Instrument of the Devil

by Debbie Burke

  “I’m afraid it’s not possible to give you anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “I said, the accounts are frozen.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It’s out of my control.”

  “Whose control is it in? I want to talk to them.”

  “The Department of Homeland Security.”

  An invisible fist punched the air from Tawny’s lungs. She and Virgie had talked about federal scrutiny but, until this minute, the possibility didn’t quite seem real.

  Tremors worked their way up through her torso, down her arms, into her hands. She clenched her fists, trying to stop the helpless quivering. Her head wagged back and forth between Hyslop and Garza, like a surreal tennis match, searching for reasons, for clues, for explanations.

  Hyslop’s pale eyes blinked slowly, like a snake’s.

  Garza cowered in her chair, looking everywhere in the cubicle except at Tawny.

  Think! Don’t let them intimidate you.

  Finally, her lungs overcame paralysis, and she took several deep breaths. “This is because of those deposits, isn’t it?”

  “Banks are governed by the Bank Secrecy Act and the Patriot Act,” Hyslop said. “We must follow those protocols to protect our customers and our country.”

  “But, most of all, your own asses,” Tawny blurted.

  His tight lips twitched. “When certain triggers occur that show a sudden change in behavior that’s inconsistent with normal customer activity, we are required to be vigilant. When a customer makes large, frequent currency deposits without the source of those funds being known, we monitor activity. When a customer uses a branch that is geographically distant from that customer’s home or business, we monitor activity. When a customer makes high-value transactions not commensurate with the customer’s known income, we monitor activity.”

  He removed his rimless glasses and carefully wiped them with a pocket square, taking his time.

  Tawny’s knees wobbled. She locked them tight to keep from swaying.

  Hyslop replaced the glasses on his nose and stared at her like a judge pronouncing a prison sentence. “Mrs. Lindholm, your recent banking patterns meet those standards of suspicious activity.”

  Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears, making it hard to hear. “I don’t care what your video shows. I did not make those deposits. When they started, I came in here time and again, trying to get you to look into them.” She glared at Hyslop. “I left messages that you didn’t return. I talked to different people. I called your useless phone merry-go-round. I talked to you.” She pointed at Garza. “I did my damnedest to get to the bottom of the mistakes. I raised so much hell, your security guard almost threw me out.”

  Tawny sucked in more air as buzzing roared in her ears. Don’t get dizzy. Don’t faint, she ordered herself. “If I’m a criminal trying to launder money or whatever you think I’m doing, what kind of sense does it make to draw all this attention to myself? If I was guilty of whatever you think I’ve done, I’d be lying low, not shaking things up.”

  She grasped the hard, wooden back of the visitor chair for support, spent from making her defense.

  Hyslop again adjusted his glasses. “Mrs. Lindholm, I have no idea why you engage in suspicious behavior. You may leave now. Our business is concluded.”

  Tawny shoved the chair aside, planted both hands on the desk, and leaned into Hyslop’s face. “Our business is not concluded. You have my money and I want it.”

  “I am unable to release any money to you. It has been seized by Homeland Security.”

  “Seized?” What the hell?

  Hyslop nodded with a triumphant curl in his lower lip.

  “How can they seize my money without telling me?” What were those legal words she’d heard on TV shows? “Don’t they need a warrant? What about due process?”

  Hyslop glanced down at his desk and plucked up a paper. “Oh dear, my administrative assistant was supposed to mail this to you. Here is the official notice.” His reptilian eyes fixed on Tawny as if he planned to swallow her like a mouse. “It will tell you everything you need to know.” He handed the government letterhead to Tawny. “I’m afraid I can do nothing more to help you. It’s out of my hands.”

  * * *

  Numb with shock, Tawny didn’t remember the drive home. In the kitchen, she played new messages on the answering machine. Through still-buzzing ears, she heard complaints that more checks had bounced at the electric co-op, the water company, and her dentist.

  Just like the gym dues. How many other payments would bounce?

