’ she said.

I paused.

‘I’m looking for 14 Sea Road.’

Her grin turned to a sly little smile.

‘Are you looking for Sheila?’

‘That’s right. Do you know her?’

She pouted.

‘My mum won’t let me talk to her. I say hello to her when my mum’s not around.’

Fishing for information, I asked, ‘what’s your mum got against her?’

The girl wrinkled her nose.

‘My mum’s square. Just because Sheila has a boyfriend or two, my mum says she’s a whore.’

‘Where do I find her place?’

Again the sly little smile.

‘If I were you, I wouldn’t go there right now. She’s got her fat friend with her. He’s old and horrid looking, but her real boyfriend is super. When Sheila doesn’t want to swim, he comes swimming with me. When my mum’s not around,’ and she giggled.

Still fishing, I asked, ‘How do you know he is her real boyfriend? Her fat friend could be her real boyfriend, couldn’t he?’

‘That’s a load of crap. The fat one comes only once a month, but Harry lives with her.’

‘Harry?’

I felt a cold chill run over me. Then I told myself Harry was a common name, but instinct warned me to probe, ‘Harry — tall, thin with a beard?’

Her eyes opened wide.

‘Sure, do you know him?’ Holding the gate with one hand as she swung backwards and forwards, she tossed her long fair hair off her shoulders. ‘What’s your name? How did you meet Harry?’

‘You haven’t told me where I can find Sheila.’

‘Right at the end of the road. It’s the only bungalow with a number. When did you meet Harry?’

A raucous voice bawled from somewhere: ‘Jenny! Come in at once!’

The girl grimaced.

‘That’s my mum. See you,’ and climbing off the gate, she ran away towards the bungalow.

As I started down the sandy road, I was asking myself what was going on. I told myself I mustn’t jump to conclusions. There could be hundreds of bearded men called Harry.

My mind in a turmoil, I hurried on. At the end of the road was a high laurel hedge, screening a bungalow. On the gate was the number 14. I pushed open the gate and looked into the big garden. Ahead of me, up a crazy path was a low-lying, biggish bungalow. I walked quickly up the path until I reached the front door.

What kind of reception would I receive when Brannigan found I had tracked him down to his love nest? I hesitated for a brief moment, then thumbed the bell push.

Somewhere inside the bungalow, I heard the bell ring. Then, after a brief moment, the door jerked open.

Standing in the doorway, wearing white pyjamas, her red hair tousled, her big, green eyes wide, was Glenda.

A bunch of kids, dressed in cowboy outfits, burst into the garden. The toy guns they carried were perfect replicas of the real thing. As they shot at each other, the snapping bark of their guns was horribly realistic.

Two of the kids fell down, clutching at their chests, their legs jerking as they simulated violent death. One of the other kids, his face snarling, rah over to them and shot at them, screaming: ‘You’re dead... you’re dead!’

Then leaving the two, now lying still, the rest of them charged back on to the road, and went, yelling, towards the sea.

The sight of Glenda, and this sudden invasion of noise, paralysed me. I could only stand motionless, staring at her, seeing the two kids get to their feet.

One pointed his gun at me and fired.

‘You’re dead!’ he yelled, fired again, then he and his companion charged after the others.

‘Glenda!’ I managed to say.

Her face was the colour of tallow. Her eyes were terror-stricken. Slowly, she backed away as if she were seeing a ghost, her hand to her mouth. She half moaned to herself: ‘Oh, my God! My God!’

‘Glenda!’

I took a step forward.

With a stifled scream, she turned and stumbled down the long passage, threw open a door on her right, stumbled inside the room and slammed the door.

My mind wouldn’t work. I stood in the doorway, unable to move. I had been so sure Klaus had had her murdered.

The shock of finding her alive, and even worse, the realization that the sight of me had reduced her to terrifying panic, crushed me.

I stood there, looking down the passage at the closed door behind which she was. Somewhere in the bungalow a clock began to chime. Standing there, feeling the sun on my back, I counted the chimes. It was now 11.00. The clock chimes brought my mind into focus. I moved into the passage, and closed the front door. I walked down the passage, reached the door to the room, where Glenda was, turned the handle, but found the door locked.

‘Glenda!’ I shouted. ‘Let me in! You have nothing to be frightened about. Glenda... please!’

A gravelly voice said, behind me, ‘Leave her alone, Larry. She’s had a shock.’

I spun around.

Farrell Brannigan stood in the passage. He was wearing a white open-neck shirt and blue slacks. Although casually dressed, he still exuded all the authority of the President of the largest banking syndicate in California.

‘Come on, son,’ he said. ‘We have things to talk about. Just let her alone for a while. Women need to get over a shock like this.’

Bewildered, and off balance, I hesitated, then followed him into the big living-room, comfortably furnished with lounging chairs, settees and a big desk.

‘Now, Larry,’ Brannigan said quietly as he moved behind the desk, ‘just so you don’t get wrong ideas about Glenda and myself, I will tell you in confidence that she is my illegitimate daughter.’

