WEDNESDAY MORNING
On the drive out to the Youngs’ house in Kerr County, Lucy filled Nate in on what Max had learned. He was silent for several minutes.
“Okay, what?”
“I’m just glad she’s not on a damn ride-along with us,” he muttered.
“Then I would have to clear this with Rachel.”
Nate glanced over at her. “I don’t want her in this car. I don’t trust her. I know you and Sean are friends with her, but we’ve already been run off the road, we have unknown people tracking our progress, and we can’t trust the original investigators.”
He sounded unusually passionate. “Nate—I wouldn’t do anything without your consent.”
“You should have called me last night. So I could hear the woman firsthand. Ask her some questions.”
“I didn’t know she was coming over until she got there—but you’re right. I should have had you there.” She hoped Nate wasn’t too angry with her. “I’m already going to be in hot water when it comes out, but I want to keep it between us for at least today, until Max can connect Harrison Monroe to Denise Albright and give us a viable reason to talk to him. I went over all the files that Laura gave us and his name is nowhere.”
“He may not be connected to her at all.”
“They went to college together. All of them. Max doesn’t think any of them are innocent, that they were all involved in some sort of white collar scam.”
“She thinks they all knew about Victoria’s murder? About the slaughter of an entire family?”
“I don’t know. The way Max explained it—Victoria, and possibly the others, believed that Denise left the country. But when the bones were uncovered, they would figure out that she hadn’t—and then possibly go to the police with information that could lead to the killer. It’s a bit convoluted right now, to be honest, but I see what Max is getting at. And consider this: If you and your friends were involved in a scam and you were the only one with a family and children to protect, you were the weak link. The one most likely to turn state’s evidence or balk at doing something that crosses a moral line. I don’t know.”
“I think I follow.”
“If Stanley Grant wasn’t lying to Max, Victoria was working on something with Harrison Monroe. When she was murdered, who took over that job? Mitch Corta? But none of that connects to Denise Albright, not yet. Last night I went through her client list again and none of them are associated with MCG or Monroe or his business or his wife or her law firm. So until I get a thread that I can take to Rachel and have a damn good reason to insert myself in an SAPD investigation, I can’t pursue it.”
“Yeah, SAPD doesn’t like us right now.”
“Why?”
“After last year? When they were forced to clean house because of a couple corrupt cops? The FBI is the one that cleaned their clock.”
“I hadn’t really thought about that. Tia and I are still friends.”
“I have friends over there, too, but the atmosphere is definitely colder.” He paused. “I’m glad you filled Laura in on the situation, though. Now that she knows what we’re looking for, she’s better positioned to find it. Also, did you get my email last night?”
“Read it this morning. No security video of Denise Albright going into the bank the day she disappeared.”
“Just a screen shot from a video. And it could be anyone, the quality was awful. As is all the video and photo evidence that Kerr County sent to us three years ago.”
“The manager said he spoke to her.”
“Maybe,” Nate said. “The manager doesn’t have a record, but that’s all we know about him. I asked Zach to run him, everything we can get without a warrant.”
“Is that excessive before we even talk to him?” Lucy said.
“All we have is his word that Denise Albright went into the bank with a signed authorization from Kiefer to make her the sole signatory on the escrow account. He went on about how it was just to move the funds from the escrow account to the payroll account because Kiefer was leaving town, and because he knew her he didn’t think twice about it.”
“Yet it’s suspicious. Laura didn’t think it was three years ago.”
“She said it made sense at the time because they believed that Albright embezzled three million dollars and left the country. On the surface, that’s what she did—photos, evidence of packing, the whole nine yards. Which is also suspicious, because why? She had three kids, a husband, a good job—why would she take the money and leave? And if you listen to Max, it was because she didn’t want to turn in her best friend so she decided to commit a major felony and put her kids on the run for the rest of their lives?”
Nate had a good point.
Lucy thought about Stanley Grant embezzling the money from MCG. “The methodology is very similar to Stanley Grant embezzling money after Victoria Mills was killed. Sean and Max think that whoever threatened Grant embezzled the money—essentially hacked into the MCG accounts—to give Grant a viable motive to have killed her. What if Denise never stole the funds? What if someone else did and framed Denise so that the police would have a clear motive for her skipping town?”
“And she was killed for a completely different reason.”
“Exactly.”
Lucy’s cell phone rang. It was JJ Young. She put him on speaker.