  She picked up the letter that asshole at the bank had given her. She tried to plow through the bureaucratic language and legal terms, but ended up even more confused. It was signed by Maximillion Grosvenor, with several initials after his name.

  How could Homeland Security seize her money when she hadn’t even been charged with a crime, let alone convicted? This was the United States of America, not some corrupt third-world dictatorship. You were supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. What the hell had happened? The justice system she’d taken for granted had slipped away, a bedrock belief swallowed in an earthquake fault.

  Squeezing her temples, Tawny took stock. With the checking and savings accounts frozen and her MasterCard shut off, she was broke.

  The cash in the safe floated into her mind.

  Why had she taken money that wasn’t hers? The act pricked her conscience but, at the time, there didn’t seem to be any other way to get the bank to pay attention. Did that trigger the seizure? One thing for sure, she would not give it back now. She couldn’t. It was all she had.

  Her mother’s childhood advice echoed: Two wrongs don’t make a right. But she had no choice.

  The home phone rang. Probably another unhappy supplier with a bounced check. She couldn’t bear to pick up the receiver.

  A woman’s hesitant voice stuttered through the answering machine. “Mrs. Lindholm, Tawny. This is Lupe…Lupe Garza…from the bank. I have to talk to you. It’s important. Please call me.”

  Tawny snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

  Garza sucked in a surprised breath. “Oh, good, you’re there. Listen, can you meet me?”

  Should she even talk to the banker? Was this a trap? Maybe she needed to get a lawyer first, but Kit hadn’t called her back. “What do you want?”

  “I must talk to you but not on the phone and not at the bank. I could lose my job.”

  Intuition urged Tawny to follow the woman’s lead. It might be another bank double cross but it might also mean more information, information she desperately needed. “All right, I’ll meet you. When and where?”

  “The Glacier Peaks medical building, second-floor lobby, in an hour.”

  * * *

  Fifty-five minutes later, Tawny took the elevator to the second floor, a large open room that served as a central waiting area for different medical offices, shooting off like spokes of a wheel. The lobby buzzed with clients. Outside the optometrist’s suite, rotating displays of eyeglass frames occupied floor space. In the pediatric suite, children climbed on a curving plastic caterpillar in a play area cluttered with blocks and toy trucks. The medical equipment supply area stocked crutches, orthopedic braces, and walkers. Tawny remembered renting a wheelchair there for Dwight.

  After a quarter of an hour of pretending to read a magazine, she wondered how much longer she should wait for Lupe Garza. Minutes later, the elevator doors opened and the loan officer stepped out. She glanced at Tawny but quickly looked away. Her already rounded shoulders drooped even more than before and her lank gray-brown hair hung over her face. She walked to the eyeglass frames and spun the display wheel.

  Tawny continued to hold the magazine, watching, waiting for a signal. From between the tall racks, Lupe checked around the lobby then lifted her chin, pointing to the restroom. She disappeared inside. A moment later, Tawny closed the magazine and followed.

  In the restroom, a pregnant mo
ther was changing a baby boy on a fold-down shelf. Two stalls were empty but the door to the third was closed. Lupe must be inside it. Tawny exchanged smiles with the mother, who looked familiar. She washed her hands, then put on lipstick, and fussed with her hair, dawdling. She watched the baby’s chubby legs kicking the air. “What a cutie. How old is he?”

  The mom taped the diaper snug. “Thirteen months. His baby sister is due in four months.”

  “You’ll be a busy mommy.”

  “That’s a fact.” The mother sat the baby up on the shelf and appraised Tawny for a brief instant. “I know you, don’t I?”

  Recognition clicked. “You used to check at the supermarket.”

  The woman nodded. “Quit when I got pregnant with him. Couldn’t stand on my feet that long.”

  “Hadn’t seen you for a while,” Tawny said.

  The woman shifted and patted her belly. “Now I wish I hadn’t quit, ’cause my husband just got laid off. It sucks, having a baby in this lousy economy.”

  Tawny tried to make her smile reassuring but shuddered inside for the young family. “The recession can’t last forever.”