I stared at him, feeling a wave of relief go through me. His daughter! My reaction, when I had seen her standing in the doorway, had been that she was Sheila Vance, Brannigan’s mistress.

‘Your daughter?’ I said, continuing to stare at him.

He dropped into the big chair behind the desk, then took a cigar from a box as he waved me to a chair, ‘Come on, Larry, sit down. I’ve some history to tell you.’

Even more bewildered, I sat down. He was as calm as if he were presiding at a board meeting.

‘I’m going to tell you something in strict confidence, Larry,’ he went on, ‘Not a word to anyone else. I know I can trust you. Right?’

‘Glenda is your daughter?’

He nodded.

‘That’s it. Glenda’s mother was a secretary of mine. This was twenty-six years ago.’ He puffed smoke. ‘I had been married for a few months. Merle, as you know is occupied with her health. She never gave me any bed satisfaction.’ He pointed his cigar at me. ‘A man wants bed satisfaction. That’s what marriage is all about. That, and companionship.’ He drew on his cigar, then went on, ‘What no one knows, Larry, is that it is Merle’s money that gave me my start. I’m putting the cards on the table. If she wasn’t so rich, I wouldn’t have married her. I wanted money, so I married her. Merle was difficult. She is one of these women who is above sex. I got nothing from her, so, after a while, I began to screw around. What man wouldn’t? Let’s look at it, Larry. There are two things in a man’s life: money and screwing.’

As I didn’t say anything, he went on, ‘Stupidly I screwed my secretary, Anne, Glenda’s mother. Anne was a nice girl... a decent girl. She died giving birth to Glenda.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I found I had a baby daughter on my hands. I knew if Merle heard about it, she would divorce me, and I would lose her financial backing. I wanted my daughter. Merle would never give me children. I found two worthy people to take care of Glenda, and from time to time, I saw her.’ He puffed more smoke. ‘You probably won’t realize how a man feels when he has a daughter, but never mind. You could learn. I saw Glenda once a month as she grew up. She lacked for nothing. I gave her the best education. I even taught her to play golf. I bought her this place so we could meet from time to time. We met at some out-of-the-way golf course, and played. Then something went wrong. Maybe, she didn’t see enough of me. There were times when I was so goddamn busy, I didn’t see her more than three times a year. I don’t know, but something went wrong. This man Harry Brett came into her life. I knew sooner or later, some man would come, but I hoped that whoever it was, he would be better than Brett. Whenever I can, I come here, and spend a weekend with her, as I’m doing now. I alert her, and she gets rid of Brett.’ He moved back his chair and crossed one heavy leg over the other. ‘Now, there’s a change, Larry.’ He looked at me soberly, the relaxed President at the board table, his cigar between his thick fingers, expensive Havana smoke in the air, ‘A big change,’ he went on. ‘She is now in love with you. She doesn’t want Brett anymore. She wants you.’ He leaned forward to touch off the ash from his cigar into the ash bowl. ‘At the moment, son, the situation is difficult, but I feel sure you and I can sort it out. What you must keep in mind is that my daughter loves you, needs you, and relies on you to help her and help me.’

For a long moment, I sat silent. I looked at this big, impressive man, and I felt a despairing sickness as it dawned on me he was lying. Farrell Brannigan! The man, who, with a wave of his hand, had done so much for me. My mind flashed back to the past few weeks. Marsh murdered. Thomson, murdered. The blackmail threat. Klaus, Benny, Joe and Harry Brett. Glenda pleading for me to tell them how to break into the bank. Her faked captivity. The impish smile from the teenager as she swung on the gate, when she spoke of Harry Brett.

Keeping my face expressionless, I asked, ‘You are saying Glenda relies on me to help you. How can I possibly help you, Mr. Brannigan? Why should a man of your status need my help?’

His eyes shifted from me to the wall behind me, and back to me again.

‘Do I have to remind you, Larry, if it wasn’t for me, you would still be a mechanic? Because of me, you now own a flourishing business, and you are regarded as an important citizen in Sharnville... because of me.’

I continued to look directly at him, saying nothing.

After a long pause, he went on, ‘I need your help, Larry, as you once needed my help. This thing has developed into a dangerous mess. You, and only you, can straighten it out. Both Glenda and I are relying on your help.’

‘What thing, Mr. Brannigan?’

His fatherly smile became fixed. He rubbed his jaw, pulled at his cigar, then released a cloud of smoke that half screened his face.

‘Larry, we both are relying on you. I brought you from nothing. Don’t you think you can return favour for favour?’

‘I ask again, Mr. Brannigan, what thing has developed into a dangerous mess?’

A faint flush came to his heavy face. He sat upright. He was now no longer the father figure, but the tough President, up against opposition.

‘We’re wasting time, son!’ There was a snap in his voice. ‘You know very well what I’m talking about! Don’t fence with me! What has happened at the bank?’

Then I knew, just by looking at the hard eyes, that Farrell Brannigan was involved in the bank break-in. By now, I was shockproof, and my mind was working actively.

