No Regrets

Seattle’s North End. The small bank building was easy to access because it was located on a triangle of land bordered by three busy streets. It was some distance from freeway on-ramps, which made it less than desirable for would-be robbers who prefer to have a quick getaway.
    The only personnel present in the bank at 9:37 A.M. were Jill, another female teller, and the relief manager, seventy-seven-year-old William Heggie. At an age when most men would have been long retired, Heggie had grown bored with sitting around or puttering in his garden. When he’d retired at sixty-five after twenty-five years as secretary-treasurer for the Acacia Memorial Park cemetery, he found that, as much as he loved gardening, it didn’t fill his days. So he had gone to work a day or two a week as a relief bank manager for Prudential. It suited him just fine, and provided money for extras that enriched his later years. Just last year, Bill Heggie and his wife hadtaken a long vacation—a perfect trip to Hawaii to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary.
    Jill Mobley noticed a turquoise pickup with a white canopy as it traveled all the way through a drive-in window lane and stopped in the northeast corner of the bank’s parking lot. Everything seemed to be normal; she expected to see only an early customer. But then there was something about the man who emerged from the driver’s door that made a prickle of concern touch the back of her neck. She looked sharply at the person near the pickup. He was a very tall man, but she really couldn’t see him at all— he was completely covered by clothing. He wore a beige rain jacket with a hood, a ski mask, sunglasses, and gloves.
    The weather wasn’t stormy that morning, and even if it had been, this man’s attire spelled only one thing to her:
bank robbery ...
    She reacted quickly—before the man even entered the bank—tripping the silent alarm, which also activated a hidden camera. But she didn’t have time to warn her fellow teller or Mr. Heggie. As she turned to call to them, the hooded man had already entered the bank and was walking swiftly to her window. Now she could see the black handgun with its long barrel. He held out a green cloth bag.
    “Fill it,” he ordered, “and don’t pull the trap.”
    She knew this marked him as something of a pro. He obviously knew that tellers almost always have one stack of bills that will set off an automatic alarm when it is pulled from the drawer. But Jill Mobley had one more trick he seemed unaware of. Without blinking an eye, she pulled out a stack of booby-trapped ten-dollar bills. Hidden within them was a dye pack, set to release bright orangedye a minute after the person carrying them left the bank. The powdery indelible dye would instantly stain the bills themselves, and then spray the robber, anyone near him, and the immediate surroundings. He didn’t notice when she slipped the dye-pack stack of bills in with the rest. She handed him the sack, hoping the booby trap would react as it was supposed to.
    Satisfied, the bank robber spun around and headed for the door.
    Although Jill hadn’t seen him, William Heggie had silently risen from his desk ten feet away. He had seen what was going on and walked rapidly toward the bank’s doors, carrying the keys in his hand. He had been trying to lock the door. The tall old man was in good shape for his age, but he was no match for the man in the hooded jacket. The women tellers watched in horror as the robber yelled, “Get out of my way!”
    Heggie would give no ground. There was a scuffle at the door and then the two men tumbled out onto the sidewalk. Frozen in shock, the two women watched helplessly. Suddenly, they heard a muffled “boom!” and saw Heggie fall to the sidewalk. The gunman stepped over him, running toward his truck. He leaped into the turquoise pickup and sped away.
    From the moment Jill Mobley spotted him until the shooting, no more than three minutes had passed. It had happened so rapidly that it seemed more a bad dream than reality.
    Seattle Police Patrolman J. A. Nicholson, working a one-man car out of the north precinct, was only a few blocks away from the bank’s location at 4500 Sand Point Way N.E. when his radio crackled with the report of a silent alarm at the Prudential Mutual Bank. A minute or soafter, his radio sounded again. “Shots heard...man down.” Nicholson raced to the bank, arriving at 9:40 A.M.
    He saw the elderly man who lay unmoving on the