“Why do you want to talk to my kids again? They’re in school.”
To the point.
“We have reason to believe that Ricky is alive and has been hiding out in Mexico, and we have a general region—the greater Tamaulipas area. In the process of reviewing all the evidence found at the Albright house, we have reason to believe that Ricky arrived there safely after he left your house, then left at some point that night or in the morning on his bike. His bike has never been found. It wasn’t at the house—we double-checked photos and the inventory list. His backpack was also missing—but his schoolbooks were in his bedroom.”
“That’s good news, right?”
“Yes, but we still need to find him.”
“What do my kids have to do with it?”
This is where things got dicey, and Lucy had to be careful because JJ was protective of his children. But she also believed that he would encourage them to do the right thing.
“Denise’s parents hired a private investigator. The investigator interviewed Mrs. Durango, who saw Ricky on Friday night riding toward your house. She wasn’t certain it was Friday, but she’s almost positive, and Nate and I don’t think that a nine-year-old would have been allowed out at night on that road.”
“No, he wouldn’t have. He had to be home by dark, just like my kids.”
“We looked at a map and realized that she lives on the far end of your street. Ricky would have had to have taken his bike through the fields, not the roads, for her to see him.”
“It’s a shortcut,” JJ said. “The kids always go that way. They have dirt bikes.”
“The point is, if it was that night, Ricky was going to the one place he felt safe—your house.”
“I told you he didn’t come back. I asked Joe flat out and he said no.”
“Did you ask Ginny?”
“Of course, and—” He stopped, and Lucy continued, “Ginny had some odd questions about the detectives who came to your house. I didn’t think about it much at the time because kids process information different than we do, but in hindsight I think she was saying, in her own way, that she didn’t trust them. Why would she not trust cops? Have you had a run-in with law enforcement? I’m not saying it wasn’t justified, just that in general kids who have a parent or relative in trouble with the law often have a negative view about law enforcement.”
“Neither Jill nor I have been in any sort of legal trouble, nothing that would necessitate police involvement. I served my country for nine years, my kids respect people in uniform—the military and law enforcement.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Mr. Young, we’re just trying to figure out what Ginny was thinking. And with her being a girl, I don’t think the detectives asked her specifically if she saw Ricky after his family disappeared. I think they questioned Joe, assuming that Joe was Ricky’s friend.”
Young didn’t say anything.
“I’m not saying that Ginny lied,” Lucy quickly added. “I’m suggesting that she was never asked, and I want to ask her directly. Firmly, but I’ll be kind.”
“I’ll pick them up at school at lunch. We’ll be at the house at twelve fifteen.”
A little later than Lucy wanted, but she wasn’t going to push it.
“Thank you.”
She ended the call and let out a long sigh. “I thought he was going to block us.”
“So did I, at least at first. So the bank now?”
“Yes. According to Laura, the manager is the same as three years ago. Frank Pollero.”
“And if we’re right, he’s part of whatever conspiracy killed that family. And if he is, I want him on accessory to murder.”
So did Lucy.
Lucy and Nate walked into the quaint bank in Kerrville. It was a small chain, with fourteen branches throughout central and southern Texas, and it specialized in small-town service. The corporate bank had an excellent reputation, but each branch was run separately.
Frank Pollero had been the branch manager for fifteen years. He was in his early fifties with a receding hairline, cherub face, and kind smile that reminded Lucy of a younger Clarence from the classic film It’s a Wonderful Life.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us,” Lucy said.
“I’m happy to help in any way I can,” Pollero said as he led them to his office. It had a glass wall that looked out into the bank, which was designed in a way that clearly distinguished it from modern banks. Paintings of cattle ranches and a famous Alamo scene decorated the pale green walls; two separate sitting areas provided comfortable couches and neatly arranged finance magazines; a coffeepot and water cooler for customers; and the tellers were behind a high counter without bars or plastic shielding. It was a warm, homey environment with the stately colors and cleanliness that said, You can trust us with your money.
Lucy and Nate sat in the chairs across from Pollero. He closed the door behind them and sat down at his desk, which was immaculate. Behind him on the credenza was a wedding photo—it looked recent, and Pollero was standing with a woman next to the bride. Next to it was a photo of the bride and her husband with a toddler.
“Your daughter?” she asked, nodding toward the photos.
He glanced over and smiled. “Penny. The joy of my life. And her daughter, Gracie. She just turned two.”