‘You needn’t worry about the bank, Mr. Brannigan,’ I said. ‘Four evil men are trapped in the vault. There is no possible way for them to get out unless I let them out. I guaranteed to build you the safest bank in the world... it is the safest bank in the world.’

Slowly, he crushed out his cigar in the ash bowl. Beneath his heavy golfer’s tan, his complexion turned yellow.

‘You’re telling me they are trapped in the vault?’ His voice was now husky. I could see his confidence oozing away.

‘It is the safest bank in the world, Mr. Brannigan. When a psychopath, and three morons, one a vicious killer, try to break into your bank which I built, they become trapped.’

He reached for another cigar, and I saw his hand was unsteady, then he changed his mind, withdrew his hand, then looked at me.

‘But you can get them out, Larry?’

‘Yes, I could get them out,’ I said, ‘but I don’t intend to.’ I leaned forward, then asked, ‘Do you want them to escape, Mr. Brannigan?’

He sat still, and I could see him visibly shrinking. He was now no longer the President of the biggest banking syndicate in California: he was an ageing, fat man whom I could no longer respect.

‘They must escape, Larry,’ he said finally, his voice a husky whisper.

‘They are not going to escape,’ I said. ‘My next move is to telephone Manson, and warn him there are four bank robbers locked in the vault. Once he has alerted the police, I will go down to the bank, and open the vault. The way I’ve fixed it, no one, except me, can do this. It is still the safest bank in the world.’

I got up and walked over to the desk and reached for the telephone. As I picked up the receiver, the door slammed open, and Glenda rushed in.

She was now wearing green slacks and a white shirt. In her hand, she held an automatic pistol. She pointed the gun at me.

‘Get away from that phone!’ she screamed.

There was a mad look of frenzy in her eyes. Her mouth was working, the gun wavered in her hand.

I took two steps away from the desk.

‘Glenda!’ Brannigan’s voice was sharp.

She looked at him, her eyes loathing.

‘There is no one now, Glenda, except Larry, who can help us,’ Brannigan said, his voice pleading. ‘Don’t do anything dramatic.’

I was looking at her, seeing the hard, drawn face, the vicious, angry eyes, and I didn’t recognize this woman I believed I loved. That woman whose soft yielding body had received me, whose pleading voice had begged me to save her life, had vanished, to be replaced by this redheaded, dangerous-looking woman whom the teenager’s mother had called a whore.

Although I thought I was, by now shockproof, the realization that Glenda had used me so heartlessly and ruthlessly, sickened me.

‘What have you done with Harry?’ she demanded, her voice shrill. ‘What have you done with him, you sonofabitch?’

‘Glenda!’ Brannigan shouted. ‘Go away! Leave this to me! Hear me?’

She looked at him, her big eyes scornful.

‘Don’t tell me what to do, you fat sack of crap! Your daughter! That’s a laugh! Do you imagine you can talk this smart bastard into believing your lies?’ Turning on me, ‘You’re going to get Harry out of that vault!’ She waved the gun at me. ‘If you don’t, I’ll kill you!’

‘Go ahead and shoot me, Glenda,’ I said quietly. ‘No one but me can open the vault, and the air is running out. In another four or five hours, your Harry, and the rest of them, will suffocate to death. This is up to you. Go ahead and shoot!’

She moved back, her hand going to her mouth.

‘Suffocate?’

‘There is no ventilation now in the vault,’ I said. ‘Right now, four men are using up the remaining air... it won’t last long.’ I held out my hand. ‘I’ll get him out, but on my own terms. Give me that gun!’

‘You’re bluffing, you devil!’

‘You called Klaus that, didn’t you? Give me that gun!’

‘Give it to him!’ Brannigan shouted.

She hesitated, then threw the gun at my feet.

‘Take it!’ she screamed at me. ‘You and your cheap love! Harry is ten times the man you are!’ and she ran out of the room, slamming the door.

I picked up the gun and laid it on the desk, then moving slowly, I returned to my chair and sat down.

There was a long pause, then Brannigan said uneasily, ‘She’s hysterical, Larry. You know what women are.’

I looked up, my fists clenched.

Your cheap, stupid love!

That hurt, but now I knew the truth. All along Brannigan had been lying. The scornful way she had said, Your daughter! told me she was his mistress, and the lies he had told me about his secretary had been futile attempts to keep some gilt over his image.

‘So, according to you,’ I said, ‘she loves me. What a liar you are!’

He flinched.

‘Is it true these men could suffocate?’ he asked.

‘At a guess, they have another six hours. Dixon and I built that vault. There is a ventilation fan, but to get out of the vault, I had to cut the electricity. I don’t bluff, and I don’t tell lies.’

He nodded wearily: an old, fat man, shrunken and defeated.

On the desk was a tape recorder.

‘Mr. Brannigan, I want the truth from you,’ I said, ‘No more lies. I am going to take a recording of what we say to each other.’

‘Don’t do that, son,’ he said. ‘You’re telling me I’m at the end of my road.’

