The Perfect-Perfect Plan

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  A few blocks later, I wheel into the parking lot and take note of a cop car sitting near the entrance. “What the heck?” I mumble. Oh, holy shit, did the bank get robbed last night?

  Overly anxious to get inside, I don’t even notice the pain and agony I go through in disembarking the car. And though I jokingly told Phillip I’d limit myself to a strong gait, the speed I haul my butt to the front door more aptly resembles a vigorous jog.

  Melinda hustles around the counter to open the door for me. “Oh, Ms. Williams, did you hear?”

  “Hear what?” I look up to see two officers at the counter and neither of them appear to be making a deposit. And since their guns are still holstered, I don’t think they’re making unauthorized withdrawals either. “What’s going on?” I demand of Melinda.

  “Oh, it’s just terrible. Joe’s been found dead in his home.”

  My face goes into shock. “Dead! What happened?”

  “I’m not sure at this point. Joe arrived bright and early this morning … even before I did. He was here for a short while and then he left. Later he called and said he felt sick and was going home.” She peers back at the officers who are talking to Cheryl and Beth and then back at me. “The next thing I knew, these two officers showed up and told me he was dead.” She frowns. “And there’s a detective in Joe’s office. He had a warrant, but do you think we should be in there?”

  “Yes.” I shove past her and begin shuffling down the hall toward Joe’s office, which is down the same hall as mine and Mr. Witherspoon’s, along with another trust officer’s office. A secondary hall leads off in a different direction, leading to two loan officer offices, a breakroom, a conference room, and the public restrooms. I stick my head in Joe’s office. “I’m Hannah Williams, the branch manager. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m just looking at Mr. Avery’s computer.”

  His negative comment doesn’t dissuade me. “Well, Detective …”

  “Detective McMillin,” he says without making eye contact. Instead, he has used Joe’s chair to wheel himself up to Joe’s computer. Detective McMillin is dressed in a dark business suit with a pale green dress shirt. With his head down, all I see is that his reddish blond hair is parted to the right side of his scalp.

  “Detective McMillin, I understand you have a warrant, but anything on those computers is highly confidential. If you don’t mind, I’d at least like to stand over your shoulder.”

  “No, ma’am. You need to stay back.”

  I pay him no attention and hobble over behind him. He scowls at me. I scowl back. “What is it that you think Joe did? And what’s this about him being found dead?”

  He just looks at me with his mouth clamped shut. He spins around to the computer and I notice the bank security cameras are up on Joe’s monitor. I frown. “How did you pull up the cameras?”

  “They were already on his computer when I came in.”

  I silently gasp, wondering how Joe accessed that bit of information.

  “Any idea on why Mr. Avery was reviewing the bank’s camera system?” he asks, now seemingly involving me.

  “No. And he shouldn’t have had the login passcode either. Only Mr. Witherspoon and I are supposed to have that information.”

  “Even so, he clearly had it.” He gestures toward the screen.

  “Yes, clearly he did.” And clearly Joe was too stupid to log out of it too. I reflect on my suspicions of Mr. Vanover trying to rob the bank. Then I think about Carol Vanover having a substantial sum of money here. Was Mr. Vanover planning on stealing his wife’s funds? Did Joe find out? He may have been looking at last night’s video, hoping to catch Mr. Vanover. Still, I’m bewildered as to how he pulled up the footage. I watch the officer fumbling around with the different cameras. “If there’s any activity outside of normal business hours, it’ll show up as a green line on the progress bar.”

  “Oh, okay.” He begins by playing back the lobby footage.

  There are two separate cameras in the lobby area. One faces the teller counters. The other faces the front entrance, giving a wide berth to the glass walls on each side of the door. For over an hour I stand behind him watching him playback recordings from the interior and exterior cameras, hunting for activity during the close of business. But there is nothing whatsoever.

  “There isn’t anything suspicious on here,” he finally says. “How do I access Carol Vanover’s portfolio?”

  “Carol Vanover?” I ask in a gasp.

  “Yes. I need to view her financial accounts.”

