by Jessica Beck
“Was it just me, or was he not very happy to see us?” I asked Grace with a grin after he left.
“The man practically sprinted out of here the second we showed up,” she agreed.
“Maybe we’re making progress after all,” I said. “If we’ve got our suspects on edge, we might just get lucky and one of them will do something stupid.”
“One can only hope,” Grace said as she grabbed a table for us both. We ordered and ate two nondescript meals. I knew after paying that Napoli’s had nothing to worry about, at least not from that place.
When we got to the bank, we ignored the woman up front, smiling and waving at Benny as we approached his desk.
He didn’t look all that happy to see us. “Listen, I have an important client coming in three minutes, and I have to get ready for the meeting.”
I pulled out Momma’s check and kept my fingers over the signature line so he couldn’t see that it was unsigned. “More important than this?”
His eyes widened a little at the sight of all of those zeroes, but they quickly contracted again as he glanced behind us. Calvin Trinket was making his way over to us, albeit a little slowly as an older woman stopped him by grabbing his arm and complaining about something. “Girls, is that legit?”
“Will you talk to us if it is?” I countered.
“That all depends. Do you want to open an account, or is it just to get me to talk more about Greg Whitmore?”
“What do you think, Benny? You’re a smart man. You do the math.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “I can’t help you,” he said regretfully, still looking at the check in my hand.
I put it away. “Very well. If you won’t speak with us, then we’ll just have to tell the police chief investigating Greg’s murder that you refused to cooperate with us.”
“Him again? He was here yesterday.” Benny scowled. “If I talk to you, can you get him off my back?”
“We’ll see what we can do. That’s all we can promise,” Grace said, “but if I were you, I’d take us up on our offer.”
Benny thought about that for ten seconds before he sighed. “Fine. Just not here, and not now,” he said. “Meet me at the diner where we ran into each other in half an hour. I’m going to claim to have a doctor’s appointment, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Fine,” I said as I felt someone’s presence directly behind me.
“Ladies, I’m surprised to see you back again so soon. I trust you’re feeling better today?” he asked me.
I’d nearly forgotten my feigned illness. “I’m just fine. One of the reasons we came by was to see Gwen. Why isn’t she at her desk this morning?”
Trinket didn’t even skip a beat. “She’s had vacation time scheduled for months,” he said smoothly. “No worries. She’ll be back sometime late next week.”
The slickness with which he lied amazed me. Gwen had promised me that she was going to be AWOL, and yet her boss acted as though her absence was completely expected. “What did you want to see her about, if I may ask?”
“She said she’d be able to direct us to the right person to handle this,” I said as I held the check up again, still hiding the fact that it hadn’t been signed. “My mother is having second thoughts about withdrawing her money from your bank.”
“Why, that’s wonderful news! I’d be glad to handle that for you personally,” he said as he tried to hustle the two of us out of Benny’s office.
“I was just about to help them myself, sir,” Benny said. Was there some reason he didn’t want us talking to his boss, or was he just trying to tweak the man?
“You already have an appointment though, or am I wrong?”
“No, you’re right,” he agreed.
“Then as I said, I’ll take care of these fine ladies.” The dismissal was clear. I liked this man even less than I had the day before, if that were even possible.
We followed the branch manager back to his office, where he tried to close the door.
“Let’s leave that open, shall we?” I suggested.
“As you wish. Now, let’s see that check. I’ll have it processed and you’ll be on your way in no time.”
“First, I’d like to know a few things about your bank. We’ve recently learned that you’ve been accused of making some bad loans. Is there any truth to those rumors?”
The man’s face turned white at the question, and I knew that Gwen must have been at least a little right about it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, doing his best to bluster his way out of it. “I can personally assure you that nothing of that nature is going on here. We have a solid reputation for honesty and trustworthiness that cannot be disputed.”
“So, you’re saying that if something bad was going on, you don’t know about it?” Grace asked. It was a trick question, designed to make him admit that he was either a dupe or a liar.
“I’m saying that I refuse to acknowledge your basic premise,” he answered, not really answering her at all.
“Where were you the night of the murder, Mr. Trinket?” I asked him point-blank.
He looked startled by the direct question. “Do you honestly think I had anything to do with what happened to Greg Whitmore?”
“We’ll be able to answer that question better once we hear your answer,” I said.
“I was here working late, not that it is anyone else’s business. Now, about that check…”
As he reached for it, I tucked it back into my pocket. “I’m afraid I’ll be holding onto it for a little while longer.”
He bit his lower lip for a moment before answering. “Then evidently our business here is done.” As he stood, he said, “If you should change your mind at any future date, please know that we are here to serve you.” It was as complete a brushoff as I’d ever received in my life.
Grace and I allowed him to lead us out of the bank, and once we were outside, I said, “Let’s get over to that diner and wait for Benny.”
