“How long have you worked here?”
“Nineteen years.”
“And Mr. Pollero has been the manager for the last fifteen.” Lucy knew that from her notes.
“Yes. He had been the assistant manager at the branch in Austin, then was promoted here,” Shreve said.
“Ms. Robertson, do you remember when my partner and I came in yesterday to talk to Mr. Pollero? It was yesterday morning.”
“Of course. One of the young tellers was enamored with your partner. She had hoped he would be coming back, wanted to give him her number. He’s very attractive, in that bad-boy kind of way.” She glanced at Shreve, then quickly looked down, a deep blush spreading from her cheeks to her chest.
Lucy hadn’t thought about Nate being attractive—she thought of him like a brother because he was so much like her brother Jack.
“After we left, how did Mr. Pollero act?”
“He didn’t really act any different. Though he took an unusually long lunch.”
“How long?”
“Nearly three hours. I thought he might have had a doctor’s appointment or something, though he is always good about informing us if he’s going to be out. He left at eleven thirty—I suppose that’s about thirty minutes after you left—and returned at two twenty-five. I only remember that because he had a two-thirty appointment with a longtime customer about refinancing their home. I was beginning to worry that he’d forgotten.”
“But he was back for the appointment.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask him why he was so late?”
“Not in so many words. It would have been rude, and it’s not like he does it often. He’s a terrific boss, very organized, and understanding about staff issues. We had a sexual harassment issue between one of the loan managers and one of my tellers, and Mr. Pollero handled it swiftly and professionally. I was impressed. We all like him.” She hesitated. “May I ask what he did wrong?”
“We don’t know that he did anything wrong,” Lucy said. Just because he didn’t show up at work didn’t mean he was guilty—though she believed that he was. But guilty of what? She doubted he was guilty of murder, but accessory after the fact? Very likely. He may not have even known that Denise Albright was dead until it hit the papers. But someone told him to lie three years ago.
“Did you know Denise Albright?”
The teller glanced at the president. “It’s okay, Stephanie. We’re cooperating fully with this investigation. Anything you know about Mrs. Albright or the embezzlement will help.”
“I don’t know anything about the embezzlement,” she said. “I was stunned—shocked—when I heard. Mrs. Albright wasn’t overly friendly or anything, but she did a lot of business with the bank, and every Christmas she’d remember the staff and bring in cookies or pastries or something like that. The year before she left she brought in these beautiful ornaments. Little angels, all handmade. She said she’d bought them from a church group raising money for a mission. It was a lovely thought.”
“And what was her relationship with Mr. Pollero? Did he know her well?”
“As well as any of us. Because she was a signatory on several accounts, he worked closely with her. She always recommended our branch to her clients, and it helped because she was local, so if there were any discrepancies she could come in and we would go through the documents. We’re a small, personal-service bank—the national chains rarely provide our level of customer service.”
Lucy didn’t need the plug for the bank, but she appreciated the employee’s dedication.
“What time did Mr. Pollero leave yesterday?”
“Right after closing.”
“Was that unusual?”
“No. We have very specific closing protocols, and he’s not part of that.”
“This is a tough question, and you might have to think about it. But do you remember if you saw Mrs. Albright the last day she came in? Friday, September 21, three years ago?”
“I didn’t—and I know because the police asked me three years ago. But it was a Friday and Friday is always busy.”
“But you would have recognized her.”
“Of course. She came in at least once a month, if not more often.”
“Even with online banking as an option?”
“Like I said, we provide exceptional customer service, and many of our customers don’t use online banking. It’s a generational thing—young people are more apt to use a phone app than someone my age.”
That was generally true, Lucy thought. She did almost everything online.
“Did Mr. Pollero take anything with him last night when he left?” Lucy asked. “A box, items from his desk?”
“Only his briefcase, which he brings daily.”
The photo would fit in his briefcase.
“Can you please look around this office and tell me if anything is missing?”