  There’s only one number that accesses the mainframe so that employees have information on all client financials. That way, if someone asks about the balance in their account, the payoff on a loan, if a deposit has been credited to a particular account, or things of that nature, we can give prompt answers. This detective can’t be given this much leeway.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to keep the login code to myself. I’ll be glad to sign you in.” I gesture for him to get up. When he vacates the chair, I take a seat and make him turn his back while I access the mainframe and pull up Carol’s portfolio.

  He peeks around when I start tapping keys. “Okay, get up,” he orders.

  I wobble out of his way and he begins poring over the information. “Hmmm. It looks like her two accounts have up and left the bank.” He glances up at me. “I’ll need a printout of both of these accounts as far back as you can go.”

  “Yes, of course.” I reach over and maneuver the mouse through a few steps and then hit the print button. A printer to the right of Joe’s computer begins grinding away.

  He pecks through a few screens and then takes the printed information. “Normally we’d take this computer into evidence. But because our current warrant is limited to the Vanover accounts, and there are privacy issues with your banking clients, I’ll leave it here for now, provided we have an understanding that until our investigation is complete, this room needs to be sealed.”

  “I’ll make sure no one gains entry,” I assure him. I can’t let that computer leave. It has everything on it. What a breach of client information that would be if it fell into the wrong hands, not to mention the fear it would instill in our trusted clients. “What happened to Joe?”

  “I really shouldn’t say before an autopsy is conducted. But at this point, it’s suspected that he was injected with Botox.”

  “Botox?” I ask with an astonished look on my face.

  “Apparently Joe Avery and Carol Vanover were having an affair. According to Mr. Vanover, his wife was only using Mr. Avery to encourage him to liquidate the trust. From looking at the bank records, she was able to get him to transfer her funds to an account she has in the Caymans. Then it looks like she got rid of him with her own Botox.”

  “My God,” I mutter.

  “That’s preliminary stuff right now. There will be a lot of follow-up.”

  “Have you arrested Mrs. Vanover yet, or has she left to collect her money?”

  “She’s dead too. It appears she was simply in a hurry, lost her footing and fell down her stairs. Busted her head wide open. A maid saw the whole thing.”

  It’s too much to take in all at once, so I just stand there utterly dumbfounded. Finally, I find my voice. “What about Mr. Vanover? Was he anywhere near when his wife allegedly fell?”

  “According to the maid, he was in the bedroom … a good distance down the hall.”

  “Would he be having an affair with the maid?”

  He chuckles. “I don’t think so. She wasn’t all that good-looking. We talked to several of the staff and, according to them, Mrs. Vanover slept with everyone, but Mr. Vanover never portrayed himself as being a cad.” He pauses. “I mean, you never know. But the way everyone talked, Mrs. Vanover was a tyrant as well as a spendaholic. The husband was portrayed as a saint for putting up with her.” He pauses again. “Of course, you never know on that either, do you?”

  “I suppose you don’t.” My mind is
boggled. If no one came into the bank last night and if Joe transferred Mrs. Vanover’s funds, why did Mr. Vanover – if was him – sneak into my apartment and get the bank keys? Did Mrs. Vanover and Joe beat Mr. Vanover to the punch? Is it all really that simple?

  He stays in Joe’s seat and I take one of the client chairs in front of Joe’s standard issue oak desk. He asks me several questions and I tell him all about the bike accident. I even mention my suspicions about Mr. Vanover coming into my apartment possibly for the bank keys.

  “Well, I’ve looked at the playback from Friday night forward, and clearly he didn’t come in. He may have been planning to but couldn’t figure out how to get past the alarms. Or maybe he thought he couldn’t get into the computer system. Or maybe he wanted to steal his wife’s money, but he simply got cold feet. Unfortunately, we may never know.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Douglas

  I keep pushing Sophia in her swing until Angela comes back out. “Sir, they want you back inside,” she tells me.

  “How did it go?” I ask, passing by her.

