by Lisa Unger
“I’m okay, Grandma.”
“Of course you are,” she said. “You’ve been through worse.”
That was definitely true. Much, much worse.
“Will we see you this weekend?” her grandmother asked. Since their wedding, Lydia and Jeffrey had made it a point to see her grandparents every couple of weeks. She’d been guilty of not appreciating them enough in the past, of getting so wrapped up in her work that months would go by. These days she tried to take better care of the relationships in her life. Now that they were in the city on the Upper West Side, it was easier. For a lot of reasons.
“On Sunday, around three?”
“Good. I have something for you,” she said.
“What?”
Lydia heard her grandmother take a breath, and then pause. “I’d rather just show it to you when you get here. Can I say one thing? About your father?”
“Sure.”
“You know, most of us do our best in this world. Even if that turns out to be pretty crappy. There’s no use to holding onto anger like your grandfather does. It’ll give you indigestion. Or worse.”
Lydia thought her grandmother might be watching too much Dr. Phil.
“I hear you, Grandma,” she said. “Thanks.”
In the shower, she let the hot pulsing streams of water beat thoughts of her father away. A lifetime ago she hadn’t allowed herself hot showers in the morning, only cold. Morning, she used to reason, was the time to get moving, not the time for lingering in a hot shower. Hot showers were for bedtime. Her perspective on lots of things had changed over the last few years. She was gentler with herself these days, and hence she found she was gentler with others. Well, some people anyway.
She washed her hair with a sage-mint aromatherapy shampoo and lathered her body with a shower gel containing the same two ingredients. The scent was heavenly, reminding her of New Mexico and easing some of the tension in her shoulders that had settled there while she hunched over her computer.
As she rinsed, she thought about Lily. She wondered how Detective Stenopolis had gone about his investigation into finding out what had happened to her. She’d gotten the sense that he was pragmatic, competent, dogged. That he’d probably started up in Riverdale, talking to the people who saw her last. He’d probably checked her banking and credit card records. She knew he’d checked Lily’s cell phone records. Worked his way to her friends and family from there. That’s the way Jeffrey would have done it; following the hard chain of facts that would hopefully lead him to a conclusion as to what had happened, if not to the girl herself.
Lydia’s style was a little different. She knew that sometimes the truth only left a footprint in the sand, a scent on the wind, a whisper in your ear. You had to be present, use all your senses to find it, not just your eyes. Sometimes the path you see can lead you away from the truth. If it were my investigation, my story to write, where would I start? Lydia wondered. With Lily’s apartment and her closest friends. That was the place to begin looking for the true heart of a woman. And only in knowing that, can you know where she might have gone or to whom she was vulnerable.
She heard the phone ringing as she toweled off. Wrapping herself in a plush terry robe, she dove over the bed to catch the phone before the voicemail did.
“I’m looking for Ms. Lydia Strong?” said an officious sounding female voice when Lydia answered. Older. Stern.
“This is.”
“My name is Patricia O’Connell. I am the lawyer representing the estate of Arthur James Tavernier.”
It took a second for the name to register; when it did, her stomach bottomed out. Her father. “His estate?”
“Yes. Your father has left a number of things for you and I am charged with making sure you receive them.”
Part of her wanted to tell this lawyer that she had no interest in anything belonging to her father. But curiosity got the better of her. What kind of an estate could he have had? From what she knew of him he had no education, he couldn’t hold down a job. At least these were the things her mother had told her. And what would you leave to a daughter you’d only met once?
“What kind of things?”
“Those items are sealed and for your eyes only, Ms. Strong.”
Lydia was silent; she wasn’t quite sure what to say.
“Unfortunately,” said the lawyer, “your father died with considerable debt but it will be satisfied with the sale of his home. There’s no money.”
Lydia didn’t waste her time being offended at the stupidity and insensitivity of that statement. “Can you send me the items?”
“We’d appreciate it if you could pick them up at our offices. We’re located at three-thirty-three West Fifty-Seventh Street. Will that be a problem?”
The offices of Mark, Striker and Strong were just a few blocks from that address. It wouldn’t be much trouble to go by or to send a messenger.
“It’s just that Mr. Tavernier’s estate, because of the amount of his debt, does not cover our fee,” O’Connell went on, Lydia guessed by way of explanation for the tackiness of her request.
“So you’re trying to save on postage?”
Sarcasm was obviously lost on O’Connell. “That’s right.”
“Okay,” said Lydia. “I’ll come by as soon as possible.”
“When can we expect you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Soon.”
She hung up the phone then, thinking that it was going to be an extremely weird day.
Angel Rodriquez had a fresh, open face, with café au lait skin and a shy smile. He was handsome in a boyish way; Detective Stenopolis could see that his body was well defined, muscular beneath his white button-down shirt and navy blue tie. Matt found that he always noticed men like Angel with a kind of envy. The guy was easy with himself, knew he was attractive. There probably wasn’t a woman in the world that didn’t respond to him when he turned on the charm. His partner included. The stern expression she usually wore on her face softened just slightly at the sight of him. He’d never had that effect on women. In fact, he imagined that they literally shrank away from him, repulsed by his size.
