by G. K. Parks
The guard kept an eye on me while he scanned the rest of the room to see if I was alone. When he made his approach, I decided it’d be best to avoid a scene, so I went to one of the empty stations, picked up a pen, which was chained to the desk, and scanned the cubbies to see what types of forms they kept stocked.
A man and woman exited from the bank manager’s office. They each shook hands with her, a petite woman in a power suit who had her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
“Do you need some help?” the guard asked from behind me. He stood just out of striking distance. He must have been a professional. From the spit-shine, possibly former military, but the goatee and unruly eyebrows made me think otherwise. Either way, security was tight.
“How long have you worked here?” I asked.
“What?” He knew I was casing the place. He just didn’t know why, but he wouldn’t let my question distract him.
I turned slowly, keeping my hands on the counter. “I need to speak to someone about a safe deposit box, specifically a box that was opened eight years ago.”
“What is this about?”
“Police business,” I said, hoping that’d be enough to satisfy him.
“Take a seat in the waiting area.” He jerked his chin toward the couches and armchairs arranged around a coffee table which held a stack of creased and dog-eared magazines. “Someone should be available soon.”
“Right over there?” I replaced the pen in the cup and pointed.
“Yes.”
“Is the coffee free?”
He gave me a funny look. “Help yourself.”
“Wonderful.” I checked his name tag. “Thanks, Novak.”
“Do I know you?”
I winked at him and headed for the couch. That move only agitated him further. Given how seriously he took his job, my behavior would not be tolerated, especially if I were here for nefarious reasons.
He kept an eye on me while I poured coffee into a paper cup and took a careful sip. Once I settled into an armchair with a magazine, he knocked on the bank manager’s door, watching me while he spoke to her. He nodded and returned to his post near the teller windows. A moment later, she came out of her office.
“Miss,” she said, “come with me, please.”
The six other customers who’d been waiting, glanced up, making sure she wasn’t talking to any of them before returning to their devices and magazines. I tossed the greasy New Yorker onto the pile, took my cup, and followed her back to her office. Novak clocked my every move.
Once we were in the privacy of her office, she took a seat behind her desk, her hand clutching the edge, probably inches away from the silent alarm. “What can I do for you today?”
“Like I told the chatty Mr. Novak, I’m hoping to gather some information concerning a safe deposit box. Until the police opened it yesterday morning, no one had accessed it in eight years, or so I was told.”
“Who are you?”
I offered her my winning smile. “Alex Parker. I’m an investigator. The safe deposit box in question is box 243. The man who rented that box registered it under the name Thomas Gunn, which we believe to be an alias for Trey Knox. You have a photo ID of Mr. Gunn on record, which facial rec has confirmed matches Trey Knox.” I threw out a lot of details and jargon in the hopes she’d assume I was a detective assigned to the case.
“That box has been emptied.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m aware. The evidence is in police custody. We just had a few questions concerning the owner, how it was paid for, and how often it had been accessed and by whom.”
“I already handed over those records.”
“I’m just following up.”
“Gunn?” She reached for her keyboard.
“Thomas Gunn. G-U-N-N.”
“He opened a checking account with our bank roughly eight years ago with a starting balance of one thousand dollars. The monthly fee came out of that account. At the present, the account has a balance of $422 remaining.”
“Has there been any activity on the account?”
“Just the rental fees for the box.”
“Do you recall the last time anyone accessed the box?”
The skin around her lips crinkled as she frowned. “Tuesday morning.”
“You mean when the police opened it?”
“Yes.”
“What about prior to that? How often did Mr. Gunn access his box? Do you know?”
“Of course, I know. We take our customers’ security seriously. Customers must fill out the form and present their key before we allow them into the vault room.”
“Did anyone besides Mr. Gunn try to access the box?”
“No.”
I was getting the distinct impression she was stalling. “Theoretically, anyone with the proper safe deposit box key could have gotten access to it, though.”
“It’s possible, but there is only one key. The only person who possessed it would have to be the owner.”
Or whoever took it from him. Another thought occurred to me. Since Knox was such an avid sports collector, why wouldn’t he keep his priceless sports memorabilia in the bank vault? “What’s the exact date the box was opened?”
She clicked a few keys, debating with herself whether to answer. Finally, she told me. The box was opened after Knox disappeared and after Cross had returned from his Las Vegas vacation. I cursed. This didn’t help matters.
“What’s wrong?” Her hand inched closer to the alarm.
I shook my head. “It’s been a long, few days. Everyone’s overworked. We don’t know if we’re coming or going. It’s not every day a cold case turns hot.” I smiled, sensing she had realized I didn’t introduce myself as a detective or show her my badge. Any minute, she’d have her guard remove me or the building surrounded. It’d be best to avoid that if I could. “You wouldn’t happen to have security footage from eight years ago, would you?”
“Certainly not.”
“In that case, I’ll need Mr. Gunn’s contact information in order to follow up.”
