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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 guy 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.

He sighed. No, he had to assume that he was the target for someone wanting to keep him from any kind of investigation. Which reminded him—he needed to see if other insurance investigators had run into the same things—had there been any incidents, attempts to discourage them, too?

He looked at his notes. Ferris. He needed to stop by his chop shop in Vegas. Trace the money behind the truck's overhaul, if he could. Maybe even call Chet's grandson and verify his granddad's bank statement. And just chat. Sometimes it was the casual, off-the-cuff comment that opened things up. Worth a shot. Cover the bases before he contacted the Feds. He put the notebook back in his pocket. A lot of running around. He really needed to get back behind the wheel.

But first things first. He pulled his cell out and dialed the Hobbs office.

“Becky, Dan Mahoney here…got a minute?”

“Of course. It's so good to hear your voice. How are you doing?”

“On the mend…there's every reason to believe that black and blue won't be permanent skin colors.”

“Thank goodness! We all have been so worried. How can I help?”

“Do you know of anyone who might have known my schedule that morning—
when
I was going to get to Wagon Mound or which route I was taking? Besides you and Fred, of course.” It was a mom-and-pop office, two people with a typist/file clerk on call when needed. But they were efficient and had handled all the paperwork on the Billy Rowland Eklund case he'd worked on in Tatum. That last morning had been a check of the details and signing off.

“Other than the bank you mean?”

“What bank?”

“The one you're investigating. The one with the robbery.”

“The bank called?”

“Yes. The president's secretary. Actually, not the secretary herself but her assistant. Said she'd tried to reach you and leave a message but your voicemail box was full.”

Lies numbered one and two, Dan noted. “Do you remember a name?”

“I made a note. Alice…something…no, no, that was the secretary. I talked to Amber somebody. I don't think she gave a last name.”

“That's okay. Do you remember what she asked?”

“Well, they were planning a little welcoming get-together for that afternoon and it would make a difference which way you were coming. That is, the back way would get you there quicker but up through Albuquerque would be an easier drive—more four-lane.”

Lie number three. “And you told her I was taking the scenic route?”

“Yes, up through Roy. I remember you saying that you'd never seen the lesser prairie. And I mentioned that you'd gotten away early.…She was so sweet and the party sounded so thoughtful. I did wonder though if they weren't just trying to present the bank in the best possible light. You know, didn't want any more bad press. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not a problem.” Time to change the subject. Dan asked if there had been any feedback on the Eklund papers from Chicago, inquired about Fred's bum shoulder, and then said his good-byes. He snapped the cell shut and sat there.

Amber. Another name for his list. Did this tie in Lawrence Woods? Or was this Amber even the Amber who helped out Stephanie? Odds were that it was but would she have used her real name? It'd be nice if every answer didn't lead him to a new question.

He opened his cell and dialed the bank. Stephanie was answering phones and he asked her to reserve lunch on Wednesday—his nickel. He had a few questions and would appreciate her giving him some time. They decided on noon and sack lunches from the convenience store—yes, ham and Swiss would be fine—and then they'd find a quiet spot to talk, somewhere outside if the weather was good.

Chapter Eight

“It's two blocks. I don't need a ride. I think it's important that my chauffeur have a day off.”

“But I'll feel guilty.”

“Yukking it up with my mother and Carolyn, you won't give me a second thought.”

“I wish you'd reconsider and come with me.”

“Carolyn has to be taken in small doses. Besides, I'm anxious to get out of here. If I stay and continue the interviews, we'll be that much closer.” He pulled her into a hug. “Mom'll understand. Enjoy your lunch, but don't believe everything my mother says about me. Now, go…have a fun day.”

He watched Elaine pull away from the curb. He'd made an appointment to see Doc Zimmerman in the morning. A couple days early, but the doc seemed to be on his side. Dan couldn't wait to pick up the Cherokee—hopefully in the morning on the way back to Wagon Mound. They'd had to order a part but now it was ready to go. Just sitting there waiting on him.

