Stone 588 (36 page)

"No harm asking."

"You know the place. Can it be done?"

"Depends."

"On the people?"

"And on what some call luck and others call perfect timing." Strand slipped his sunglasses down into place. "C'mon, let's take a walk."

They went west on 56th, down Avenue of the Americas, east on 55th, and up Fifth. Around the block counterclockwise. Three times around. The first time they said nothing, walked slowly and took things in. Second time around they called one another's attention to possibilities. The third time they culled.

On the comer of 56th and Fifth outside Winston's, Strand had had enough, was anxious to be elsewhere. "I'll give you a call," he said.

"That's what you told me last time."

"Call me if you want. I'm at the Helmsley Palace."

"Really?" Dubious Springer.

"Room service loves me." Strand grinned, turned, and hurried to make the light.

Springer unfolded the material Strand had given him: eleven neatly handprinted pages, including drawings of floor plans, overhead and side views.

He and Audrey read slowly and passed the pages to one another while sprawled head-to-foot and foot-to-head in the deep lap of an obese sofa.

It was obvious that Strand had spent a lot of time preparing the information, hadn't given it just a half-interested lick. He was very thorough in describing Townsend's as he remembered it, the particulars of the building and all the security measures that protected it. The drawings, though freehand and not in proportion, made it easier to visualize. Even approximate measurements were indicated where they might be helpful.

Now Springer and Audrey were brought to realize what they were up against.

Townsend's building.

Twenty-seven feet wide and from its front on Fifth Avenue about one hundred twenty feet deep. Its main structure was beam and brick, circa 1906.

The rear of the building and its roof were thought to be most vulnerable, so those areas were intensively protected. The rear shared an enclosed space, a littered and unkempt sort of inner courtyard, with the backs of other buildings of the block. Access to that space could be gained through any of those other buildings, and someone wanting to break in would be able to work undetected there for hours. For that reason, disregarding the city fire laws that require at least a second unimpeded exit, the rear door and windows of Townsend's had been sealed, filled in with brick to present a sheer wall five stories high. For additional security a downward-aimed television camera was mounted a third of the way up.

The roof of Townsend's was flat. It was on a level with the flat roof of the building next door to the north. To prevent merely stepping from one roof to the other, two steel mesh fences were spaced three feet apart. Not ordinary steel mesh fences. The first fence was woven with sharp barbs and topped with spikes curved well outward. The second fence was electrically charged. It was not known exactly how much voltage ran through it; however, it was said and believed that merely placing a hand to it would knock a man down.

A pressure-sensitive alarm was integrated throughout the surface of the roof. Weight in excess of fifty pounds anywhere upon it would activate the alarm.

Four television cameras were installed up there. Two covered the roof itself with wide-angle views. The other two overlooked the roof of the adjacent building to the south. Because that building was two and a half stories lower, it did not pose a threat as a way of access. Anyone on the roof of that building looking toward Townsend's would be facing an uninterrupted brick wall thirty feet straight up.

Although it was unimaginable that an attempt might be made to break into Townsend's from Fifth Avenue, all twelve of its sash-type front windows were permanently closed and equipped with both contact and vibration-sensitive alarms. The archway entrance was closed off after business hours by a roll-down steel gate. The front door had two heavy-duty deadbolt locks as well as a contact alarm.

So much for Townsend's from the outside.

Intermission.

Audrey went to the kitchen for a heap of pistachios in a proper silver bowl.

Springer got on the phone, dialed the Helmsley Palace, and asked for Mr. Strand. He expected to be told no one by that name was registered, but he was put through and on the second ring a woman picked up. She said hello three times and then Springer heard Strand's voice in the background asking her who it was. Springer hung up feeling slightly encouraged.

