by Susan Slater
After introductions, Lawrence remained standing. “Well let’s get this tour started.” A smile finally—more grimace than positive emotion, however.
“I’d like to see your check-in and out log for August. I assume those entering this area needed to sign in first?”
“Of course. Even though everyone knows everyone in this town, we follow strict procedures. After sign-in the person’s box was retrieved by Stephanie there or myself,” Lawrence paused and nodded to a woman sitting to the right of what looked like the door to a vault…“she would seat the owner in this alcove,” a gesture to the left, “the property would then be delivered to the area. You may notice the recipient was always in line of sight.”
Dan thought “goes with the hanky” but he followed suit and nodded at Stephanie who gave him an anemic smile. He made a mental note to question her…something along the line of helping him to profile Gertie—as tough and unfeeling as that sounded. He tried another smile but Stephanie quickly looked down. Dan glanced back at his host in time to catch a frown directed her way. Odd. Interaction with the investigator must be equivalent to goofing off.
“When the box holder was finished, he or she would buzz Stephanie and she would buzz me. I would then return the safe deposit box and make certain the log was signed.”
Seemed like a couple extra steps, Dan thought, and a lack of trust. Wonder why Stephanie wasn’t more involved? Micro manager came to mind.
“Are the logs stored here on the premises?”
“Yes. Stephanie, would you get August’s sign-in log for Mr. Mahoney?”
Stephanie leaned down and unlocked a file drawer in her desk and after a thumbing of files marked by month, she separated August and placed a bagged and time-stamped log on her desk.
“Mrs. Kennedy has reported that she removed the insured items on August tenth.”
“Yes, here’s her signature.” Stephanie had turned a few pages then scooted the log forward for him to see.
“According to her calendar, there’s some confusion as to just when the items were returned—some problem with the vault’s door needing repair and access was denied due to this servicing.”
“I remember now. She came to the bank with…” Stephanie looked up “…her property and we advised her to wait until we notified her. We anticipated a two-day delay. In fact,” Stephanie turned a page, “here’s her signature on the day she removed her property and here’s my notation when she returned and I informed her that the door needed to be fixed, August seventeenth.”
Dan leaned forward and looked at the note.
“And here’s the notation—time and date—of my call informing her that the vault door was repaired. Well, I didn’t do the calling; I was on vacation but my replacement Amber Medger did—on the eighteenth. The AM notation here? Those are her initials.”
“And Mrs. Kennedy returned to replace her property that day?”
“Oh, this is so silly talking about ‘her property’…we’ve all seen the necklace and know the story of the Titanic and the mother, the father with the clubfoot—”
“That’s enough, Miss Walters.”
Well, that was going to get Miss Stephanie Walters a stern reprimand once he was gone, Dan thought. But how interesting. It was easy to imagine Gertie showing off the prized possession…and easy to realize how it could be a target. He suddenly noticed that Stephanie was rifling through several pages of the log biting her lip and appearing increasingly annoyed.
“I know it’s here…I just can’t seem to find…usually Amber is so careful.”
“You can’t find when Mrs. Kennedy returned the…her necklace?” Stephanie shook her head. Dan bent over the log running a finger down the entries for August eighteenth and nineteenth. There was a total of six names in the two-day period—three so precise and carefully crafted that the owners had evidently studied the Palmer method of penmanship. Which also indicated they were of Gertie’s vintage. And then three were just a smear. He made a note of the ones he could read. A Peter (Buster) Jenkins PhD—Dan paused and reread the entry. Buster actually put his degree behind his name when signing a log to open his safe deposit box? Somehow that said something about him. Dan looked at the two other signatures that were legible—Jesus Garcia and Antonio Romero. Maybe one of them remembered seeing Gertie at the bank that day. He made a note.
“I’ll call Amber—I’m sure it’s just an oversight.”
“In the meantime I’ll continue the tour.” Again that tight smile as Lawrence motioned Dan to follow then stopped a few steps beyond Stephanie’s desk. “This is it.” He turned to dial the combination and apply the key that opened the safe deposit box vault. Actually a ten by ten room, windowless, cheerless—its own kind of prison, Dan thought. But it was the slight musty smell mixed with the unmistakable ethyl benzene odor of new carpet backing that almost made him gag. What a mix.
“Repairs have been made?” Dan also noted what looked like new steel shelving on the north wall.
“Yes, and no.” Lawrence walked to the far corner and pulled back the carpet and lifted a piece of plywood to reveal a ragged opening in the floor about two feet from the wall. Dan leaned in and took a couple snaps of what looked like blackened edges—blowtorch? The thick metal flooring had been cut in the rough shape of a circle. Maybe high-tech laser equipment? Looked like it. Certainly made less noise than trying to blow up a steel plate like that.
“We have to have new flooring put down as you can see…this is basically cosmetic for the time being, and safety. We’ve made room in the bank vault for everyone’s valuables. We still haven’t been released to begin repairs.”
Dan assumed he meant by the Feds. Things could move pretty slowly being somewhat off the beaten path as they were.
