James Chase - Well Now, My Pretty…

Chandler nodded to Mish, then in his most persuasive manner, charm oozing out of his deep baritone voice, he began to talk.

BY MIDDAY, Chief of Police Terrell had an almost complete picture of the Casino robbery.

Reports, telephone calls, Telex communications between Headquarters and the F.B.I. had swiftly built up a picture of the method of the robbery and a description of the men involved. A set of fingerprints had been found on the tool box left in the Casino’s control room. Back came a report from Washington with Mish Collins’ photograph and record. Another set of fingerprints found on the glass box at the vault’s entrance identified Jack Perry, known as a vicious Mafia killer. They had Jess Chandler’s description from Sid Regan, but so far had failed to turn up his record.

Terrell pushed aside the heap of reports and reached for the carton of coffee.

“Time off, Joe,” he said and poured the coffee into two paper cups. Thankfully, Beigler reached for one of them and lit yet another cigarette. He had been working non-stop since the robbery and he was feeling bushed.

“Well, we are coming along,” Terrell said after a thoughtful sip from his paper cup. “We know four of the men… one dead, but there’s the fifth. It’s a funny thing, Joe, but no one seems to have seen him. We have a good description of the other four, but not the fifth man. I’m willing to bet a buck, he is the man who planned the robbery. We do know he was driving the truck, but no one noticed him at the wheel. When trouble started, he took off. What I’m wondering is… did he rat on the others or was it agreed that if trouble started, the other men should look after themselves and he should look after the money? Lewis tells me there are two and a half million dollars missing. That’s a lot of scratch. He could have been tempted to make off with it, and ditch the others.”

Beigler nodded.

“Where does that get us?” he asked, not unreasonably.

“It’s a thought.” Terrell finished his coffee, hesitated whether to refill his cup, decided not to and picked up another report. “If he has ratted on the others and we catch any of them, they could talk. I want to find No. 5 very badly.”

“We haven’t caught any of them yet…” The telephone bell rang and Beigler grimaced. “Here we go again.” He scooped up the receiver. He listened for several moments, his face hardening, then he said, “Okay, Mr. Marcus… sure, I understand. I’ll be right over. Yeah… I know where you are.” He scribbled on a pad, then he repeated, “I’ll be right over,” and hung up. He looked at Terrell who was looking at him. “That was Sam Marcus. He runs a Self-service store…”

“I know him,” Terrell said impatiently. “What about him?”

“His daughter, Jackie, was on the beach last night with a party. They were in a hurry to get home, but as Mr. and Mrs. Marcus were away for the night, Jackie stayed on for a last swim. As she was getting into her car…” Terrell listened as Beigler talked, then Beigler concluded, “Here’s the pay-off. This man was fat, elderly, whitehaired. He was wearing khaki trousers and he had a gun. It looks like Jack Perry. After the creep had raped her, she got his gun and plugged him in the belly. She ran off and he took her T.R.4… but he is wounded. Like it, Chief?”

Terrell’s face turned grim.

“Where’s the girl?”

“Marcus found her when they came home this morning. She was in shock. The doctor’s there now. As soon as she could tell the story, Marcus telephoned.”

“Okay, Joe, get over there. Make certain the girl isn’t romancing. Perry’s description has been on the air. One of her boyfriends might have laid her and she is blaming Perry. Check her story out.”

Beigler got to his feet and left the office.

Terrell continued to work for over an hour, then Beigler telephoned him.

“It’s a straight story, Chief,” he said. “It’s Perry all right. Here’s a description of the T.R.4”

Terrell made rapid notes, told Beigler to come right beck, and hung up. He grabbed another telephone and got through to the Control room. -

“Alert all doctors and hospitals that a man with a gunshot wound in the stomach may seek their help,” he said. “I want to know pronto if he does. Get it on the air. Here’s a description of a car I want traced.” He read out Beigler’s description of the T.R.4 “Keep hammering away at it. The punk’s wounded, and he won’t be far from the car.”

As he hung up, Fred Hess of the Homicide Squad came in. His fat face was lined with fatigue.

“They’ve found a young fella shot through the head on the beach, Chief,” he said. “Call just come through. Right by his side is a small truck. It matches the description of the robbery truck except it hasn’t the I.B.M. signs, but these could have been ditched. I’m going down there now.”

“Dead?”

“Sure… his brains are all over the beach.”

“Okay, Fred, get down there. I want a report as fast as you can make it. Concentrate on the truck. Dr. Lowis alerted?”

“He’s on his way now.”

Terrell nodded, then, when Hess had left, he pushed his chair away and got stiffly to his feet. He wandered around his small office, thinking.

Once again the telephone bell rang. This time it was Harry Lewis, calling from the Casino.

“Any news, Frank?”

“Plenty… I’m busy right now,” Terrell said. “I haven’t time…”

“That’s okay. Look, Frank, I’ve thought of something that might help. I am now certain the gang must have had inside information. The whole job was so slick. They must have known about the fuse boxes… the right time to strike… where we keep the money… the number of guards. And Frank, here is the clincher. We had a blueprint of the electrical circuit in our files and it’s missing!”

Terrell became very alert.

“So?”

“I’ll swear it’s an inside job. One of our girls - Lana Evans - who works in the vault, hasn’t reported for two days. Could be she was got at.”

“Know where she lives?”

Lewis gave Terrell the address.

“Okay, we’ll check. Thanks, Harry,” and Terrell hung up. He picked up another telephone. “Lepski in?”

“Just come in, Chief.”

“I want him.”

Charlie Tanner smiled at Lepski who was grey with fatigue and still wearing his tuxedo. He had been on the job since the robbery broke, and hadn’t had a chance to change.

“The Big White Chief needs you, Glamour boy,” Tanner said.

Lepski cursed. He was about to take a shower and change before going out again. He ran up to Terrell’s office.

“Yes, Chief?”

“What are you doing… got up like that?” Terrell asked. Lepski drew in a long breath. He suppressed all the swear words that crowded his brain.

“Just haven’t had time…”

Terrell grinned at him.

“Okay, Tom, relax. Get out of that outfit and get over to this address… fast.” He told Lepski what Lewis had said. “Could be she was bribed to give the gang information. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has skipped. Get a description of her, and we’ll get it on the air. Hurry it up!”

Twenty minutes later, Lepski, showered and shaved, climbed out of the police car outside Lana Evans’ apartment block and rang on the bell.

Mrs. Mavdick came to the door. She looked beyond him at the police car where two uniformed men were getting out, and she stiffened.

“Miss Evans live here?” Lepski asked.

“That’s right. What of it?”

“I want to see her.”

“She’s out.” Mrs. Mavdick thumped her floppy bosom and breathed cachou-scented breath into Lepski’s face. “Besides, I don’t like police here… gives my house a bad name.”