He and Audrey resumed their reading positions at opposite ends of the sofa, the bowl of pistachios within equitable reach. Springer used his thumbnail to split apart the pistachio shells and get at the kernels. Audrey, valuing her nails, popped the pistachios into her mouth shells and all, three or four at a time. She stored them in a cheek while using her tongue to maneuver one into position for her front teeth to find the crack on the seam of its shell and force it open. She kept the empty shell halves in her other cheek until it was bulging, handicapping her oral dexterity. Springer, afraid that Audrey might get her storing and cracking and chewing and swallowing and breathing out of sync, was always ready to apply the Heimlich maneuver.

Back to Strand's pages.

The inside of Townsend's.

The three top floors were partitioned into workrooms of varying size. Up there was where goods, rough and finished, were graded, and where the phases of jewelry making, the polishing, setting, and finishing, were performed. Two faceting machines were on the fifth floor, a couple of designer studios on the third. Nothing extraordinary.

Townsend's office, second floor front, was separate from the vault but adjacent to it. The vault was actually a walk-in armored strong room that measured eight by ten feet with a seven-foot ceiling. It was installed in 1975. Purportedly out of nostalgia, actually as a matter of thrift, the interior of the prior vault was kept intact. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of steel-reinforced concrete with a solid steel skin two inches thick. A copper alloy lining was sandwiched in the steel to keep anyone from cutting through it with a torch. Heat, dispersed by the conductivity of the copper, could not be concentrated to a high enough degree in any one spot.

The door of the vault was four-inch-thick case-hardened steel. It had eight solid cylindrical bolts one and a half inches in diameter. When the vault door was locked, the bolts extended five inches into the seamless steel jambs left and right of the door.

A computerized timing device controlled the bolts. At the end of a business day, once the vault was locked, the bolts would not retract and allow opening under any circumstances until 9 a.m. the following morning. The timer was also programmed for weekends and holidays.

The vault had a ten-digit electronic combination. It was Townsend's secret, set by him. He was so cautious about it he didn't seem to even trust himself, changed the combination frequently.

Another television camera was concealed in paneling opposite the vault, and there were pressure alarm pads underneath the wall-to-wall carpeting right up to the vault door.

The interior of the vault was about five feet by seven. The floor was covered with black vinyl; on the ceiling, two fluorescent lighting fixtures and a circular air vent that was nine, maybe ten inches in diameter. In case anyone got locked in.

On the wall opposite the door was a black velour-covered table.

On the walls left and right were the drawers that contained Townsend's goods.

The drawers were steel-faced, had knob pulls, and were etched with numbers, 1 through 100, so there must have been about fifty on each wall. They were arranged in vertical courses, much like the card catalogue in a library, starting a foot from the floor and going up to five feet or so. The drawers were identical in size: say, six inches wide, five inches deep, and twelve inches long. A few were wider, about ten inches, to accommodate larger pieces such as tiaras and partures.

When a Townsend employee removed something from the vault he was to pull out the drawer entirely, place it on the velour-covered table, and go into it there. He would note the number of the lot, sign the Goods-Out sheet, and return the drawer to its proper slot. Townsend wouldn't stand for having drawers protruding from the wall where they might be accidentally knocked out, their contents scattered. A stone or two had been lost by such carelessness, Townsend claimed. He had a remarkable memory when it came to his stock.

The alarm systems at Townsend's were connected to Reliance Security Services, Inc., which was as close as any business could get to being hooked up directly to the Midtown North police precinct on West 54th Street. Other security outfits such as Wells Fargo, Pinkerton's, and Holmes were larger and better known; however. Reliance offered the advantage that it was owned and run by a group of retired Midtown North detectives who were wiser to the ways of city swifts. Reliance had connections at the precinct that it could count on for more than plain old cooperation. Quite a few guys still on the force moonlighted at Reliance. In fact, some daylighted, so to speak.

Townsend's alarms ran to an electronic console at Reliance that was continuously watched. An alarm set off showed up at once. A closed-circuit television channel monitored view after view of what the various cameras at Townsend's were picking up. Trial runs of break-ins were conducted twice a year. On the average. Reliance officers and Midtown North precinct police with guns drawn reached the Townsend vault in four minutes.

