If Tomorrow Comes (39 page)

“What kind of pigeon did you send her?”

“Oh, you know, an ordinary pigeon.”

“Are you sure it’s not a homing pigeon?”

“No.” The man giggled. “The reason I know it’s not a homing pigeon is because I caught it last night in Vondel-park.”

A thousand pounds of gold and an ordinary pigeon?
Why?
Daniel Cooper wondered.

Five days before the transfer of bullion from the Amro Bank was to take place, a large pile of photographs had accumulated on Inspector Joop van Duren’s desk.

Each picture is a link in the chain that is going to trap her
, Daniel Cooper thought. The Amsterdam police had no imagination, but Cooper had to give them credit for being thorough. Every step leading to the forthcoming crime was photographed and documented. There was no way Tracy Whitney could escape justice.

Her punishment will be my redemption.

On the day Jeff picked up the newly painted truck he drove it to a small garage he had rented near the Oude Zijds Kolk, the oldest part of Amsterdam. Six empty wooden boxes stamped
MACHINERY
were also delivered to the garage.

A photograph of the boxes lay on Inspector van Duren’s desk as he listened to the latest tape.

Jeff’s voice: “When you drive the truck from the bank to the barge, stay within the speed limit. I want to know exactly
how long the trip takes. Here’s a stopwatch.”

“Aren’t you coming with me, darling?”

“No. I’m going to be busy.”

“What about Monty?”

“He’ll arrive Thursday night.”

“Who is this Monty?” Inspector van Duren asked.

“He’s probably the man who’s going to pose as the second security guard,” Cooper said. “They’re going to need uniforms.”

The costume store was on Pieter Cornelisz Hooft Straat, in a shopping center.

“I need two uniforms for a costume party,” Jeff explained to the clerk. “Similar to the one you have in the window.”

One hour later Inspector van Duren was looking at a photograph of a guard’s uniform.

“He ordered two of these. He told the clerk he would pick them up Thursday.”

The size of the second uniform indicated that it was for a man much larger than Jeff Stevens. The inspector said, “Our friend Monty would be about six-three and weigh around two hundred twenty pounds. We’ll have Interpol put that through their computers,” he assured Daniel Cooper, “and we’ll get an identification on him.”

In the private garage Jeff had rented, he was perched on top of the truck, and Tracy was in the driver’s seat.

“Are you ready?” Jeff called.
“Now.”

Tracy pressed a button on the dashboard. A large piece of canvas rolled down each side of the truck, spelling out
HEINEKEN HOLLAND BEER
.

“It works!” Jeff cheered.

‘Heineken beer?
Alstublieft!
” Inspector van Duren looked around at the detectives gathered in his office. A series of blown-up photographs and memos were tacked all around the walls.

Daniel Cooper sat in the back of the room, silent. As far as Cooper was concerned, this meeting was a waste of time. He
had long since anticipated every move Tracy Whitney and her lover would make. They had walked into a trap, and the trap was closing in on them. While the detectives in the office were filled with a growing excitement, Cooper felt an odd sense of anticlimax.

“All the pieces have fallen into place,” Inspector van Duren was saying. “The suspects know what time the real armored truck is due at the bank. They plan to arrive about half an hour earlier, posing as security guards. By the time the real truck arrives, they’ll be gone.” Van Duren pointed to the photograph of an armored car. “They will drive away from the bank looking like this, but a block away, on some side street”—he indicated the Heineken beer truck photograph—”the truck will suddenly look like
this.”

A detective from the back of the room spoke up. “Do you know how they plan to get the gold out of the country, Inspector?”

Van Duren pointed to a picture of Tracy stepping onto the barge. “First, by barge. Holland is so crisscrossed with canals and waterways that they could lose themselves indefinitely.” He indicated an aerial photograph of the truck speeding along the edge of the canal. “They’ve timed the run to see how long it takes to get from the bank to their barge. Plenty of time to load the gold onto the barge and be on their way before anyone suspects anything is wrong.” Van Duren walked over to the last photograph on the wall, an enlarged picture of a freighter. “Two days ago Jeff Stevens reserved cargo space on the
Oresta
, sailing from Rotterdam next week. The cargo was listed as machinery, destination Hong Kong.”

