Carly Bishop - No Baby But Mine

by No Baby But Mine(Lit)

  "We believe he came into the bank sometime in the last few days. Please. If you could help us" -- "Ms. McCourt, do you have any idea how many people go in and out of this bank every day of the week?"

  "Look, Delahunt," Garrett interrupted.

  "I'll have a subpoena delivered before the end of the day, if that's what it's going to take to get the information I need. But Rawlings is missing, his life is in danger and any information you can give us now might make the difference."

  Delahunt turned to his computer and tapped in the name, then clicked through several screens.

  "He's not a checking-account holder... no savings account, no CDs... no outstanding loans. Let me see about any that might have been paid off." He went rapidly through several more screens.

  "No. Nothing."

  Garrett scowled.

  "What about a safe-deposit box?"

  "Those names are confidential."

  "I'm looking for a yes or no."

  Delahunt gave a flinty look, then turned back to the computer.

  "No.

  The name you're looking for isn't here. But you have to understand that at least a third of the safe-deposit boxes are under company or corporate names. "

  "Aren't the names of individuals who represent corporations in the computer?"

  "Yes. But in another format altogether. Individuals with designated access to the boxes fall under the corporate umbrella, so to speak, and for that, I will have to have a court order to produce. And no" -he held up a hand, anticipating Garrett "--even if you give me the names of corporate entities, I won't give you a yes or a no. Not without the paperwork."

  "What about beneficiaries, sir?" Kirsten asked.

  "What happens when someone dies who may be the only designated person for a corporation?"

  "In that case, we would require a legal, notarized Certificate of Death."

  "Suppose it was a dummy corporation," she persisted.

  "What if I'm the beneficiary but I don't know the number of the box or what name was used to lease it?"

  Delahunt frowned.

  "You're talking a fairly complex set of circumstances. How do you even know such a box exists under that scenario?"

  "Any number of ways," Garrett answered.

  "The point is, do you maintain a computer list of beneficiaries?"

  "Not as such, no. But we encourage our leases to put the names of beneficiaries on the record. That is a searchable database, but again, I'm walking a thin line here."

  "One more yes-or-no answer?" Garrett bargained.

  "Then I'll see that you get the subpoena."

  "Under what authority? The receptionist mentioned the police" -- "The Office of the United States Attorney." Garrett pulled out his ID.

  Delahunt studied the credentials and made a note of Garrett's name, then looked up, exhaling sharply.

  "All right. What yes-or-no question would that be?"

  "Is Kirsten McCourt the beneficiary of any leased safe-deposit box in this bank, whether this branch or any other?"

  "You're pushing it, Mr. Weisz."

  "Lives are at stake, Mr. Delahunt. Including Ms. McCourt's."

  Clearly disarmed by Garrett's aura of absolute sincerity, Delahunt returned his hands to the keyboard. Inside of a minute, he said, "Kirsten McCourt is in fact the beneficiary of the contents of a box in this bank, in this building."

  Something akin to dread filled her.

  "Am I allowed to look inside it?"

  "No, ma'am, you are not. That would be a designee, which you are not."

  Almost relieved, Kirsten said, "I'm grateful to you, Mr. Delahunt."

  "You're welcome." But she could see that he was unwilling to look at her, almost as if she were already dead. He turned to Garrett.

  "I'll be expecting the appropriate paperwork."

  "Sir, the U.S. Attorney's office is also grateful for your help, but if you would, there is something more."

  "Mr. Weisz, I've given you as much as I can" -- "I understand. We'll deal later with the contents by subpoena. But I have reason to believe Ms. McCourt and I were followed into the bank."

  He paused, his forehead creasing.

  "We also believe that the individual following is vitally interested in whether Ms. McCourt walks out of this bank with the contents of that box."

  "I can't allow you access" -- "That's exactly what I want the person following us to know."

  "What, exactly, are you asking of me?"

  "I need a look at your security cameras. If we can spot him, Kirsten and I will go to the desk at the safe and try getting access to the box. She'll be refused, she'll make a scene, you'll come down and patiently explain to us that she will not be allowed access. You call security and they'll escort us out."

  Delahunt sighed heavily.

  "May I ask a question?"

  "Wait," Kirsten interrupted, a shiver going through her body.

  "Garrett, I'm not sure this is a good idea. Then they will know there really is something here. Wouldn't it work better if Mr. Delahunt simply walks us out, apologizing for being unable to help?"

  Garrett looked into her eyes.

  "Kirsten, they already know something exists. That it's here isn't going to change any of the dynamics at all--except that no one is going to believe you walked out of here with nothing in hand unless we somehow prove it--not with Christo's life at stake."