He gave Stephanie a quick call to double-check her sandwich preference and make sure she was still planning on company. Stephanie had agreed to meet on her lunch hour but had forgotten that she'd also promised to watch phones while Alice Nedderman kept a dentist appointment in Las Vegas. So Dan jogged the half mile or so to the convenience store, bought two soft drinks, two ham and cheese sandwiches wrapped in cellophane plus barbecue chips, and pulled a chair up next to Stephanie's desk at twelve sharp, hoping the sandwiches wouldn't turn out to be some kind of trichinosis fix.

“I'm so sorry about this. It's nice to get away. There's a park…well, sort of a park about two blocks over. I'd hoped we could walk over there.”

Parentheses reads “get out of here” and maybe out of earshot, Dan thought. But he didn't see Lawrence, just the guard and a teller. They would pretty much be alone, but that didn't stop Stephanie from whispering.

“I want you to know that I'll help any way that I can. I can't stand to think of Mrs. Kennedy's loss. She is such a dear. And, oh my goodness, what a beautiful heirloom…with all those memories.” Stephanie leaned forward, thin hands folded in front of her on the desk. After a couple bites, the ham sandwich had been pushed to the side.

“Thank you, Stephanie. Let's start with some basics…” Dan looked at his notes. “How long have you worked for First Community?”

“Oh dear, forever, I guess…since high school. Well, to be exact, twenty-four years.”

Age, early forties, Dan noted. And time hadn't been particularly kind if the lined skin and prematurely gray hair were any indications.

“You must have started at about the same time as your boss.”

Stephanie looked confused, “My boss? Actually, I've had five over the years. I inherited each one as the bank changed names. First it was Farmers and Stockmen's Bank, then Citizens Bank, Western Bank, Bank of New Mexico, Norwest, and now First Community—I guess that's six bosses, isn't it? ”

“Lawrence, Mr. Woods, hasn't been here that long?”

“Oh no, less than a year. He was a part of First Community—came with the new name. And I don't think I'll ever forgive him for these.” She poked a leg out from under the desk and pointed at her nylons. “I could spend a small fortune keeping myself in these. I guess I'm just not cut out for panty hose.”

Dan looked up from his notes and couldn't think of one thing to say…one appropriate thing, that is. So, he tried to put on a sympathetic face and nod knowingly. Stephanie didn't seem to notice and went right on.

“I'm going to tell you this and you absolutely cannot tell anyone where you heard it.…”

She paused and Dan couldn't help himself but tensed as she lowered her voice almost below a whisper and leaned closer, “The bank's in trouble.”

Then she quickly sat back and looked around.

“What kind of trouble?” He leaned closer and mouthed the words.

“Not enough assets and after this last debacle…” she paused to point in the general direction of the vault, “he's…” again a look around, “under investigation.”

“By?”

“Feds.” He was now having to read lips.

“They don't think he had anything to do with…?” He followed suit and silently made a circle with his index finger that took in the vault.

She gave one of those “who knows” kind of shrugs that lifts eyebrows and shoulders at the same time and took a bite of sandwich.

Dan sat back. Wow. This was a new kettle of fish. Good ol' two-point hanky on the hot seat. Of course, this was…or could be…speculation by a disgruntled employee. He'd remember never to make a subordinate wear panty hose.

“How do you know?”

“I…I opened a summons or something like that—it looked really official and was from the government. I sometimes act as his secretary when Alice is gone. She's getting implants, so she has to be away a lot.”

Dan figured teeth, not breasts, but didn't ask. He had guessed Alice to be on the barely sunny side of sixty when he'd met her last week, but you just never knew anymore…wasn't Jane Fonda in her fifties when she went for the silicon? He remembered Carolyn going on about it—like it was some insult to women in general.

“He doesn't know that I know. He'd be so upset—that's why you can't say a thing.”