But Angel seemed a little nervous to Matt. A tiny bit edgy. The charm he’d displayed when he thought they were bank customers wavered just a tad when he’d learned they were cops asking about Lily Samuels.
The same had been true of Thelma Baker. She was an older woman with rich chocolate skin and a close-cropped head of hair. She had a remarkable face with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Gold hoop earrings and a deep shade of plum on her lips accented her striking features. She’d smiled warmly as they approached. But when Jesamyn introduced them and flashed her shield, Ms. Baker became flustered. She didn’t look like the kind of woman to fluster easily. She had the bearing of a school principal or a Supreme Court justice, stern, unflappable.
“Corporate didn’t say you’d be coming,” she said.
“They didn’t know,” answered Jesamyn politely.
“Well, let me just give them a call,” she said, reaching for the phone.
“Ms. Baker,” said Matt gently, “that won’t be necessary. We just have a few questions about Lily Samuels. We’re not going to take up too much of your time. Or ask about bank policy. I just want to know how she seemed to you.”
“How she seemed?” she asked, with a cock of her head, taking her hand back from the receiver.
“Yes,” said Jesamyn. “Her manner. Did she seem nervous, anxious, happy, excited?”
Thelma Baker looked back and forth between their faces. “You know,” she said finally. “She didn’t seem any of those things. She seemed flat. Empty.”
The way she said it made Matt think that she’d given it some thought, that Lily had made an impression on her.
“What do you mean?”
“She was a pretty girl, you know. Young, with a sweet face. It was a face you’d expect to see smiling. But she didn’t smile or seem to even be seeing anything around her. I felt like she j
ust looked right through me. I tried to catch her eyes, but she just had this stare.”
Jesamyn was looking out the window at the busy street that ran past the bank. There were parking spaces on both sides of the two-way street and traffic was brisk.
“Did you see how she came in?” Jesamyn asked looking back from the window.
“What do you mean?” asked Ms. Baker, looking down at the counter in front of her. She’s stalling, thought Matt.
“Did you see her park a car, or did she get out of a vehicle, or walk up the street.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t notice.”
“Take a minute, Ms. Baker. Think about it,” said Matt.
“No, I’m sorry. It was very busy that day and I was helping customers, not staring out the window. I only talked to her for a second before Angel Rodriquez came and took her to his office. Let me call him for you.”
Matt looked at her with an expression he’d cultivated to communicate compassion and the knowledge that she wasn’t telling him everything she knew. He slid a card over the counter. “Just think about it,” he said solemnly.
She looked at him and he thought he saw worry there.
“I’ll call Mr. Rodriquez,” she said, picking up the phone.
On his desk, Angel had a picture of a pretty Latina woman, holding a boy that looked like a miniature of Angel. It was a small office with glass walls. He moved immediately behind the desk and held out a hand to indicate that they should sit in the facing chairs. Matt stood. The chair beside Jesamyn didn’t look like it would be very comfortable for him, if he could squeeze himself into it at all. He saw Angel slide his chair back a bit and realized that his standing like that might seem intimidating. Oh, well.
Angel picked up one of those pink rubber stress balls and started to squeeze. The screen saver on his computer was an image of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, straining with a dumbbell. A caption read, No pain, no gain.
“I had to make a couple of calls,” said Angel. “This wasn’t the branch where she opened her account. But because she said it was an emergency, we were able to make special arrangements.”
“She took the money in cash?”
“Yes, she wanted cash and we were able to provide that.”
“How did she seem to you? How would you describe her manner?” asked Jesamyn.
Angel thought about it a second. “I guess I would say tired. She said her brother had an emergency. She didn’t specify the emergency and I didn’t ask. But she didn’t really seem anxious or upset; just tired.”
Matt thought about the words Angel and Thelma had used to describe Lily. Tired. Flat. Empty. Words that were strikingly different from the words family and friends had used to describe her. Bright. Energetic. Happy. What could have caused her personality to change so dramatically in just a short time?
“Tired,” repeated Jesamyn. He could tell that she was thinking the same thing. “Did it seem like-and I know it’s not easy to speculate about things like this-but did it seem like she was on something? That she might be high?”
“No,” said Angel quickly. “Ms. Samuels appeared to have her faculties about her at all times.”
Jesamyn and Matt exchanged a look. The sentence had the quality of a company line, assigned and rehearsed.
“Angel,” said Jesamyn leaning forward and speaking softly. “A young woman is missing. We’re not investigating fraud. We don’t care about the thirty-eight thousand dollars. If we leave here today with the impression that Lily Samuels was fine that day and withdrew her funds of her own free will, we’re going to have to drop this case. Are you comfortable with giving us that impression?”
While she spoke, Matt noticed that Angel’s eyes had drifted to the picture on his desk. He sat like that for a second after Jesamyn had stopped talking.
“I had no indication that Ms. Samuels was not acting of her own accord,” he said, raising his eyes to hers.
Jesamyn leaned back and nodded, but her expression communicated her skepticism.