She did. “He always had a picture of his daughter here,” she said. “That’s gone. And his silver pen.”
“He usually leaves it on the desk?”
“It has a holder. He got it after twenty years of service, it’s very nice, engraved. But he might have put it away, or brought it home for another reason.”
What other reason Lucy couldn’t imagine, but she didn’t say.
“Nothing else seems to be missing.”
Lucy thanked them both for their time, then asked for privacy. She closed the door of Pollero’s office behind them and said to Adam and Laura, “We need to talk to his wife.”
“You think he fled.”
“He definitely planned to flee. I don’t know what his financial situation is, but I would suggest that you ask the bank president to look at their records and make sure nothing is off.”
“What are you thinking here, Kincaid?” Adam asked. “That he was bribed into forging the authorization forms?”
“Bribed or threatened. Possibly he’s done small things in the past, fudging here and there. Few people start with a major crime like stealing three million dollars.”
“Maybe he didn’t know.”
“He knew. He was coached. I’m even wondering if the authorization was put in after the Albrights were already dead.” Lucy paused. “I need to talk to the teller again.”
“About?”
“I want to show her the photo.”
They called her back in. Stephanie looked worried. Lucy said, “Stephanie, I promise, you’re not in trouble. There’s no need to be worried.”
“I can’t help it. I like Mr. Pollero.”
“He seems like a terrific boss.”
“He is.”
She opened the folder where the only thing in it was the photo from three years ago that Pollero said was Denise Albright.
“Do you know this woman?”
“Of course. That’s Kitty Fitzpatrick. You’re not saying that she’s also in trouble?”
“No,” Lucy said, though she didn’t know at this point. “This photo is fuzzy. How can you tell it’s Ms. Fitzpatrick?”
“Because she always wears those big red sunglasses and a flower on her shirt.” She pointed. There was a large flower brooch over her right breast. “I mean, I guess it might not be her, but it looks just like her.”
“Would you mistake her for Denise Albright?”
She frowned, stared at the picture. “Maybe? Mrs. Albright was a little thinner, I think. But they both have light-brown hair and I guess are the same size. But I don’t think I ever saw Mrs. Albright in anything but slacks and a blouse. She dressed very elegant but simple, if that makes sense. Classy. I love Ms. Fitzpatrick’s flowers, and she always dresses like that. She’s a regular, comes in every week. Refuses to use an ATM.”
“Thank you.”
They waited for Stephanie to leave, and Lucy said, “We need to talk to Kitty Fitzpatrick, just to cover bases, but I don’t think that she was involved. I think he found an image of someone who could pass for Denise Albright and that’s what he gave to us.”
&
nbsp; “So we’re looking at major theft,” Adam said. “He’s the one who stole the three million.”
“Perhaps, but he didn’t orchestrate this scheme. He was party to it, but not the instigator, which is why he left. If we don’t find him before that person, he’ll be dead. These aren’t people who leave witnesses alive.”
Adam said, “You and Laura go to his house, then to Fitzpatrick. I’ll talk to the president about auditing their records. I’ll call you if anything pops.”
Because Laura had driven to Kerr County with her boss, Lucy took her to Frank Pollero’s home in Kerrville. He lived only two miles from the bank, in a quaint neighborhood that Lucy would have loved it if weren’t so far from San Antonio.
Lucy didn’t have any information on Mrs. Pollero, only the address. She drove up to the tasteful house. Nothing fancy or too simple, it fit in with the neighbors.
It would have helped if Lucy had more information about the Pollero family, but they didn’t have time to research and they only had a warrant for banking related to Denise Albright.
She knocked on the door. A few moments later, a much older woman answered the door. Frank was in his early fifties, but this woman was in her seventies.
“Mrs. Pollero?” Lucy asked.
“No, honey, Edith Walker.”
“Is Mr. Pollero home?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
Lucy showed her badge. “Special Agent Lucy Kincaid with the FBI. We’re looking to talk to Mr. Pollero regarding a matter at the bank. He’s not here?”
