“She went out fast because you gave her four thousand bucks, Weldon. And she was in a big hurry to get away. What does she have on you, boy?”
“I never saw her before in my life. It’s the truth. I swear it.”
Vic Reisher said, “Tom, damn it, this isn’t going to do any good.”
Tom stared at his friend. “You believe I gave her that money, don’t you?”
Vic was a gaunt man with shaggy hair, deep-set eyes and a wry smile. He shrugged helplessly, “What else can—”
“Let me try again, Mr. Reisher,” Elvinard, the examiner, said. He had a face like a small, neat grave marker. His voice was metallic. “Now look, Weldon. Listen carefully. You got your drawer out of the vault this morning and you were checked out by Mr. Reisher, everything in order. You worked from ten until twelve thirty and then took an hour for lunch. When you went to lunch, you and Mr. Reisher locked your drawer with the two keys necessary. When you came back, you both unlocked it. No one had a chance to tamper with your cash on hand. At all times when the cash was — shall we say — available, you were there in your cage. Yet, when the doors closed at three o’clock you seemed to be having trouble balancing out. Mr. Reisher came over to you, and you said you seemed to be making some mistake. He helped you check. And you were four thousand dollars short.
“Now, let us suppose for a moment that you are telling the truth about that young lady who spoke to you by name. We will assume that she was a stranger, and that you gave her fifty ones. All right, then. If she didn’t get the money, Mr. Weldon, exactly how did it disappear and where did it go?”
Tom braced his elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands hard against his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said hopelessly.
Durand said, “We’re going to find out. The more work it makes for us, the more trouble it means for you. Open up, and we’ll try to give you every break in the book. Maybe we can get a recovery on the funds. Maybe you can draw a suspended sentence. Who knows? But the starting place is for you to come clean, boy.” His voice turned wheedling, confidential. “A lot of nice guys get taken over the jumps by a blondie. Come on, boy. What’s she got on you? Hell, we know you’ve been playing around.”
Tom felt the return of dull anger. He straightened up. “I explained all that to you. I was doing you a favor by being frank with you. I told you that I’ve been sort of restless lately, the last six months. I guess. Vic told you about me telling him that Helen and I were scrapping. I guess every married couple goes through times like that. It’s — hard to live on the pay. It makes a strain. You know what I mean. So it gets on your nerves, with prices going up all the time, and a couple of kids. I walked out a couple of times and went to a neighborhood beer joint. Tige’s Grill. Just a few beers. Ask Al, the bartender. No women. No blondes. Just a few beers to take the strain off.”
Durand had been out of the room several times in the past three hours. He grinned in an unpleasant way and took a notebook out of his pocket. “The bartender is Albert Kelling, and he knows you by name. He states that to the best of his recollection you were in there on a Friday night three weeks ago and that you went over to one of the booths and engaged in conversation with a woman about thirty years of age, dark hair, and a younger woman who was a blonde. Albert Kelling stated that he had never seen either of the women before, and they have not been in since. He is willing to make a formal statement to that effect, and to the effect that you left said Tige’s Grill accompanied by the two women.”
Tom tried to smile in a confident way. He was aware of the trembling of his hands. “That’s plain silly! I knew that dark-haired girl in high school. She remembered my name, but I couldn’t remember hers. Sure, I spoke to them. Who wouldn’t? Her friend was younger and blonde, but she didn’t look anything like the girl who came into the bank. And I walked out the door with them, yes. We talked for a couple of minutes on the sidewalk; then they went one way and I went the other way.”
“What was this woman’s name?”
“I tell you I can’t remember. I’m no good about names. I never have been.”
“Where does she live?”
“She didn’t say.”
“And she didn’t refresh your memory and give you her name?”
“You know how it is when you can’t remember a name. You try to cover up. She introduced her friend. I think it was Mary something. Or Marie, maybe.”
“Can you describe the blonde friend? This Marie?”
“Well, about twenty-five. Medium height. Sort of thin, I think.”
“So you picked up a blonde in a bar and got more than you bargained for.”
“I... I know how it sounds to you. When I tell you, everything sounds so weak. But believe me. I’ve never stolen anything in my life. I’ve got a good record. Ask Vic.”
Durand said heavily, “You had a good record, young man.” He looked at his watch. “Go on home, Weldon. I advise you to talk it over with your wife. Harkness told me over the phone she seems like a good, sound person. Come clean with her, Weldon. I advise it. Tell her everything, and I’m sure she’ll tell you to do the right thing.”
Tom was startled. “I can go home?”
“Go ahead. Will you let him out, please. Mr. Reisher? Don’t try to leave town. Weldon. We’ll pick you up when we’ve got everything we need.”
They went down the dark staircase to the side entrance. Vic started to unlock the door and then turned. “How could you do it, Tom? You knew that if you were in a jam, all you had to do was come to me and tell me the story.”
“If you don’t believe me, who else is going to? Just unlock the damn’ door.”
Vic stood still for a few moments, then unlocked the door. He didn’t speak. Tom heard it close crisply behind him. He went back to the parking lot behind the bank and started the six-year-old sedan and drove slowly home. Twice he stopped for red lights and then didn’t start up again until the cars behind him honked indignantly. He lived in the top half of a two-family house. As he turned into the narrow driveway between the house and the one next door, his headlights swept across the police cruiser parked at the curb. Oh, fine! Nice questions for the kids. “Tommy, what were the police at your house for? What’s your daddy done?”
It gave him a feeling of acute helplessness. You went along thinking that if somebody ever tried to persecute you, mess up your life, kick you around, you were a citizen and you could call the cops. Get a lawyer. Get an injunction or something. But who did you yell to when it was the forces of law and order sitting on your chest, making your wife cry, ruining your hopes and your chances and your future?
None of it made sense. He had the crazy feeling that maybe he had been hypnotized somehow into thinking four thousand dollars were fifty ones. He could see the blonde, teetering hastily away from his teller’s cage, hurrying out of the bank, holding that shiny blue pocketbook. She was the kind men looked at, the kind they would remember. So all you remembered was the ripe figure and the wide, damp mouth and nothing else.
He went slowly up the stairs, and the door opened off the living room, and a tough-faced young man in a pale suit looked at him and said. “Weldon. Know you from your picture on the bureau. Welcome home.”
Tom ignored him and went on down the hall. Helen had heard the man and she came, half running. He held her close and felt the trembling of her body. Her eyes were red and puffed, but she wasn’t crying.
He kissed her. “It’s okay. It’s a mistake.”
Over her shoulder, he saw a paunchy young man come out of the kitchen with a glass of milk in his hand. His look of relaxation, of being at home, infuriated Tom. He said, “Why don’t you two get the hell out of here?”