Not Safe for the Bank(er) Read online

  The people at the bank seemed to get along. But maybe that was a front, for appearances, like so many things in our world.

  Maybe his response was freaky because he found a dead body. Who can say what’s normal under those circumstances?

  “Was the vault locked when you came in this morning?”

  He stared at me for a few seconds as though I was speaking a foreign language poorly. “Both doors were closed. Do you know they were actually dusting for fingerprints, like on TV?”

  I wondered what kind of TV programs bankers watch? Dancing with the Teller? Tales of the Spread Sheet?

  “Do you lock the big door with a key or is it automatic?”

  “It…it’s part of the timer system but it has to be closed for the lock to engage.” His eyes darted around. “If it closed automatically someone could get locked inside.”

  “Could she have been locked in by mistake?” The question of air in the vault seemed inappropriate to ask. Would a bank vault have air vents? Could a robot be sent through them to murder or burgle? Was there a telephone to call for help or carry out?

  But if Carol was merely locked inside, and didn’t suffocate, wouldn’t she still be alive? Did she have a heart attack?

  “No, she was dead, there was blood. She was so still.” His words were barely audible. He cleared his throat before he continued.

  “The room is too small, if someone was behind the wall, they would holler when the lights were turned off. There’s also a panic button, under the carpet in the corner." He looked at me and away quickly probably realizing he was telling secrets.

  “You didn’t hear that from me,” he added.

  “No problem. Is there a phone in there too?” Of course now I really wanted to look inside. And I wanted to see the button he mentioned. However, I didn’t want to see the blood.

  “The phone line isn’t working. You didn’t hear that from me either.”

  “You were the last one out the door last night Mr. Fives?”

  “Yes. Carol left a few minutes early. Robert and Jeanine had rides, so although it’s against bank policy, I left alone.”

  “Would you normally check the vault before you left for the day?”

  “Of course, of course, this is our routine. We check everything as we leave for the evening. We check everything we are supposed to check at the end of the day, we even turn out the lights in the vault and the private customer room and the little banker’s lamp on Carol’s...” He couldn’t finish his sentence as another tear escaped along his cheek and splashed on his shoe.

  His over explanation suggested he might have skipped a few steps. For a bank it didn’t seem safe for one person to leave alone at closing.

  “What happened to her, was she shot?” Half of me didn’t want to know.

  “Carol was dead, I don’t know what happened to her. There was blood, but she was perfectly still.” His eyes took on a vacant look.

  “I am so sorry. Did you talk to her family?”

  “I didn’t call anyone. Who would I call? Her husband died of cancer about six months ago,” he stopped.

  “Kids?”

  “No, no kids. The central office is sending someone to deal with this. I don’t know if she updated her emergency contact person. They could be calling an empty house.”

  Carol’s life seemed sad in an Eleanor Rigby kind of way. Someone had to make arrangements for burial or cremation. Someone had to wrap up the loose ends.

  That’s what we do in probate court. My guess was that Carol was in the large group of people that never get around to making a will. Now if I had a client, I could help wrap up Carol’s life, if I just had a client.

  For a second I wondered if Mr. Fives wasn’t allowed to make calls, how would the central office know Carol was dead to send someone over to contact her family. On TV the police did that.

  “You know sometimes I thought she was relieved when he died.”

  “How long was he ill?”

  “About a year, but I think the pressure of taking care of him wore her down to threadbare. Al, his name was Al. He was sick for a long time. It placed so many burdens on her shoulders that they shared before. It took a toll on her and on their savings. He couldn’t work and lost his insurance. It ruined their retirement plans. It took away her dreams. She said, more than once, she never expected them to make it to Phoenix after his diagnosis.

  When Al got sick, there were always tests and more tests, one doctor and then another. A second opinion and then another. It was a full-time job just managing his medical appointments, transportation and insurance. She had to hire people to stay with him during the day. He couldn’t drive anymore and didn’t want to be alone.

  She could barely get away for a movie or a night at a hotel.”

  After he died she changed. She seemed only a little bitter, but that wasn’t all of it. I always had the impression she was keeping a secret. It was like she had some big plan. We were kind of close at one time. But she didn’t really talk about how she felt after Al died. She didn’t invite anyone from the bank for the memorial. I don’t know if she even had anything for him.”

  “How long was he sick?”

  “I don’t know, it seems like it was years. Maybe it was two years. Carol was always on edge and now, now that she’s free…or was free…” His voice crackled and stopped. There was a glimmer of something else behind his half closed eyes and then it vanished.

  “How long ago did he die?”

  “Six, seven months, I think. I’m not really sure.”

  That left the spouse out as a suspect. Did he say hotel? Maybe I misunderstood.

  “So, how does the alarm work?”

  “I can't talk about the alarm Ms. Gavelle, it’s not allowed, bank policy.” One fat tear ran down the side of his nose and disappeared into his shirt.

  “Why Carol?”

  My sympathy sounds were sincere for the most part but if Bob didn’t arrive soon, I might slap Mr. Fives or just leave him to wait alone.

