Liars & Thieves Read Free Page A

with me, but it was empty.
    A female loan officer was seated behind her desk talking on the telephone in one of the small offices off the main office area. The walls of all these spaces had large windows in them so everyone could see what was going on everywhere in the bank. The only privacy was in the vault, a series of cubicles for customers to load and unload their boxes, and the employee restrooms, which were right beside the vault. I didn’t see any other employees in this area of the bank.
    Dorsey and Harriet compared due dates after I introduced them, then Dorsey sat at a chair by Harriet’s desk. While Harriet retrieved the master safe deposit box key from her desk, I checked that none of the surveillance cameras were pointed into the vault. They weren’t.
    Inside the vault, Harriet asked, “Do you remember your box number, Mr. Carmellini?”
    “Number six, I think. It was one of the large ones.” I pointed at it.
    Harriet opened the card catalog and looked me up while I watched over her shoulder.
    She removed my card from the box. “If you’ll just sign and date this …”
    I did so and handed her my key. She inserted her master key into my box lock, then mine, and opened it.
    “Do you want to take your box to our privacy area?” she asked.
    Before I could answer, I heard Dorsey moan, then I heard a thud as she hit the floor.
    “My God!” I said, and darted out of the vault. Harriet was right behind me.
    Dorsey lay facedown on the floor, moaning softly and holding herself. The woman from the loan office rushed out and bent over her. Dorsey began retching.
    “The bathroom,” Harriet said, and grabbed one arm. The other woman took her other arm, and they assisted her to her feet. Dorsey gagged.
    As they went through the door of the ladies’, I faded into the vault. Bless Harriet, she had left the master key sticking in the key way of my box!
    I turned sideways to the camera and removed a halogen flashlight from my trouser pocket. I snapped it on as I aimed it at the camera. The light was so bright I had to squint for several seconds. I placed the light on the cabinet beside the card file and arranged it on a flexible wire base so it was pointed at the camera. The beam would wipe out the picture.
    I knew that Carroll Kincaid also had a large box, based on the amount he had paid in rent. It took just seconds to find his name in the card catalog. He had box number twelve and hadn’t visited it since he rented it.
    Leaving the lock on my box open, I used the master key on Kincaid’s, inserted one of my picks and a torsion wrench in the second keyway, and went to work. After ten seconds, I decided I had the wrong size pick and tried another.
    I closed my eyes so that I could concentrate on the feel.
    Perspiration beaded on my forehead. That never happens to James Bond in the movies; it’s a character defect that I just have to live with.
    Time crawled.
    I concentrated on the feel of the pick.
    Bang, I got it, and felt the lock give the tiniest amount. Keeping the tension on the torsion wrench, I turned the master key . . . and the lock opened.
    Kincaid’s box had something in it. I didn’t open it. I merely transferred his box to my vault and put my empty box in his, then closed the lock flap. I replaced the master key in the lock on my box, closed it, retrieved my key and the halogen flashlight, and was waiting in the lobby with my attache case when the women came out of the restroom.
    Dorsey looked as if she had been run over by something. Her face was pasty and her hair a mess.
    Harriet and the other woman helped her toward the door.
    “I’ll get her home,” I said, and slipped an arm around her. “Thank you so much.”
    Dorsey murmured something to the women, then put her hand over her mouth as if she were going to heave again. Harriet opened the door and I half carried Dorsey through it.
    I put her in the passenger seat of the car and got behind the wheel.
    “You son of a bitch,” she snarled.