He turned to face the men in the room. “Well, gentlemen, we’re making a slight change in their plans. We’re going to let them remove the gold bullion from the bank and load it into the truck.” He looked at Daniel Cooper and smiled. “Red-handed. We’re going to catch these clever people red-handed.”

A detective followed Tracy into the American Express office, where she picked up a medium-sized package; she returned immediately to her hotel.

“No way of knowing what was in the package,” Inspector van Duren told Cooper. “We searched both their suites when they left, and there was nothing new in either of them.”

Interpol’s computers were unable to furnish any information on the 220-pound Monty.

At the Amstel late Thursday evening, Daniel Cooper, Inspector van Duren, and Detective Constable Witkamp were in the room above Tracy’s, listening to the voices from below.

Jeff’s voice: “If we get to the bank exactly thirty minutes before the guards are due, that will give us plenty of time to load the gold and move out. By the time the real truck arrives, we’ll be stowing the gold onto the barge.”

Tracy’s voice: “I’ve had the mechanic check the truck and fill it with gas. It’s ready.”

Detective Constable Witkamp said, “One must almost admire them. They don’t leave a thing to chance.”

“They all slip up sooner or later,” Inspector van Duren said curtly.

Daniel Cooper was silent, listening.

“Tracy, when this is over, how would you like to go on that dig we talked about?”

“Tunisia? Sounds like heaven, darling.”

“Good. I’ll arrange it. From now on we’ll do nothing but relax and enjoy life.”

Inspector van Duren murmured, “I’d say their next twenty years are pretty well taken care of.” He rose and stretched. “Well, I think we can go to bed. Everything is set for tomorrow morning, and we can all use a good night’s sleep.”

Daniel Cooper was unable to sleep. He visualized Tracy being grabbed and manhandled by the police, and he could see the terror on her face. It excited him. He went into the bathroom and ran a very hot bath. He removed his glasses, took off his pajamas, and lay back in the steaming water. It was almost over, and she would pay, as he had made other whores pay. By this time tomorrow he would be on his way home.
No, not home
, Daniel Cooper corrected himself.
To my apartment
.
Home
was a warm, safe place where his mother loved him more than she loved anyone else in the world.

“You’re my little man,” she said. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Daniel’s father disappeared when Daniel was four years old, and at first he blamed himself, but his mother explained that it was because of another woman. He hated that other woman, because she made his mother cry. He had never seen her, but he knew she was a whore because he had heard his mother call her that. Later, he was happy that the woman had taken his father away, for now he had his mother all to himself. The Minnesota winters were cold, and Daniel’s mother allowed him to crawl into bed with her and snuggle under the warm blankets.

“I’m going to marry you one day,” Daniel promised, and his mother laughed and stroked his hair.

Daniel was always at the head of his class in school. He wanted his mother to be proud of him.

What a brilliant little boy you have, Mrs. Cooper
.

I know. No one is as clever as my little man.

When Daniel was seven years old, his mother started inviting their neighbor, a huge, hairy man, over to their house for dinner, and Daniel became ill. He was in bed for a week with a dangerously high fever, and his mother promised she would never do that again.
I don’t need anyone in the world but you, Daniel.

No one could have been as happy as Daniel. His mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. When she was out of the house, Daniel would go into her bedroom and open the drawers of her dresser. He would take out her lingerie and rub the soft material against his cheek. They smelled oh, so wonderful.

He lay back in the warm tub in the Amsterdam hotel, his eyes closed, remembering the terrible day of his mother’s murder. It was on his twelfth birthday. He was sent home from school early because he had an earache. He pretended it was worse than it was, because he wanted to be home where his mother would soothe him and put him into her bed and fuss
over him. Daniel walked into the house and went to his mother’s bedroom, and she was lying naked in their bed, but she was not alone. She was doing unspeakable things to the man who lived next door. Daniel watched as she began to kiss the matted chest and the bloated stomach, and her kisses trailed downward toward the huge red weapon between the man’s legs. Before she took it into her mouth, Daniel heard his mother moan, “Oh, I love you!”

