Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (127 page)

Next day he devoted some time to tracing the flow of money back to a satisfactory source. Having found the source, he spent more time making careful study of it. In underworld jargon, he cased a bank.

The man lumbering along the corridor weighed two-fifty, had a couple of chins and a prominent paunch. At first sight, just a fat slob. First impressions can be very deceptive. At least half a dozen similarly built characters had been world heavyweight wrestling champs. Edward G. Rider was not quite in that category, but on rare occasion he could strew bodies around in a way that would make an onlooking chiseler offer his services as manager.

He stopped at a frosted glass door bearing the legend: UNITED STATES TREASURY—INVESTIGATION. Rattling the glass with a hammerlike knuckle, he entered without waiting for response, took a seat without being invited.

The sharp-faced individual behind the desk registered faint disapproval, said, “Eddie, I’ve got a smelly one for you.”

“Have you ever given me one that wasn’t?” Rider rested big hands on big kneecaps. “What’s it this time? Another unregistered engraver on the rampage?”

“No. It’s a bank robbery.”

Rider frowned, twitched heavy eyebrows. “I thought we were interested only in counterfeit currency and illegal transfers of capital. What has a heist to do with us? That’s for the police, isn’t it?”

“The police are stuck with it.”

“Well, if the place was government insured they can call in the Feds.”

“It’s not insured. We offered to lend a hand. You are the boy who will lend it.”

“Why?”

The other drew a deep breath, explained rapidly, “Some smartie took the First Bank of Northwood for approximately twelve thousand—and nobody knows how. Captain Harrison, of the Northwood police, says the puzzle is a stinker. According to him, it looks very much as though at long last somebody has found a technique for committing the perfect crime.”

“He would say that if he feels thwarted. How come we're dragged into it?” “On checking up with the bank Harrison found that the loot included forty one-hundred dollar bills consecutively numbered. Those numbers are known. The others are not. He phoned us to give the data, hoping the bills might turn up and we could back-track on them. Embleton handled the call, chatted a while, got interested in this perfect crime thesis.”

“So?”

“He consulted with me. We both agreed that if somebody has learned how to truck lettuce the way he likes, he’s as much a menace to the economy as any large-scale counterfeiter.”

“I see,” said Rider, doubtfully.

“Then I took the matter up at high level. Ballantyne himself decided that we’re entitled to chip in, just in case something’s started that can go too far. I chose you. The whole office block will sit steadier without your size fourteen boots banging around.” He moved some papers to his front, picked up a pen. “Get out to Northwood and give Chief Harrison a boost.”

“Now?”

“Any reason why it should be tomorrow or next week?”

“I’m baby-sitting tonight.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“It’s not silly,” said Rider. “Not with this baby.”

“You ought to be ashamed. You’re not long married. You’ve got a sweet and trusting wife.”

“She’s the baby,” Rider informed. “I promised her faithfully and fervently that I’d—”

“And I promised Harrison and Ballantyne that you’d handle this with your usual elephantine efficiency,” the other interrupted, scowling. “Do you want to hold down your job or do you want out? Phone your wife and tell her duty comes first.”

“Oh, all right.” He went out, slammed the door, tramped surlily along the corridor, entered a booth and took twenty-two minutes to do the telling.

Chief Harrison was tall, lean and fed up. He said, “Why should I bother to tell you what happened? Direct evidence is better than secondhand information. We’ve got the actual witness here. I sent for him when I learned you were coming.” He flipped a switch on the desk-box. “Send Ashcroft in.”

“Who’s he?” Rider asked.

“Head teller of the First Bank, and a worried man.” He waited for the witness to enter, made an introduction. “This is Mr. Rider, a special investigator. He wants to hear your story.”

Ashcroft sat down, wearily rubbed his forehead. He was a white-haired, dapper man in the early sixties. Rider weighed him up as the precise, somewhat finicky but solid type often described as a pillar of the community.

“So far I’ve told it about twenty times,” Ashcroft complained, “and each time it sounds a little madder. My mind is spinning with the thoughts of it. I just can’t find any plausible—”

“Don’t worry yourself,” advised Rider in soothing tones. “Just give me the facts as far as they go.”