“Not to worry. I didn't hear it here.” Dan made an index and thumb twist of the two fingers in front of his mouth—lips sealed. He felt foolish but the gesture seemed appropriate. Then, he smiled what he hoped was encouragingly, before asking, “What do you think of the allegations? Do you think he's capable of setting something like this up?” He wasn't sure just what part the bank president could play or what he'd get out of it, but it offered an interesting new twist. “It's not what you think,” popped into his head.

“Honestly? I wouldn't put anything past him. I remember the word ‘mismanagement' was used…‘failure to stay within guidelines'…that sort of thing.”

Or scapegoat, if Lawrence had inherited a weak bank to begin with. Dan made a few notes, mostly questions to himself, and finished his sandwich. Stephanie followed suit and they sat quietly sharing chips.

“He was starting to act so strangely.”

“How's that?”

“Well, for one thing he took over one of my jobs for no apparent reason. He said it was a bank procedure that he'd been lax in enforcing. We were getting ready for inspections, so, maybe he was telling the truth.”

“What was that?”

“Supposedly, no one could be left in the vault. That is, all boxes had to be removed, brought out here and the owner would sit in that alcove just behind me to go over their belongings.”

“What had you done in the past”

“I had the combination and master set of keys and could remove the boxes and place them on the table in the vault.”

“Let me get this straight, at one time box holders could sit in the room and do whatever it was they needed to do?”

“Exactly. No one was going to steal anything. There was no way anyone could get into the box of someone else. They only had a key to their own property.”

“That doesn't sound too unusual. Certainly, the light was better out here.” If he remembered correctly, that had been Lawrence's point.

“I agree. But there was no reason to cut me out of the loop. He changed the combination and re-keyed the locks. After making certain all the box-owners had a new key, he kept the masters. I didn't even know where they were.”

“Seems like overkill.”

“At first I thought he didn't trust me. Just to be spiteful, I didn't wear nylons for three days—told him I had a rash.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

The look of smugness said it all. If that's what it took to “act out” in order to feel better about the slight, it certainly was harmless.

“And he never gave you back the keys or told you the combination?”

“Never. Imagine my relief when the break-in happened. I wasn't even questioned.”

“Sometimes things happen for the best. Oh, I forgot to ask, did you ever check with Amber…,” he glanced at his notes, “Medger about the date that Mrs. Kennedy returned her necklace?” Now might be a good time to ask a couple other Amber questions, he reminded himself.

A sigh and a shake of the head. “Amber's getting married and I swear her mind's a sieve. I even had to remind her of the dates she sat in for me.”

“I'll use the date that Mrs. Kennedy remembers.” Dan wadded his sandwich wrapper and threw it in the trash beside Stephanie's desk. “No pressure but I'd appreciate your keeping an eye out. We both want to do right by Mrs. Kennedy. If something catches your attention…if you remember something that might have impacted the robbery, I'd appreciate a call.” He scribbled his cell number on the back of a company card and laid it on the desk.

Then, a stroke of genius…maybe…“Could I have Amber's number? It would look better if I had her statement about the missing signature. Company's a stickler about details. I don't think it means anything but it is a blank that needs explanation.”

“I can but it won't do you any good. Amber's long gone.”

“I'm not following.”

“Took off over the weekend with the fiancé. I think they're going to his home in Alabama. No, maybe it's Georgia. I don't remember exactly. But her mother was in this morning, fit to be tied. Amber and her got in a fight before she left. Amber said she had enough money and didn't need any help and would marry who and when she pleased.”

“Where did Amber work?”

“No place in particular. She did odd jobs…sat in for me, baby sat…for awhile she did those 1-900 phone-sex calls. Middle of the afternoon when her mother was at work.”

“Was the boyfriend from here?”

“No, a biker. They'd only met at the Bean Day Festival.”

“How old is Amber?”

“Nineteen, I think. This was her second year out of high school.”

Dan couldn't think of any more questions. He was trying to keep from dwelling on phone-sex in the middle of the afternoon and those who would be most likely to do that sort of thing. As he left, he repeated his request that Stephanie call him if she remembered anything else.