  With a sigh, the mom nodded then asked, “Hey, would you mind watching him for a second? Every fifteen minutes, either he needs changing or I need to pee, or both.”

  “Sure,” Tawny agreed, taking the toddler’s waving hand. He gurgled, squeezed her finger, and gave her a delighted smile. Before his mother had time to close the stall door, he reached both arms out to Tawny, asking to be held.

  She gathered him up and nuzzled his soft baby hair, instantly transported back in time to when Neal was that age. Inhaling his sweet smell, she held him close. He melted into her, nestling his head into her neck, making contented little grunts.

  Her heart almost broke with longing for Neal. Would she ever see her son again?

  When the mom came out of the stall, she washed her hands, retrieved the diaper bag, and took the baby back. “Thanks.”

  “He’s a sweetheart.” Tawny opened the door for them to leave and swallowed a lump, forcing her awareness back to the problem at hand.

  With the restroom empty, she said softly, “Lupe?”

  The loan officer immediately came out of the stall, eyes darting. “Here.” She thrust a business card and thumb drive at Tawny. “Mr. Hyslop has been stonewalling you. He’s had that notice from Homeland Security for several days. I told him he should call you but he didn’t. He was supposed to give you this card, too. It’s from the guy that ordered the freeze on your accounts.”

  “Everything? Even my credit card?”

  Lupe nodded. “The thumb drive has video of a woman, you, making a withdrawal from the Helena branch last Friday. A cashier’s check for a hundred thousand. That’s what triggered the seizure.”

  “It wasn’t me. It’s someone impersonating me.”

  Lupe held up her hands. “I don’t know if it’s you or not. But I know you did try to tell us those transactions were a mistake. What you said to Mr. Hyslop, that a criminal wouldn’t draw attention to themselves like you have, well, it made me realize you’re right. I don’t know what’s going on but it doesn’t make sense. And it isn’t right what they’ve done to you.”

  Tawny fingered the thumb drive. “What you said about losing your job…”

  Fear flashed in the woman’s eyes. “Please, don’t tell anyone I gave this to you. I’m supposed to retire in eighteen months. The bank is canning older employees right and left. If they fire me, I lose my retirement, everything. If anyone sees me talking to you, I could be arrested. They’d say I interfered with their investigation by tipping you off.” Her rounded shoulders hunched, like an abused dog waiting for the next kick.

  Tawny remembered her favorite teller, Margaret, who’d been ruthlessly axed by the cold-blooded manager. Lupe’s fear was no exaggeration. “Thank you. I promise I won’t say anything.”

  Lupe checked her watch. “I have to go. The bank thinks I’m at the eye doctor. I hope you find out who’s doing this to you.” She fled the restroom.

  Tawny leaned against the counter and studied the business card. Maximillion Grosvenor, Division of Financial Investigations, Department of Homeland Security. A phone number and email but no physical address. Same guy who’d signed the incomprehensible letter. She slipped the card and thumb drive into her pocket and walked out.

  Chapter 7 – Identity Theft

  Four videos with four different dates played from the thumb drive on Tawny’s laptop at home. Hyslop had shown her the first one that day in his office. The second and third were virtual repeats, the imposter in a Jeep Wrangler stacking bundles of cash in the bank drive-up drawer, signing a form, and receiving a receipt, without speaking a word. All appeared to have occurred at the same drive-up window in Helena.

  According to Lupe, the fourth video took place inside the lobby of the Helena branch.

  The imposter handed the teller a note and driver’s license, speaking a few words in a hoarse whisper Tawny couldn’t make out. The teller took the ID and showed the supervisor the note. Muffled audio of their conversation indicated the note said the customer had throat surgery and had difficulty talking. She requested a cashier’s check payable to Tawny Lindholm for $100,000 for a piece of property she intended to purchase. After a short discussion, the supervisor approved the request. The teller keyed in the transaction on her computer and a printer produced the cashier’s check. The imposter signed a receipt, took the check, and departed.

