'What happens in there has nothing to do with what happens between people,' Sally said.
'That's my point.'
'This is a stupid conversation. It's my fault. I'm playing a stupid female role.' Her eyes were wet. 'I came over to see if you wanted to go bike riding. I thought we could stop by Nick's for a drink on the way back.' She began to cry.
Carr had a feeling of
A knock on the door. Carr turned from Sally and, without hurrying, walked to the door and opened it. It was Kelly.
Sally's hands flew to her face, and Kelly retreated down the stairs,
The phone rang. Sally stumped on the edge of the sofa. The sobs came in waves.
Carr picked up the receiver. 'Hello.'
'Delgado here. I think you're on the right track. Records at Terminal Island show that Red Diamond shared a cell for over three years with a young guy named Ronnie. Ronnie Boyce. He fits the description. We pulled his records package, and he's a bank robber. He likes the heavy stuff-a real psycho. He shanked an inmate during his second year in T. I. but they couldn't prove it. His whereabouts are unknown now. He listed a phony address when he was released.'
Carr wrote the name down on a pad. 'Sounds like he's our man.'
'There's something else,' Delgado said. 'A teletype just came in. You've been transferred to Washington, D.C. You're supposed to report there as soon as possible. I've stalled it by answering back that you have lease problems with your apartment. You're going to have to move fairly quickly. Sorry I couldn't tell you in person.'
'Thanks, Alex.' Carr put down the receiver. Sally was gone. He looked out the window. She was peddling away along the bike path.
TWENTY-ONE
The bank, like most of the others in Beverly Hills, was spacious and modern, with lots of glass and tapestries on the walls.
Carol, in a conservative gray wig and matching pink skirt and jacket, sat down at a desk marked NEW ACCOUNTS-IUMI ISHIKAWA. A young Oriental woman in ponytail and sundress smiled. On the desk was a framed photo of a middle-aged Oriental couple.
'I'd like to open an account.' Carol enunciated each word carefully. Rich-lady talk.
The clerk handed her a signature card. 'Please fill this out.'
Carol filled in the name and address and got goose bumps. She always did. It would be just her luck that someday she would forget the name on the phony driver's license. Every account meant memorizing a new name. Since 10:00 A.M., when the banks opened, she had memorized four different names and addresses, one for each bank. She had four thousand dollars in cash in her purse.
She handed the signature card back to the young woman.
'How much would you like to deposit?' She rolled the card into a typewriter.
Carol reached into her purse. 'I'd like to deposit this check. It's for three thousand dollars.'
Iumi Ishikawa put on her glasses and examined the check. 'May I see your driver's license?'
'Certainly. Here you are.'
'Thank you.' She copied the driver's license number onto the signature card and laid the check in front of Carol. 'Would you please second-endorse the check.'
Carol held her breath, signed 'Gladys T. Zimmerman,' and exhaled. The goose bumps started to disappear.
'You're cold,' Iumi Ishikawa said. 'I think the air conditioning is on too high.' She rolled a rubber stamp over the check.
'Uh … yes … uh … too high. I would like one thousand dollars in cash. Make the initial deposit for two thousand instead of three. I'll take the remainder in cash. I'm going to buy a used car today. Cute VW. Got it picked out already.' Carol smiled pertly.
'Where did you do your banking previously?'
'In Europe. My husband is with the Foreign Service. He's teaching for a year at USC. No use buying a new car and having to sell it in a year.'
The clerk wasn't listening. She was staring at the check.
'I'm sorry, Mrs. Zimmerman, but we don't usually allow cash back transactions on an initial deposit,' she said.
Carol put a hand to her chest and gave a surprised look. 'Then just how are we supposed to buy the VW today? My husband will kill me if I don't get the money for the VW. We're buying it from a student. We're getting a very good deal. Today is Friday. The car could be sold over the weekend. Would you prefer that I speak with the bank manager?'
'Well, if you feel that…'
'That's really not necessary. Surely you can see your way to bending the rules just a little for me. I would so appreciate it…is that a picture of your mother and father?'
'Yes, it is.'
'My parents live with us. That's why we came back to the U.S., to take care of them. My mother has cancer. She has me so worried.' Carol looked at the floor.
'I'm sorry,' Iumi Ishikawa said.
Carol raised her head. 'I assure you the check is good.'
'I'll speak with the manager. I'm sure he will approve the transaction once I explain it to him.' Iumi Ishikawa gave an embarrassed smile, or was it a nervous smile? She walked to the manager's desk. He was blond, tan, trim as a jogger. She talked with him briefly and came back to the desk. The manager picked up his phone and dialed.
'Is there a problem?' Carol asked, lowering her voice halfway through the sentence.
The manager stared at her while speaking on the phone. The Japanese girl stood at the desk with the check in her hands. She did not sit down.
Carol's knees were shaking.
'If you'll just wait a few minutes, the check will be approved,' Iumi Ishikawa said.
'No way!' Carol lunged, grabbed the check, and ran out the glass door.
Brakes squealed as she dodged across the street. Looking behind her, Carol flung herself into a department store's revolving door. She heard a siren.
Out of breath, she mixed in with women in furs and rings, moving from table to table, picking things up and putting them down, as if browsing.
Standing behind a window display, she held up a blouse and looked across the street at the bank. The bank manager and the Japanese girl were standing outside the bank looking around.
A police car pulled up. A black policeman got out and slipped his baton into a ring on his belt. The bank manager pointed down the street toward another store. He was pointing the wrong way!
The policeman and the bank manager trotted down the sidewalk.
Carol headed toward an escalator and realized she was walking too fast. She slowed down. In front of her was a tiered display of purses. She picked one up and studied every face near her. No one was looking. She ripped off the gray wig, stuffed it in the purse, and set it back down. She ran her hand through her hair and got on the escalator.
On the way up she had a view of the entire first floor. It had three street entrances. There was canned music and the murmur of soap-opera talk from a row of color televisions. A man and woman on TV kissed. She was safe.
If no one had seen her run into the store, they would look around for an hour or so and then go away. She breathed deeply.