“Well, there you have it, not much to see. There are fifteen boxes in this vault—twelve were in use. One wall model safe that’s temperature and humidity controlled for larger objects or those needing a special environment.”
“What kinds of things were kept in there?” Dan stood in front of the two-foot by four-foot enameled door marked Irwin, the combination lock neatly cut out allowing entry.
“Oh, family Bible for the Garcias, a great-grandfather’s love letters to his sweetheart from the early 1800s for another family. Some pieces of Indian pottery…Anything that could be contaminated by plain air.”
“And none of these things were taken?”
“Only one claim to date…ol’ Doc Jenkins but I’m not sure it’s legitimate. Odd claim…may not come to anything.”
Dan waited for an explanation of what an odd claim might entail but nothing more was offered. Dan made a note to get the phone number or address of Doc Jenkins.
“Still doesn’t seem like many boxes for a town of three to four hundred people.”
“In my community you’ll find more riches between the mattress and box springs than right here.”
“In retrospect that seems like the smart thing to do.” Mattresses or Barbasol cans Dan added to himself.
Lawrence didn’t seem to see any humor in his remark.
“Were all the boxes vandalized?” Dan stood in front of three seemingly untouched boxes—still locked with hardware complete.
“All of the ones in use were found open. Used some kind of laser tool to cut the locks out. See here? And here? Even the big Irwin got hit.”
Dan leaned closer. Well, maybe Wagon Mound had had a brush with high-tech after all. The floor and now the boxes. These incisions were neat and exact.
“The numbers indicate boxes that were in use?” Dan was looking at the small paste-on laminate numerals in the right hand corner of each box.
“Exactly. All contain the date the box was rented. As you might guess, Mrs. Kennedy’s is the oldest—twenty-fifth of March, 1933. The year the number system was put in place.”
Dan took out his camera again, the ol
d 4 pixel Nikon still took great close-ups. He just couldn’t get used to using his phone—somehow a phone didn’t have the right to be a camera. He adjusted the Nikon and clicked a couple of shots including one of the absolute precision of the laser cuts. He was at a loss to name the tool but probably something surgical or out of a lab.
“Not everything was taken. Papers, for example, deeds, car titles, that sort of thing were found in a jumble on the floor. Even the Garcia family Bible. Several patrons only kept papers in their respective boxes…but a few kept other valuables. A gold inlaid chess set, a coin collection, a collection of 1800s railroad watches. Three patrons in all lost items of immense value.”
Dan wasn’t sure what “immense” value added up to—he guessed the five hundred thousand-dollar necklace would qualify. “I’d like to talk with those who lost valuables. In addition, of course, to Mrs. Kennedy.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Need to make sure my client wasn’t singled out. Rule out that she in some way could have invited this—hard to think Gert would try to skip out on a drug debt though.” Dan chuckled.
Again, Lawrence remained deadpan. Strange man, Dan thought. Literal thinker for one thing and not prone to see humor in much of anything.
“What furniture was in the room? Table and chair?”
“No furniture, no need. We relied on Stephanie to keep an eye on things outside the vault—much better light. And it was that little bit of extra precaution. Didn’t want any hanky-panky—made more sense to retrieve the boxes and have them delivered by bank personnel.”
Hanky-panky? Like someone was going to sneak in with a blowtorch or better yet, stay in there long enough to pick the locks? Control followed by the word freak. Two words that seemed to fit ol’ Lawrence. Dan made a mental note to check with Stephanie—soon. He took one more look around the small room. Nothing jumped out. Maybe another picture or two and then they should get on with it. “I assume the tunnel is still open?”
“With a twenty-four-hour guard. That’s next on the tour.”
Something about locking the barn after the horses had gone elsewhere came to mind. Dan snapped another picture of the hole in the floor, its proximity to the wall, the boxes, and the door, then he followed Lawrence out of the room, out the bank’s front door and around the side. The guard on duty nodded and leaned down to unlock and remove a padlock from a heavy-looking metal door. And all Dan could think of was the root cellar at his grandmother’s house. A favorite spot of his as a youngster, the farm in northeastern Illinois had gotten him out of the humidity-laden city for a month before school started. He’d had day after day to run free, fish, round up the chickens—hide in the cellar when his cousins visited. Some of his best childhood memories. He slipped the camera out of his pocket and took several photos.
“Watch your step. Little steeper than what you’d expect. Let me get the light.”
Dan followed Lawrence but paused until the last few steps were illuminated. Steep didn’t quite capture it and what a workout if you were carrying buckets up those stairs heavy with dirt and cement from tunneling. That would take someone in pretty good shape. Or someones. It was difficult to see this as a one-man operation. Unless you wanted to believe he’d been at it for a year or more. And, actually, who knew when it was started?
“This old boiler is a remnant from the past.”
Dan tuned back in and stepped forward to inspect the hulk of an antique furnace with a blocked coal chute.
“I have no idea when this was last used. Well before my time.”
Dan was guessing the thirties.
“Never seemed to be money to renovate this part of the bank. I don’t think anyone even used the basement for storage. But the boiler came in handy for someone.”
“So, you think only one person was involved?”
