Terrell continued to work for over an hour, then Beigler telephoned him.
'It's a straight story, Chief,' he said. 'It's Perry all right. Here's a description of the T.R.4'
Terrell made rapid notes, told Beigler to come right beck, and hung up. He grabbed another telephone and got through to the Control room. -
'Alert all doctors and hospitals that a man with a gunshot wound in the stomach may seek their help,' he said. 'I want to know pronto if he does. Get it on the air. Here's a description of a car I want traced.' He read out Beigler's description of the T.R.4 'Keep hammering away at it. The punk's wounded, and he won't be far from the car.'
As he hung up, Fred Hess of the Homicide Squad came in. His fat face was lined with fatigue.
'They've found a young fella shot through the head on the beach, Chief,' he said. 'Call just come through. Right by his side is a small truck. It matches the description of the robbery truck except it hasn't the I.B.M. signs, but these could have been ditched. I'm going down there now.'
'Dead?'
'Sure . . . his brains are all over the beach.'
'Okay, Fred, get down there. I want a report as fast as you can make it. Concentrate on the truck. Dr. Lowis alerted?'
'He's on his way now.'
Terrell nodded, then, when Hess had left, he pushed his chair away and got stiffly to his feet. He wandered around his small office, thinking.
Once again the telephone bell rang. This time it was Harry Lewis, calling from the Casino.
'Any news, Frank?'
'Plenty . . . I'm busy right now,' Terrell said. 'I haven't time . . .'
'That's okay. Look, Frank, I've thought of something that might help. I am now certain the gang must have had inside information. The whole job was so slick. They must have known about the fuse boxes . . . the right time to strike . . . where we keep the money . . . the number of guards. And Frank, here is the clincher. We had a blueprint of the electrical circuit in our files and it's missing!'
Terrell became very alert.
'So?'
'I'll swear it's an inside job. One of our girls - Lana Evans - who works in the vault, hasn't reported for two days. Could be she was got at.'
'Know where she lives?'
Lewis gave Terrell the address.
'Okay, we'll check. Thanks, Harry,' and Terrell hung up. He picked up another telephone. 'Lepski in?'
'Just come in, Chief.'
'I want him.'
Charlie Tanner smiled at Lepski who was grey with fatigue and still wearing his tuxedo. He had been on the job since the robbery broke, and hadn't had a chance to change.
'The Big White Chief needs you, Glamour boy,' Tanner said.
Lepski cursed. He was about to take a shower and change before going out again. He ran up to Terrell's office.
'Yes, Chief?'
'What are you doing . . . got up like that?' Terrell asked. Lepski drew in a long breath. He suppressed all the swear words that crowded his brain.
'Just haven't had time . . .'
Terrell grinned at him.
'Okay, Tom, relax. Get out of that outfit and get over to this address . . . fast.' He told Lepski what Lewis had said. 'Could be she was bribed to give the gang information. I wouldn't be surprised if she has skipped. Get a description of her, and we'll get it on the air. Hurry it up!'
Twenty minutes later, Lepski, showered and shaved, climbed out of the police car outside Lana Evans' apartment block and rang on the bell.
Mrs. Mavdick came to the door. She looked beyond him at the police car where two uniformed men were getting out, and she stiffened.
'Miss Evans live here?' Lepski asked.
'That's right. What of it?'
'I want to see her.'
'She's out.' Mrs. Mavdick thumped her floppy bosom and breathed cachou-scented breath into Lepski's face. 'Besides, I don't like police here . . . gives my house a bad name.'
'Look, sister, relax with the mouth,' Lepski said in his cop voice. 'You have us here. Where is she?'
The beady, black eyes became interested and cunning.
'Is she in trouble?'