‘That’s what I am telling you,’ and I pressed the start button of the recorder. ‘You told me Glenda was your daughter. That was a lie?’

‘Yes, son, that was a lie. She’s my mistress. She has a fatal attraction. Let me tell you, Larry, she’s made a lot of money out of me.’

‘She told me she was married to Alex Marsh... right or wrong?’

‘She was never married to him... he was her pimp. He was blackmailing me. He had photographs of Glenda with me... photographs that were so damning that Merle would have divorced me if she had seen them. Without Merle’s money, I am in financial trouble. I paid heavy blackmail to Marsh. Sooner or later, I knew Merle would question me about this steady drain from her fortune. I had to do something to stop Marsh.’ Brannigan eased his bulk back in his chair, then went on, ‘Marsh was infatuated with Glenda as I was, but he was greedy. Glenda knew he was blackmailing me, but Marsh, like the pimp he was, never gave her a cent of the money he was getting from me.

‘Marsh suspected that I could be dangerous. He knew I would try to get the photos, and then have him murdered. A few weeks ago, he came to me. ‘Mr. Brannigan,’ he said, ‘don’t get ideas about getting those photos and having me knocked off. Those photos are in a safe deposit box in the safest bank in the world,’ and he grinned at me. ‘My lawyer holds the key of the box. If anything happens to me, the box will be opened, and you can then explain the photographs to your wife.’ I realized there was nothing I could do about this. Marsh had played it very smart.’ Brannigan paused to wipe his sweating face with the back of his hand. ‘There was no way, even for the President of the bank, to get at Marsh’s deposit box.’ He stared at me, his eyes dull. You made that impossible.’ There was a pause, then he said, ‘I could do with a drink, son.’

I got up, went to the liquor cabinet and built him a powerful whisky and soda. He took the glass with a shaky hand, drank, sighed, then put the glass down.

‘So my future life,’ he went on, ‘was locked up in the vault you built, Larry. I desperately wanted to be financially independent, instead of relying on my wife’s money. There was a big deal pending, and this could be my chance. By using Merle’s credit, I could get in on the ground floor. Then just when I was fixing this deal, Marsh reappeared. He said he had decided to leave the States. He demanded two million dollars as final blackmail payment, and he would give me the photographs and the negatives. He said he would give me two weeks to raise the money, then, if I didn’t pay him, he would go to Merle who, he was sure, would pay up to avoid a scandal. She wouldn’t have paid up. She would have divorced me and my future would be ended.’ He sat forward, his big hands turning into fists. ‘Then I realized there was only one possible solution out of this mess. I had to find some criminal who would break into the bank, get me those photographs and murder Marsh. This was my only solution.’

He paused to sip his drink. ‘I had no contacts with the criminal world. In my position, I couldn’t go around trying to find a bank robber, then I remembered Klaus. Now, Klaus...’

‘You can skip that,’ I interrupted. ‘I have it already on tape. Years ago, you and he worked together, you found he had embezzled, and you got him a five-year sentence...right?’

He looked down at his tightly clenched fists.

‘That’s what happened. At that time, I believed anyone working in a bank must be honest. When there is no pressure, it is easy to be honest.’

‘So you found Klaus, and you asked him to break into the bank?’

‘There was no one else I could go to.’ He finished his drink. ‘You must understand, Larry, I was now desperate. My whole life depended on getting Marsh off my back... to get those photographs. After I had talked to Klaus, I realized he was a mental case. Maybe the years he had spent in jail had eroded his mind. He hated me. I could see his hatred oozing out of him while we talked. He had read all the media about my safest bank in the world. It delighted him that he would break into the bank and make a sham of me. “I’ll get your photographs,” he said, “but remember, every banker in the world will be laughing at you! I’ll cut you down to size!” That was how his sick mind worked.’ Brannigan pushed his empty glass towards me. ‘I would like another, son.’

I got up and built him another drink, and gave it to him.

‘Thanks.’ He sipped the drink, then went on, ‘I didn’t give a damn about the bank. That’s where Klaus made a mistake. He imagined he was punishing me. I had to get those photographs. If there was one man in the world who could break into the bank, it was Klaus. The deal we agreed to was for the men he employed to have the contents of the deposit boxes, for me to get the photographs, and for Klaus to satisfy his pathological hatred of me to prove to the world I didn’t own the safest bank in the world.’ He lifted his heavy hands and let them drop with a thud on the desk. ‘That’s the sordid story, Larry. I’ve levelled with you. Can you get me out of this mess?’

I thought back to the time when we had first met, when I had fixed his putting and his hook. I thought of his influence that had made me an important citizen in Sharnville. Then, to me, He had been a great man, but not now. Looking at him, seated in the chair, sweat running down his heavy face, Farrell Brannigan ceased to be the god I thought he was.

‘You haven’t levelled with me,’ I said. ‘You know as well as I do Klaus could never have broken into the bank. You knew I was the only man in the world to do that! So you set me up.’

He moved restlessly.

