The Deposit Slip (20 page)

No one else in the bank even remembered Cory Spangler. Spangler had worked for twelve weeks at the bank while attending a local community college,
three years ago,
and mostly after hours. But the HR lady had a memory like a computer. If anyone at the bank would recall Spangler, it would be her.

So now, instead of avoiding a spotlight on Pokofsky, Whittier’s clumsy attempt to stifle her testimony had shifted the glare directly onto Spangler herself.

The cell phone beeped, signaling another incoming call. Marcus held the phone at arms’ length and saw that it was Mick. “Frank, I’ll call you back,” he said, then switched lines before the junior partner could respond.

“Marcus, we’ve got a problem,” the investigator said as soon as the line activated.

Marcus’s silence had extended nearly a minute before he heard Mick’s tentative voice over the line. “You still there?”

Marcus felt numb. He should have anticipated this—that Neaton might tumble to an overpayment from another government source than farm subsidies. Pull yourself together.

“You heard the entire meeting through his cell?”

“Yes.”

“How did Anthony cover it?”

“Like a pro. He sounded natural, smooth. I heard nothing that concerns me, Marcus. He sent this Towers fellow away cleanly.”

How could this happen the same day as Spangler’s name surfacing? Marcus explained the Pokofsky testimony to Mick.

Now Marcus was listening to a dead line.

“Mick, you’re sure they can’t reach this Spangler witness?”

“No way,” Mick answered in a rush. “Her mother bit my head off when I pressed her on finding the daughter. Said her daughter’s completely out of reach for three months. Traveling in Europe and not calling home. Her words.”

“All right. Get back in touch with Anthony. Keep him calm. Return to Washington if you have to. But mostly, I want you to stay with Neaton now. I want to know what witnesses he’s meeting with around Ashley. I don’t want any more surprises.”

The investigator said okay and clicked off.

Marcus settled back in his chair. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, his heart to slow.

Was he still in control here? Was he still ahead in this game?

The pounding in his ears softened. Yes, he answered himself as the muscles in his back and legs eased. Neaton got a lucky break in the weak Pokofsky lady, but it was a small one and contained.

As for Washington, his man commanded the record. The check was buried so deep it was virtually audit proof.

He had felt, for a moment, a pang of uncharacteristic fear. Fear made for bad decisions, overreactions. There was nothing to fear here. Nothing had changed. They’d get through this and be fine. Just a few weeks more.

After the testimony about the intern Cory Spangler, Jared had continued deposing Pokofsky the rest of the day, hoping she would reveal more useful evidence. Whittier had called for a break shortly after Pokofsky’s testimony about Spangler and must have beaten her up pretty hard in the hallway, because during the rest of the deposition, Pokofsky’s voice barely climbed over a whisper. The only other thing she revealed was that Spangler had never been formally removed from the bank’s rolls as an active intern, apparently to leave open the option for her to return—something that she never did.

The deposition over, Jared went to his car and called Mrs. Huddleston, asking her if she could try to locate Cory Spangler. “The Spanglers,” she murmured softly. “Her mother’s a little testy, but I’ll give it a try.”

Only after hanging up did he notice the voice mail left by Towers.

Jared gripped the steering wheel as he heard Towers’s voice mail that he believed the VA manager was lying. He tried calling back for details, but there was no response. The investigator must be on a plane back to Minneapolis by now.

Jared telephoned Jessie and told her to delay the next day’s deposition until later in the week. “Tell them I’m sick; I don’t care,” he said, explaining the testimony about Cory Spangler and the message from Towers. Jessie seemed unenthused, but said she’d take care of it.

Jared started the car, feeling renewed energy. Tonight he’d tackle the boxes in the basement once more.

J
ared sat at the computer in his father’s living room the next morning when the house phone rang across the room. He glanced at his watch—ten o’clock. Jessie had returned to Minneapolis the night before to pick up mail at the office. She said she’d return this afternoon. Why would she be calling?

As he stood to answer it, Jared realized that he automatically assumed the call was for him. In the weeks he had been at his father’s home, he’d not yet answered a call for his dad.

Caller ID showed that it was Mrs. Huddleston.

“I found her,” she said immediately.

“Cory Spangler?”

“Yep.” Her voice was rich with triumph.

“Where is she?”

“Athens.”

“Greece? How did you find her?”

“I met with her mother, Andrea, on Friday night. She was adamant her daughter was traveling in Europe and told her she’d ‘not be talking to anyone for months.’ ”

“So?”

