‘Could you get down to Bentley’s store right away, Mr. Calvin?’ the sheriff asked. ‘You know where it is? The big store they’re building on Eisenhower Avenue. When I say right away, I mean right away.’
Calvin thought the sheriff had gone off his head.
‘What do you mean?’ he snarled. ‘I don’t close the bank for another hour yet. What do I want with the store?’
There was a pause, then the sheriff said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Calvin, I’m trying to break this gently. There’s trouble down there… Mrs. Loring…’
Calvin felt as if an iron mailed fist had slammed against his heart. He clutched hold of the telephone receiver so tightly his finger nails turned white.
‘Mrs. Loring?’ His voice turned husky. ‘What… what…?’ He made an effort and pulled himself together. He went on, his voice under control, ‘Let’s have it, Sheriff. What’s the trouble?’
‘She’s up there on the scaffolding… the part where they’re building. She’s threatening to jump.’
Cold sweat fell on Calvin’s hand. Threatening to jump! If this rumdum killed herself there was the letter to be opened by her attorney:
‘What are you doing about it?’ he found himself yelling.
‘Take it easy. We’re doing all we can, but there isn’t much we can do. The fire brigade is standing by. We’ve got men talking to her, but she won’t listen. I thought maybe you could talk her into some sense.’
‘Yeah… how long has this been going on? How long has she been up there?’
‘About half an hour. Can you get down here right away, Mr. Calvin?’
‘I’m coming,’ Calvin said and slammed down the receiver. He walked quickly out of his office.
There was a man waiting at the counter: a fat, peevish-looking character who drummed on the counter with well-manicured finger nails,
‘How much longer do I have to wait?’ he demanded, ‘I want to cash a cheque.’
‘The bank’s shut!’ Calvin said violently. ‘Clear out!’
The man gaped at him. His fat face fell to pieces at the sight of Calvin’s expression.
‘Go on… get out!’ Calvin snarled.
The man backed away, turned and hurried out of the bank. Calvin shut the doors and locked them. Then he ran out the back way where his car was parked.
He was thinking: this is it! You were crazy to have hooked up with an alcoholic. Unless I do something, she’ll kill herself, and then I’m finished. I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight! Well, I asked for it and now I’ve got it!
He climbed into his car and drove the half-mile fast. As he swung into Eisenhower Avenue, he saw the crowd and his heart kicked against his side.
A policeman waved him to a halt.
‘I’ve got to get through,’ Calvin said, leaning out of the car window. ‘Sheriff Thomson wants me to talk to the woman. She’s my fiancee. Get me through, will you?’
The policeman stared at him, recognised him and then nodded.
‘Okay, sir. You keep going slowly. They’ll let you through.’
He stood back and blew his whistle, motioning to another policeman some way ahead.
As Calvin edged his way through the crowd, he saw firemen standing by an escape and looking up. He saw men, women and children, with horror on their faces, also looking up. He controlled the impulse to stop the car and look up himself. He edged the car to the second policeman who shoved his way through the crowd towards him, his red face aggressive. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded.
‘She’s my fiancee,’ Calvin said in a hard, curt voice. ‘They think I can talk her down.’
The cop’s aggression went away.
‘Leave the car,’ he said. ‘You won’t get through this lot in a car. Sheriff Thomson is waiting for you.’
Calvin got out of the car. At the back of his mind, he remembered there was three hundred thousand dollars locked in the car’s boot. Out of the car, he looked up, following the gaze of some hundreds of people.
