Imports.”
The guard’s face was round and white. He had a weak mouth and a tiny Oliver Hardy mustache. When he tried for an expression of curiosity, the mustache nearly disappeared up his nostrils.
“What floor for MacDonald?” Bollinger asked.
“Same. Sixteenth.”
“He’s working with Ott?”
“That’s right.”
“Just those four?”
“Just those four.”
“Maybe someone else is working late, and you don’t know it.”
“Impossible. After five-thirty, anyone going upstairs has to sign in with me. At six o’clock we go through every floor to see who’s working late, and then they check out with us when they leave. The building management has set down strict fire-prevention rules. This is part of them.” He patted the registry. “If there’s ever a fire, we’ll know exactly who’s in the building and where we can find them.”
“What about maintenance crews?”
“What about them?”
“Janitors. Cleaning women. Any working now?”
“Not on Friday night.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.” He was visibly upset by the interrogation and beginning to wonder if he should cooperate. “They come in all day tomorrow.”
“Building engineer?”
“Schiller. He’s night engineer.”
“Where is Schiller?”
“Downstairs.”
“Where downstairs?”
“Checking one of the heat pumps, I think.”
“Is he alone?”
“Yeah.”
“How many other security guards?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s up?”
“For God’s sake, this is an emergency!” Bollinger said. “How many security guards besides you?”
“Just two. What emergency?”
“There’s been a bomb threat.”
The guard’s lips trembled. The mustache seemed about to fall off. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
The guard slid off his stool, stepped from behind the lectern.
At the same time Bollinger took the Walther from his pocket.
The guard blanched. “What’s that?”
“A gun. Don’t go for yours.”
“Look, this bomb threat ... I didn’t call it in.”
Bollinger laughed.
“It’s true.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Hey ... that gun has a silencer on it.”
“Yeah.”
“But policemen don’t—”
Bollinger shot him twice in the chest.
The impact of the bullets threw the guard into the sheet marble. For an instant he stood very straight, as if he were waiting for someone to measure his height and mark it on the wall. Then he collapsed.
part two
FRIDAY 8:00 P.M. 8:30 P.M.
16
Bollinger turned immediately from the dead man and looked at the revolving doors. Nobody was there, no one on the sidewalk beyond, no one who might have seen the killing.
Moving quickly but calmly, he tucked the pistol into his pocket and grabbed the body by the arms. He dragged it into the waiting area between the first two banks of elevators. Now, anyone coming to the doors would see only an empty lobby.
The dead man stared at him. The mustache seemed to have been painted on his lip.
Bollinger turned out the guard’s pockets. He found quarters, dimes, a crumpled five-dollar bill, and a key ring with seven keys.
He returned to the main part of the lobby.
He wanted to go straight to the door, but he knew that was not a good idea. That would put him in camera range. If the men monitoring the closed-circuit system saw him locking the door, they would be curious. They’d come to investigate, and he would lose the advantage of surprise.
Keeping in mind the details of the plans he had studied at City Hall that afternoon, he walked quietly to the rear of the lobby and stepped into a short corridor on the left. Four rooms led off the hall. The second on the right was the guards’ room, and the door was open.
Wondering if the squeaking of his wet shoes sounded as loud to the guards as it did to him, he edged up to the open door.
Inside, two men were talking laconically about their jobs, complaining, but only halfheartedly.
Bollinger took the pistol from his coat pocket. He walked through the
The guard’s face was round and white. He had a weak mouth and a tiny Oliver Hardy mustache. When he tried for an expression of curiosity, the mustache nearly disappeared up his nostrils.
“What floor for MacDonald?” Bollinger asked.
“Same. Sixteenth.”
“He’s working with Ott?”
“That’s right.”
“Just those four?”
“Just those four.”
“Maybe someone else is working late, and you don’t know it.”
“Impossible. After five-thirty, anyone going upstairs has to sign in with me. At six o’clock we go through every floor to see who’s working late, and then they check out with us when they leave. The building management has set down strict fire-prevention rules. This is part of them.” He patted the registry. “If there’s ever a fire, we’ll know exactly who’s in the building and where we can find them.”
“What about maintenance crews?”
“What about them?”
“Janitors. Cleaning women. Any working now?”
“Not on Friday night.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.” He was visibly upset by the interrogation and beginning to wonder if he should cooperate. “They come in all day tomorrow.”
“Building engineer?”
“Schiller. He’s night engineer.”
“Where is Schiller?”
“Downstairs.”
“Where downstairs?”
“Checking one of the heat pumps, I think.”
“Is he alone?”
“Yeah.”
“How many other security guards?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s up?”
“For God’s sake, this is an emergency!” Bollinger said. “How many security guards besides you?”
“Just two. What emergency?”
“There’s been a bomb threat.”
The guard’s lips trembled. The mustache seemed about to fall off. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
The guard slid off his stool, stepped from behind the lectern.
At the same time Bollinger took the Walther from his pocket.
The guard blanched. “What’s that?”
“A gun. Don’t go for yours.”
“Look, this bomb threat ... I didn’t call it in.”
Bollinger laughed.
“It’s true.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Hey ... that gun has a silencer on it.”
“Yeah.”
“But policemen don’t—”
Bollinger shot him twice in the chest.
The impact of the bullets threw the guard into the sheet marble. For an instant he stood very straight, as if he were waiting for someone to measure his height and mark it on the wall. Then he collapsed.
part two
FRIDAY 8:00 P.M. 8:30 P.M.
16
Bollinger turned immediately from the dead man and looked at the revolving doors. Nobody was there, no one on the sidewalk beyond, no one who might have seen the killing.
Moving quickly but calmly, he tucked the pistol into his pocket and grabbed the body by the arms. He dragged it into the waiting area between the first two banks of elevators. Now, anyone coming to the doors would see only an empty lobby.
The dead man stared at him. The mustache seemed to have been painted on his lip.
Bollinger turned out the guard’s pockets. He found quarters, dimes, a crumpled five-dollar bill, and a key ring with seven keys.
He returned to the main part of the lobby.
He wanted to go straight to the door, but he knew that was not a good idea. That would put him in camera range. If the men monitoring the closed-circuit system saw him locking the door, they would be curious. They’d come to investigate, and he would lose the advantage of surprise.
Keeping in mind the details of the plans he had studied at City Hall that afternoon, he walked quietly to the rear of the lobby and stepped into a short corridor on the left. Four rooms led off the hall. The second on the right was the guards’ room, and the door was open.
Wondering if the squeaking of his wet shoes sounded as loud to the guards as it did to him, he edged up to the open door.
Inside, two men were talking laconically about their jobs, complaining, but only halfheartedly.
Bollinger took the pistol from his coat pocket. He walked through the
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