“We could just wait for him here in the parking lot,” she suggested.
“Do you think there’s any chance at all he’ll talk to us with his boss so close by?”
“No, you’re right. Let’s go.”
We did just that, ordering two cups of dismal coffee and a single slice of pie to split that wasn’t much better, and we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
After an hour and a half, I turned to Grace. “He’s not showing up, is he?”
“It doesn’t look like it,” she said.
“What can I say? You were right and I was wrong,” I said.
“As much as I’d like to revel in that declaration, your point was valid at the time. It wouldn’t have done us any good to wait for him in the parking lot.”
“So, what do we do now?” I asked.
“Let’s go see if he’s still at the bank. I wonder why he changed his mind.”
“I don’t know, but I don’t appreciate being jerked around like this, do you?”
“No, ma’am.”
He wasn’t at his desk, either. When I asked the receptionist where he was, she told us that he had suddenly taken ill the moment we’d left, and he said that he wouldn’t be back that day. Had he decided to meet us and then changed his mind at the last second, or was there a chance that he was actually ill? Either way, it appeared that we weren’t going to get Benny’s story that day either way. I kept waiting for Calvin Trinket to see us, but he was nowhere to be found, either. What was going on here?
The next question was what to do next.
We walked back to Grace’s car, but I put a hand on hers, stopping her before we reached it. “What is it?” she asked me.
Instead of answering aloud, I pointed to a spot in the alley behind
the bank, where Calvin Trinket was having an earnest conversation with what appeared to be two very angry men.
Chapter 17
“Should we call for help?” Grace asked me softly as we watched one of the men continually jab Trinket in the chest with his meaty index finger.
“Who do you suggest we call?” I asked.
“I was thinking along the lines of the police.”
“What would we tell them, that two men are being mean to the bank manager?” I asked as I continued to watch in fascination. The usually smooth branch manager was clearly terrified of the two men who were accosting him, and the scary part was that nobody was screaming. I’ve often found softly voiced threats worse than shouting.
Trinket kept trying to back up to get away from the jabs, but the men kept matching him step for step.
Grace tugged at my arm. “Suzanne, we need to do something, or this is going to end badly.”
“I’ve got an idea,” I said as I started walking toward the confrontation. “Follow my lead.”
“I always do,” she said with grim determination.
“Mr. Trinket, there you are,” I said loudly, catching the three men equally off guard. “My husband’s going to be a little late. He had a meeting with the other state police inspectors who are in town, and a few of them are tagging along. I hope that’s all right.”
I had to give the man credit; it didn’t take him long to catch on. “That will be fine. Sorry, I got held up here, but we can go ahead and get started.” He looked tentatively at the two men, and the smaller of the two nodded after a second of deliberation. “Will you gentlemen excuse me?”
“Fine. Go to your meeting. We’ll talk again soon,” one of the men said. To emphasize his point, he jabbed Trinket one last time as he added, “It’s going to be very soon, so don’t go anywhere.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Trinket said as he hurried toward us.
“Thank you both,” he said softly as he walked past us. “We need to get inside, and I mean right now.”
Grace and I followed him into the bank, past the receptionist, and into his office, where he promptly shut the door behind us. The branch manager seemed to collapse inward the moment he was back in his inner sanctum.
“Since we just saved your worthless hide, do you mind telling us what that was all about?” Grace asked. I glanced at her, surprised by the tone she’d taken but trusting that she knew what she was doing.
“What?” Trinket asked her incredulously, as though he were just coming out of some kind of trance. “What did you just say to me?”
“That’s it,” Grace said as she turned to me. “I’m calling the police chief. If Mr. Trinket here won’t speak with us, he’ll just have to talk to the cops.”
Calvin Trinket nodded absently, as though he were lost in another world. After a few moments, he nodded with a certain fatality. “Yes. That’s a good idea. Call them.”
I had a feeling that Grace had been bluffing.
Well, he’d just called her bluff.
“What should I tell them?” Grace asked as she pulled out her cell phone. What else could she do? The only option she had now was to play out her hand.
“Tell him that I’m ready to talk,” the manager said as he slumped down in his leather chair.
“Okay, I’m here,” Chief Grant said after we met him outside the bank manager’s office forty-five minutes later. There was a spirit of cooperation between police chiefs in our area, and I knew they frequently worked in each other’s jurisdictions. “Has he said anything to you two yet?”
“Not a word,” I admitted.
“But he’s ready to confess to killing Greg Whitmore, right?”
“We’re not entirely sure of that,” Grace replied, hedging her bets a little. “All he said was that we should call you and that he was ready to talk. We don’t have a clue what he’s about to tell you.” In a lower voice, she asked, “Is there any way we can go in there with you? We won’t say a word, but we brought this to you. It’s only fair.”