And that was the most unspeakable thing of all. Daniel ran to his bathroom and vomited all over himself. He carefully undressed and cleaned himself up because his mother had taught him to be neat. His earache was really bad now. He heard voices from the hallway and listened.

His mother was saying, “You’d better go now, darling. I’ve got to bathe and get dressed. Daniel will be home from school soon. I’m giving him a birthday party. I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

There was the noise of the front door closing, and then the sound of running water from his mother’s bathroom. Except that she was no longer his mother She was a whore who did dirty things in bed with men, things she had never done with him.

He walked into her bathroom, naked, and she was in the tub, her whore’s face smiling. She turned her head and saw him and said, “Daniel, darling! What are you—?”

He carried a pair of heavy dressmaker’s shears in his hand.

“Daniel—” Her mouth was opened into a pink-lined O, but there was no sound until he made the first stab into the breast of the stranger in the tub. He accompanied her screams with his own. “Whore! Whore! Whore!”

They sang a deadly duet together, until finally there was his voice alone. “Whore…whore…”

He was spattered all over with her blood. He stepped into her shower and scrubbed himself until his skin felt raw.

That man next door had killed his mother, and that man would have to pay.

After that, everything seemed to happen with a supernal clarity, in a curious kind of slow motion. Daniel wiped the fingerprints off the shears with a washcloth and threw them into
the bathtub. They clanked dully against the enamel. He dressed and telephoned the police. Two police cars arrived, with sirens screaming, and then another car filled with detectives, and they asked Daniel questions, and he told them how he had been sent home from school early and about seeing their next-door neighbor, Fred Zimmer, leaving through the side door. When they questioned the man, he admitted being the lover of Daniel’s mother, but denied killing her. It was Daniel’s testimony in court that convicted Zimmer.

“When you arrived home from school, you saw your neighbor, Fred Zimmer, running out the side door?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you see him clearly?”

“Yes, sir. There was blood all over his hands.”

“What did you do then, Daniel?”

“I—I was so scared. I knew something awful had happened to my mother.”

“Then did you go into the house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what happened?”

“I called out, ‘Mother!’ And she didn’t answer, so I went into her bathroom and—”

At this point the young boy broke into hysterical sobs and had to be led from the stand.

Fred Zimmer was executed thirteen months later.

In the meantime young Daniel had been sent to live with a distant relative in Texas, Aunt Mattie, whom he had never met. She was a stern woman, a hard-shelled Baptist filled with a vehement righteousness and the conviction that hell’s fire awaited all sinners. It was a house without love or joy or pity, and Daniel grew up in that atmosphere, terrified by the secret knowledge of his guilt and the damnation that awaited him. Shortly after his mother’s murder Daniel began to have trouble with his vision. The doctors called the problem psychosomatic.

“He’s blocking out something he doesn’t want to see,” the doctors said.

The lenses on his glasses grew thicker.

At seventeen Daniel ran away from Aunt Mattie and Texas
forever. He hitchhiked to New York, where he was hired as a messenger boy by the International Insurance Protection Association. Within three years he was promoted to an investigator. He became the best they had. He never demanded a raise in salary or better working conditions. He was oblivious to those things. He was the Lord’s right arm, his scourge, punishing the wicked.

Daniel Cooper rose from his bath and prepared for bed.
Tomorrow
, he thought.
Tomorrow will be the whore’s day of retribution.

He wished his mother could be there to see it.

F
RIDAY
, A
UGUST
22—8:00
A.M
.

Daniel Cooper and the two detectives assigned to the listening post heard Tracy and Jeff at breakfast.

“Sweet roll, Jeff? Coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

Daniel Cooper thought,
It’s the last breakfast they’ll ever have together.

“Do you know what I’m excited about? Our barge trip.”