“Just think about it,” said Matt for the third time since they’d entered the bank, sliding a card over the desk toward Angel.
“I will,” he said with a nod, rising. “If I think of anything else, I’ll be in contact.”
Shit,” said Jesamyn, once they were back outside in front of the bank. They stood in the cold air, gold, orange, and red leaves from a maple tree above them fluttering around them like butterflies. He knew she was thinking that they shouldn’t have come here, that they should have taken the video at face value, gone back to the precinct and moved on. Because now they had the strong impression that there was something seriously wrong with Lily that day but no way to prove it. They’d have to live with that now. Matt was feeling pretty bleak about it, too, until he raised his eyes from the concrete.
“Well, well,” said Matt, looking across the street. Thelma Baker stood opposite them wearing a long brown coat that flowed around her elegantly. She gave them a little wave and then ducked into a coffee shop. They followed.
The Java Hut smelled of freshly ground beans and decadent baked goods. A glass case displayed a devastating assortment of cakes, donuts, Danishes, and gooey cinnamon buns. Thelma had grabbed a booth all the way in the back. Matt and Jesamyn made their way through the small, crowded space toward her. They slid in across from her.
“That day,” she said, without looking up at them. “It has stayed with me.”
“Why’s that?” asked Jesamyn, noticing Thelma’s beautiful dark hands, perfectly manicured nails, a collection of expensive-looking rings.
“Because I have good instincts about people. And I knew that something wasn’t right with that girl. I mean-it was just a feeling. Nothing that you’d really act on. But when I saw her picture in the paper, I just thought, what if I’d said something or done something different?”
“What could you have done?” asked Matt.
She looked at him before she answered, giving him a light smile. “You asked me before how she’d gotten into the bank and I told you I didn’t know. But I saw her get out of the passenger side of a car across the street. It was a black car, one of those monster SUVs. After she was inside, it pulled around and waited in front of the entrance to the bank. I noticed it because its windows were all tinted black as pitch. That’s illegal in New York now. You can’t have tinted windows like that anymore. She kept looking back at that car. Three or four times while she was standing in front of me. Not frantic, not like she was afraid. But she just kept checking. But it was very busy that day, and once Angel came to take her in back, I got caught up with other things.”
She sighed lightly, tapped her gold wedding band on the table. “I remembered all that when I saw her picture in the Post. I called corporate and told them that she’d been in our branch that day and closed her accounts. They told me I was right to call and that they’d handle the call to the police. I never heard from the cops until today. But a day or so later, I got a visit from the head of fraud security.”
The waitress came then and all three ordered regular cups of coffee.
“He wanted to make sure that we hadn’t had any indication she wasn’t acting of her own accord. We’re trained to look for that kind of thing. I mentioned her demeanor and the vehicle I’d seen but said that it didn’t seem like she was acting under duress of any kind. And that was true. It was all just a vibe, just a feeling on my part.”
“Then they provided you and Mr. Rodriquez with the things you needed to say to protect the bank from liability, should Lily or her family ever claim that the money was obtained fraudulently and that the bank failed to protect her accounts,” said Jesamyn.
“That’s right,” she answered with a nod.
“When I heard from my manager that the security video and Ms. Samuels’ banking records had been requested by branch security, I was relieved. I figured the bank was working with the police and that the things I’d observed had been passed along. But then I ‘accidentally’ saw the statement the bank
had given to the police and it made no mention of the SUV.”
“Accidentally?”
“I accidentally came across it while I was looking to file something away in the branch manager’s cabinet,” she said with a small smile.
“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Matt asked, though he figured he knew the answer.
“I called corporate and asked to speak to the head of branch security.”
“Brian Davis?” asked Jesamyn.
She nodded.
“What did he say?”
“He very gently suggested that the information wasn’t relevant since we were certain that she wasn’t acting under duress. He said some shit about being a team player and how the bank couldn’t afford disloyalty. Let’s just say the message was clear.”
She put her head in her hand for a second and then rubbed at her temples with a long graceful hand. She looked up at them again.
“I’ve been with this bank twenty years; I’m fully vested. I’ve got two sons in college.”
The waitress placed the coffee in front of them, asked if they wanted anything else, and walked off when no one answered.
“I’m sorry,” Thelma said. “I’m so sorry for that girl.”
Jesamyn put a hand on her arm. “We all have to make choices, Ms. Baker. We don’t judge you. Coming forward now is very brave.”
She looked up at them then and nodded. “Thanks,” she said, gently withdrawing her arm. “I appreciate that. But I really hope it’s not too late to help her.”
“We do, too,” said Matt. He didn’t judge Thelma Baker either. It was easy for a person to get squashed by a corporate giant; it happened every day, all over the world. They used people up, controlled them by threatening their livelihood. But he couldn’t quash the rising tide of frustration and anger he felt swelling in his chest. If they’d had this information two weeks ago, where would it have led them?
“I saw part of the license plate,” she said, pulling a pen from her purse and scribbling on a napkin. “My eyes are not great but I think the first three digits were H57. That’s all I know.”