“Each week we make up the payroll for the Dakin Glass Company. It varies between ten and fifteen thousand dollars. The day before, the company sends around a messenger with a debit-note calling for the required sum and stating how they want it. We then get it ready in good time for the following morning.”

“And then?”

“The company collects. They send around a cashier accompanied by a couple of guards. He always arrives at about eleven o’clock. Never earlier than ten to eleven or later than ten past.”

“You know the cashier by sight?”

“There are two of them, Mr. Swain and Mr. Letheren. Either of them might come for the money. One relieves the other from time to time. Or one comes when the other is too busy, or ill, or on vacation. Both have been well-known to me for several years.”

“All right, carry on.”

“When the cashier arrives he brings a locked leather bag and has the key in a pocket. He unlocks the bag, hands it to me. I fill it in such manner that he can check the quantities, pass it back together with a receipt slip. He locks the bag, puts the key in his pocket, signs the slip and walks out. I file the receipt and that’s all there is to it.”

“Seems a bit careless to let the same fellow carry both the bag and the key,” Rider commented.

Chief Harrison chipped in with, “We’ve checked on that. A guard carries the key. He gives it to the cashier when they arrive at the bank, takes it back when they leave.”

Nervously licking his lips, Ashcroft went on, “Last Friday morning we had twelve thousand one hundred eighty-two dollars ready for the Dakin plant. Mr. Letheren came in with the bag. It was exactly ten-thirty.”

“How do you know that?” inquired Richer, sharply. “Did you look at the clock? What impelled you to look at it?”

“I consulted the clock because I was a little surprised. He was ahead of his usual time. I had not expected him for another twenty minutes or so.”

“And it was ten-thirty? You’re positive of that?”

“I am absolutely certain,” said Ashcroft, as though it was the only certainty in the whole affair. “Mr. Letheren came up to the counter and gave me the bag. I greeted him, made a casual remark about him being early.”

“What was his reply?”

“I don’t recall the precise wording. I’d no reason to take especial note of what he said and I was busy tending the bag.” He frowned with effort of thought. “He made some commonplace remark about it being better to be too early than too late.”

“What occurred next?”

“I gave him the bag and the slip. He locked the bag, signed the slip and departed.”

“Is that all?” Rider asked.

“Not by a long chalk,” put in Chief Harrison. He nodded encouragingly at Ashcroft. “Go on, give him the rest of it.”

“At five to eleven,” continued the witness, his expression slightly befuddled, “Mr. Letheren came back, placed the bag on the counter and looked at me sort of expectantly. So I said, ‘Anything wrong, Mr. Letheren?’ He answered, ‘Nothing so far as I know. Ought there to be?’ ”

He paused, rubbed his forehead again. Rider advised, “Take your time with it. I want it as accurately as you can give it.”

Ashcroft pulled himself together. “I told him there was no reason for anything to be wrong because the money had been checked and rechecked three times. He then displayed some impatience and said he didn’t care if it had been checked fifty times so long as I got busy handing it over and let him get back to the plant.” “That knocked you onto your heels, eh?” Rider suggested, with a grim smile. “I was flabbergasted. At first I thought it was some kind of joke, though he isn’t the type to play such tricks. I told him I’d already given him the money, about half an hour before. He asked me if I was cracked. So I called Jackson, a junior teller, and he confirmed my statement. He had seen me loading the bag.”

“Did he also see Letheren taking it away?”

“Yes, sir. And he said as much.”

“What was Letheren’s answer to that?”

“He demanded to see the manager. I showed him into Mr. Olsen’s office. A minute later Mr. Olsen called for the receipt slip. I took it out of the file and discovered there was no signature upon it.”

“It was blank?”

“Yes. I can’t understand it. I watched him sign that receipt myself. Nevertheless there was nothing on it, not a mark of any sort.” He sat silent and shaken, then finished, “Mr. Letheren insisted that Mr. Olsen cease questioning me and call the police. I was detained in the manager’s office until Mr. Harrison arrived.”

Rider stewed it over, then asked, “Did the same pair of guards accompany Letheren both times?”

“I don’t know. I did not see his escort on either occasion.”

“You mean he came unguarded?”

“They are not always visible to the bank’s staff,” Harrison put in. “I’ve chased that lead to a dead end.”