  Chapter Seven

  “Mr. Fives, do you keep track of who goes into the vault?”

  “Of course, you know how it works when you go into the box room. We pull your signature card, we date stamp and initial the card, you sign and we take you into the vault. We put your key in and ours to open the box.”

  “Is there a collective list?”

  “No, just the cards.”

  “Was it busy yesterday?”

  “In the vault? No, it’s rarely busy. There was a vault customer in around four. When I went to check, the box was back in place and the signature card was put away.

  You know when we moved to the new building, Carol’s job was going to be downsized. But they waited because her husband was so sick.”

  “Couldn’t she do other work here in the bank?”

  “Carol was set in her ways. She wanted to manage the vault and nothing more. Even when the work load decreased dramatically, she stood her ground. I think the computers weren’t her thing. She felt bills should be hand addressed with a note on them.

  We encouraged her to branch out, but she wasn’t interested. She wanted to manage the vault and nothing more. Although, occasionally she would answer the phone, but I think she did that when she was particularly bored.

  I think she missed talking to the customers.”

  “Was she close to retirement?”

  “Yes, she had six months to go. I think they would have let her go sooner if her husband wasn’t so sick.”

  “Who was the last customer?”

  “What?” His stare was blank and then he caught up. “The last customer? In the vault? That’s confidential.” He had the nerve to look insulted.

  “So can you say who signed them out?”

  “No, the file was put away and there weren’t any initials for the sign out. I initialed it just so that the rules were covered. Maybe I put it away without thinking. The customer wouldn’t be able to lock the box without our key and there wasn’t a box out of
alignment or unlocked. You need both keys to lock the box.”

  “Were there many people working yesterday?”

  He stared at me forming a question.

  “Mr. Fives, I’m nosey, it’s kind of what I do for a living. Do you want to talk about interest rates or credit card promotions while we wait for Bob?”

  “No, I’m sorry Ms. Gavelle. It’s good of you to help me. If you hadn’t come in, I don’t know, I think they would have arrested me. Do you think your lawyer friend is really coming?”

  Checking my phone, it was all of ten minutes since I called Bob. “I’d like to keep talking until he gets here so the police don’t have a chance to ask you any more questions.”

  After looking around the bank, Mr. Fives continued. “Well yesterday, to go back to your question, it was just the four of us, Carol, me, and two cashiers, Robert and Jeanine. Wednesdays are slow as a rule.”

  “Did you ask them about it?”

  “Robert wasn’t scheduled today until noon, Jeanine walked in with me. As soon as I opened the vault, I found Carol and called 911. The police and paramedics were here in minutes. I mean it’s as if they were waiting for the call.

  The police sent us to different corners of the room and told us to close the drive through window and the bank. We were warned not to talk to anyone and not to make telephone calls. They said to stay put until they interviewed us. We were treated like criminals.

  Jeanine got into an argument with one of the policemen about constitutional rights and using the washroom.”

  “I suppose that’s the procedure. And isn’t the fire station only three blocks away? That’s how they got here so fast.”

  He stared at me and continued. “What a mess. Maybe I should have come back last night, I thought about it several times.”

  “Why would you return Mr. Fives?”

  “I thought I saw the keys in the door, no that’s not right, I thought I saw the keys somewhere they didn’t belong. But I had a call and at closing time we’re so busy it slipped my mind. Once I was on the way home it clicked into my head again, you know how that happens?”

  “Yes,” I turned back to check the iron so many times in the mornings, I restricted my ironing to evenings. Then I discontinued it entirely.

  “Well you can drive yourself crazy with second guessing so I went home. I’ve never had a problem before. We always follow the procedure.” He finished with a lot of doubt in his voice.

  We both sighed.

  “Could you get in the bank after closing?” I asked.

  “Well yes, I could just before we open or shortly after we close, but I never have.”

  My questions were making him increasingly uncomfortable and he was fidgeting. Was a lie accompanied with a wiggle?

  “Did they ask you that? I mean any of the police or FBI?”

  “Yes and yes I answered them honestly. How is it that I’m treated like a criminal when all I’ve done is tell the truth? I could never kill anyone. I could never hurt Carol, she was my friend.” He said this so gently he caught me by surprise and caused me to doubt my doubt about him.

  Was there something more in how he felt about Carol? It came into play when he talked about her husband and about her being free. It didn’t sound like love, but maybe unrequited love.

  “Where do you keep the vault keys?” I asked.

  “In the filing cabinet most of the time. They have a lancier (sic), what do you call those shoe lace pieces you wear on your neck? With the clips?”

  “Oh I know what you mean, lanyards,” I answered.

  “Yes. Usually whoever signs a customer into the vault holds onto the keys to lock up when they’re done and initials the card after they finish. Occasionally someone sets the keys on the table in the break room or puts them in their pocket and that creates a full blown panic until we locate them.”

  My look of doubt in the integrity of their security system made him continue.

  “No, no, no, not to worry, there is an explicit bank policy. It’s good. We keep them in hand until we return them to the drawer where we keep the signature cards. Carol was almost fired when a district manager saw her leave the keys in the door to the vault. And not too long ago, Charlotte, do you remember Charlotte?”

