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“I was in school with a chap from Philadelphia named Payne,” Chase said. “Brewster C. Payne. I don’t suppose there’s any chance—”
“He’s my father, Mr. Chase,” Matt said.
“Then I really am delighted to meet you. How is your father? I haven’t seen him in several years, I’m afraid.”
“Very well, thank you, sir.”
Well, I just got handed the keys to the bank didn’t I?
“You make sure to give him my very best regards.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
Wait a minute!
If this guy is really an old pal, why didn’t Dad at least mention him when I told him I was coming to Harrisburg?
If Chase really is a good friend—and I think he thinks he is, which doesn’t mean Dad reciprocates, of course—not mentioning him wasn’t an inadvertent oversight. Because Dad doesn’t think of him the same way? No. He would have warned me about something like that.
Maybe because Dad didn’t want to lean on his old school chum on behalf of the cops? Or because he knew that it would quickly come to Chase’s attention that a Philadelphia detective named Payne wanted to nose around his bank? And that Chase would either ask—as indeed, he just did—or call Dad and ask.
In the latter instance, that got Chase off the hook. If he wants to be nice to the son of his old buddy, fine and dandy. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t have to, and since Dad didn’t ask Chase didn’t have to say “no.” No hard feelings.
You are a smart one, Dad! Clever. Subtle. A real class act.
It’s amazing, as the saying goes, that the older I get, how much smarter you get.
And what was it you told me about banks? “Most bank presidents are figureheads, who spend their time talking to the Kiwanis and the Rotary and drumming up business on the golf course. Banks are run by their boards of directors, through the secretary or treasurer of the corporation, or sometimes a vice president.”
Why do I suspect that I have just met that “sometimes vice president”? And that Lieutenant Deitrich damned well knows where Mr. Chase fits into the power structure around here?
“Now, how may I be of assistance?” Chase asked.
“We have reason to believe that someone engaged in criminal activity in Philadelphia has moved money to Harrisburg,” Matt said. “Concealing it.”
“And you’re here to see if you can find it? And obviously with the blessing of Chief Mueller, or Lieutenant Deitrich wouldn’t be with you.”
Deitrich nodded.
“Yes, sir,” Matt said.
“Are you at liberty to tell me the source of the funds?”
“One of our officers has been suspended, and indicted for taking money from a madam who was operating a call girl ring in Center City,” Matt said.
“That’s one of the more lucrative ‘occupations,’ I understand. Do you have a search warrant?”
“For the property of the officer concerned. His name is Seymour Meyer. He was a lieutenant.”
“I suppose it would be too much to hope he would have an account, or a safe-deposit box, in his own name, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said. “I have a list of names of relatives, friends—”
“Well, we’ll look first—we might get lucky—for any accounts in this man’s name. Or a safe-deposit box in his name. Your warrant—you have it with you?”
Matt reached into his jacket and came out with the warrant. Chase read it.
“ ‘Wherever located,’ ” he read aloud. “Good. That will give you access to either the details of his account or the box. If we find either. But as far as boxes in another name, or the details of someone else’s account . . .”