“This is the big day, and you’re excited about a trip on a
barge?
Why?”

“Because it will be just the two of us. Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Absolutely. But you’re
my
crazy.”

“Kiss.”

The sound of a kiss.

She should be more nervous
, Cooper thought.
I want her to be nervous.

“In a way, I’ll be sorry to leave here, Jeff.”

“Look at it this way, darling. We won’t be any the poorer for the experience.”

Tracy’s laughter. “You’re right.”

At 9:00
A.M
. the conversation was still going on, and Cooper thought,
They should be getting ready. They should be making their last-minute plans. What about Monty? Where are they meeting him?

Jeff was saying, “Darling, would you take care of the concierge before you check us out? I’m going to be rather busy.”

“Of course. He’s been wonderful. Why don’t they have concierges in the States?”

“I guess it’s just a European custom. Do you know how it started?”

“No.”

“In France, in 1627, King Hugh built a prison in Paris and put a nobleman in charge of it. He gave him the title of
comte des cierges
, or concierge, meaning ‘count of the candles.’ His pay was two pounds and the ashes from the king’s fireplace. Later, anyone in charge of a prison or a castle became known as a concierge, and finally, this included those working in hotels.”

What the hell are they talking about?
Cooper wondered.
It’s nine-thirty. Time for them to be leaving.

Tracy’s voice: “Don’t tell me where you learned that—you used to go with a beautiful concierge.”

A strange female voice:
“Goede morgen, mevrouw, mijnheer.”

Jeff’s voice: “There are no beautiful concierges.”

The female voice, puzzled:
“Ik begrijp het niet.”

Tracy’s voice: “I’ll bet if there were, you’d find them.”

“What the hell is going on down there?” Cooper demanded.

The detectives looked baffled. “I don’t know. The maid’s on the phone calling the housekeeper. She came in to clean, but she says she doesn’t understand—she hears voices, but she doesn’t see anybody.”

“What?”
Cooper was on his feet, racing toward the door, flying down the stairs. Moments later he and the other detectives
burst into Tracy’s suite. Except for the confused maid, it was empty. On a coffee table in front of a couch a tape recorder was playing.

Jeff’s voice: “I think I’ll change my mind about that coffee. Is it still hot?”

Tracy’s voice: “Uh-huh.”

Cooper and the detectives were staring in disbelief.

“I—I don’t understand,” one of the detectives stammered.

Cooper snapped, “What’s the police emergency number?”

“Twenty-two-twenty-two-twenty-two.”

Cooper hurried over to the phone and dialed.

Jeff’s voice on the tape recorder was saying, “You know, I really think their coffee is better than ours. I wonder how they do it.”

Cooper screamed into the phone, “This is Daniel Cooper. Get hold of Inspector van Duren. Tell him Whitney and Stevens have disappeared. Have him check the garage and see if their truck is gone. I’m on my way to the bank!” He slammed down the receiver.

Tracy’s voice was saying, “Have you ever had coffee brewed with eggshells in it? It’s really quite—”

Cooper was out the door.

Inspector van Duren said, “It’s all right. The truck has left their garage. They’re on their way here.”

Van Duren, Cooper, and two detectives were at a police command post on the roof of a building across from the Amro Bank.

The inspector said, “They probably decided to move up their plans when they learned they were being bugged, but relax, my friend. Look.” He pushed Cooper toward the wide-angle telescope on the roof. On the street below, a man dressed in janitor’s clothes was meticulously polishing the brass name-plate of the bank…a street cleaner was sweeping the streets…a newspaper vendor stood on a corner…three repairmen were at work. All were equipped with miniature walkie-talkies.

Van Duren spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Point A?”

The janitor said, “I read you, Inspector.”

“Point B?”

“You’re coming in, sir.” This from the street cleaner.

“Point C?”

The news vendor looked up and nodded.

“Point D?”

The repairmen stopped their work, and one of them spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Everything’s ready here, sir.”

