Kat and Harry waited in the tiny windowless office while the bank manager retrieved Harry’s bank records. An inbox stacked six inches high with files and paper-clipped documents sat on the left side of the worn wooden desk. Beside it a brass nameplate read Anita Boehmer. Several diplomas and a child’s drawing hung on the only wall. Three glass partitions with half-open venetian blinds enclosed the rest of the room.
No wonder Harry was so distressed. According to his bank statement, he was flat out broke. Kat pointed to a transaction halfway down the page. “It says here that you already have a loan.”
“It does? Let me see that.” Harry traced his finger beside Kat’s. “Ten thousand dollars? That’s got to be a mistake.”
Kat thought so too. Uncle Harry was frugal to the point of madness. He shopped at thrift stores, re-used Saran Wrap, and had worn the same pair of re-soled shoes for as long as Kat could remember.
She scanned the rest of the statement. A number of checks for amounts in the thousands were listed as well. She flipped through the stack of cancelled checks. They were all made out to cash. Her pulse quickened. This was completely unlike Harry.
Anita Boehmer returned with a couple of manila folders. She dropped them on her desk and smiled at Harry. She sat down in her high-backed chair behind the desk. “I see what the problem is.”
“So do I.” Harry crossed his arms. “Your records are wrong. I didn’t take out any loan.”
“I’m afraid you did, Mr. Denton. I remember, because I approved it. Last month. You said you needed money for renovations. Don’t you remember?”
“That’s impossible,” Kat said. Harry never financed anything. And he certainly didn’t renovate.
“Here’s the loan agreement.” The bank manager pulled it out of the file and turned it upside down so Kat could read it. Sure enough, it had Harry’s signature at the bottom, signed a month ago. Harry really had taken out a loan. But why? Where was all his money going?
Kat studied the document. It was his signature, though his big loopy y was shakier now. “That is your signature, Uncle Harry. I guess you forgot.”
Harry uncrossed his arms and leaned forward to study the document. “No, I did not.” His voice rose as his face reddened.
She patted the top of his hand. It felt brittle and trembled under her touch. “Look at the signature.”
“Let me see.” Harry jerked the paper away from Kat. “It does look like my writing. But it can’t be. It must be forged.”
Kat sighed. Harry was being paranoid again about someone stealing from him, another Alzheimer’s delusion. But his signature was right there on the form, in blue ink. The real question was why he needed the money. And who drove him to the bank. She turned to Anita. “This is completely out of character for Harry. Didn’t you think to ask him why he’s taking out a loan for the first time in his life?”
“Katerina, I am very sorry, but we can’t interrogate everyone who asks for money. We take them at face value unless there’s a glaring error.”
She was right of course. Harry’s dementia wasn’t obvious. Until you talked to him for about two minutes. Surely the loan application had taken longer than that. Didn’t Anita notice how often Harry repeated himself? It was too late to do anything about that now.
Kat refocused on the bank statement. She pointed to the next line on the statement. The same ten thousand dollars transferred out the next day. “Anita, where did this money go?”
“Transferred out to another bank. All we have is the bank and the account number. I’m afraid you’ll have to contact them. Sorry.”
Kat circled the transaction with her pen. If she could identify the recipient, she would be one step closer to finding out what was going on.