The Chase (22 page)

After a minute, her attention, and that of many people passing along the street, was drawn to a big red car that moved effortlessly through traffic. There was a brute strength about its appearance that made it look as if it were hurtling over the pavement, even though it was moving no more than twenty miles an hour. Its bright red paint had been hand rubbed to a glistening finish. Everything about it portrayed a powerful elegance.

With her attention focused on the car, she did not notice the man behind the wheel until it came to a stop in front of her and he said, “Please climb in, Marion.”

She paled, one hand flying up and holding her throat, startled to find herself gazing into the violet eyes of Isaac Bell that seemed to draw her into his soul. “Isaac,” she murmured in shock. “Jacob told me you were dead.”

He held out his hand, grasped hers, and pulled her up onto the leather passenger seat with an ease and strength that stunned her. “It just goes to show, you can't believe all you hear.”

Oblivious to the crowd that had gathered around the car, Bell circled his arm around Marion's waist. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her.

“Isaac!” she gasped when he released her. Her protest was one more of enjoyment than embarrassment. “Not in front of all these people.”

By now, the crowd that had assembled to stare at the car found themselves being entertained by the man and woman in the front seats. They began to applaud and cheer them on.

Bell pulled back and smiled wickedly. “I was never able to resist a beautiful lady.”

Marion was almost swept away by the moment—almost but not quite. “Can we please move away?” she insisted.

Bell laughed, tipped his hat to the people cheering him on, and shifted the Locomobile into first gear. He stepped lightly on the gas pedal and moved into the street amid the flow of traffic. He drove north on Montgomery before turning left into Chinatown. He swung into an alley and came to a stop behind a large Mandarin-style restaurant, painted red and gold and with a pagoda roof. An attendant waiting there bowed.

“I will watch your car, sir.”

Bell gave him a tip that made the attendant's eyes pop. “I'm counting on you.” Then he helped Marion from her seat to the ground.

“The Empress of Shanghai,” she said, staring at the ornate entrance. “I've always wanted to eat here.”

“It came highly recommended.”

“I wondered how you knew about the rear parking.”

After they entered a long hallway, they were greeted by a beautiful woman with long shiny black hair wearing a Chinese sheath silk dress slit high on the sides. She led them upstairs to a small private dining room and seated them. While they were studying the menu, a pot of tea arrived and was poured.

“You were limping,” she said.

“A little memento of Telluride, Colorado.”

For the first time, she noticed the bandage on his head as he removed his hat. She frowned and raised her eyebrows. “Another memento?”

He nodded and smiled gamely.

Marion looked into Bell's eyes and her own eyes became misty. “You don't know how happy I am that you weren't killed.”

“Your boss certainly tried.”

“Mr. Cromwell!” she exclaimed as her mood altered from compassion to alarm. “I don't understand.”

“He's the man who shot me and killed a Van Dorn agent who was my friend.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Like it or not, Jacob Cromwell is the Butcher Bandit who has held up over twenty banks in the past twelve years and killed nearly forty innocent people.”

“That's crazy!” Marion bit her lower lip. She looked as if she was lost and had nowhere to turn. “He couldn't have done what you say.”

“What I said is true,” Bell said with a sudden gentleness. “We have evidence. Maybe not enough to convict, but it falls at Cromwell's doorstep.”

“But he's helped so many people in need,” she protested.

“A front,” said Bell icily. “He's built a wall around his empire, guarded by an army of good citizens who believe he and Margaret are generous people who want to help the poor out of the goodness of their hearts. It's an act. Cromwell could care less about those who are destitute. He uses them to promote his own purposes. In the eyes of the city's crooked politicians, he can do no wrong so long as he supports them with secret donations.”

Confused, Marion sipped at her tea, her hand noticeably trembling. “I simply refuse to believe it,” she murmured.

Bell reached across the table and took both her hands in his. “Believe me, Marion, it's true. I looked into his eyes and recognized him the instant he shot me at the bank in Telluride.”

She pulled her hands back and clasped them together tightly. “Oh, Isaac, it's all too fantastic. Why would Jacob rob banks when he already owns the second-largest bank in San Francisco? The thought is too absurd to be real.”

“I can't give you an answer, Marion. In the beginning, he took the money to build his own bank. But when he became rich, the robbery and killings became an obsession. I've seen many cases like Cromwell's. The robberies and the murders are like a narcotic for him. He can't help himself, and will go on killing until I stop him.”

She looked up into his sensitive violet eyes across the table. They had turned dark and cold. “You, Isaac? Does it have to be you?”

“I can't let him go on murdering people.” Bell spoke the words in a monotone, as if he were reading an accusation in a courtroom. “I am not going to let him thumb his nose at the law and continue to run around free, living the life of a wealthy Santa Claus.” Then he added, “And that goes for his sister, Margaret. She's buried in his evil operations up to her pretty neck.”

Marion dipped her head in utter confusion as her hat covered her eyes. “I've known Jacob and Margaret for years and yet I didn't know them.”

“It's hard,” Bell said softly, “but you'll have to accept it.”

She tilted her head back and the forward brim of her wide flowered hat rose until he could look directly into her coral–sea green eyes. “What can I do?” she asked softly.

“For one thing, you must go on as if you know nothing. Continue your duties as his loyal secretary. Our agents will have both brother and sister under constant surveillance. All you have to do is report anything suspicious or unusual regarding Jacob's actions.”

