James Grippando - Found money

“What does that mean exactly — the records are sealed?”

“It means they’re absolutely confidential. By law, nobody can find out what crimes a person committed as a juvenile.”

“So it’s possible that even my mother wouldn’t know?”

“Definitely. Would your mother have married a rapist? That’s why it makes sense that somebody could have blackmailed your dad. Not the other way around.”

“Except my father wasn’t exactly the kind of rich man you’d target for extortion. I don’t know what’s going on, really. All I know is that some woman is walking around Panama right now with every bit of information I came down here to get. Not to mention my plane tickets and my passport.”

“Did you have any original documents in the bag?”

“Just copies. I left the originals in the safe deposit box.”

“Good. Here’s what we do. First thing, we get you a new passport. I’ll take care of that tomorrow. Do you have any kind of photo ID?”

“Yeah, driver’s license. They didn’t get my wallet.”

“Excellent. Go back to the bank tomorrow. If you talk to the same person who helped you this morning, your license should be sufficient to get you back in the box. Especially if you tell them your passport was stolen. Make another set of copies of the juvenile record, the account statements, everything that was in your bag. But don’t take any documents from the bank — not even the copies. Have the copies made right there on the premises, then bundle it up and ship it overnight to me. I don’t want you carrying anything on your person.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll get the passport to you through the embassy. But you’re probably stuck down there for at least another day.”

“Good. Maybe I can find that woman.”

“I wouldn’t go to the police, if that’s what you’re thinking. The political climate in Panama today is far different from the dictatorship that existed when your father opened these accounts. They may not look too favorably on the heir to extortion money.”

“I wasn’t going to call the police. I thought I’d just cruise the major hotels. I know her MO. Maybe I’ll spot her hitting on another stupid American who thinks with his crotch.”

“Something tells me you won’t see this woman cruising bars around the city. This is bigger than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“The woman was a diversion, obviously. She got your attention while somebody else walked off with your bag. Thieves work in teams like that all the time. But we can’t assume that’s all there is to this.”

“You don’t think it was a random hit, then.”

“Do you?”

“I think it was triggered by my visit to one of the banks today, but I’m not sure how.”

“It’s possible somebody got a tip from a bank employee that you came in and opened your father’s safe deposit box. Maybe that somebody wanted to know what you had removed from it.”

“You’re saying I’m being followed?”

“We’re not talking nickels and dimes here, Ryan.”

“Yeah, but you’re making it sound like some big conspiracy.”

“Call it whatever you want. But if these people can afford to pay your father five million dollars, they can sure as hell afford to put a tail on you.”

“Or worse,” said Ryan, his heart suddenly in his throat.

“A lot worse. Take my advice. Don’t waste your time looking for some mysterious woman in a tan suit. Let’s focus on the three million dollars in that second account. We need to find out where the money was transferred from and who transferred it. That’s the root of the extortion.”

“All the banker at Banco del Istmo would tell me is that it came from another numbered account in the bank. Bank secrecy laws prohibited him from giving me the name of the other account holder.”

“I suppose that’s right,” said Norm. “The bank owes a fiduciary obligation to both account holders. They can’t disclose one to the other without the consent of both customers.” He drummed his fingers on his desktop, thinking. “Somehow we have to persuade him to tell us more.”

Ryan thought for a moment. “I bet that woman in the tan suit can help us.”

“I hardly think she would.”

“Maybe she already has.”

“I don’t follow you.”

Ryan was smug. “It’s probably better that way.”

“Careful, my friend. The last time I heard that tone in your voice you nearly got me kicked out of college. We’re not talking dormitory pranks here. You’re in a Third World country with no passport, and God only knows who may be watching you. Don’t be taking stupid chances.”

He remained silent, the wheels turning in his head.

“Ryan, come on. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s like I told you before you left. You’re executor of the estate. Eventually you’ll have to represent to a court that you’ve accounted for all the heirs and inventoried all the assets. What the hell are you going to say about the two million in the attic and three million more in Panama? I’m your friend and I want to help you, but I can’t help any client break the law.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise, I’m not going to break any laws.” He hung up the phone. At least not the laws of the United States.

Ryan stepped out of the phone booth and crossed the busy lobby, back to the hotel bar. A few more customers had gathered around the television, glued to the soccer game. It was nearing the end of the match, score tied. The bartender looked as if he hadn’t moved. The lone waitress was equally riveted. No one had been tending to the tables since Ryan had left. He glanced toward the table at which the woman had been seated.

Her empty glass was still there.

Ryan smiled to himself. So far, so good.

The Boulder police arrived in minutes. Curious onlookers gathered outside the apartment and in the parking lot, near the squad cars. Two officers searched the outside perimeter of the complex. Two others marked off the crime scene with yellow police tape.

A detective interviewed Amy in the doorway. She would have invited him inside, but there wasn’t a chair left unbroken. He had salt-and-pepper hair and deep lines in his face, the kind that came from too much work or too much drinking, perhaps both. He was a serious type, with not much of a bedside manner. The closest he came to an expression of sympathy was a clipped “Hope you got insurance, lady.” He took notes on a small spiral pad as he moved from question to question in a plodding, matter-of-fact manner.

Gram arrived in the middle of the interview. The emotion in her eyes touched her granddaughter. They embraced in the hall, just outside the open doorway.

“It’s okay, Gram.” Those same words from her grandmother had never failed to comfort Amy as a child. They felt a little strange flowing the other way.

“Thank God we weren’t home.”

Amy took a step back. “Where’s Taylor?”

“I didn’t want her to see this. She’s over in three-seventeen with Mrs. Bentley.”

Together, their eyes drifted inside to the living room. For Amy, the second look was worse than the first. Details stood out in what before was just wreckage. The potted plants Gram had babied along forever were upside down on the floor. Taylor’s box of toys was a pile of splintered lumber.

Gram spoke quietly, as if at a funeral. “I just can’t believe they did this. They destroyed everything we own.”

“Excuse me,” said the detective. “Who is ‘they’?”

Gram blinked, confused. “I’m sorry — what?”

“You said you can’t believe they did this. Who is ‘they’?”

“It was just a figure of speech.”

“Do you have reason to believe more than one person did this?”