Sidney Sheldon - If Tomorrow Comes

“When you arrived home from school, you saw your neighbor, Fred Zimmer, running out the side door?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you see him clearly?”

“Yes, sir. There was blood all over his hands.”

“What did you do then, Daniel?”

“I — I was so scared. I knew something awful had happened to my mother.”

“Then did you go into the house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what happened?”

“I called out, 'Mother!' And she didn't answer, so I went into her bathroom and —”

At this point the young boy broke into hysterical sobs and had to be led from the stand.

Fred Zimmer was executed thirteen months later.

In the meantime young Daniel had been sent to live with a distant relative in Texas, Aunt Mattie, whom he had never met. She was a stern woman, a hard-shelled Baptist filled with a vehement righteousness and the conviction that hell's fire awaited all sinners. It was a house without love or joy or pity, and Daniel grew up in that atmosphere, terrified by the secret knowledge of his guilt and the damnation that awaited him. Shortly after his mother's murder Daniel began to have trouble with his vision. The doctors called the problem psychosomatic.

“He's blocking out something he doesn't want to see,” the doctors said.

The lenses on his glasses grew thicker.

At seventeen Daniel ran away from Aunt Mattie and Texas forever. He hitchhiked to New York, where he was hired a messenger boy by the International Insurance Protection Association. Within three years he was promoted to an investigator. He became the best they had. He never demanded raise in salary or better working conditions. He was oblivious to those things. He was the Lord's right arm, his scourge, punishing the wicked.

Daniel Cooper rose from his bath and prepared for bed. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow will be the whore's day of retribution.

He wished his mother could be there to see it.

Amsterdam

FRIDAY, AUGUST 22 — 8:OO A.M.

Daniel Cooper and the two detectives assigned to the listening post heard Tracy and Jeff at breakfast.

“Sweet roll, Jeff? Coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

Daniel Cooper thought, It's the last breakfast they'll ever have together.

“Do you know what I'm excited about? Our barge trip.”

“This is the big day, and you're excited about a trip on a barge? Why?”

“Because it will be just the two of us. Do you think I'm crazy?”

“Absolutely. But you're my crazy.”

“Kiss.”

The sound of a kiss.

She should be more nervous, Cooper thought. I want her to be nervous.

“In a way, I'll be sorry to leave here, Jeff.”

“Look at it this way, darling. We won't be any the poorer for the experience.”

Tracy's laughter. “You're right.”

At 9:00 A.M. the conversation was still going on, and Cooper thought, They should be getting ready. They should be making their last-minute plans. What about Monty? Where are they meeting him?

Jeff was saying, “Darling, would you take care of the concierge before you check us out? I'm going to be rather busy.”

“Of course. He's been wonderful. Why don't they have concierges in the States?”

“I guess it's just a European custom. Do you know how it started?”

“No.”

“In France, in 1627, King Hugh built a prison in Paris and put a nobleman in charge of it. He gave him the title of comte des cierges, or concierge, meaning 'count of the candles.' His pay was two pounds and the ashes from the king's fireplace. Later, anyone in charge of a prison or a castle became known as a concierge, and finally, this included those working in hotels.”

What the hell are they talking about? Cooper wondered. It's nine-thirty. Time for them to be leaving.

Tracy's voice: “Don't tell me where you learned that — you used to go with a beautiful concierge.”

A strange female voice: “Goede morgen, mevrouw, mijnheer.”

Jeff's voice: “There are no beautiful concierges.”

The female voice, puzzled: “Ik begrijp het niet.”

Tracy's voice: “I'll bet if there were, you'd find them.”

“What the hell is going on down there?” Cooper demanded.

The detectives looked baffled. “I don't know. The maid's on the phone calling the housekeeper. She came in to clean, but she says she doesn't understand — she hears voices, but she doesn' see anybody.”

“What?” Cooper was on his feet, racing toward the door, flying down the stairs. Moments later he and the other detectives burst into Tracy's suite. Except for the confused maid, it was empty. On a coffee table in front of a couch a tape recorder was playing.

Jeff's voice: “I think I'll change my mind about that coffee. Is it still hot?”

Tracy's voice: “Uh-huh.”

Cooper and the detectives were staring in disbelief.

“I — I don't understand,” one of the detectives stammered.

Cooper snapped, “What's the police emergency number?”

“Twenty-two-twenty-two-twenty-two.”

Cooper hurried over to the phone and dialed.

Jeff's voice on the tape recorder was saying, “You know, I really think their coffee is better than ours. I wonder how they do it.”

Cooper screamed into the phone, “This is Daniel Cooper. Get hold of Inspector van Duren. Tell him Whitney and Stevens have disappeared. Have him check the garage and see if their truck is gone. I'm on my way to the bank!” He slammed down the receiver.

Tracy's voice was saying, “Have you ever had coffee brewed with eggshells in it? It's really quite —”

Cooper was out the door.

Inspector van Duren said, “It's all right. The truck has left their garage. They're on their way here.”

Van Duren, Cooper, and two detectives were at a police command post on the roof of a building across from the Amro Bank.

The inspector said, “They probably decided to move up their plans when they learned they were being bugged, but relax, my friend. Look.” He pushed Cooper toward the wide-angle telescope on the roof. On the street below, a man dressed in janitor's clothes was meticulously polishing the brass nameplate of the bank… a street cleaner was sweeping the streets… a newspaper vendor stood on a corner… three repairmen were at work. All were equipped with miniature walkie-talkies.

Van Duren spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Point A?”

The janitor said, “I read you, Inspector.”

“Point B?”

“You're coming in, sir.” This from the street cleaner.

“Point C?”

The news vendor looked up and nodded.

“Point D?”

The repairmen stopped their work, and one of them spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Everything's ready here, sir.”

The inspector turned to Cooper. “Don't worry. The gold is still safely in the bank. The only way they can get their hands on it is to come for it. The moment they enter the bank, both ends of the street will be barricaded. There's-no way they can escape.” He consulted his watch. “The truck should be in sight any moment now.”

Inside the bank, the tension was growing. The employees had been briefed, and the guards ordered to help load the gold into the armored truck when it arrived. Everyone was to cooperate fully.

The disguised detectives outside the bank kept working, surreptitiously watching the street for a sign of the truck.

On the roof, Inspector van Duren asked, for the tenth time, “Any sign of the damned truck yet?”

“Nee.”

Detective Constable Witkamp looked at his watch. “They're thirteen goddamn minutes overdue. If they —”

The walkie-talkie crackled into life. “Inspector! The truck just came into sight! It's crossing Rozengracht, heading for the bank. You should be able to see it from the roof in a minute.”