If Tomorrow Comes by Sidney Sheldon

Daniel Cooper remembered the other sounds he had imagined: the night whispers, the cries and moans. She was behaving like a bitch in heat. Well, where he would put her, no man would ever touch her again.

The inspector was saying, “They learned the security routine of the bank. They know what time the armored truck makes its pickup and—”

The chief commissioner was studying the report in front of him. “Lovebirds, a pigeon, goldfish, a canary—do you think any of this nonsense has something to do with the robbery?”

“No,” Van Duren said.

“Yes,” Cooper said.

Constable First-Class Fien Hauer, dressed in an aqua polyester slack suit, trailed Tracy Whitney down Prinsengracht, across the Magere Bridge, and when Tracy reached the other side of the canal, Fien Hauer looked on in frustration as Tracy stepped into a public telephone booth and spoke into the phone for five minutes. The constable would have been just as unenlightened if she could have heard the conversation.

Gunther Hartog, in London, was saying, “We can depend on Margo, but she’ll need time—at least two more weeks.” He listened a moment. “I understand. When everything is ready, I will get in touch with you. Be careful. And give my regards to Jeff.”

Tracy replaced the receiver and stepped out of the booth. She gave a friendly nod to the woman in the aqua pantsuit who stood waiting to use the telephone.

At 11:00 the following morning a detective reported to Inspector van Duren, “I’m at the Wolters Truck Rental Company, Inspector. Jeff Stevens has just rented a truck from them.”

“What kind of truck?”

“A service truck, Inspector.”

“Get the dimensions. I’ll hold on.”

A few minutes later the detective was back on the phone. “I have them. The truck is—”

Inspector van Duren said, “A step van, twenty feet long, seven feet wide, six feet high, dual axles.”

There was an astonished pause. “Yes, Inspector. How did you know?”

“Never mind. What color is it?”

“Blue.”

“Who’s following Stevens?”

“Jacobs.”

“Goed. Report back here.”

Joop van Duren replaced the receiver. He looked up at Daniel Cooper. “You were right. Except that the van is blue.”

“He’ll take it to an auto paint shop.”

The paint shop was located in a garage on the Damrak. Two men sprayed the truck a gun-metal gray, while Jeff stood by. On the roof of the garage a detective shot photographs through the skylight.

The pictures were on Inspector van Duren’s desk one hour later.

He shoved them toward Daniel Cooper. “It’s being painted the identical color of the real security truck. We could pick them up now, you know.”

“On what charges? Having some false business cards printed and painting a truck? The only way to make the charges stick is to catch them when they pick up the bullion.”

The little prick acts like he’s running the department. “What do you think he’ll do next?”

Cooper was carefully studying the photograph. “This truck won’t take the weight of the gold. They’ll have to reinforce the floorboards.”

It was a small, out-of-the-way garage on Muider Straat.

“Goede morgen, mijnheer. How may I serve you?”

“I’m going to be carrying some scrap iron in this truck,” Jeff explained, “and I’m not sure the floorboards are strong enough to take the weight. I’d like them reinforced with metal braces. Can you do that?”

The mechanic walked over to the truck and examined it. “Ja. No problem.”

“Good.”

“I can have it ready vrijdag—Friday.”

“I was hoping to have it tomorrow.”

“Morgen? Nee. Ik—”

“I’ll pay you double.”

“Donderdag—Thursday.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll pay you triple.”

The mechanic scratched his chin thoughtfully. “What time tomorrow?”

“Noon.”

“Ja. Okay.”

“Dank je wel.”

“Tot uw dienst.”

Moments after Jeff left the garage a detective was interrogating the mechanic.

On the same morning the team of surveillance experts assigned to Tracy followed her to the Oude Schans Canal, where she spent half an hour in conversation with the owner of a barge. When Tracy left, one of the detectives stepped aboard the barge. He identified himself to the owner, who was sipping a large bessenjenever, the potent red-currant gin. “What did the young lady want?”

“She and her husband are going to take a tour of the canals. She’s rented my barge for a week.”

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