“Well, knowing something of Andrea, it occurred to me that ‘anyone’ probably meant Andrea. So I called Diana Grahams, whose daughter Lindsey graduated from high school with Cory and went to St. Olaf with her. As I suspected, Cory has a small circle of friends she’s been keeping in touch with over Facebook—including Lindsey. They were all told to keep it quiet, so it didn’t get back to her mother. I told Lindsey how important it was that we get in touch with her. She wouldn’t give me access to Cory’s Facebook page, but she did forward me Cory’s emails from Europe.”

Jared wished he could hug her. “You said Cory was in Athens a week ago?”

“Not exactly. Cory’s in Europe on a study program through St. Olaf based in Barcelona. A few weeks ago she left for a trip around Europe lasting several months. She started out alone but is meeting up with friends later. She’s been keeping up contact with her friends by posting photos on Facebook—clues for them to guess where she’s at and where she’s going next. The most recent photo was the Hagia Sophia in Turkey, last week. The hint for her next destination was two weeks in ‘Athena’s home.’ I think it was a reference to the Parthenon in Athens.”

That meant she should still be in Athens for another week.

“Even if she’s still there, how would we find her?” Jared asked.

“Lindsey said Cory was going to use a Eurail pass and stay at youth hostels,” Mrs. Huddleston responded. “I’ve checked. There are sixteen hostels in Athens that call themselves
youth hostels
.” She paused. “Jared, as excited as I am about this, Lindsey’s probably sent Cory a message already telling her some attorneys are trying to reach her. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

Jared agreed. Cory was as likely to hide as to help if she knew they wanted her to cut short her vacation to testify.

Until they spoke with Cory, they couldn’t know whether she’d witnessed anything relevant. But they had to act fast if they were going to convince her to share whatever she knew.

“There’s something more, Jared. Someone at the bank has been pestering Andrea to get them in touch with Cory.” Mrs. Huddleston told Jared about the letters and phone call. “Andrea called it harassment.”

Jared’s excitement rose another notch. “What did they learn?”

“Just what Andrea told me—that Cory is out of reach for months.”

Good. Marcus thought Spangler was worth reaching. And maybe he was still a step behind. He didn’t have a Mrs. Huddleston in his corner.

The doorbell rang. “Hold on, Carol; there’s someone at the door.”

He opened the door to a young man in his twenties. “Mr. Neaton?”

When Jared nodded yes, he handed him a thick package. It was from Paisley. Cradling the cell phone at his ear, Jared closed the door and tore it open.

“Jared, are you still there?”

“Yes, Carol. I just got served with something.”

“What is it?”

He skimmed the motion papers that slid from the package. “It’s the motion for summary judgment Stanford’s been promising.”

Jared dropped the package on the couch, feeling his excitement deflate.

“What’s it mean?”

“It means that we just have nineteen days until our response is due to come up with evidence of the deposit.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Then the case will be dismissed ‘with prejudice.’ ”

“Which means?”

Jared flopped onto the couch beside the motion papers. “Permanently.”

Jessie arrived back in the midafternoon. She came into the house carrying a large document valise from the office. Jared took it from her hands and set it down beside the couch. It felt full.

He filled her in on Mrs. Huddleston’s news about finding Cory Spangler, the call from Towers, and the papers he’d been served with. He still couldn’t bring himself to pass on his conversation with Erin, especially given how unimpressed Jessie had been with the comments from Carlos Navarrete.

In fact, for a fleeting moment he thought he detected a look of relief when he told her about the summary judgment motion. It was gone in an instant.

“We need to meet. All of us and right away,” he said as Jessie sat on the couch and skimmed the Paisley motion papers. “I’m going to call Towers and see if we can get him up here to join us. Let’s plan for an early supper.”

Jared reached Towers. He sounded tired after the quick trip to Washington, but was available and would come up. When Jared pressed for details of the VA meeting, he asked if they could talk at dinner. Jared agreed. For the investigator’s convenience, they agreed to meet at the Perkins restaurant twenty miles south of town, where County Road 7 intersected with the freeway. Towers, he said, would wear a blue windbreaker.

“Jared,” Jessie said as he hung up the phone, “what are you thinking of doing?”

Jared was irritated by the all-too-common tone of the question. “I’m thinking one of us has to go to Europe to find Cory Spangler and confront her.”