One last thing: A backup alarm was situated behind a panel of boiserie on the south wall of Townsend's office. All alarm systems and television cameras were connected to this backup. It was battery-operated and, in the event of a power failure, could be switched on.

Springer got a pistachio that had no accommodating crack to its shell. It refused to be opened.

He let the last of Strand's pages drop to the floor.

"Shit," he said futilely.

Audrey pulled up the comers of her mouth. "Perhaps that's only an amateur's opinion," she said. She moved up to be in the cave of Springer's arm,

comforted herself there before suggesting, "Why don't we get really dressed up, black tie, everything, and go out somewhere snazzy to eat?"

"Snazzy?"

"You know how good dressing up is for the mopes."

"Not tonight."

"Then let's just go out somewhere for dinner, walk and discover. We haven't done that in a while."

"I'm not hungry."

Neither was Audrey.

They remained there on the sofa while, suitably, the day also drained away. No need to discuss the robbery. It would be foolish to give it another thought. They couldn't get close enough to Townsend's vault to throw something at it, much less get into it. And a fence that fries, and half the most frozen-hearted ex-cops in the city just waiting to pounce.

Forget it. Springer told himself. If he was to get back stone 588 for Jake it would have to be some other way. Giving Townsend the muzzle of a pistol for a hearing aid again came to mind.

In the gloom of only the light reflecting from the city. Springer gathered up Strand's pages. He thought he'd keep them as a souvenir of folly, or a reminder not ever to underestimate the invincibility of people of Townsend's ilk. He took the pages up to the dressing room and put them in one of the drawers designated for his things, beneath his socks and underwear.

Audrey took a long bath.

Springer disliked himself in the mirror and thought of growing a beard like Balzac's.

Audrey meditated. For an hour sat tranced with eyes closed, palms lying open on her lap.

Springer was glad when she'd had enough of that, was back with him and his give-ups.

"I love you," she said from across the room.

"I know you do."

While he read a John Updike and merely saw the words, Audrey sat on the floor among her pillows and buffed her legs. Springer had never seen her do it before. It fascinated him, the way she applied some special lotion and, like polishing boots, used a length of flannel cloth to put a shine on the skin of her lower legs and thighs. He'd wondered on occasion how her legs got their slick finish. The tricks of women, he thought, a bit more depressed than amused.

At one o'clock they tried for sleep.

At two dropped off.

At three Springer came stark awake. He didn't toss, not to disturb Audrey.

She was on her back eyes closed, one hand beneath her head. Apparently having peaceful dreams. Then, without any thickness or mumble, as though continuing a conversation, she said, "Tomorrow, what we should do is indulge, go out and buy one another something ridiculously extravagant."

"What is it you want?"

When she didn't reply. Springer thought she might be mentally going over some long list. As for himself, all he wanted was a miracle or two.

At seven o'clock he got up and padded nude down to the kitchen for coffee. He was too bleary to bother with anything more than instant. Audrey called down that she wanted some hot chocolate. That supplied him with a little purpose. He made it extra rich with heavy cream.

At five to eight Springer decided he wouldn't wait until nine to call Strand. It didn't matter that it was a bit early, he was only going to tell Strand that the move was off — because of impossibility. It had occurred to Springer during the night that probably the reason Strand had come up with the information on Townsend's was to have him reach that realization.

Springer was reaching for the phone when it rang.

It was Strand.

After apologizing for calling so early he said, "This project of yours. I've given it some thought. I believe we should go ahead with it."

"Good," Springer heard himself say.

"Do you know someplace where we can get together for a few days to work it out?" Strand asked. "Someplace quiet and out of the way."

The country house in Sherman.

Springer and Audrey arrived there just as Mattie was driving out in her mechanically slighted and rarely washed Audi 5000.