“Do you recognize the name Frank Andrews?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “But I’ve only been at this branch for a week. Bank
consolidation, it never ends.”
“I’m sure; even the government is cutting way back.”
“I hope not with you people. Lot of crime out there.”
“I guess, being in bank management, you see a lot.”
The young man looked smug and sipped his coffee. “Oh, the stories I
could tell you.”
“I bet. Is there any way to tell how often Mr. Andrews visited the
box?”
“Absolutely. We transfer those logs to the computer now.” He punched
in the account number on his computer and waited while it crunched the
data. “Would you like some coffee, Agent Reynolds?”
“Thanks, no. How large a box is it?”
He glanced at the statement. “From the monthly fee, it’s our deluxe,
double width.”
“I guess it can hold a lot.”
“They’re very roomy.” He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “I
bet this has to do with drugs, doesn’t it? Laundering, that sort of
thing? I’ve taken a class on the subject.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sobel, it’s an ongoing investigation, and I really
can’t comment. You understand.”
He quickly leaned back. “Absolutely. Sure. We all have rules-you
wouldn’t believe what we have to deal with at this place.”
“I’m sure. Anything come up on the computer?”
“Oh, right.” Sobel looked at the screen. “He’s actually been in here
quite a bit. I can print the log out for you, if you’d like.”
“That would be a big help.”
As they walked toward the vault a minute later, Sobel started looking
nervous. “I’m just wondering if I should check upstairs first. I
mean, I’m sure they’d have no problem and all, but still, they’re
incredibly strict with safe-deposit box access.”
“I understand, but I thought the assistant branch manager would have
the authority. I won’t be taking anything out, just reviewing the
contents. And depending on what I find, the box may have to be
impounded. It’s not the first time the Bureau’s had to do this. I’ll
take full responsibility. Don’t worry.”
That seemed to relieve the young man and they proceeded into the vault.
He took Reynolds’s key and his own master and pulled out the large
box.
“We have a private room where you can look at it.”
He showed her into the small room and Reynolds closed the door. She
took a deep breath and noticed that her palms were sweaty. In this box
might be something that could shatter any number of lives and perhaps
careers. She slowly raised the lid. What she saw made her swear under
her breath.
The cash was neatly bundled with thick rubber bands, old, not new
bills. She did a quick count. Tens of thousands. She put the lid
back down.
Sobel was standing outside the booth when she opened the door. He
returned the box to the vault.
“Can I see the sign-in register for this box?”
He showed her the signature log. It was Ken Newman’s handwriting; she
knew it well. A murdered FBI agent and a box full of cash under an
alias. God help them.
“Did you find anything helpful?” Sobel asked.
“I need this box impounded. Anyone shows up wanting to get inside,
you’re to call me immediately at these numbers.” She handed him her
card.
“This is serious, isn’t it?” Sobel suddenly looked very unhappy that
he had been assigned to this branch.
“I appreciate your help, Mr. Sobel. I’ll be in touch.”
Reynolds returned to her car and drove as quickly as possible toward
Anne Newman’s house. She called from her car and confirmed the woman
would be home. The funeral was scheduled to take place in three days.
It would be a big affair, with top officials from the Bureau as well as
law enforcement agencies from across the country attending. The
funeral motorcade would be especially long and would pass between
columns of somber, respectful federal agents and men and women in blue.
The FBI buried its agents who died in the line of duty with the great
honor and dignity they deserved.
“What did you find out, Brooke?” Anne Newman wore a black dress, her