She stared at me. “I’ll need to see some paperwork or identification first.”
“Sure, no problem.” Slowly, I pulled out my P.I. license and slid it over to her.
“You’re not a cop?”
“No, ma’am. I’m an investigator. I’ve consulted with the police on several cases.” Which was not a lie. “A man was murdered. His body was found near the airport. You might have seen the story in the paper. It’s rather high-profile. The police could use as much help as they can get. As you can imagine, they’re slammed. The safe deposit box key was found with his remains, which is how we found out about it. I’m just doing my part to follow up on a potential lead. Gunn’s obviously an alias.” I rolled my eyes. “I mean, really, Tommy Gun, you’d think criminals would get a bit more creative than that.”
She laughed, but her face remained pinched. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just hand over private information without a court order or the customer’s consent.”
“He’s dead. I don’t think he consented to that either.”
“Why don’t you speak to Mr. Novak? He’s been with this branch for seventeen years. Perhaps he can help you. He has a photographic memory. Maybe he’ll recall something useful.” She called to Novak, who looked disappointed when she asked him to speak to me while she dealt with some other business.
“Thank you,” I said.
From the look on her face, she didn’t trust me but had decided it’d be safer to appease me than risk refusing to assist a police consultant.
Eighteen
“Do you remember Thomas Gunn?” I asked.
The guard stared blankly at me. “Is that even a real name?”
“No.” I glanced around the security room, which was a tiny reinforced office upstairs. Two other guards were on the floor while Novak spoke to me. However, he’d shut the door and took a seat in front of it, effectively blocking me in. “It’s an alias. I would have hoped someone at the bank might have caught
on. You’re a smart guy. It seems like that should have been in your wheelhouse.”
“I have nothing to do with the customers.”
“What about the unruly ones?”
He stroked his goatee the way villains often do in movies. “So you’re a private eye?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is that why you carry a nine millimeter in a shoulder holster?”
“I used to be on the job,” I said, hoping to find some common ground with this guy. Novak had no intention of cooperating. As far as I could tell, the reason he was humoring me was to keep me detained while the other security guards made sure my appearance wasn’t part of a heist. Or I’d seen one too many bank robbery movies.
“Police?”
“Federal.”
He nodded but didn’t offer up his resume for comparison. “I didn’t think private eyes worked police investigations.”
“It depends on the case. Sometimes, there’s overlap. Other times, I get asked to consult.”
“You have friends in the department?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded a few times, glancing at the security monitors while maintaining his focus on me. “What box did you say?”
“243. The police showed up with the key. They had a court order and cleared it out. Did you supervise that?”
“I might have been there.”
“They found a USB drive. Do you remember what else they pulled out of the box?”
He shrugged.
“The bank manager said you have a photographic memory,” I wheedled.
“I wasn’t paying that much attention. It’s none of my business what someone keeps hidden away.”
“You can stop watching the cameras. I’m not here to rob the place. Actually, if I wanted to get the layout or a look at your security, this would be the way I’d do it. Y’see, I actually worked undercover in a bank once. Do you remember a few years back when ATMs were getting knocked over?” Thoughts of Michael Carver, my late partner, came to mind, which made me smile and want to cry at the same time. Damn grief counseling was making me insane. Whoever said experiencing feelings was a good thing was an idiot. “I helped catch them.”
“Good for you.” Novak didn’t appreciate my attempt to build a rapport. Most men I’d encountered would share a story to top mine. But this guy didn’t say a word.
“Why don’t you tell me how long you plan on holding me? Are we waiting for the police to arrive? I can make a call and get them here faster. I have work to do. And while I’m thoroughly enjoying getting to know you better, this is a waste of time, unless you plan on answering my questions.”
He gave me a hard look. “Why would it be a bad idea to bring you up here if you were planning a robbery?”
“For starters, you have to remain with me. That means there’s one less guard available to respond. Second, these monitors cover the entire bank. If I were to overpower you, I’d have access to everything, and assuming I had accomplices, I could guide them in and out without getting caught.”
“But you’d be stuck here.”
“I’d be stuck inside but not necessarily in here.”
His hand rested on the butt of his gun. “Bad plan, huh?”
“Not the best. I actually work for a private security firm. We evaluate a lot of corporate security, which doesn’t have to meet the same standards set by the FDIC, but billion dollar industries worry a great deal about security, so I have a bit of experience.”
“Where do you work?”
I didn’t want to answer that question, but it might be the only way to get me out of the room, even if the banking staff and security guards realized I was working in opposition to the police department. “Cross Security and Investigations.”
“Cross?”
“Yeah, have you heard of us?”
“Those are the big leagues. In fact, Mr. Cross was just here Monday.”
“As in two days ago?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Does he bank here often?”
“No, first time.” Novak rubbed his free hand over his mouth. “Funny thing, seeing as how he asked for a brief tour and rundown of our security features before filling out forms to open a safe deposit box. And now you’re asking questions about a box and telling me how you’d rob the place.”