  Worry made her hands restless, flighty. She clasped them tight to stop the small tremor. She had never felt more helpless or out of control of the events in her life. Thank God Christo was, in fact, safe. She had only her own life to worry about.

  Garrett took her hands in his.

  "It buys us time, Kirsten. You're not expendable to them as long as whatever this is remains locked up in the safe- deposit box."

  She straightened her backbone.

  "That's some comfort, isn't it?"

  The question was not only rhetorical, but a facade, sheer grit. He smiled, his voice low, husky.

  "That's my girl." He turned back to Delahunt.

  "Do you still have a question?"

  His complexion cast now in a grayish hue, the bank manager shifted uneasily in his chair.

  "What is in that box?"

  "We don't know."

  "But if I'm reading you right, Ms. McCourt's life is nevertheless threatened unless this... this man following you can be convinced that she has not seen or acquired whatever is in the box?"

  "Yes."

  Kirsten shivered, hard.

  Delahunt nodded, sneaking an unsettled, uneasy peek at a photo of his wife and children on the credenza behind his desk. Apparently decided, he stood.

  "Come with me."

  He strode into the hall, then inserted a key into the call button on a private elevator concealed behind an ordinary office door. Kirsten walked ahead of Garrett and the manager into the small space. Delahunt explained that the elevator only stopped just outside the door of the vault on the first floor, and on the underground level where the security videocams were monitored.

  They exited into the windowless offices of the security detail. The setup reminded Kirsten powerfully of the security area in the Federal Building, which had been Lane's domain. She waited while the bank manager explained the situation to the shift commander, who then directed them to the video monitors.

  "There are twelve videocams in all for the inside of the lobby. Three more trained on the street outside and these, on the parking garage.

  Have a look. See if you can spot your man. "

  Garrett first searched the more highly mobile pop e ulation on the street outside the bank, then the screen of the video cam focused on the parking area where they'd left Kirsten's car.

  The white van was squeezed into a space just below the camera. "This is it."

  There was no one inside the van.

  Kirsten meanwhile glanced from one to another of the twelve monitors inside the lobby, searching faces for one familiar from the boys in the band and t
he Identicomps she'd done on them with Matt. She spotted several possibilities, but when the technicians zoomed in for her, none of them panned out.

  Then a woman seated at a set of four monitors stiffened.

  "That's the second time this guy has moved to the back of the line. I think I saw him earlier, too, filling out a deposit slip or something."

  Garrett and Kirsten bent over the security tech's shoulder.

  "Which line?"

  In her own element now, Kirsten spotted him immediately.

  "This guy, right here." The tech nodded, already zooming in. They had to wait a few seconds until the guy turned a little more fully to the camera, but when he had, Kirsten knew.

  "Garrett, he's the one. He was wearing that same brown windbreaker in the park."

  "Yeah." He nodded grimly.

  "Okay. Delahunt?"

  Though the bank manager had stood back a way, he came close to get a look at the target audience of their charade.

  Kirsten asked, "Will the clerk at the vault desk call you?"

  He gave a brief shake of his head.

  "No. Not even if you ask for me--which you wouldn't do, right?

  Because, theoretically, I've already refused you, and your guy there may have been told by the front receptionist that the two of you were directed to my office. Protocol dictates that the vault clerk call security immediately. "

  Garrett asked Delahunt if he would alert the clerk to break with standard procedure and phone him first.

  "That way Kirsten will have the chance to protest. She won't want you to come because you've already turned her down, and that will be clear to this jerk following us."

  Delahunt nodded.

  "All right." He took them back up in the security elevator. Garrett shook Delahunt's hand again, thanking him.

  "Just do me a favor and deliver on the papers." Delahunt looked to Kirsten.

  "I'm sorry for your trouble, whatever it is. With this man on your side, you'll probably come out okay."

  "Thank you."

  Once they were in the public-access elevator Garrett muttered, "" Probably'? What's that? "

  "The truth." She looked at him solemnly.

  "I haven't heard any guarantees out of you yet."

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down. A laugh finally bubbled out of her.

  "Lighten up, Weisz, or face the consequences."

  "Which would be what?" The elevator dinged and the doors opened on the main-floor lobby.

  "Having to call in the men in white coats, armed with syringes and straitjacket."

  "Consider me enlightened."

  She rolled her eyes.

  "Which way, oh Weisz ;?"

  one. "

  He scowled and took hold of her elbow again guiding her toward the vault.

  "Our mark has just now spotted us. He's ducking out of line again, headed our way. Are you ready?"

