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He shrugged, and reached for the telephone.
“Special Operations Investigation, Sergeant Washington.”
“Officer Calhoun, Timothy J., just went into—at 11:54—a safe-deposit box at the First Harrisburg Bank and Trust.”
“I am almost as glad to hear that as I am to hear your voice, Matthew. You have the number of the box? That will permit me to have the search warrant all ready for the signature of a judge at the auspicious time.”
“Not yet.”
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that banks keep records in minute detail of the time their clients gain access to their boxes?”
“That’s right. You don’t. But I want to get it—I want the guy from the bank to get it for me. He’ll be in this afternoon.”
“And you will relay the number to me immediately after you have it?”
“Yes, sure.”
“And how are other things going in Harrisburg, Matthew? Mr. Matthews tells me you had dinner in Hershey.”
“That’s going slowly.”
“And carefully, Matthew? I devoutly hope carefully. You’ve heard the gentleman has added gunsmith to the long list of his other skills and accomplishments?”
“Matthews told me.”
“Then let ‘caution, caution, toujours caution’ be your creed, Matthew.”
“That’s audacity, not caution. ‘L’audace, l’audace, toujours l’audace.’ ”
“Don’t correct me, please. I’m a sergeant, and sergeants are never wrong. And the one thing I absolutely do not want from you is audacity. I will, with more or less bated breath, await your next call.”
“Sometime this afternoon,” Matt said.
The line went dead.
Matt hung up and looked into the lobby.
Susan, looking uncomfortable, was walking across the lobby toward his office.
He started to get up, then changed his mind. His newly acquired attaché case was in the well of the desk. He planned—while he hoped anyone looking would think he was tying his shoe—to transfer the bank loot from Susan’s purse there.
“Ready for lunch?” Susan asked at the door.
“Come into my office, my dear, and I will explain why the bank has to repossess your Porsche.”
He waved her into the chair beside the desk. She put her purse on the floor in front of her. Matt bent over, grabbed the purse, and put it into the desk well. Then he opened the attaché case, went into Susan’s purse, and moved the money, noticing as he did that some of the stacks of currency were bound with paper strips bearing the names of the banks from which they had been stolen.
These people are really stupid! Those currency wrappers would really tie them to the robberies. Didn’t Chenowith think about that? Or did he simply assume that Susan would take care of getting rid of the wrappers and she was too stupid to do it?
He closed the briefcase and ran his finger over the combination lock.
Jesus, if the combination wasn’t set at 000, I’m going to have to break the lock to get back into it. That wasn’t too smart, Matthew!
He slid Susan’s purse back across the floor to her, then straightened up.
“Done,” he said and smiled.
She nervously smiled back.