‘Now, look, son...’

‘Don’t give me this son routine! Didn’t you tell Klaus I was the sucker who could get him into the bank?’

He rubbed his sweating face.

‘I guess.’ He tried to drag a shred of dignity over himself. ‘I did mention...’

‘You did more than that! Now, I’ll tell you what you did! You knew Klaus hadn’t a hope in hell to break into the bank, so you set me up. I was to be the sucker! You and your son routine! You didn’t give a damn about me. All you thought of was to hang on to your image. You planted Glenda on me! That crap about Joe going to your place and putting water in your gas tank was just another lie I was fed with. You gambled that I would fall for Glenda, and I did. Her supposed reportage on Sharnville paid off. She not only threw a hook into me, she also alerted Klaus that the Sheriff was dangerous, and Manson was incorruptible. So what happened? The Sheriff was murdered. Don’t tell me you didn’t know what was happening! Don’t tell me you didn’t know Klaus was pinning Marsh’s murder on me! You once said to me you liked to play God... what a god!’

He waved his big hands as if trying to push away the truth.

‘I swear to you, Larry! I left everything to Klaus!’

I looked at him in disgust.

‘You would swear to anything to save your rotten image.’

I stopped the tape recorder and pressed the rewind button.

‘At least, I have a chance, but you haven’t. I am now going to the police. With this tape, and the other tapes I have I stand a chance. I lifted the spool off the sprocket and dropped the spool into my pocket. ‘This is the end of your road. I’ll leave you the gun.’

‘Wait, Larry!’ There was a desperate urgency in his voice. ‘We can still fix this. All I ask you is to hold everything until tomorrow. We two, together, can work a way out of this mess.’

I regarded him.

‘In another few hours, long before tomorrow, four men will die of suffocation. Do you want that?’

‘Don’t you see, son? A madman, and three enemies of society! Who cares what happens to them?’ He pounded his fists on his desk. ‘With them out of the way, there are no witnesses. If they haven’t broken into Marsh’s deposit box, then it doesn’t matter. If they have found the photographs, I know the shape of the envelope. I’ll be there when Manson opens the vault, and I’ll get the photographs! Larry! I raised you from nothing! Be grateful! Do this for me!’

The sound of a car starting up made both of us stiffen.

‘What’s that?’ Brannigan demanded.

‘No witnesses? At a guess, I think Glenda has been listening to what you have been saying, and she is now on her way to try to rescue Harry.’

He got unsteadily to his feet.

‘Stop her!’

He lurched to his feet, gun in hand and jerked open the front door.

His Cadillac was racing down the sandy road. Brannigan raised the gun. I caught hold of his wrist, and forced the gun down.

‘This is the end of the road for you,’ I said. ‘Now it’s your chance to play god with God,’ and I left him, and began my long walk back to my car.

The teenager was swinging on the gate as I approached.

‘Hello,’ she said, with her impish grin. ‘Did you see her?’ She hung on to the gate while she lifted her hair off her face. ‘She went by just now.’

The distant snap of gunfire came over the sound of her childish voice, over the slap of the sea on the beach, and over the screech of the gulls.

I paused.

She cocked her head on one side.

‘That was a gun,’ she said. ‘Someone shooting! How exciting!’

I thought of Brannigan. I thought again of all he had done for me. I thought of his ruthlessness. A bullet through a head can solve every problem.

‘You’ve been watching too much television,’ I said, my voice husky, and I walked on to my car.

On the drive back to Sharnville, I banished Brannigan from my mind. As I got into my car, I hoped the sound of gunfire I had heard meant he was free of his wife, free of his ruthlessness, and that the credit and debit balance of his life would add up on the credit side.

I now had to think of myself. I had some five hours before the air in the vault became exhausted. Before I alerted the police, I had to talk to Manson. He was now my last hope.

Driving along the highway, I glanced at my watch. The time now was 13.00. I had no idea how Manson spent his weekends. I imagined he was the kind of man to spend his off days with his wife and his two children, probably pottering in the garden.

Seeing a café-bar, I pulled up and shut myself in one of the telephone booths. I didn’t want to waste time driving out to Manson’s home, which was on the east side of Sharnville, only to find him out.

I dialled his number and listened to the ringing tone, then just as I was beginning to think he was out, there was a click, then Manson said, ‘Who is this?’

‘Larry Lucas.’

‘Oh, Larry.’ His voice lifted a note. ‘Hold a moment.’ I heard him say something indistinctly. He probably had his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Will you come out here quickly, Larry?’

From the urgency in his voice, I knew Glenda had played it smart. I should have thought of Manson.

‘Hostage, Alec?’ I asked quietly.

‘Yes. Just come out here. Don’t do anything. You understand? Just come.’ The strain in his voice came over the line.

‘I’m on my way,’ I said, and hung up.

I could imagine the scene: Manson, his wife and his two kids facing a gun held by Glenda.

I hesitated. Should I alert the police? Don’t do anything. There had been a desperate plea in Manson’s voice.