  It didn't matter whether she was or not. She had to play her role. The sixty ish vault clerk sat with a pleasant smile on her face.

  "How can I help you?"

  "My name is Kirsten McCourt." She began to pull out her driver's license. The clerk gave no indication whatever of having heard her name before.

  "What ID do you need?"

  "That'll be fine. What box are you accessing today?"

  "I'm not sure. I'm listed on your beneficiary roster, though, so" "You don't have a key?"

  "No. As I said, I'm a beneficiary."

  "A death certificate, then?"

  "No. I mean, not with me. But I need to get into the box today" "I'm afraid I can't help you, then. There are rules."

  Kirsten let her voice rise, take on an edge.

  "I know there are rules, but you don't understand. I need into that box." She went on another few seconds, invoking Delahunt's name, implying he'd agreed to open the box due to her unusual circumstances.

  "Well, miss, why don't I just call our manager and get confirmation of that" -- "No! I mean..."

  The clerk was already dialing. Inside of a minute Delahunt appeared, flanked at the elevator door by a couple of security guards. Garrett made some comment about having warned her this wouldn't work. She stared angrily at him, then caught sight of the security team and behind them, a glimpse of the guy from the white van, wearing the brown windbreaker.

  At the last second, Garrett veered from the scenario he'd invented.

  Jerking her around, he pulled her away with him and held up a hand to the security men.

  "Take it easy, guys. She's upset. She didn't mean to make a stink. I'll get her out of here right away."

  Not satisfied with the offer to leave, one of them demanded ID, but Delahunt stepped in.

  "Let her go. I think Ms. McCourt understands she is not advancing her cause with this behavior. There is no way this bank is opening a box for inspection that does not belong to her."

  Several feet away, grabbing up a fistful of bank flyers for some semblance of purpose in having been there at all, the guy in the windbreaker made a beeline for the revolving front doors.

  Chapter Ten

  Garrett pulled out of the InterBank parking garage into a tangle of early-morning business traffic. When he got to the highway, he turned in the direction of the demolition job site.

  "I thought you were taking me home."

  "I changed my mind." He first had to put in an appearance at the job, then convince Grenallo to go before some magistrate asking for the subpoena he'd promised Delahunt, based on hunches. He probably didn't have to do better than that, but it'd be nice.

  "Kirsten, do you have any idea what's in that box?"

  "None," Kirsten said.

  "Burt was obviously on to something, but I can't even guess at what could provoke Loehman to all of this--and still not be enough for Burton to simply hand it over to Grenallo. I'd guess he still needed some kind of photographic authentication. He was hoping I could provide it. That's all I know."

  "Any ideas on the subject matter?"

  She struggled to remember anything Rawlings might have said that would give them a clue.

  "The thing is, Garrett, that I simply wasn't paying attention. I wasn't interested--no, that's not even right. It went beyond disinterest. I didn't want to know what he was doing. I think he picked up on that. I had the feeling just before he left my house that he'd made the decision not to tell me what he was really doing. Maybe even hoping to protect me."

  Garrett frowned.

  "Too late, though. What about the first few times he called you?"

  "He wanted to know if I'd kept anything of Lane's. Papers, records, any stored computer data, but I think even then he might have been worried about covering his tracks. He never came out and asked for something specific. Even if he had, I kept nothing Lane had ever even touched."

  Garrett signaled and crossed a couple of lanes in anticipation of the highway exit off 1-95, then, at the last moment, when he saw that the white van trailing too far behind, was suddenly boxed in and unable to compensate, he veered off the interstate.

  Unprepared for the wild ride, Kirsten grimaced and slammed a hand against the dash to brace herself, but then saw that he'd succeeded in shedding their tail.

  Garrett didn't lose a beat.

  "Start at the beginning then. Tell me what happened five years ago. How did things come apart?"

  She'd tried to forget that as well, but those memories weren't ever going away. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, then plunged in.

  "Actually it started six years ago. Grenallo's team was pulling together the threads of an operation that had been going on for nine months or a year, even then. Some FBI guys had been undercover that long,

  infiltrating the Truth Sayers organization. One of | them had a fairly secluded ranch house that over several months' time became one of Loehman's favorite hangouts. "

  "Was this in Montana?"

  She shook her head.

  "Eastern Washington. Loch- man was still moving around a lot.
Anyway, Grenallo's team had managed to cut some access through the rafters and the dead space below the roof of this ranch house for surveillance. They'd called in a team of experts from the bureau to set up cameras and video, but the team was killed in that commuter plane that went down near Spokane. Do you remember hearing about that?"