Sue Grafton - L is for Lawless

"Kids don't play stickball anymore. They play video games," I said.

"A construction worker, then, or a nosy neighbor? The place had to be to be dry, don't you think?"

"Probably," I said. "At least, the two keys would suggest the money isn't buried."

"I'm sorry Gilbert got his hands on those keys. Gives him the edge if we identify the place."

"Don't worry about that. I've got a set of key picks I dutifully tote with me everywhere. If we find the right locks, we're in business."

"We can always hack through the locks," Ray suggested. "I learned that in prison, among other things."

"You got quite an education."

"I'm a good student," he said modestly.

The three of us were silent for a moment, trying to get our imaginations to work.

I spoke up again. "You know, the locksmith who first saw the big key thought it might fit a gate. So how's this for a guess? Maybe Johnny had access to an old estate. The big key fit the gate and the smaller key fit the padlock on the front door."

Ray didn't seem that happy. "How'd he know the place wouldn't be sold or torn down?"

"Maybe it was a historical landmark. Protected by historical preservationists."

"Suppose they decided to restore the place and charge an entrance fee? Then everybody and his brother could walk around the place."

"Right," I said. "Anyway, once they got in, they couldn't find the money sitting out in plain sight. It'd have to be concealed."

"Which puts us right back where we were," he said.

We were silent again.

Ray said, "What gets me is we're talking big. Seven, eight big canvas bags loaded down with cash and jewelry. Those suckers were heavy. We were big strappin' guys in those days, all of us young. You should have seen us grunting and groaning, trying to get 'em stashed in the trunk of the car."

I looked at him with interest. "What was the original plan? Suppose the cops hadn't showed up when they did? What did Johnny mean to do with the money in that case?"

"Same thing, I guess. He always said the reason bank robbers got tripped up was they went out and spent the money way too fast. Started fencing silver and jewels while the cops were circulating information about what was in the heist. Made it all easy to trace."

"So whatever the plan was, he'd set it up well in advance," I said.

"He had to."

I thought about that. "Where was he caught?"

"I forget now. Outside town. On the highway, heading out in that direction somewhere."

"Ballardsville Road," Helen said. "Don't know why, but that sticks in my mind. Don't you remember?"

Ray flushed with pleasure. "She's right," he said. "How'd you remember that?"

"I heard it on the radio," she said. "I was so frightened. I thought you were with him. I didn't know the two of you had separated, and I was convinced you'd been caught."

"I was. I just happened to be somewhere else," he said.

"How soon after the robbery was Johnny picked up?"

Ray's eyes rested on mine. "You're thinking he stashed the goods somewhere between the bank downtown and the place he was caught?"

"Unless he had time to go to some other town and come back," I said. "It's like saying you always find something the last place you look. I mean, it's self-evident. Once you find what you're looking for, you don't look any place else. The last you saw him, he had the sacks full of cash. By the time he was arrested, they were gone.

Therefore, the money had to have been hidden some time in that period. By the way, you never said how long it was."

"Half a day."

"So he probably didn't have time to get far."

"Yeah, that's true. I always pictured the money around town somewhere. It never occurred to me he might have left and come back. Shoot. I guess it could be anywhere in a hundred-mile radius."

"I think we should operate on the assumption that it's here in Louisville. I don't want to take on all of western Kentucky."

Ray glanced down at his notes. "So what else do we have? This don't look like much."

"Wait a minute. Try this. The little key had a number on it. I just remembered that," I said. "M550. It's close to my birthday, which is May fifth."

"What good does that do us?"

"We could go to the locksmith and have him grind one."

"To use where?"

"Well, I don't know, but at least we'll have one key in our possession. Maybe the locksmith will have some other ideas."

Ray said, "This feels lame to me. We're really grasping at straws."

"Ray, come on. You work with what you've got," I said. "Believe me, I've started with less and still pulled it off."

"All right," he said skeptically. He made a note of the locksmith's address. He reached for his jacket hanging over the chair.

I rose when he did and buttoned my blazer for warmth. "What about your mother? I don't think she should be left here alone."

She was startled by the mere suggestion. "Oh, no. I won't stay here by myself," she said emphatically. "Not with that fella on the loose. What if he come back?"

"Fine. We'll take you with us. You can wait in the car while we go about our business."

"And just set there?"

"Why not?"

"Well, I might set, but not unarmed."

"Ma, I'm not going to let you sit in the car with a loaded shotgun. Cops would come by and think we're robbing the place."

"I have a baseball bat. That was Freida's idea. She bought a Louisville Slugger and hid it under my bed."

"Jesus, this Freida's a regular artilleryman."

"Artilleryperson," his mother corrected smartly.

"Get your coat," he said.

The Louisville Locksmiths shop was located on west Main Street in a three-story building of dark red brick, probably built in the 1930s. Ray found parking on a side street, and a brief argument ensued during which Helen refused to wait in the car as agreed. He finally gave in and let her accompany us, even though she insisted on bringing along her baseball bat. The storefront was narrow, flanked by dark stone columns. All the wood trim was painted mud brown, and the one street-facing window was papered over with hand-lettered signs that detailed the services offered: deadbolts installed, keys fitted, locks installed and repaired, floor and wall safes installed, combinations changed.

The interior was deep and narrow and consisted almost entirely of a long wooden counter, behind which I could see a variety of key grinding machines. Row after row of keys were hung, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, arranged according to a system known only by the owner. A sliding ladder on overhead rollers apparently supplied access to keys in the shadowy upper reaches. All available space on the scuffed wooden floor was taken up by Horizon safes being offered for sale. We were the only customers in the place, and I didn't see a bookkeeper, an assistant, or an apprentice.

The owner, Whitey Reidel, was about five feet tall and round through the middle. He wore a white dress shirt, black suspenders, and black pants. I didn't peek, but the pants looked like they'd leave a lot of ankle showing at the cuff. He had a soft, shapeless nose and big dark bags under his eyes. His hairline had receded like the tide going out, the remaining wisps of white hair sticking up in front in a curl, like a Kewpie doll's. In his habitual stance, he tended to lean forward slightly, hands on the counter, where he braced himself as if a hard wind blew. He let his eye trail across the three of us. His gaze finally settled on Helen's baseball bat.

"She coaches Little League," Ray said in response to his look.

"What can I do for you?" Reidel asked.

I stepped forward and introduced myself, explaining briefly what we needed and why we needed it. He began to shake his head, pulling his mouth down the minute I mentioned a Master padlock key with the M550 code stamped on one side.