I remembered Glenda as she threatened me with the gun: You are going to get Harry out of that vault! If you don’t, I’ll kill you! I remembered the vicious, murderous glare in her green eyes.

This wasn’t the time for the police.

Leaving the café-bar at a run, I got into my car, and headed fast down the highway. At this hour, most people were on the beach or in restaurants, so I had a clear run, but I took no chances. I kept just within the speed limit, but only just.

As I pulled into the drive leading to Manson’s house, I saw Brannigan’s Cadillac parked by the front door, then I knew for certain that Glenda was in the house with a gun.

I got out of my car, and walked fast around the Caddy, and up to the front door which opened as I arrived at the top of the steps.

Manson stood facing me. We stared at each other. I found it hard to recognize this tall, thin man, wearing a blue cotton shirt and white slacks: the man I had come to regard as an efficient, impersonal banker. Before me, was a terrified, sweating wreck of a man whose mouth twitched, whose eyes were dull with shock.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ he shouted at me. ‘What’s happening? This woman is threatening to kill my children! She wants me to open the vault! I’ve told her over and over again, I can’t do it until Monday morning!’

‘But you can, you sonofabitch!’ Glenda cried from the living-room doorway. ‘Come in here!’

Manson, trembling, moved to one side, and I walked into the living-room.

I was confronted by the scene I expected.

On the big settee was Monica Manson, her arms around her two small children. I had met Monica at the occasional banker’s cocktail party. She was a nice, housewife type: entirely suitable for Manson. The two children, a boy and a girl, looked scared. The girl was crying.

Glenda backed away. She was holding a small automatic rifle that could be deadly at any range. She looked devilish as she glared at me.

‘You’re opening the vault!’ she shrilled. ‘You’re going to get Harry out!’ She turned to Monica. ‘If you want to see your fink of a husband alive, do nothing! You alert the cops, and I’ll blow his goddamn head off!’ She swung the gun to cover me. ‘Let’s go!’ The gun moved to Manson. You too!’

Then I realized she was making the same mistake that Klaus had made when he had joined in the bank raid. If Glenda had used her head, she would have realized her position was unassailable if she stayed with Monica and the children. Threatening to kill them would have given me no room in which to manoeuvre. I would have had to open the vault, but she was so worked up, she didn’t seem to realize she was throwing away her trump card.

Not giving her a chance to change her thinking, I caught hold of Manson’s arm and half dragged him out into the hot sunshine.

‘Leave this to me! Say nothing!’ I whispered urgently as I heard Glenda scream at Monica not to do a thing.

I was now calmly cold. Poor Manson was in such a state, I had to hold on to his arm to steady him.

‘We’ll use my car,’ I said to Glenda. ‘I have all my tools in the trunk.’

‘Listen, smart ass,’ she said, ‘you try anything tricky with me, and I’ll blow his goddamn head off! You drive. He sits with you! Get moving!’

We got in the car; Glenda at the back, the gun barrel nudging Manson’s neck.

‘Hurry it up, damn you!’ she screamed at me.

I drove fast to the highway, and headed for Sharnville’s Main Street.

‘Glenda, listen to me,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ll get Harry out, but this is the end of your road and his. Brannigan shot himself.’

I heard Manson catch his breath sharply, but he had the sense to keep silent.

‘It could still be a long road, you sonofabitch,’ Glenda said. ‘I don’t give a damn about Brannigan. There’s only one man in my life, and that’s Harry! If we’re going, we’ll go together, and this fink and you’ll go with us! Make no mistake about that!’

I slowed as we approached Main Street. Looking ahead, I saw the bank guard, his rifle slung over his shoulder, standing outside his sentry-box. There were few cars on the street: not more than a dozen people were wandering aimlessly, shop window gazing.

I pulled up in front of the bank.

The guard straightened, peered, then recognizing Manson, he gave him a salute, then he saw Glenda’s gun. His round, middle-aged face turned the colour of mutton fat. He clawed at his gun. The hammering sound of the automatic rifle exploded in my ears as Glenda shot him.

‘Out!’ she screamed. ‘Get the bank open!’

Shocked, I slid out of the car, ran around, opened the trunk and grabbed up the plastic sack. My hands were shaking as I found the neutralizer, aware people were shouting. As I pushed the button on the neutralizer, and as the bank doors swung open, I saw a cop come running down the street, gun in hand. He paused, stared at us, recognized Manson, then saw Glenda’s gun. He fatally hesitated as she fired a short burst at him. He went down, clutching his chest.

‘Get in!’ she screamed, and herded Manson and me into the bank. ‘Shut the doors!’

I flicked on the neutralizer, and the bank doors closed.

‘Where’s the vault?’ she demanded.

‘Over there,’ and I pointed.

She ran through the invisible alarm beam to the vault doors. By breaking the beam, she had unwittingly alerted the Sharnville station house, the Federal Bureau’s local office and the Los Angeles police. Within minutes, every available policeman in the district would be surrounding the bank.