  “Yes.”

  “She was fired two weeks ago because she left the keys in the double lock in the lock box and then closed the inner glass door. It locks automatically when it’s closed. She wouldn’t even admit it and tried to blame Carol.”

  “Aren’t there spare keys?” Really, banks seemed to be the heart of organization that would have a backup system.

  “Oh there are and we have to call another bank to get them. And there are forms when this happens. We’ve had close calls. Will you keep our conversation under client-attorney secrecy?” Mr. Fives looked at me with guilt.

  “It’s confidentiality, and although I’m not sure it applies, but sure.”

  “We were able to use a coat hanger to open the inner door a couple of times last week.”

  “Over the top opening?” Wow, I had to move my unwearable ring and unusable coins to another bank.

  “No someone, me, had to lie on the floor and reach up to pull the handle down with a coat hanger. The main office is very strict about errors. The keys to my office and the break room are on that key ring. If a customer took the keys it would be the end for me. All the locks would need to be changed and they would fire us.”

  “Rules are for safety and of course security.” Mr. Fives stated with fatigue and a hint of rote memory.

  Chapter Eight

  “Don’t you have security cameras?” I asked.

  “We have them on the tellers and on the automated teller machine in the lobby. Oh and on the drive through customers.”

  “Not in the vault?”

  “No, not in the vault, it would compromise customer privacy. We aren’t supposed to even look at the contents of the boxes. Our manual says to divert our eyes if the customer opens the box in the vault area. We have the private customer room for that purpose.”

  I sat quietly.

  “There are a lot of rules here. Did you ever notice we don’t have pictures of our family on our desks like other people have at their office?” Mr. Fives asked.

  “No.”

  “We don’t have them because it could expose our families to kidnapping.”

  I nodded my head in appreciation.

  “Mr. Fives, did the police ask you who was in the vault yesterday?”

  “No, why would that matter?”

  “I don’t know, I’m looking for a connection.”

  “Oh no, I hope they don’t take the cards. What if a customer needed to get into the box? Some people keep important things in there. They keep wills and cemetery information that they need immediately. But they have to wait until the next regular hours.

  You know, I’ve had customers who are close friends call me in the middle of the night begging for help. They need to get into the vault before we open or on a Sunday and I can’t help them, but they don’t understand all the rules and regulations.

  Do you think the police will take the cards?” He stood up, realized the opposition would win by sheer numbers and sat down.

  I shrugged in response. His answers were enough for me to convict him. He was the last to leave, the first to arrive and could enter the bank when he wanted. About half of his answers were lies, while others were mere contradictions.

  Maybe calling Bob wasn’t such a good idea. Still, even guilty people are entitled to a defense. Without a lawyer, they might convict him of murdering Jimmy Hoffa.

  "Who did you call Fiona?”

  “Bob Noodle.”

  “Is he a good lawyer?”

  “Yes, I think so, I know him from a bar group. He does criminal defense work, you know felonies and misdemeanors.”

  “Felonies? But I didn’t kill her.” His voice was a tad too loud and got us more unwanted attention inside the fishbowl office.

 
He gulped at the air until he was able to get into a rhythm of deep breaths. In a dozen deep breaths, his face turned from bright red to a shade of ash. This is where I came in.

  “Will I have to pay him?”

  “Bob? Of course. Make sure you understand how he charges.”

  What was Mr. Fives thinking? That an attorney could drop everything to rush to his aid as a courtesy?

  Still, he never asked me to call a criminal defense lawyer to come over immediately. And I never told him the guy charges an obscene hourly rate, which embarrassed me. But this wasn’t a time to be price shopping.

  "Why do I need another lawyer? You’re here."

  "Because I write wills and made you a power of attorney. I don't know anything about criminal law."

  "Are you kidding me?" His gestures returned to his opening act, squeezing his face and pulling his hair into little tufts. He should consider biting his nails.

  “My best advice is to talk to Bob, that’s why I called him. You have to protect yourself now and Bob is a large part of that plan.”

  He was speechless.

  "What about the cleaning crew? They have keys, right?” I groped for threads to tie things together.

  "No, no keys for them. They have to be here as we close or they can’t get in the bank.”

  “How do they get out if they don’t have keys?”

  “One of the lobby doors can be set to lock behind them. They have a card, like the ATM cards but programmed to allow them to leave the lobby. Their cards only work to release the door from the inside.”

  "Did Carol have keys or a card like that?"

  "No, I’m the only one who has them. We have keys and codes that are changed every ten days by the main office.”

  "Do you know where your keys are now?"

  "I have them here, in my desk." Before he could get around his desk to open the drawer, the big guy who blocked my path stepped inside. He politely asked Mr. Fives not to open any desk drawers or filing cabinets until they were searched. Before we could get into it any more, reinforcements arrived.

  Bob Noodle came through the door, accompanied by a wave of garlic making me hold my breath as I thought about lunch. Turning back to make introductions, Mr. Fives was on the floor.