“I don’t know about fair, but it’s okay with me if he doesn’t raise any objections. I have to ask him, though.”
“That’s fine,” I said before Grace could argue with him. It was the best chance we had of getting into that office, and I didn’t want to risk blowing it.
“I understand you want to speak with me,” Chief Grant said as we all walked into the bank manager’s office together.
“Yes, it’s long past time for this particular conversation. I’m finally willing to admit that things went farther than they ever should have.”
The police chief held up a hand. “Before you say anything, I need to stop you.”
“Are you reading me my rights?” he asked dully.
“I can’t very well do that, since I don’t know what you’re about to tell me. I need to know if you have any problem whatsoever with letting Suzanne and Grace stay for this.”
Trinket didn’t even hesitate. “I don’t care. Everybody’s going to know what happened soon enough.”
The chief turned to us and nodded but put a finger to his lips, warning us. The message was clear: we were to be seen and not heard, no matter what.
“Now, go on,” Chief Grant said.
The bank manager nodded, and then he spoke in a voice that was nearly a whisper, as though he could lessen what he was about to tell us in some way. “It started out innocently enough. One of our customers was going to be late on a loan several months back, and he came to me for an extension. He’d been late before, and I told him that this time he had to pay promptly, or there would be consequences. An hour later, a man I’d never met before visited me in my office.”
“What was his name?” the chief asked.
“I’d rather not say just yet,” Trinket replied.
“Fine. Go on.” Good for the chief. I knew he would get the main part of the story first, and any details he needed would come after. I had a hunch that once Calvin Trinket opened up, there would be no stopping the floodgate of information.
“Let’s call this man Joseph for now,” Trinket said. “He asked me if I knew who he was, and I admitted that I did not. He seemed pleased by that response, and then he went on to explain that he had dealings with a great many people on both sides of the law and that he was a good friend to have but an even worse enemy. Joseph told me that he’d consider it a personal favor if I’d extend the loan, and to be honest with you, there was something scary about the man. Not the way he looked, you understand, but his calm outward appearance. I got the message that a yes would be well received, but a no would bring swift retribution. What can I say? I caved in and granted the extension. That was my first mistake. Once he knew I could be intimidated, he started asking for more and more favors, and I just found it easier to go along with him, especially since he was recommending new clients to me right and left, and our deposits were soaring.”
“How much of that was tainted money?” the chief asked somberly. It was the exact same question I would have asked myself, and I was dying to hear the answer.
“I couldn’t prove that any of it was at the time,” Trinket said in his own defense, and then he seemed to shrink into himself a little. “I had a hunch, though. The deposits were all under the reporting limit of ten thousand dollars, but not by a lot. On paper, it was a good deal.”
“But then the other shoe dropped,” the chief said, nudging him a little.
“He started demanding that we issue loans to folks with no or terrible credit, offering me his unofficial and personal guarantee that they would be paid back in full.”
“So, you became a money launderer for the mob,” the chief said. “Is that why you killed Greg Whitmore? Did he find out what you were up to?”
“I didn’t kill Greg!” Trinket protested. “Sure, I made some b
ad mistakes, but I didn’t commit murder.”
“Why were you two fighting so much, then?” I asked, forgetting my promise to remain silent for the moment.
“He figured out what I was up to,” Trinket said, “and Greg was furious. He discovered that I’d issued some of those loans in his name without his knowledge, and he wasn’t about to go to jail for me. He gave me one week to come clean, or he was going to go straight to the police with what he knew.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Trinket,” Chief Grant said softly. “It seems to me as though you just gave yourself a powerful motive for murder, either for you or your friend Joseph.”
“I can assure you, he didn’t do it or have it done for him,” Trinket said quickly and then turned to us. “Did you two tell him how you saved me this afternoon?”
“No,” I said.
“Talk, Suzanne,” the chief said.
“Two thugs were threatening him in the alley, and we managed to extract him from the situation before things could escalate.”
“For the moment, at least,” Trinket said. “They had a message for me from Joseph. They said that when I killed Greg Whitmore, I’d signed my own death warrant. They couldn’t have done it; they were blaming me for his murder! The message was that it had been the stupidest thing I could have done, since it was going to bring scrutiny down on all of us. No matter how much I protested that I hadn’t touched Greg, they wouldn’t believe me! There’s no way Joseph had anything to do with it. He didn’t even know everything I’d done with the loans until after Greg was already dead!”
That made sense in its own way. Besides, I was fairly sure the men in question wouldn’t go to the trouble of dragging Greg’s dead body on a sled through town in the middle of an ice storm, especially taking the time to change him into a Santa suit first.
“I can see that, but how can I know that you didn’t do it yourself?” the chief asked him, evidently taking the thug’s innocence to heart, at least with this particular homicide.