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“Lieutenant.” Eve tapped her badge. “I’ve got no problem as long as you recognize the warrant APA Reo is showing you, and lead the way to the deposit box listed on same.”
“The privacy of our patrons, both through bank policy and federal regulations—”
“Does not supersede this duly administered warrant,” Reo interrupted. “A fact you’re fully aware of if you’re the manager of this bank. If you choose to attempt to block the execution of this warrant, Lieutenant Dallas will arrest you for obstruction.”
“As the manager of this bank, I’m obliged to contact Mr. Betz and inform him of the situation.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.” Eve rolled her shoulders. “You do that—after you take us to the box, and open it. We’re going by the minute here, right, Reo? You’ve got one minute to decide how you want to play this. Starting now.”
“It will take me longer than one minute to contact and inform Mr. Betz.”
“At the end of one minute, you’re going to be in restraints, and the only contact you’ll want to make is to your lawyer. Make that forty-five seconds.”
“I will be reporting you to your superiors. Both of you.”
But she turned on her heel, used those long strides to recross the lobby with Eve and Reo following closely behind, swiped a card over a security pad, tapped in a code.
Two steel doors parted in the middle and slid open to a small warren of rooms lined with steel boxes.
“You’re required to show your identification, and to sign the log. Again, both of you.”
While they did, the manager took the warrant and scowled over every word.
“You’ve left me no choice, but I do this under protest. Our patrons’ privacy—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Eve moved past her, following the numbers until she came to Betz’s box. “Go away.”
The woman gave a long sniff and departed, yanking a smaller steel door behind her.
Eve took out the evidence bag, took out the swipe. Before she used it, she turned on her recorder, read in the data.
The box popped out from the wall so she could lift it out, take it to a table. She slid back the lid.
“Oh my,” Reo murmured. “That’s a whole bunch of paper money.”
“It’s going to be a whole bunch of unreported-to-the-tax-guys paper money.”
“How much do you think?”
“About half a mil, ballpark.”
“That’s a very green ballpark. We’re going to need a bag.”
“Yeah, we’ll get one.” Eve lifted out stacks of hundreds, and found the collection of small, sealed bags.
“Are those—they’re locks of hair.”
“Yeah.” Eve’s stomach knotted. “Souvenirs. They’re going to be DNA matches for women he—most likely they—raped.”
“Christ have mercy, Dallas, there are dozens. They have names.”
Eve did a quick count. “Forty-nine. Forty-nine souvenirs. A lot of fuckers can’t resist taking a souvenir. And here’s one marked Charity, there are a couple of Lydias, but only one Charity, only one Carlee spelled the way MacKensie does. First names only, but it’s going to help.”
Frowning, she uncovered a large disc in a clear plastic case.
“Look at the size of that. I’ve never seen one that big.”
Eve turned it under the lights. “I’m guessing it’s old. Maybe as much as forty-nine years old. Handwritten title.”