She hammered on the vault door with the butt of her gun, screaming, ‘Harry! I’ll get you out! Hear me, Harry!’

I grabbed Manson’s arm and hissed to him, ‘When I say run, run like hell and hide!’

Glenda spun around, glaring at me.

‘Open up or he’ll get it,’ and her gun shifted to Manson.

‘To open the vault, the lock releases are on the second floor,’ I said, and moving to the elevator, I used the neutralizer.

The elevator doors swished open, and I stepped inside.

For a brief moment, she hesitated, then shoving Manson forward into the cage, she followed him.

Another mistake! If she had stayed with Manson in the bank’s lobby, I would have been hamstrung.

This was an automatic elevator. There wasn’t a lot of room. While she was shoving Manson against the side of the cage, I pressed the second floor button, and then the fourth floor button.

This was a deadly risk, but a good chance.

The doors closed, and the elevator rose swiftly to the second floor, stopped, and the doors opened.

This was my moment of truth!

My heart was pounding as I watched Glenda back out of the elevator, covering Manson and myself with the gun.

‘Come out!’ she shouted.

The opening of the elevator cage was narrow. Before Manson could move, I stepped in front of him, moved out of the cage and stood, blocking the entrance.

‘Get out of the way!’ Glenda screamed, suddenly sensing she had been outwitted.

‘Glenda! It’s either Harry’s life or my life,’ I said. ‘Shoot me, and Harry dies too.’

As I heard the elevator doors close, I shouted, ‘Run!’

‘You bastard!’

Was she going to shoot? Sweat ran down my back as we faced each other.

‘Glenda! I’ll open the vault! I’ll get Harry out!’ I shouted at her.

She looked to right and left, fury, frustration and fear contorted her face. Then seeing the stairs at the end of the corridor, she turned and began to run blindly towards them with the futile hope of catching Manson, her only hostage.

I overtook her in ten long strides, and brought her down, my arms around her waist. The gun flew out of her hands as she thudded to the floor.

She lay there, stunned, while I picked up the gun. Her hands covered her face, and she began to sob.

Over the sounds of her sobbing, came the sound of police sirens as police cars converged on the bank.

Captain Perrell of the L.A. police, who had arrived by helicopter, sat behind Manson’s desk.

Manson and I sat facing him.

Deputy Sheriff Tim Bentley stood behind Perrell.

Perrell was very much in charge. He was a man who first got his facts right, then made quick decisions.

When I had opened the bank doors, and had let him in with a flock of policemen and plainclothes men, he had asked abruptly what was going on. He eyed the automatic rifle I was holding, and a plainclothes man sidled up, and took it away from me.

‘There are four dangerous men trapped in the vault,’ I told Perrell.

He absorbed this information without a change of expression.

‘There is a woman on the second floor. The gun is hers: she is one of the gang,’ I went on. ‘She is unarmed, but dangerous.’

Perrell snapped his fingers, and two plainclothes men, drawing their guns, started up the stairs.

I felt a chill around my heart. I had loved Glenda. Maybe there was still a shred of love left.

‘These guys in the vault armed?’ Perrell demanded.

‘Yes, and one of them is a moronic, vicious killer. They are all highly dangerous.’

‘Right. We’ll go up, and take a look at this woman.’

There was drama on the second floor as we emerged from the elevator. One of the plainclothes men was peering around the door of Manson’s office. The other was preparing to move in.

‘Hold it!’ Perrell snapped.

‘She’s out on the ledge,’ the taller of the cops said. ‘She’s ready to take a dive.’

Through the open window of Manson’s office, we heard a loud moan of excitement from the crowd below.

Perrell moved cautiously into the office. I followed him.

Glenda was leaning against one of the windows, her back to us. She was looking down at the crowded street.

‘Let me talk to her,’ I said urgently, and pushing by Perrell, I slowly approached the big open window through which she had climbed.

‘Glenda!’ I spoke gently. ‘Come on in. I’m getting Harry out. He’ll want to talk to you.’

At the sound of my voice, she looked around. Her face was white, her eyes sunken, her lips drawn back in the snarl of a trapped animal. I had loved this woman, but there was nothing now in her face that had sparked my love. She was a vicious, crazy-looking stranger.

‘You stinking devil!’ she screamed at me. ‘Here’s yours!’

She lifted her hand, and a small .22 automatic levelled at me.

There was a bang of a gun, just behind me, as Perrell shot her. With horror, I saw blood and a smashed skull as she reeled and fell to the street.

There was confusion. Screams from the street below: men shouting. I staggered over to a chair and sank into it I heard vaguely, as if in a dream, Perrell snapping orders, but what he was saying didn’t register. There was more confusion: men moving around... voices.

I saw her again on the golf course; remembered the wonderful dinner she had cooked for me; recalled that moment when I had first made love to her: saw her in the bikini, sitting on the sand, waiting to betray me.

‘Larry!’ Manson’s voice jerked me upright. He was standing over me. ‘They want me to open the vault! I keep telling them we have to wait until Monday morning!’

I pulled myself together.