My chest constricted. Why did Cross come here the day before he was arrested? How did he know? Did he try to break into Knox’s safe deposit box? More importantly, did he succeed, remove whatever had been inside, and overlook the USB drive in his haste? “That’s not what I was saying. I was just suggesting in the future you shouldn’t detain anyone in the security office.”
“Right.”
“I thought you didn’t deal with customers. Why do you remember Cross stopping by?”
“Like I said, he wanted to assess our security system. Most of it is confidential, but I gave him the five cent tour. He mentioned he was in the business and introduced himself. That’s the only reason I interacted with him.”
“Did he offer you a job?”
Novak stared at me. “Is that supposed to be a bribe?”
“No, sir. I just wondered.” I swallowed. “The surveillance footage should still be saved. Would you mind showing me the footage from Monday?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Please.”
He surreptitiously glanced at his watch and then the bottom right monitor, which showed the bank manager on the phone. He was stalling, which meant he might just give me what I wanted. “Fine.”
He dialed it up and pressed play. While I stared in horror at Lucien Cross entering the bank, Novak’s phone rang. He answered, grunted a response, and hung up.
“Am I free to go?” I asked, my eyes glued to the screen. “The police department vouched for me, didn’t they? If not, I have SSA Jablonsky’s business card in my wallet. You can always give him a call.”
“That won’t be necessary. Lt. Moretti said to tell you whatever you want to know.”
That must mean Moretti was starting to believe me. “What do you have on Thomas Gunn?”
Novak shook his head. “Copies of the access logs for box 243 are downstairs, but no one’s asked to access that box since it was opened.”
“Do you remember anything about Mr. Gunn? Did he look like his photo ID?”
“I can’t be certain, but if he didn’t, it would have raised a few red flags.”
On the screen, Cross was led down to the vault. The cameras caught him from all different angles. There was no denying it was him. “What are you doing, Lucien?” I mumbled. He stopped, peered into the vault room, nodded to the security guard, and returned upstairs to fill out the paperwork. After that, he was taken back to the safe deposit boxes inside the vault room. No cameras were inside to ensure the customer’s privacy. After the bank manager inserted her key and opened the box, she left him alone in the room. I didn’t know if the police knew about any of this, but I didn’t want to tell them. Twenty minutes later, Cross left the bank. “Do you know where he went after this?”
Novak flipped through a few different camera feeds until he found one of the exterior. Cross got into a town car and drove away. I made a note of the timestamp to compare to his calendar. As far as I knew, Cross had meetings all afternoon. Going to the bank hadn’t been on the agenda. Did anyone at the office even know about this?
“Did the police check anything else while they were here? Perhaps they missed something.”
“They just asked about Thomas Gunn and Trey Knox. They opened the box and collected the documentation we had on him. That was it.”
“Thanks.” I stood, and Novak did the same, twisting the knob and letting me out of the office. “You run a tight ship, Mr. Novak. Just remember, bank robbers tend to work in teams. They’ll keep hostages together, but when it comes to guards, they’ll divide and conquer.”
“Whatever you say, lady.”
The bank manager met me at the bottom of the stairs. She held out a photoc
opy of the safe deposit box records. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. We can’t be too careful. I’m sure you understand.”
“Not a problem.” I glanced down at it. “Mr. Novak mentioned Lucien Cross opened a safe deposit box on Monday. Does he have an account with the bank?”
“No, he doesn’t. He paid cash for a year’s rental. Not many banks offer safe deposit boxes anymore. He wanted to try it out in order to see if his clients could benefit from it. What does Mr. Cross have to do with this?”
“Nothing.” I hoped. “I was just curious.”
Cross’s visit couldn’t have been a coincidence, but Moretti hadn’t mentioned it. Either he was holding back, or he didn’t know. My money was on the latter.
How did Cross know about Knox’s safe deposit box? The police hadn’t even made a positive ID of the remains until Monday night. Cross went to the bank five hours before Heathcliff received the call. None of this made a damn bit of sense.
As I headed back to my car, I called Almeada and told him what I discovered. “Did you know about this?” I asked.
“No.”
“Cross didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“How did he know Knox’s remains had been found and the key was on his body if he didn’t kill him eight years ago and bury him behind the fucking airport? No one knew any of this until Knox had been IDed late Monday night. Explain to me how Cross knew five hours before anyone else.”
“I don’t know.”
“Self-preservation,” I muttered, recalling what I’d been told by Justin and Almeada when they convinced me to work this case. “Tell me that bastard isn’t using me.” He could have set everything up, including the attack in the holding cells. At the moment, I felt duped. Cross Security had trackers on all company vehicles. Everyone at the office knew where I was yesterday. A fellow employee could have left the threat on my windshield and drove off. The weird guy in the jumpsuit might have been a patrol officer who’d been asked to assist the crime techs and had nothing to do with any of it. “Is this just a trick to confuse the cops?”