  Tawny replayed the video, studying the woman carefully. Same height, same sunglasses, same figure as Tawny. The close-fitting, belted leather coat looked just like one she used to have. Stovepipe pants, calf-high boots, nothing out of keeping with her normal way of dressing. A patterned scarf was artistically knotted around the imposter’s head and neck. The fabric covered her forehead and jawline. It might pass for a style statement rather than a disguise but Tawny felt sure its true intent was to mask identity. The overall effect reminded her of tabloid photos of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis in later years, trying to remain incognito in public.

  This was real identity theft. Someone had stolen Tawny’s actual appearance.

  She hurried to the bathroom off the hall. Under bright lights, she pushed her cheeks with her palms and turned side to side, examining her profile in the triple mirrors. Her face hadn’t changed. Yet someone had taken it away from her and used it to frame her. Her lip trembled and she bit down to make it stop.

  Why?

  The Jeep that the imposter drove was a twin to Dwight’s. The identification must have appeared genuine enough to convince the supervisor to approve the withdrawal. And she had forged Tawny’s signature on the form well enough to fool Tawny herself.

  She flashed back to the internet search she’d done, remembering court papers she signed for her parents’ estates. Maybe the forger found those documents and used them to copy her handwriting.

  That coat. A few months before, when she finally forced herself to go through the closet to give away Dwight’s clothes, she’d included her old leather coat in the bundle for the veterans’ thrift store. The imposter could have bought it from there.

  According to Lupe, it was the last transaction on the video, the $100,000 withdrawal, that caused the feds to seize her checking and savings accounts.

  Tawny went back to her office and picked up the business card. Her first impulse was to call Maximillion Grosvenor and raise hell. If they suspected the cash deposits were from illegal activity, let them figure out where they came from. She sure couldn’t.

  But they couldn’t deprive her of what she and Dwight spent their whole lives working hard to earn, could they? They’d paid their taxes. How could the government steal her money without even telling her?

  She had to see Kit Albritton. She called his office again and set up an appointment for later that afternoon.

  * * *

  Tawny drove downtown to the parking lot of a restored mansion built in the 1920s by one of the town�
��s early fathers. A sign listed a dozen attorneys, with Kit’s name in the middle. The walls of the reception area seemed to contain even more books than the library, heavy leather-bound volumes with gold lettering. She shuddered at the thought that Kit probably needed to read all of them to become a lawyer.

  His footsteps thumped down a wide thickly-carpeted staircase from his second-floor office. His navy three-piece suit fit tighter over his paunch and his blond hair had receded a little farther since Dwight’s funeral. But the mischievous blue eyes hadn’t changed since he was a high school kid working in their shop.

  He hugged her tightly. “Great to see you, Tawny. Come on up.” They climbed the stairs arm in arm. His walnut-paneled office smelled fragrant with lemon oil. He sat behind his desk while she settled into a stiff leather chair accented with hobnails.

  “How’s Neal doing?” Kit asked.

  Tawny hesitated. “Wish I knew. He’s somewhere in the Middle East but he can’t talk about where he is or what he’s doing.”

  “He’ll always land on his feet. He’s smart and sneaky. Good combination for a soldier.”

  “Kit, I wanted to thank you again for the donation to the college in Dwight’s name.”

  “Hey, no problem. Dwight started that training program and it was only right to honor him.” He leaned elbows on the desk. “So, what brings you here today?”

  Tawny slid the business card and the letter from Homeland Security across the desk to Kit. “I’m in trouble with the government. They’ve seized my bank accounts and shut off my credit card.”

  “Whoa, Tawny, what have you been up to?”

  She offered him the thumb drive. While the video played on his computer monitor, she explained how she had tried but failed to get the bank to correct the transactions, how she came under scrutiny by Homeland Security, and the final freeze.

  “Where’d you get these videos?” Kit asked.

  “I can’t say without getting someone in trouble.”

  He fingered the card. “Have you contacted this Maximillion Grosvenor?”

  She shook her head. “I figured I better have a lawyer first.”