Iris Johansen - Eight Days To Live

“It will still bother you.” He smiled. “Your instinct is to heal wounds. You can’t help it.”

“I just don’t want anyone else to be hurt or killed because of me.” She turned to Caleb. “You said we’d be at the bank in Zurich by five?”

“Yes, by the skin of our teeth. We have to stop at a drugstore first. And we just have to hope that Henrik Barnard isn’t taking a day off.”

“Who is Henrik Barnard?”

“Your own private banker.”

“What?”

“Well, Adah Ziller’s banker. It was the name on the same card that had her bank-account number.”

“Then why did you call him my banker?”

“Because the only way we’re going to get into that safety-deposit box is if you’re Adah Ziller.”

She stared at him in astonishment. “Are you crazy? Adah Ziller was black.”

“Actually, to be precise, a beautiful coffee-with-cream brown. A good bronzer makeup on your face and hands should take care of that. We’ll have to tuck your hair under a hat.”

“And where are we supposed to get that?”

“The drugstore. You can get practically anything at a drugstore these days.”

“I’d never get away with it,” she said flatly. “Drugstore? This is all too crude. Banks have cameras. Swiss banks are the most sophisticated in the world.”

“You’re right. And the most private. That’s why we have an excellent chance.” He glanced at her. “You don’t have to worry about being under intense scrutiny. No one is going to get close to you but Henrik Barnard. We only need the dark makeup to make sure that nothing is too obvious.”

“Obvious? It’s obvious that I’m not black. And I probably weigh ten pounds more than Adah Ziller. She was built like a runway model.”

“Trust me. It will all come together,” Caleb said.

“If she doesn’t get arrested,” Jock said. “There will be guards all over that bank.”

Caleb looked directly into her eyes. “Trust me.”

It was crazy. A bank full of officers and clerks and guards ready to step in and protect the sanctity of the Swiss banking system. Yet Caleb wasn’t crazy, and he thought they could get away with it. They needed to know what was in that safety-deposit box.

Why the hell not try? she thought recklessly. “You’d better not be mistaken, Caleb.”

“I won’t let you be hurt.” His glance shifted back to the road. “I promise.”

She looked back at Jock. “You’re not arguing with me.”

“It wouldn’t do any good,” Jock said quietly. “I’ll just have to go along with him and see if he hurts you.” He smiled. “And then I’ll kill him.”

Caleb burst out laughing. “A good plan.”

“Jock, you don’t go in that bank with us,” Jane said firmly. “I won’t have it.”

“I won’t argue about that either,” Jock said. “Someone has to be free to get you out of trouble if this idiocy blows up in your faces. I’ll be the getaway man again.”

“You said if,” Caleb said. “Not when. Interesting.”

“Is it?” Jock leaned back in the seat. “Take it apart, analyze it. It will give you something to do on the drive to Zurich.”

“THAT BRONZER IS PRETTY GOOD.” Caleb was gazing at her critically. “But you need more on your hands.”

She took the pad and poured more bronzer on it. “I can’t get it dark enough. I just look like I have a deep tan.”

“So did Adah Ziller. You’re dark enough.” He handed her the black straw hat and gold hoop earrings. “Hurry. It’s quarter to five.”

“Pressure.” She tucked every strand of her red-brown hair beneath the wide-brimmed hat and put on the two-inch hoops. She did look exotic, she thought critically, as she looked at the mirror on the dashboard, but nothing like Adah Ziller. “It’s not going to work.”

“It will work.” He got out of the driver’s seat and came around to open her passenger door. “All we have to do is make it easy for them. Some of the other bank employees may possibly have seen Adah Ziller, but it’s not likely. This is a private bank.”

“What does that mean? What’s the difference?” Jock asked as he got out of the back and changed to the driver’s seat.

“Private banks are often by invitation only, and that invitation is extended principally to individuals with extremely high assets. Or by recommendation by another current customer in good standing. Since on the surface Adah doesn’t appear to have that kind of money, I’d bet that her recommendation must have come from one of her past liaisons. One of the privileges is that she’d be assigned a bank officer to take care of her assets.”

“Henrik Barnard,” Jane said.

He nodded. “And the chances are that there would have been some personal contact between them or that he would have at least seen a photo of her.”

“Then you’re screwed,” Jock said flatly.

“No,” Caleb said. “Not if I go in first and prepare the way. Adah Ziller is probably not particularly high-profile on the bank’s charts. Unlike what the movies would lead you to believe, there’s no high-tech retina scan or fingerprint analysis. We only have to jump over the barrier of the bank officer. Here’s the way it’s going to work. Barnard will escort you to the vault and get your safety-deposit box. The box is actually a box within another box. You have a key and so does the bank officer. You both have to use your keys to open the outer box. Then he’ll take the inner box and you to an adjoining room and leave you there to go through the contents in privacy. You call him when you’re done, and he takes the box back to the vault.”

“What if they already know that she’s been murdered?” Jane asked as a sudden thought occurred to her. “What if it’s in today’s newspaper or something?”

“It’s a possibility, but that happened in Paris. It’s not local news here in Switzerland. We have a good chance of her death not being noticed here so soon. If it is, it won’t be front-page news. I’ll know before I call you to come into the bank. I’ll tell him I’m your attorney, Jason Smythe, and wish to accompany you to the vault.” He opened the glass door. “Wait here, Jane. It shouldn’t take long.” He disappeared into the bank.

“It can’t work,” Jock told Jane. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You really believe he can pull it off.” Jock shook his head. “It’s not possible. He can’t just march in there and convince that bank officer that black is white.”

“Actually, he’s going to convince him that white is black,” she said ruefully. “I hope.”

“We’ll see.” He glanced up and down the busy city street. “I don’t like this. I feel… uneasy.”

So did Jane, but how else could she feel under the circumstances? she thought. Jock was right, this entire scenario was bizarre in the extreme. “It should be over soon.” It couldn’t be over too soon for her.

“Adah.” Caleb had opened the gold-lettered glass entrance door and was smiling at her. “I’ve already told Mr. Barnard how sorry we are not to have called and made advance arrangements.” He turned to a small, plump, gray-haired man in a navy blue pinstriped suit. “I promise we won’t keep you too long.”

“Nonsense.” Barnard was beaming at Jane. “As I told Mr. Smythe, I’m at your disposal twenty-four hours a day. All you’d have to do is call me, and I’d have come back and opened the bank for you, Miss Ziller. Come in. Come in.”

“That’s very kind.” She moved into the bank and was at once enveloped in the aura of hushed murmurs, charcoal-colored granite countertops, rich mahogany executive desks. “I don’t want to be a bother. My attorney just told me that he had to have those docu-”