southern accent Lester had ever heard.
‘That’s what I’m here for,’ he said heartily, ‘to solve problems.’
‘Oh, I do hope so. I’m afraid I’ve done somethin’ just terrible.’
Lester gave her his best paternal, you-can-lean-on-me smile. ‘I can’t believe a lovely lady like you could do anything terrible.’
‘Oh, but I have.’ Her soft brown eyes were wide with panic. ‘I’m Joseph Romano’s secretary, and he told me to order new blank cheques for his current account a week ago, and I simply forgot all about it, and now we’ve just about run out, and when he finds out, I don’t know what he’ll do to me.’ It came out in a soft, velvety rush.
Lester was only too familiar with the name of Joseph Romano. He was a prized customer of the bank’s, even though he kept relatively small amounts in his account. Everyone knew that his real money was laundered elsewhere.
He sure has great taste in secretaries, Lester thought. He smiled again. ‘Well, now, that’s not too serious, Mrs –?’
‘Miss. Hartford. Lureen Hartford.’
Miss. This was his lucky day. Lester sensed that this was going to work out splendidly. ‘I’ll just order those new cheques for you right now. You should have them in two or three weeks and –’
She gave a little moan, a sound that seemed to Lester to hold infinite promise. ‘Oh, that’s too late, and Mr Romano’s already so upset with me. I just can’t seem to keep my mind on my work, you know?’ She leaned forward so that her breasts were touching the front of the cage. She said breathlessly, ‘If you could just rush those cheques out, I’d be happy to pay extra.’
Lester said ruefully, ‘Gee, I’m sorry, Lureen, it would be impossible to –’ He saw that she was near to tears.
‘To tell you the truth, this might cost me my job. Please … I’ll do anything.’
The words fell like music on Lester’s ears.
‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ Lester declared. ‘I’ll phone in a special rush on them, and you’ll have them Monday. How’s that?’
‘Oh, you’re just wonderful!’ Her voice was filled with gratitude.
‘I’ll send them to the office and –’
‘It would be better if I picked them up myself. I don’t want Mr Romano to know how stupid I was.’
Lester smiled indulgently. ‘Not stupid, Lureen. We all get a little forgetful sometimes.’
She said softly, ‘I’ll never forget you. See you Monday.’
‘I’ll be here.’ It would take a broken back to keep him home.
She gave him a dazzling smile and walked slowly out of the bank, and her walk was a sight to behold. Lester was grinning as he went over to a file cabinet, got the number of Joseph Romano’s account, and phoned in a rush order for the new cheques.
The hotel in Carmen Street was indistinguishable from a hundred other hotels in New Orleans, which was why Tracy had chosen it. She had been in the small, cheaply furnished room for a week. Compared to her cell, it was a palace.
When Tracy returned from her encounter with Lester, she took off the black wig, ran her fingers through her own luxuriant hair, removed the soft contact lenses, and creamed off her dark makeup. She sat down on the single straight chair in the room and breathed deeply. It was going well. It had been easy to learn where Joe Romano kept his bank account. Tracy had looked up the cancelled cheque from her mother’s estate, issued by Romano. ‘Joe Romano? You can’t touch him,’ Ernestine had said.
Ernestine was wrong and Joe Romano was just the first. The others would follow. Every one of them.
She closed her eyes and relived the miracle that had brought her there …
She felt the cold, dark waters closing over her head. She was drowning, and she was filled with terror. She dived down, and her hands found the child and grabbed her and pulled her to the surface. Amy struggled in blind panic to break free, dragging them both under again, her arms and legs flailing wildly. Tracy’s lungs were bursting. She fought her way out of the watery grave, hanging on to the little girl in a death grip, and she felt her strength ebbing. We’re not going to make it, she thought. We’re dying. Voices were calling out, and she felt Amy’s body torn from her arms and she screamed, ‘Oh, God, no!’ Strong hands were around Tracy’s waist and a voice said, ‘Everything’s fine now. Take it easy. It’s over.’
Tracy looked around frantically for Amy and saw that she was safe in a man’s arms. Moments later they were both hauled up from the deep, cruel water …
The incident would have been worth no more than a paragraph on the inside page of the morning newspapers, except for the fact that a prisoner who could not swim had risked her life to save the child of the warden. Overnight the newspapers and television commentators turned Tracy into a heroine. Governor Haber himself visited the prison hospital with Warden Brannigan to see Tracy.
‘That was a very brave thing you did,’ the warden said. ‘Mrs Brannigan and I want you to know how grateful we are.’ His voice was choked with emotion.
Tracy was still weak and shaken from her experience. ‘How is Amy?’
‘She’s going to be fine.’
Tracy closed her eyes. I couldn’t have borne it if anything had happened to her, she thought. She remembered her coldness, when all the child had wanted was love, and Tracy felt bitterly ashamed. The incident had cost her her chance to escape, but she knew that if she had to do it over again, she would do the same thing.
There was a brief inquiry into the accident.
‘It was my fault,’ Amy told her father. ‘We were playing ball, and Tracy ran after the ball and told me to wait, but I climbed up on the wall so I could see her better and I fell in the water. But Tracy saved me, Daddy.’
They kept Tracy in the hospital that night for observation, and the next morning she was taken to Warden Brannigan’s office. The media was waiting for her. They knew a human-interest story when they saw one, and stringers from UPI and the Associated Press were present; the local television station had sent a news team.
That evening the report of Tracy’s heroism unfolded, and the account of the rescue went on national television and began to snowball. Time, Newsweek, People, and hundreds of newspapers all over the country carried the story. As the press coverage continued, letters and telegrams poured into the penitentiary, demanding that Tracy Whitney be pardoned.
Governor Haber discussed it with Warden Brannigan.
‘Tracy Whitney is in here for some serious crimes,’ Warden Brannigan observed.
The governor was thoughtful. ‘But she has no previous record, right, George?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘I don’t mind telling you, I’m getting a hell of a lot of pressure to do something about her.’