“I have absolutely no idea. It was just a comment. But if you move the boiler…” Lawrence tugged on one edge of the metal but waited until Dan gave a pull on the other side with his good hand to leverage the boiler away from the wall. “And here you have it—the infamous tunnel. Completely blocked from view if someone were to look down here.”
“How long do you think they were at it?”
“I don’t have a guess—not my expertise. But long enough to carve out fifteen feet of two by two-foot space. See?” Lawrence flashed a penlight around the dirt walls coming to rest at the back where the tunnel made a right turn. “That’s where they went wrong.”
“Pardon?”
“If they had turned left, and if they had had the proper tools, they would have been in the vault.”
“And would have had access to cash and not just valuables.”
“Exactly. But right past that juncture, there’s another wall of two-foot-thick cement, then a steel plate and then the triple-layered steel of the vault’s floor. No idea how much time that would have added to their effort or if they could have even penetrated it.”
“It would have slowed them down, that’s for sure.”
Lawrence nodded. “So, did we dodge a bullet? Were our losses cut by blunder? Or just common sense?”
“Interesting. Impossible to know. They might have gone for both…given time. I don’t suppose the bank or local historical society has a blueprint of the bank? Something that might have helped with the decision-making? I have a hard time believing someone would tunnel in—expend that kind of energy and take that kind of risk to miss the mark.”
“Interest in historical preservation was slow getting to Wagon Mound. By the time there was interest, original documents were long gone.”
Dan nodded. He idly wondered at the reserves. How much would a bank in Wagon Mound keep in the vault? There were a lot of ranchers in the area; deposits might be hefty. The vault could have been the primary target. And they somehow had made the wrong turn. That would make sense. Cash is a little easier to dispose of than necklaces and coin collections.
“Was there a lot of cash on hand that weekend?”
Lawrence cleared his throat, “Actually, yes. About three or four times normal deposits. Old Mr. Thompson was to close on about a hundred thousand acres that borders his ranch, the Double Eagle. He was set to meet at the title company in Las Vegas that Tuesday morning after Labor Day. He’d sold some stock and securities and put the money here in preparation.”
“And this was how much?”
Lawrence licked his lips, “Right at two million.”
Dan couldn’t help a low whistle. “You think anyone knew that kind of money was here?”
“Mr. Mahoney, this is a small town, we have no need for a newspaper. Everyone knew Edgar Summers was selling and Thompson was buying. The deal had been in the making for over a year.”
Dan was quiet. Two million sitting in a vault, there was great cover while tunneling; they’d obviously taken their time; they probably knew the money was there…yet, the money wasn’t touched. A right turn instead of a left. It made no sense. Something wasn’t right. What was he missing? Could they not have had the tools to go through the triple reinforcement below the vault? No, anyone with laser cutters, blowtorches, and patience could have turned left and made it worthwhile. And anyone with any sense would have done a drawing of the interior. First. And deduced where everything was. It was as easy as just walking in the door upstairs to know where the vault was located. They had to have known their right versus their left.
So why the safe deposit boxes? There was no way the jewelry and other heirlooms offered a greater profit when fenced. Doubtful the black market would have coughed up even a hundred thousand for Gertie’s necklace. Yet, he supposed it was possible, jewels taken from their settings, bagged separately…easier to grab, safer maybe—
“Were the bills marked in any way?”
“Good grief, no. This is Wagon Mound, New Mexico, we hadn’t had a robbery in over forty years. And that one involved a g
uy buck naked—wrapped himself in a bed sheet, then lost control of his costume when he bent over to pick up some loose change.” Lawrence tapped his temple with an index finger. “Absolutely loony.”
“I’m just trying to make sense out of it. Trying to apply some logic.”
“Not sure ‘logic’ and criminals ever go hand in hand.” Lawrence snapped off the penlight and put it back in his pocket. “So, there you have it. Unless, you’re going to crawl back and take a closer look.”
“My crawling days have been curtailed for a while.” Dan held up the wrist cast. “Might be a little difficult.”
“Well then, let’s go back up to my office. You requested the names of the other two patrons who lost valuables?”
Chapter Seven
Dan was back at the room to go over his notes and set up appointments for the rest of the week. Elaine had dropped him off and then took off for Las Vegas for some serious grocery shopping. Eggs, bacon, and frozen things past their expiration dates had gotten old…literally. He’d forgotten what a fresh veggie even looked like. It was amazing how elastic a month-old carrot could become without hydration. But this life wouldn’t be for long. He had enough work for the next three days and then if the doc released him to drive—which he was pretty sure he’d do—he’d wrap things up and be outta here within a couple weeks.
So, what was first? He needed to chat with the other box holders who had reported losses. That should probably be next. And a quick call to the sister office of United Life & Casualty in Hobbs—find out if anyone had known his itinerary that morning. It was still tough to believe someone had set him up with Chet Echols. There was a chance that it had all been a mistake. Wrong place, wrong time. Yeah, the cut hoses were a stretch to call a mistake but there was a chance that someone got the wrong car. But that didn’t explain the “it’s not what you think” note.