  “I was outside. There’s nothing really for me tell.” She pauses. “I told them Carol was a bitch and you are the bestest dad.” She grins and keeps on walking. I try to keep a smile off my face in case the detective is peering out the window. Instead, I slug in like the weight of the world is on my shoulders and I put on a hangdog face.

  Detective Sanchez meets me at the door. “Where would you like the body removed to?”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” I pause. “Her parents were cremated through Greenwood Memorial Park off White Settlement. I suppose that’s what Carol would want too.” Cremation seems so fitting, considering she’ll be burning for all eternity in hell. “Is there going to be an autopsy?”

  “Yes, but even so, it’s pretty obvious the impact with the marble floor caused her death. At this point, the only real question centers on whether she was pushed, or did she trip on her on accord.”

  “Pushed?” I ask with a great amount of incredulity.

  He narrows his eyes. “Ms. Pinkerton was on her way up the stairs, and she does have a red mark on her leg … like she stuck it under Mrs. Vanover.”

  “No, please. I just don’t think that’s the case at all. Ms. Pinkerton was far too devastated when it happened. I just can’t believe she would’ve done such a terrible thing. And you need to remember, Carol flew out of the bedroom in a raging fit. She probably hit those stairs in such a mad rush she was taking them two at a time. And with those heels she had on, I’m sure she simply lost her balance.”

  “You said she was upset because you had accused of her of killing Joe Avery.”

  “Yes, she was. But it was only an accusation after finding out she had finally conned him into transferring her funds … and after seeing her taking the syringes this morning. It was simply crazy talk on my part. Just the same, it made Carol outrageously mad.”

  “It wasn’t so crazy. We sent a unit over to Joe Avery’s house. He was found dead inside on his bed.”

  My mouth flies open in an exaggerated gasp and I tell my eyes to widen in shock. “Oh Lord, are you serious? I mean, I didn’t think she’d really do it. Oh, my goodness. No wonder she was so upset when I accused her of it.”

  “We’ve ordered an autopsy on Mr. Avery to see if he might have died from Botox.”

  I shake my head. “I feel so responsible for Mr. Avery’s death.” Isn’t that the truth? “If I would’ve only put it together in time, I could’ve stopped her.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about him. You couldn’t have known.”

  “No, you’re right. But I still feel awful about what happened.” Just as I always do.

  He has a few more questions and then the whole crew vanishes, one by one, until there’s no one left but the staff, my daughter and me. My downstairs maid, Helen Andrus, sets about cleaning up the mess Carol made. I wander back outside where Angela continues to distract Sophia until the floors are clean.

  “What happens now?” Angela asks.

  “I think everything will work out. It was just a horrible accident. All that’s left is for them to make a few reports.” Leonard appears at the backdoor with Henry, evidently having brought him from the garage, through the kitchen and directly outside. “There’s my boy,” I call out when I see my son. Henry barrels over to me with a huge smile on his face.

  “Dad, guess what?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Today I got a gold star in citizenship and math.”

  “You did? That’s amazing.”

  “And look what we colored.” He unfolds a picture of some zoo animals. My boy doesn’t stay within the lines very well. Maybe I’ll help him with that. Then again, when have I ever stayed within the boundaries?

  “You did that?” I ask in an enthralled tone.

  “All by myself,” he boasts.

  “I’m so proud of you.” I reach over and hug him. Sophia gets jealous and comes in for a hug too. We are one big group hug.

  That night we have dinner at the table together, meaning Henry, Sophia, Angela and myself. We haven’t said anything to the kids yet about Carol and I’m waiting for Angela to give me a sign. It happens after I’ve read my babies a story.

  “Daddy has something sad to tell you,” Angela begins.

  Even though I have had all afternoon to come up with something, for a long moment I search for words. “It’s about Mommy.” That’s as far as I get, still searching my vocabulary.

  “What about Mommy?” Henry asks.

  “You know how I always say you shouldn’t run in the house?”

  “Yeah,” he answers, giving me a small nod.

  “Well, today Mommy was running down the stairs and she tripped and fell. She hurt herself really, really bad.”

