Roses Are Red

Chapter Forty-Three

The survivor's name was Arthur Strickland, and he was being kept in the slain manager's office, as far away as possible from the press. He was the bank's security guard.

Strickland was a tall, slender, well-built man in his late forties. Although physically impressive, he looked to be in a state of shock. Beads of perspiration covered his face, his thick mustache. His light blue uniform shirt was entirely soaked through.

Betsey went up to the bank guard and spoke very softly, compassionately. "I'm Senior Agent Cavalierre from the FBI. I'm in charge of this investigation, Mr. Strickland. This is Detective Cross from the DC police. I hear that you have a message for us?"

The powerful-looking man suddenly broke down. He sobbed into his hands. It took him a minute or so before he pulled himself together and was able to talk.

"They were nice people that got killed here today. They were my friends, "he said," I was supposed to protect them, and our customers, of course."

"It's a terrible thing that happened, but it's not your fault," Betsey said to the guard. She tried to be kind, to calm him, and she was doing a good job. "Why did the gunmen kill them? Why not you?"

The guard shook his head in dismay," They held me in the lobby with the others. Two of'm did the job. All of us were told to stay face down on the floor. They said they had to be out the bank quarter past eight. No later than that. No mistakes, they said several times. No alarms. No panic buttons."

"They were late getting out of the bank?" I asked Arthur Strickland.

"No, sir, "the guard said to me. "That's just it. They could have made it on time. They didn't seem to want to. They told me to stand up. I thought they was going to shoot me right then. I was in Vietnam, but I was never this afraid."

"They gave you a message for us?" I asked him.

"Yes, sir. A message for both of you. "You like this bank?" one of them asked me. I said that I liked my job. He called me a "dumb spade asshole. "Then he said that I was to be their messenger. I should tell FBI Agent Cavalierre and Detective Cross that there was a mistake made at the bank. He said there could be no more mistakes. He repeated that several times. No more mistakes. He said, "Tell them the message is from the Mastermind," "Then they shot everybody else. They shot them where they lay on the floor, in cold blood. It's all my fault. I was the guard on duty at the bank. I let it happen."

"No, Mr. Strickland. "Betsey Cavalierre spoke softly to the bank guard. "You didn't. We're the ones at fault, not you."