Jessie’s face contorted with surprise. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he said, annoyed. “We’ve got to find her, and if she’s got something to say, we’ve got to convince her to come back. I’d be content with an affidavit, but Marcus will scream that we can’t use it to defeat summary judgment if he doesn’t have the chance to take her deposition.”

Her face was red. “Fly to Europe. How much of the Clay money do you have left?”

“Enough,” he said.

Jessie pointed to the valise. “Do you want to see what’s in there?”

He shook his head. “Later.”

Jessie’s finger was still pointing. “Stanhope Printing fired us. Along with Pleasance Motors. Two other clients are on the ropes. Even patient Phil Olney’s asking when we’re going to finish reviewing the bank account records and start to pressure his brother.”

Anger swelled in Jared’s chest. “I said later.”

“The phone company’s threatening.”

Jared grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door. “I’ve got some errands.”

“Can you at least leave me a trust account check so I can send in the bond on Olney’s case?”

His throat constricted. “Later, Jessie. We’ve still got some time.”

As he reached the door, Jared glanced back over his shoulder. Jessie was looking at him with the hollow surprise of disappointment.

He left before she could utter another word.

The Perkins restaurant on County Road 7 was within sight of the freeway leading to Minneapolis. With Jessie, Erin, and Mrs. Huddleston in the car, Jared pulled into the lot and parked near the entrance, pleased that they made it right on time. The four of them headed inside, where they seated themselves at a table near the front door.

Twenty-five minutes passed. Just as Jared was becoming concerned, Richard Towers arrived, wrapped in his blue windbreaker.

The investigator approached and shook each person’s hand with a grip as soft as an apology. He was a squat man, with thinning gray hair and lips pursed in a permanent mien of solitary thoughtfulness. Towers rested an ancient satchel briefcase with a broken clasp and taped handle on the table and then settled gingerly into his chair.

Jared had no confidence from the investigator’s demeanor, and he sensed the surprise of everyone else around the table at Towers’s appearance. Still, the man had come through twice now, and Jared decided to reserve judgment until hearing the Washington report.

Jared began by recounting the Pokofsky deposition testimony, including the afternoon session that had proven fruitless. Several times while Jared was speaking, he noticed the investigator’s eyes wander the restaurant and wondered silently whether Towers’s affect signaled an attention disorder. When Jared finished, he turned next to Mrs. Huddleston.

“Tell everyone your news, Carol.”

As Mrs. Huddleston opened her mouth to speak, Towers raised a large hand.

“Mr. Neaton,” he said quietly, “I need to use the rest room. Perhaps you could come too.”

Jared was stunned into silence. Towers spoke again. “Mrs. Huddleston, could you wait with the story until we return?”

The librarian nodded yes, a puzzled frown on her face. With a glance at the other blank expressions around the table, Jared followed Towers back to the men’s room in the rear of the restaurant.

As the door closed behind them, Towers turned to Jared. “Mr. Neaton, there’s a man sitting at a booth within earshot. I think he’s listening to us.”

Jared was unsure how to respond. “You mean deliberately?”

“Yes. In fact, I believe he followed you here.”

Jared felt rising discomfort—not with the unlikely possibility of being followed, but from growing unease about this man he had placed such confidence in.

“Why do you think so?”

“I was sitting outside and saw you pull in. Before I got out of my car, a blue Subaru pulled in after you. It parked on the other end of the line of cars next to the building. That seemed odd since there was open parking right next to you, closer to the door. The man watched you four go into the restaurant before he got out of the Subaru and followed you in.”

“You sat out in the parking lot for twenty-five minutes after you saw us arrive?” Jared asked, incredulous.

Towers nodded.

Jared had sent this man to Washington, built hope on his “belief” that the veterans department manager was lying, and had even assumed Towers was accurate in his early report about the Federal Reserve. He felt rising panic at the precious time, money, and trust he may have wasted on this man.

“We’re next to the freeway, Richard. It could be anyone.”

“Maybe,” Towers said. “But the man has been sitting at a table for four, all alone, for forty-five minutes now. All during that time, he’s faced directly away from us so we can’t get a good view of his face. And he’s ordered a Coke and nothing else.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for someone.”

“Forty-five minutes, Mr. Neaton. And his back is to the door and window.”

It all sounded ridiculous. “What do you suggest we do?”

“If you want to find out, we can try something and see how he responds.”

Even with Paisley—
even with Marcus
—the possibility that they would have someone follow him had never occurred to Jared.

Jared considered saying no, getting Towers’s report, and ending this meeting quickly. But the investigator’s tone of subdued confidence was difficult to ignore.