“Adorable,” Lucy said. “Again, thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice.”
“I assumed it was because of the news reports Monday night—that you found Denise Albright’s remains. I’m stunned.”
“Her, and her family,” Lucy said. “They were murdered.”
She said it in a calm, reasoned voice—just like she asked about his daughter—and it threw him a bit.
“It’s awful,” he said.
“Based on forensics and our investigation, you may very well have been one of the last people to see Mrs. Albright alive.”
“I—I’m sure that’s not true.”
“According to your statement, she came into the bank on Friday, September 21, at ten fifteen a.m. She made changes to the Kiefer account, of which she was a signatory, and you indicated that she wasn’t under duress.”
“I honestly don’t remember the details, but if she was acting odd, I would have noticed. I knew Mrs. Albright for years. We gave her the loan on her home, when they only had one child. She had her business account with us, when she had a new client she always referred them to our bank. She was meticulous, which I appreciated. If there was a discrepancy in any of her accounts, we worked on finding it together.”
“So you saw her regularly? How often would you say? Every week? Month?”
“Once a month, maybe a little less. With online banking taking off, we don’t see our customers as often as we used to.”
“Did you know her husband?” Lucy asked.
“By sight. He only came in a couple times to sign papers, such as when they refinanced their home. Mrs. Albright handled most, if not all, of the family’s finances, which isn’t a surprise since she was an accountant.”
Interviewing a witness—as well as a suspect—meant quickly profiling the subject. Perhaps unfair at times, it almost always succeeded. Because Pollero was on the old-fashioned side, over fifty, had a daughter roughly Lucy’s age, and was in the conservative banking profession, Lucy and Nate made an unspoken decision that she would be the nice agent and Nate would be more aggressive. Though they hadn’t been partners long, they knew each other’s strengths well.
So when Nate spoke, he was more commanding. Coupled with his military background and intimidating broad shoulders, he came across as authorative.
“Didn’t you think it was suspicious that Mrs. Albright changed the account of one of her clients?”
“I— Um, no, I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“I knew her.”
“I know Agent Kincaid, but I would find it suspicious if she wanted to take her husband off their joint bank account.”
“This was completely different,” he said. “Mrs. Albright set up the account, she had the authority to change it.”
“But she set it up with Mr. Kiefer and he was one of the signatories who was supposed to approve any transaction over ten thousand dollars.”
“Yes, but she had the appropriate forms.”
“Which she could have forged or manipulated Mr. Kiefer into signing,” Nate pushed. “You didn’t even think to call him? Verify that he gave her permission to—essentially—control a three-million-dollar account?”
“I— She wouldn’t— I mean— I had never thought— It wasn’t that unusual.”
“You have a fiduciary responsibility to protect your customers’ assets, and you not only acted wholly unprofessional, but she was able to transfer the money that night without raising any red flags on your end?”
“I— I don’t see why—what—I mean, I followed all regulations for that type of transaction.”
“Agent Dunning, I’m sure Mr. Pollero trusted Mrs. Albright. He’d been her banker for years.”
“I did,” he said, jumping on Lucy’s out. “I trusted her explicitly.”
Lucy gave him a half smile and showed him the photo he had provided three years ago of Denise Albright coming into the bank. She had on large sunglasses, her hair was down and partly shielding her face, and there was no clear shot of her without the sunglasses. Based on photos they had of Denise, the woman may have been her, but the photo was so grainy that they couldn’t even tell the woman’s hair color. The only thing they could be sure of was that she was Caucasian and approximately five feet six inches based on the lines on the door where the image was captured. Denise Albright’s medical records indicated she was a half-inch taller than five foot six but certainly within the range.
“You sent this picture in when asked for surveillance film that morning. You indicated in your statement that the bank only had a camera on the door. But you didn’t provide the entire video, only this image. You can see why my boss is skeptical that this is Denise.” Lucy watched as Pollero stared at the picture.
“Yes, the quality isn’t the best, we’ve since upgraded our system. But that’s Denise.”
Nate said, “Do you know that it is a felony to lie to federal agents?”
“Of course!” he said, his voice rising. “I gave your office everything I had, and I’m sorry I didn’t think anything was wrong, but at the time nothing seemed unusual. I went over all this with the sheriff’s department, and again with the FBI, and I don’t see why you’re coming back now.”
“Because we don’t believe that this is Denise Albright,” Nate said bluntly.