The inspector turned to Cooper. “Don’t worry. The gold is still safely in the bank. The only way they can get their hands on it is to come for it. The moment they enter the bank, both ends of the street will be barricaded. There’s no way they can escape.” He consulted his watch. “The truck should be in sight any moment now.”

Inside the bank, the tension was growing. The employees had been briefed, and the guards ordered to help load the gold into the armored truck when it arrived. Everyone was to cooperate fully.

The disguised detectives outside the bank kept working, surreptitiously watching the street for a sign of the truck.

On the roof, Inspector van Duren asked, for the tenth time, “Any sign of the damned truck yet?”

“Nee.”

Detective Constable Witkamp looked at his watch. “They’re thirteen goddamn minutes overdue. If they—”

The walkie-talkie crackled into life. “Inspector! The truck just came into sight! It’s crossing Rozengracht, heading for the bank. You should be able to see it from the roof in a minute.”

The air was suddenly charged with electricity.

Inspector van Duren spoke rapidly into the walkie-talkie. “Attention, all units. The fish are in the net. Let them swim in.”

A gray armored truck moved to the entrance of the bank and stopped. As Cooper and Van Duren watched, two men wearing the uniforms of security guards got out of the truck and walked into the bank.

“Where is she? Where’s Tracy Whitney?” Daniel Cooper spoke aloud.

“It doesn’t matter,” Inspector van Duren assured him. “She won’t be far from the gold.”

And even if she is
, Daniel Cooper thought,
it’s not important. The tapes are going to convict her.

Nervous employees helped the two uniformed men load the gold bullion from the vault onto dollies and wheel them out to the armored truck. Cooper and Van Duren watched the distant figures from the roof across the street.

The loading took eight minutes. When the back of the truck was locked, and the two men started to climb into the front seat, Inspector van Duren yelled into his walkie-talkie,
“Vlug! Pas op!
All units close in!
Close in!”

Pandemonium erupted. The janitor, the news vendor, the workers in overalls, and a swarm of other detectives raced to the armored truck and surrounded it, guns drawn. The street was cordoned off from all traffic in either direction.

Inspector van Duren turned to Daniel Cooper and grinned. “Is this red-handed enough for you? Let’s wrap it up.”

It’s over at last
, Cooper thought.

They hurried down to the street. The two uniformed men were facing the wall, hands raised, surrounded by a circle of armed detectives. Daniel Cooper and Inspector van Duren pushed their way through.

Van Duren said, “You can turn around now. You’re under arrest.”

The two men, ashen-faced, turned to face the group. Daniel Cooper and Inspector van Duren stared at them in shock. They were total strangers.

“Who—who are you?” Inspector van Duren demanded.

“We—we’re the guards for the security company,” one of them stammered. “Don’t shoot. Please don’t shoot.”

Inspector van Duren turned to Cooper. “Their plan went wrong.” His voice held a note of hysteria. “They called it off.”

There was a green bile in the pit of Daniel Cooper’s stomach, and it slowly began to rise up into his chest and throat, so that when he could finally speak, his voice was choked. “No. Nothing went wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They were never after the gold. This whole setup was a decoy.”

“That’s impossible! I mean, the truck, the barge, the uniforms—we have photographs…”

“Don’t you understand? They
knew
it. They knew we were on to them all the time!”

Inspector van Duren’s face went white. “Oh my God!
Zijn ze?
—
where are they?”

On Paulus Potter Straat in Coster, Tracy and Jeff were approaching the Nederlands Diamond-Cutting Factory. Jeff wore a beard and mustache, and had altered the shape of his cheeks and nose with foam sponges. He was dressed in a sport outfit and carried a rucksack. Tracy wore a black wig, a maternity dress and padding, heavy makeup, and dark sunglasses. She carried a large briefcase and a round package wrapped in brown paper. The two of them entered the reception room and joined a busload of tourists listening to a guide. “…and now, if you will follow me, ladies and gentlemen, you will see our diamond cutters at work and have an opportunity to purchase some of our fine diamonds.”