  “Mommy hurt herself?” Sophia questions, her blue eyes growing to the size of saucers.

  “Where is she?” Henry asks. “Is she at the hospital?”

  “No. She went to Heaven. Do you know what Heaven is?” I ask.

  “Where dead people go?” Henry answers.

  “What’s dead?” Sophia asks.

  “It’s like what happened to Flipper,” Henry explains, meaning a goldfish the kids had that died.

  “You mean like belly-up?” Sophia asks.

  “Sort of,” I interject. “It means, just like with Flipper, Mommy can’t ever come back.”

  “Well, I miss Flipper a ton. But I’m not sure I’ll miss Mommy,” Sophia concludes. She looks at Henry. “Will you miss her?”

  “Not really,” he answers his sister. “I didn’t really know her.”

  “Me either,” Sophia agrees. “Daddy, can we get another goldfish?”

  “I want a hamster this time,” Henry decides.

  “Yeah, let’s get a hamster,” Sophia says, changing her mind.

  “I guess we can do that,” I agree. My kids miss a goldfish more than their own mother. And they’d rather she be replaced with a hamster. When I die, they are going to know me … and they are going to miss me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Hannah

  After a few more questions about Joe Avery, the two officers and the detective all leave. As soon as they are out of sight, everyone becomes like a beehive, buzzing around about what happened to Joe.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Melinda squeaks. “Our own Joe.”

  “I know. Who would’ve thought he’d be involved in anything so scandalous?” Beth remarks.

  “You can never tell with anyone,” Cheryl tuts.

  “Chelsea’s missing everything,” Lisa, our loan officer comments. “She certainly picked the wrong time to go on a cruise.”

  We stand around the lobby, gossiping for thirty minutes. With all the peering over Detective McMillan’s shoulder, combined with our lengthy gossip session, my leg is starting to throb. “I’m going to my office to rest my leg for a bit and then I need to get back home.”

  Trundling down the hall, I unlock my door and t
ake one step inside. Another gasp escapes my mouth when I see that my chair is not placed under my desk, just as I always leave it. “Melinda,” I holler down the hallway. “Did either of those officers or that detective come into my office?”

  She appears behind me. “No, Ms. Williams. They only went into Joe’s.”

  “Has anyone been in here?” My eyes rove around the room, looking for other disturbances.

  “No, not that I’m aware. Why?”

  “My chair’s not under my desk.” I pause. “Oh, now I remember having trouble getting out of it with this cast. I probably was concentrating on getting my crutches and getting home. It’s nothing.” I wave her off, even though I know it is something.

  “Okay. Well, if you need anything, let me know.” She hurries back to the group to bounce more stories around.

  I approach my desk like it’s a rattlesnake’s den. Even cautiously walking all the way around it as if one is going to strike out at me at any moment. I know for an absolute fact that I rolled my chair under the desk.

  “Someone has been sitting in my chair,” I murmur in Goldilocks and the Three Bear’s fashion.

  After seating myself and powering up my computer, I look at the last recent history and see that my computer was used to log into Carol Vanover’s portfolio. That cannot be a coincidence.

  First, I search Mrs. Vanover’s trust account. Sure enough, the records indicate that a transfer of all funds was performed this morning. According to the computer terminal number, Joe Avery was the one who authorized the transfer.

  Next, I pull up her secondary account and note that the fifty-million-dollar transfer was supposedly authorized last Friday. This can’t be true because I looked at the computer yesterday and there wasn’t any activity on Carol Vanover’s accounts. I also note that my computer’s date has been changed. It doesn’t make sense that Joe used my computer when he clearly used his own. How did this happen?

  Using my password to get into the bank’s security system, I go through the security videos again. Just like Detective McMillian deduced, there’s no activity between closing hours yesterday evening, and the bank opening this morning. I stare at the timelines for long, long minutes. One hour at a time, I go through each section, focusing only on the lobby cameras. Then I note a break in time, like something has been erased. My heart jumps into my throat. Was that what Joe was doing … deleting footage?