“How much did you learn on the way?”

“The guards deliberately vary their routine so as to make their behavior unpredictable to anyone planning a grab. Sometimes both accompany the cashier to the counter and back. Sometimes they wait outside the main door, watching the street. Other times one remains in the car while the other mooches up and down near the bank.”

“They are armed, I take it?”

“Of course.” He eyed Rider quizzically. “Both guards swear that last Friday morning they escorted Letheren to the bank once and only once. That was at five to eleven.”

“But he was there at ten-thirty,” Ashcroft protested.

“He denies it, said Harrison. “So do the guards.

“Did the guards say they’d actually entered the bank?” inquired Rider, sniffing around for more contradictory evidence.

“They did not enter on arrival. They hung around outside the front door until Letheren’s delay made them take alarm. At that point they went inside with guns half-drawn. Ashcroft couldn’t see them because by then he was on the carpet in Olsen’s office.”

“Well, you can see how it is,” commented Rider, staring hard at the unhappy Ashcroft. “You say Letheren got the money at ten-thirty. He says he did not. The statements are mutually opposed. Got any ideas on that?”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” said Ashcroft, miserably.

“I don’t disbelieve you, either. I’m keeping judgment suspended. We’re faced with a flat contradiction of evidence. It doesn’t follow that one of the witnesses is a liar and thus a major suspect. Somebody may be talking in good faith but genuinely mistaken."

“Meaning me?”

“Could be. You’re not infallible. Nobody is.” Rider learned forward, gave emphasis to his tones. “Let’s accept the main points at face value. If you’ve told the truth, the cash was collected at ten-thirty. If Letheren has told the truth, he was not the collector. Add those up and what do you get? Answer: the money was toted away by somebody who was not Letheren. And if that answer happens to be correct, it means that you’re badly mistaken.”

“I’ve made no mistake,” Ashcroft denied. “I know what I saw. I saw Letheren and nobody else. To say otherwise is to concede that I can’t trust the evidence of my own eyes.”

“You’ve conceded it already,” Rider pointed out.

“Oh, no I haven’t.”

“You told us that you watched him sign the receipt slip. With your own two eyes you saw him append his signature.” He waited for comment that did not come, ended, “There was nothing on the slip.”

Ashcroft brooded in glum silence.

“If you were deluded about the writing, you could be equally deluded about the writer.”

“I don’t suffer from delusions.”

“So it seems,” said Rider, dry-voiced. “How do you explain that receipt?”

“I don’t have to,” declared Ashcroft with sudden spirit. “I’ve given the facts. It’s for you fellows to find the explanation.”

“That’s right enough,” Rider agreed. “We don’t resent being reminded. I hope you don’t resent being questioned again and again. Thanks for coming along.”

“Glad to be of help.” He went out, obviously relaxed by the end of the inquisition. Harrison found a toothpick, chewed it, said, “It’s a heller. Another day or two of this and you’ll be sorry they sent you to show me how.”

Meditatively studying the police chief, Rider informed, “I didn’t come to show you how. I came to help because you said you needed help. Two minds are better than one. A hundred minds are better than ten. But if you’d rather I beat it back home—”

“Nuts,” said Harrison. “At times like this I sour up on everyone. My position is different from yours. When someone takes a bank, right under my nose, he’s made a chump of me. How’d you like to be both a police chief and a chump?”

“I think I’d accept the latter definition when and only when I’d been compelled to admit defeat. Are you admitting it?”

“Not on your life.”

“Quit griping then. Let’s concentrate on the job in hand. There’s something mighty fishy about this business of the receipt. It looks cock-eyed.”

“It’s plain as pie to me,” said Harrison. “Ashcroft was deluded or tricked.”

“That isn’t the point,” Rider told him. “The real puzzle is that of
why
he was outsmarted. Assuming that he and Letheren are both innocent, the loot was grabbed by someone else, by somebody unknown. I don’t see any valid reason why the culprit should risk bollixing the entire set-up by handing in a blank receipt that might be challenged on the spot. All he had to do to avoid it was to scrawl Letheren’s name. Why didn't he?”

Harrison thought it over. “Maybe he feared Ashcroft would recognize the signature as a forgery, take a closer look at him, and yell bloody murder.”