With the guide leading the way, the crowd entered the doors that led inside the factory. Tracy moved along with them, while Jeff lingered behind. When the others had gone, Jeff turned and hurried down a flight of stairs that led to a basement. He opened his rucksack and took out a pair of oil-stained coveralls and a small box of tools. He donned the coveralls, walked over to the fuse box, and looked at his watch.

Upstairs, Tracy stayed with the group as it moved from room to room while the guide showed them the various processes that went into making polished gems out of raw diamonds. From time to time Tracy glanced at her watch. The tour was five minutes behind schedule. She wished the guide would move faster.

At last, as the tour ended, they reached the display room. The guide walked over to the roped-off pedestal.

“In this glass case,” he announced proudly, “is the Lucullan liamond, one of the most valuable diamonds in the world.
It was once purchased by a famous stage actor for his movie-star wife. It is valued at ten million dollars and is protected by the most modern—”

The lights went out. Instantly, an alarm sounded and steel shutters slammed down in front of the windows and doors, sealing all the exits. Some of the tourists began to scream.

“Please!” the guide shouted above the noise. “There is no need for concern. It is a simple electrical failure. In a moment the emergency generator will—” The lights came on again.

“You see?” the guide reassured them. “There is nothing to worry about.”

A German tourist in lederhosen pointed to the steel shutters. “What are those?”

“A safety precaution,” the guide explained. He took out an odd-shaped key, inserted it in a slot in the wall, and turned it. The steel shutters over the doors and windows retracted. The telephone on the desk rang, and the guide picked it up.

“Hendrik, here. Thank you, Captain. No, everything is fine. It was a false alarm. Probably an electrical short. I will have it checked out at once. Yes, sir.” He replaced the receiver and turned to the group. “My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. With something as valuable as this stone, one can’t be too careful. Now, for those of you who would like to purchase some of our very fine diamonds—”

The lights went out again. The alarm bell rang, and the steel shutters slammed down once more.

A woman in the crowd cried, “Let’s get out of here, Harry.”

“Will you just shut up, Diane?” her husband growled.

In the basement downstairs, Jeff stood in front of the fuse box, listening to the cries of the tourists upstairs. He waited a few moments, then reconnected the switch. The lights upstairs flickered on.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the guide yelled over the uproar. “It is just a technical difficulty.” He took out the key again and inserted it into the wall slot. The steel shutters rose.

The telephone rang. The guide hurried over and picked it up. “Hendrik, here. No, Captain. Yes. We will have it fixed as quickly as possible. Thank you.”

A door to the room opened and Jeff came in, carrying the tool case, his worker’s cap pushed back on his head.

He singled out the guide.

“What’s the problem? Someone reported trouble with the electrical circuits.”

“The lights keep flashing off and on,” the guide explained. “See if you can fix it quickly, please.” He turned to the tourists, a forced smile on his lips. “Why don’t we step over here where you can select some fine diamonds at very reasonable prices?”

The group of tourists began to move toward the showcases. Jeff, unobserved in the press of the crowd, slipped a small cylindrical object from his overalls, pulled the pin, and tossed the device behind the pedestal that held the Lucullan diamond. The contrivance began to emit smoke and sparks.

Jeff called out to the guide, “Hey! There’s your problem. There’s a short in the wire under the floor.”

A woman tourist screamed, “Fire!”

“Please, everybody!” the guide yelled. “No need to panic Just keep calm.” He turned to Jeff and hissed, “Fix it! Fix it!”

“No problem,” Jeff said easily. He moved toward the velvet ropes around the pedestal.

“Nee!”
the guard called. “You can’t go near that!”

Jeff snrugged. “Fine with me.
You
fix it.” He turned to leave.

Smoke was pouring out faster now. The people were beginning to panic again.

“Wait!” the guide pleaded. “Just a minute.” He hurried over to the telephone and dialed a number. “Captain? Hendrik, here. I’ll have to ask you to shut off all the alarms; we’re having a little problem. Yes, sir.” He looked over at Jeff. “How long will you need them off?”