“No, he left early for work. He usually leaves at eight, but today he left before I even woke up.”
“And you’re his wife?”
“Oh no, honey. His mother-in-law. He graciously let me move in when I lost my home in Harvey. I wanted to rebuild, but he said I should stay here, be with family.”
“We’d like to talk to his wife.”
“My daughter died nearly four years ago. Breast cancer. It tore poor Frank up. His world revolved around Christina and their daughter, Penny. You can find Frank at the bank. Is everything okay? There wasn’t a bank robbery, was there? Six or seven years ago there was a robbery, and it was awful. One of the tellers was shot—she survived, thank the lord, but it was terrifying.”
“He didn’t show up for work today.”
“And they called the FBI? What’s wrong?”
“We just need to talk to him about one of his customers.”
“Well, I don’t know where he would be. Maybe he had a meeting at corporate headquarters.”
“Would you mind if we came in and looked around?”
“Oh, I don’t know. This isn’t my house, and I’m sure he’ll be home tonight.”
It was worth a try. Lucy handed Mrs. Walker her card. “If you talk to him, have him call me, okay? I spoke with him yesterday, he’ll know what it’s about. Do you know how to reach your granddaughter?”
“Yes, would you like to talk to her?”
“If that’s possible.”
“She lives outside San Antonio, in Boerne. Her husband is a doctor, isn’t that nice?”
The woman reached inside her sweater pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She put on the reading glasses that hung around her neck and then scrolled through her contacts. “Here’s her number.” She read it off for Lucy, who wrote it down.
“And her full name?”
“Penny Lopez. Penny, not Penelope. Her husband is Joshua. Dr. Joshua Lopez, isn’t that nice? He’s very respected. They have the most precious baby girl. Gracie. Isn’t that a cute name?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Walker.”
Lucy and Laura walked back to the car. Lucy dialed Penny’s number while Laura drove.
Four full rings later, a woman answered. “Hello?”
“Penny Lopez, please.”
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“This is FBI Agent Lucy Kincaid. Your father didn’t go to work today, and I was hoping to speak to him regarding a bank matter I discussed with him yesterday. He mentioned to me that he was planning a visit with you?” That was a guess on Lucy’s part, but if he was as close to his daughter as he appeared he would never attempt to leave the country without seeing her.
“You just missed him. We had breakfast together, though it was a surprise. He doesn’t usually skip work to visit.”
“I was in his office and saw your picture on his desk, he just mentioned in passing that he was going to see you soon. I just didn’t know it was today, and we’re trying to resolve a situation here.”
“It’s about an hour drive, so he should be back in Kerrville by eleven. He left here a little after ten.”
“And he said he was going back to work?”
Silence. “Well, I assumed.”
“Does he often surprise you during the workweek?”
“What’s going on?” she asked. “This doesn’t sound like anything to do with the bank.”
“We need to talk to him.”
“If you’re really working with the bank, you would have his cell phone number.”
“We already tried.” He’d turned his phone off and removed the battery, Lucy was pretty certain. They could get a warrant to ping the phone, but anyone on the run from the police wouldn’t keep it on them.
“I’ll call him and tell him you want to speak to him.”
“That would be great.” She gave Penny her number.
Lucy ended the call.
“You think that’s going to work?” Laura asked.
“She won’t be able to reach him. Fifty-fifty she’ll call me back. If she doesn’t call me, she’ll call the bank to try to find out what’s going on.”
“How did you guess he would visit his daughter?”
“He wouldn’t leave without seeing her. She’s his world, as Edith Walker said. And he has a granddaughter. He would want to see them. Say good-bye—even if they didn’t know he was saying good-bye.”