“You mean, of course, report to
you
.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She suddenly had the feeling she was being used, that Bell's interest in her was purely as an informer. She turned away so he couldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.

Bell immediately sensed what was whirling in her mind. He moved his chair around the table until he was sitting close enough to put his arm around her shoulders. “I know what you're thinking, Marion, and it's not true. I know I am asking you to commit a devious act, but lives hang in the balance. Yet there is much more. It goes far beyond a request for your help.” He paused to build up his courage. “I'm in love with you, Marion. I can't explain why it happened so suddenly, but it did. You must believe me.”

Marion looked into his face and saw only affection and fondness. Her fears vanished in an instant as she leaned forward and kissed him solidly on the lips. When she pulled back, she smiled wickedly. “You must think I'm a brazen hussy.”

He laughed at seeing her blush. “Not at all. I enjoyed it.”

Then her eyes turned soft. “I have to admit I felt something when I looked up and saw you standing there in the office.”

This time,
he
kissed her.

After a long moment, he pulled back and grinned. “Perhaps we should order before they ask us to leave for disorderly conduct.”

A
S SOON AS
M
ARION RETURNED FROM HER LUNCH WITH
Bell and was in the midst of typing a letter, Cromwell called her into his office. She concealed her nervousness by not looking him in the face as he spoke. “Marion, I'm going to attend the National Conference for Community Banks. It is being held in Los Angeles this year on March twenty-eighth to March thirtieth. Could you please make the necessary travel arrangements, and book me a room at the Fremont Hotel downtown?”

“To be in Los Angeles by the twenty-eighth, you'd have to leave tomorrow,” said Marion. “That's awfully short notice.”

“I know,” Cromwell said with an offhand shrug. “I wasn't going to attend, but I changed my mind.”

“Will you wish to charter a private car?”

“No. I'll leave private cars to the presidents of the Crocker and Wells Fargo banks. When I go on bank business, I'll travel as a simple passenger so my depositors will know I have their best interest at heart and am not squandering their money.”

Marion rose to her feet with a rustle of her skirts. “I'll see to it.”

As soon as she returned to her desk, she picked up her telephone and in a low voice, nearly that of a whisper, asked the operator for the Van Dorn Detective Agency. When Marion gave the receptionist her name, she was immediately put through to Bell.

“Isaac?”

“Marion? I was just going to call and ask you out for dinner and a play.”

She felt pleased that he was happy to hear her voice. “I have some information for you,” she said seriously. “Jacob is going out of town.”

“Do you know where?”

“Los Angeles,” she answered. “He's going to attend the National Conference for Community Banks. It's a forum for bankers, to exchange the latest in banking operations.”

“When does it take place?”

“The twenty-eighth to the thirtieth of this month.”

Bell thought a moment. “He'd have to be on a train tomorrow if he was going to make Los Angeles by the twenty-eighth.”

“Yes, that's right,” said Marion. “As soon as I ring off, I have to make his reservations. He's traveling in a coach, as an ordinary passenger.”

“Not like your boss to save a buck.”

“He claimed it would impress Cromwell depositors by not squandering the bank's assets.”

“What do you think, Marion? Is this trip legitimate?”

She did not hesitate in answering. “I do know there really is a National Conference for Community Banks on those dates in the City of Angels.”

“I'll see that one of our agents is with him all the way.”

“I feel soiled going behind his back,” she said remorsefully.

“Do not regret it, sweetheart,” Bell replied tenderly. “Jacob Cromwell is an evil man.”

“What time should I expect you?” Marion asked, happy to get off the subject of Cromwell.

“I'll pick you up at six so we can have an early dinner before making the play.”

“Are we going in your red racer?”

“Do you mind?”

“No, I enjoy the exhilaration of speed.”

He laughed. “I knew there was something about you that attracted me.”

Marion hung up the phone, surprised to find her heart beating at a rapid rate.

 

O
N GUT INSTINCT
, and the knowledge that Bell and his agent Irvine had been nosing around before he killed them, Cromwell made elaborate plans to cover his tracks even more thoroughly. He was certain that with the loss of two of his agents, Van Dorn would add fuel to the investigation by probing ever deeper into every lead. He could expect more agents to come around asking more questions about the stolen money that had been dispersed through merchants and other banks around the city.

Just to be on the safe side, Cromwell called the chief dispatcher of the Southern Pacific and informed him that he was sending in a written request to move his disguised freight car, now serial number 16455, sitting at the abandoned warehouse, to a new location across the bay in Oakland. Within minutes, the order was received by the yardmaster, who sent a switch engine that was coupled to the car and pulled it onto a boxcar ferry.

Cromwell also ordered a special train, a private Pullman car pulled by an engine and tender; destination: San Diego. The order went through the O'Brian Furniture Company of Denver, which had a long-standing account and was a respected customer of the Southern Pacific Railroad Company.

Only then did he sit back in his chair, light an expensive cigar, and relax, totally self-assured that he was once again ten steps ahead of any remote suspicion that might be held by Van Dorn or any other law enforcement agency.

He would have been even more smug if he had known that before Bronson could send an agent to keep an eye out for anyone approaching the freight car, it had been switched onto the ferry and transported to a siding in the Southern Pacific railyard in Oakland.