“I would never have authorized the change if it wasn’t her.”
“Denise Albright may already have been dead when she allegedly came into the bank.”
His face drained. “I— That can’t be. The police told me that she and her husband crossed the border that night. That’s what they said. They had a picture to prove it.”
Lucy said, “The correct answer, Mr. Pollero, is that she couldn’t have been dead because you spoke to her at ten fifteen that morning.”
He stared at her, blinked, seemed confused, then said, “Yes, of course. That’s the right answer.”
The way he said it had Lucy backtracking. Something about his demeanor … he had been coached. And her prompt seemed to calm him down, as if she were telling him what to say.
“Thank you for your time,” Lucy said as she stood. Nate clearly didn’t want to leave, but he rose with her, and she was grateful he didn’t argue. They needed to regroup and look at this case in a different way.
“Um, yes, and if you need anything else, let me know,” he said.
Lucy opened the door and Nate followed her out. They got all the way to the car before Nate said, “He was lying and you let him!”
“He was coached. Someone told him exactly what to say to the FBI three years ago to make us go away. He gave Laura what she asked for, nothing more or less. He has never been in trouble, so there was no reason to investigate him. Now there is. We need a warrant for all the records, because I think he’s the one who falsified the banking records that enabled the embezzlement. Bankers are under intense scrutiny, but they also are knowledgeable about how the system works and he could have made it look like Denise authorized the change to the account. He gave us that grainy photo plus his statement that she didn’t appear to be under distress—he did his part. Exactly what he was told to do.”
“Then where’s the money?”
“I think he was paid or blackmailed. I lean blackmail because he’s not living above his means and I don’t think he would have done it just for money.”
“That’s a quick moral assessment after a fifteen-minute conversation.”
Lucy was a bit hurt that Nate didn’t trust her psychological profile, but she probably should have given him more to go on.
“Yes, it is, and I shouldn’t have just walked out without discussing it with you. I want to watch him. Investigate him. If Max is right and Stanley Grant was threatened into confessing to Victoria’s murder, maybe Pollero was threatened into falsifying the financial authorization. Or blackmailed—because while Grant had been a gambler, Pollero could still be a gambler. And no one would want a banker to be a gambler … too great a risk to borrow money that doesn’t belong to you.”
Nate wasn’t completely appeased, but he no longer looked angry. “Maybe. But he might have talked if we pushed harder. He lied to us. I don’t like people lying to me.”
“Neither do I, Nate, and you’re right, he may have talked. But if he felt there was a threat to his family, I don’t think he would have given us everything, not without tangible proof of wrongdoing. And we can get it.”
“How?”
“He thought I was coaching him into what to say. It was a slight change in his tone, but he was relieved when he thought I gave him the answer that he had seen Denise that morning. When we threw the wrench out there that she might have already been dead, he didn’t know what to do—because his lie was falling apart. I’m a federal agent, yet he didn’t think it was odd that a federal agent was prompting him with a ‘correct’ answer. It was subtle, in his eyes, the way his body shifted, relaxed. He was relieved. And I got to thinking about the Young kids—and their animosity to law enforcement even though their parents hold no such animosity. They aren’t old enough to get it from peers, and their parents seem very religious and law-and-order. Former military, rules the kids follow, more freedom to roam over structured play. The kids should have liked us, or at least been inquisitive. Where did they get that animosity? Specifically, why did Ginny ask such unusual questions? I think it was because Ricky had a run-in with a cop and he told her about it, passing his fear on to Ginny. And Pollero took instruction from a cop, so had no hesitation at letting me lead him. And you yourself didn’t want to share our theory about Ricky with the sheriff’s department because you thought they dropped the ball—or might have known something more about the case.”
“I don’t think I said that.”
“You didn’t have to, it was implied. Your instincts told you something was off, but you automatically assumed incompetence. Maybe it was incompetence, but now I’m leaning against it. We can’t trust them—but we can use that against them.”
“I was with you, but then you lost me.”
“We get Pollero to talk—and he will, if we stage it. Even if we have nothing to show him, a formal setting with the president of his bank, a white collar crime expert, and we can get him to tell us everything. But not there, not now. It’s his environment, and we might be able to fluster him, but he won’t tell the truth until we put him in a different setting.”
“I like it. Okay, let’s do it.”
“If I’m right, and a cop coached Pollero, he’ll tell us. It’s just a matter of the right approach.”