Lucy called Zach Charles, her squad analyst. “Zach, Frank Pollero is in the wind. I need a BOLO on him, notify the airports—all the major airports. He left Boerne at ten this morning.” That was fifteen minutes ago. “It’s a thirty-minute drive to San Antonio International, he’s traveling light, could have an eleven or twelve o’clock flight out. Or he could be heading to Austin or a bigger airport. Notify Border Control as well—he might try to drive out, then leave through a Mexican airport. I don’t have a good read on him, whether he has a bunch of fake IDs, but my inclination is no. He wasn’t planning on leaving, but he has some money—enough to at least get out of the country. But this was likely spontaneous and he hasn’t thought it through.”
“I’m on it. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
“Thanks.”
“Why would he run?” Laura asked. “Because he was involved in the embezzlement?”
“I don’t think Denise Albright ever came in to authorize the change in the Kiefer accounts. I think that after her killer buried her and her family they convinced Pollero to say that she did. He found someone close enough to Albright in appearance so the picture would pass basic scrutiny. Once we get the analysis back on the paperwork compared to her signatory card, we should be able to prove it.” Maybe they paid him well—gave him a nest egg, his go-money if he ever got caught.
“Why would someone with no criminal record, a pillar of the community, a widower with a family, commit such a heinous act?” Laura asked.
“I don’t think he was involved in the Albrights’ murders. He probably thought she left the country, because that’s what the killers wanted everyone to think. That’s why they embezzled the money in the first place.”
“But Pollero would know that she didn’t embezzle the money.”
True. He would know because she didn’t come into the bank that day.
“Unless,” Lucy said, “she called him. Or talked to him. Maybe she was under duress when she did it, or maybe she was really thinking about taking the money and running. Or
he knew all along that she was being set up. That doesn’t mean he knew her family was going to be murdered.” She thought about it. She didn’t know Frank Pollero, and she was only going by her first impression. She knew he’d been lying, that he’d been coached. Maybe he’d been coached after the fact, so when the FBI came he knew exactly what to say. Whatever it was, now that he knew that the Albrights had been murdered he realized that he was an accessory and decided to disappear. He had his daughter, but his freedom was more important.
They tracked down Kitty Fitzpatrick where she worked as a waitress in a steakhouse. She could pass for Denise Albright in basic appearance, but the reserved, conservative appearance of Denise was nothing like the flamboyant and bright Kitty. She couldn’t say for certain that she’d been to the bank on that day, but she said the picture was of her and that she came in almost every Friday to deposit her cash tips.
“If the money doesn’t get in the bank, I spend it,” she said with a laugh.
After a few more basic questions about her habits and who she knew at the bank, Lucy ruled out that Kitty was involved. She and Laura left twenty minutes later.
“We’ll find him,” Lucy said, more to herself than to Laura.
“You sound confident.”
“He’s not a seasoned criminal. He might have money stashed away, but he doesn’t have a criminal mind. He’s not going to know how to stay off the radar of law enforcement, but mostly, he’s not going to be able to turn his back on his daughter. If he manages to get out of the country—or even to a hideout in the States where we won’t easily find him—I’d give him three weeks, four tops, then he’ll call her. He’ll have to. He’ll miss her too much.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Lucy was confident she was. But she didn’t want to wait a month to find Frank Pollero. She wanted to talk to him now, because he knew who killed the Albrights. And the killer now knew that Pollero was a weak link.
Chapter Twenty-four
TAMAULIPAS, MEXICO
THURSDAY, LATE MORNING
Ricky hadn’t gone to school in three years, but from the beginning Javi said he needed an education. Every morning for three hours Javi had Ricky studying. Javi came up with a program that included a lot of reading but also some math and science problems. Most of what Ricky knew about science was because he read about it. Once a month, Javi went to Ciudad Victoria for three days. Ricky didn’t know what he did—it might not have been legal—but he’d come back with books from a used-book store. Those days, when Javi was gone and it was Ricky and the dog, Ricky thought about going home. But in the end, he realized that he would rather be here and safe than home and scared.
Cut and Run Page 25