‘I can open it.’

He stared at me.

‘What are you saying?’

‘Okay, Lucas,’ Perrell said curtly. ‘Let’s talk it out’

So, sitting around Manson’s desk, I told them. I kept nothing back. I told them the whole sordid story, aware that a cop, sitting in a corner, was taking down, every word I was saying. I was past caring. I knew what I was saying would be front-page news tomorrow, and I knew I was finished in Sharnville. At the back of my mind, I thought of Bill Dixon. He would have to find another partner. I just didn’t care anymore.

When I was through, there was a long pause. Manson was staring at me in shocked horror. I took from my pocket the cassette and pushed it over to Perrell. ‘That’s Brannigan’s statement. His secretary has the other two tapes. Brannigan was in on it from the beginning. You will find his body at 14 Sea Road, Pennon Bay.’

‘Hold it!’ Perrell snapped. He turned to Bentley. ‘Check that out, Tim! Better take an ambulance, and the M.O.’

As Bentley hurried out of the office, a police sergeant looked in.

‘All set, Captain.’

‘I’ll take a look.’ Perrell got to his feet. ‘You come with me, Lucas. If it looks sour, you tell me.’

Leaving Manson who was telephoning his wife, we rode down the elevator to the lobby.

The scene had changed.

Four powerful floodlights were focused on the vault doors with blinding intensity. Five uniformed policemen, wearing flak jackets, and cradling submachine guns, knelt behind the lights, invisible to anyone facing the lights. Some ten policemen stood just outside the bank entrance, also in flak jackets and holding submachine guns.

‘Can these men hear through the vault door?’ Perrell asked me.

‘No.’

‘Is there any way to tell them to give up?’

‘No.’

He shrugged.

‘Well, okay, then it’s up to them.’ He turned to the five policemen. ‘If they start anything, wipe them out.’ Then to me, ‘Go ahead and open the vault.’

‘It’ll take some twenty minutes.’

‘We’re in no hurry,’ he snapped. ‘Get moving!’

I took the elevator back to the second floor, found the plastic sack, containing my gimmicks and tools I had dropped when confronting Glenda, and walked into Manson s office.

Manson was on his own, much more relaxed now he had talked to his wife. He was once again the efficient, impersonal banker.

‘Larry,’ he said, ‘I now know what it means to come under pressure. Even a man as big as Brannigan cracked under pressure. I want you to know you can rely on me to help you. I am on your side. You saved the lives of my children.’

I scarcely listened. I was thinking of the four men trapped m the vault. Because of my expertise, I could open the vault door. Then what would happen? I thought of the five policemen crouching, with their guns. Maybe these four men would surrender. Klaus? I didn’t think he would want to face a life sentence. No, he wouldn’t surrender. Benny? He I was sure, would come out, shooting. Harry and Joe? maybe they would surrender.

‘Don’t talk now, Alec,’ I said, and got out my tools.

He watched me strip out the wires of the telephone. Because my hands were shaking, it took time. I got the gimmick wired up as Perrell came in.

‘The doors will open in whatever time you say you say,’ I told him.

‘Give me a minute,’ and he left the office at a run.

I gave him two minutes, staring at the second hand of my watch, then I dialled the four numbers, got up, crossed to the cassette slot and pressed down the cassette. Seconds later, the green light came up to signal the vault doors had opened.

I ran from the office. As I started down the stairs, I heard gunfire. The noise of the submachine guns opening up was deafening. I ran on down the stairs as more violent gunfire erupted.

It was all over when I reached the lobby.

I had been half right, half wrong.

Klaus lay in a pool of blood. Benny, crouching against the wall, his hands above his head, was screaming. ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!’

In the centre of the lobby, Joe lay, half curled up, his chest torn to pieces.

With a sick, empty feeling, I remained on the stairs, surveying the scene.

No Harry?

I waited, staring at the open vault.

The police sergeant, crouching behind one of the lights, bawled, ‘Come on out with your hands on your head!’

Gun smoke drifted around the lobby. There was a long pause, then slowly, his hands on his head, Harry walked into the beams of the lights.

I stared at him: tall, bearded, pale under his tan, sweat running down his face.

The only man in my life, Glenda had said.

Well, at least he was alive. He would probably be in a cage for the rest of his life. Looking at him, I could see there was this thing about him that told me why Glenda had loved him so desperately. He was still cocky, still confident, still undefeated, and I felt he would always be the same.

Benny was being hustled away.

Four policemen surrounded Harry, and one of them snapped on handcuffs. Harry looked around and saw me. He managed a pale grin.

‘You can’t win all the time, can you buster?’ he said. ‘Man! Did you play it smart!’

As they began to hustle him away, I moved forward.

‘Wait!’

The cops stared at me as I faced Harry.

‘Harry, I want you to know Glenda did everything she could to save you. She’s dead.’

He stared at me, then sneered.

‘That hustler? Who cares if she’s dead? She wasn’t even a good screw,’ and shoving by me, he went with the cops into the hot sunshine.