Innes faced Nolan Wainwright. "You've something in mind?"
"I have." Wainwright hesitated, wrestling mentally with choices and his conscience. Experience told him that the evidence against Eastin had gaps which needed to be filled. Yet to fill them the law would have to be bent in a way running counter to his own beliefs. He asked the FBI man, "Are you sure you want to know?"
The two eyed each other. They had known each other for years and shared a mutual respect.
"Getting evidence nowadays is sensitive," Innes said. "We can't take some of the liberties we used to, and if we do it's liable to bounce back."
There was a silence, then the second FBI agent said, "Tell us as much as you think you should."
Wainwright interlaced his fingers and considered them. His body transmitted tension, as his voice had earlier. "Okay, we've enough to nail Eastin on a larceny rap. Let's say the amount stolen is eight thousand dollars, more or less. What do you think a judge will give him?"
"For a first offense he'll draw a suspended sentence," Innes said. "The court won't worry about the money value. They'll figure banks have lots and it's insured anyway."
"Check!" Wainwright's fingers tightened visibly. "But if we can prove he took that other cash the six thousand last Wednesday; if we can show he aimed to throw the blame on the girl, and damn near did.. ."
Innes grunted understanding. "If you could show that, any reasonable judge would send him straight to jail. But can you?"
"I intend to. Because I personally want that son of a bitch behind bars."
"I know what you mean," the FBI man said thoughtfully. "I'd like to see it happen too."
"In that case do it my way. Don't pick up Eastin tonight. Give me until morning." "I'm not sure," Innes mused. "I'm not sure I can."
The three of them waited, conscious of knowledge, duty, and a pull and tug within themselves. The other two guessed roughly what Wainwright had in mind. But when, and to what extent, did an end justify the means? Equally to the point: How much liberty nowadays could a law-enforcement officer take and get away with?
Yet the FBI men had become involved in the case and shared Wainwright's view about objectives.
"If we do wait till morning," the second agent cautioned, "we don't want Eastin to run. That could cause everybody trouble." "And I don't want a bruised potato either," Innes said. "He won't run. He won't be bruised. I guarantee it." Innes glanced toward his colleague who shrugged.
"Okay, then," Innes said. "Until morning. But understand one thing, Nolan this conversation never took place." He crossed ~ to the conference room door and opened it. "You can come in, Mr. Gayne. Mr. Wainwright's leaving and we'll take your statement now."
14
A list of branch bank officers, maintained in the security department for emergency, revealed Miles Eastin's home address and telephone number. Nolan Wainwright copied down both. ~
He recognized the address. A medium income residential area about two miles from downtown. It included the information "Apartment 2G."
Leaving FMA Headquarters Building, the security chief used a pay phone on Rosselli Plaza to dial the telephone number and heard the ringing continue unanswered. He already knew Miles Eastin was a bachelor. Wainwright was hoping he also lived alone.
If the phone had been answered, Wainwright would have made an excuse about a wrong number and revised his plans. As it was, he now headed for his car, parked in the headquarters basement garage.
Before leaving the garage he opened the trunk of the car and removed a slim chamois case, placing it in an inside pocket. He then drove across town.
He walked toward the apartment building casually but taking in details. A three-story structure, probably forty years old and showing signs of disrepair. He guessed it contained two dozen or so apartments. No doorman was visible. Inside a vestibule Nolan Wainwright could see an array of mail boxes and call buttons. Dual glass doors opened-from the street to the vestibule; beyond them was a more solid door, undoubtedly locked. The time was 10:30. Traffic on the street was light. No
other pedestrians were near the apartment house. He went in.
Next to the mail boxes were three rows of buzzers and a speaker-phone. Wainwright saw the name EASTIN and depressed the button beside it. As he expected, there was no response.
(guessing that 2G indicated the second floor, he chose a bell button at random with the prefix 3 and pressed it. A man's voice on the speaker-phone rasped, "Yeah, who is it?" The name beside the button was Appleby.
"Western Union," Wainwright said. "Telegram for Appleby." "Okay, bring it up."
Behind the heavy interior door a buzzer sounded and a lock clicked open. Wainwright opened the door and went in quickly.
Immediately ahead was an elevator which he ignored. He saw a stairway to the right and went up it, two stairs at a time, to the second floor. On his way Wainwright reflected on the astounding innocence of people generally. He hoped that Appleby, whoever he was, would not wait too long for his telegram. This night Mr. Appleby would suffer no harm beyond minor puzzlement, perhaps frustration, though he might have fared far worse. Yet apartment tenants everywhere, despite repeated warnings, continued to do exactly the same. Of course, Appleby might grow suspicious and alert the police, though Wainwright doubted it. In any case, a few minutes from now it would make no difference.
Apartment 2G was near the end of the second-floor corridor and the lock proved uncomplicated. Wainwright tried a succession of slim blades from the chamois case he had pocketed, and on the fourth attempt the lock cylinder turned. The door swung open and he went in, dosing the door behind him.
He waited, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, then crossed to a window and drew drapes. He found a light switch and turned it on. The apartment was small, designed for use by one person; it was a single room divided into areas. A living-dining space contained a sofa, armchair, portable TV, and meal table. A bed was located behind a partition; the kitchenette had folding louvered doors. Two other doors which Wainwright checked revealed a bathroom and a storage closet. The place was orderly and clean. Several shelves of books and a few framed prints added a touch of personality.
Without wasting time, Wainwright began a systematic, thorough search.
He tried to suppress, as he worked, gnawing self-criticism for the illegal acts he was committing tonight. He did not wholly succeed. Nolan Wainwright was aware that everything he had done so far represented a reversal of his moral standards, a negation of his belief in law and order. Yet anger drove him. Anger and the knowledge of failure, four days ago, within himself.
He remembered with excruciating clarity, even now, the mute appeal in the eyes of the young Puerto Rican girl, Juanita Nunez, when he encountered her for the first time last Wednesday and began the interrogation. It was an appeal which said unmistakably: You and I. .. you are black, I am brown. Therefore you, of all people, should realize I am alone here, at a disadvantage, and desperately need help and fairness. But while recognizing the appeal, he had brushed it aside harshly, so that afterwards contempt replaced it, and he remembered that in the girl's eyes too.
This memory, coupled with chagrin at having been duped by Miles Eastin, made Wainwright determined to beat Eastin at his game, no matter if the law was bent in doing it.
Therefore, methodically, as his police training had taught him, Wainwright went on searching, determined that if evidence existed he would find it.
Half an hour later he knew that few places remained where anything could be hidden. He had examined cupboards, drawers and contents, had probed furniture, opened suitcases, inspected pictures on the walls, and removed the back of the TV. He also riffled through books, noting that an entire shelf was devoted to what someone had told him was Eastin's hobby the study of money through the ages. Along with the books, a portfolio contained sketches and photographs of ancient coins and banknotes. But of anything incriminating there was no trace. Finally he piled furniture in one corner and rolled up the living area rug. Then, with a flashlight, he went over every inch of floorboard.