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Hmm.It might have made sense at the time, but...
Documentscouldbe as valuable as cash, Regan thought. She grabbed the sheet she’d printed and looked at the names of the box owners. There were three businesses and two individuals. They were familiar.
Tommy had these five names listed in his notes.
Tommy had been looking into these people, Regan realized. The revelation gave her pause. Did he think there was something more here than a botched robbery? Why? What triggered his interest?
First things first. Time to talk to bank manager Stuart Van Horn.
Twelve
Regan arrived at the Potomac Bank of Arlington not far from Alexandria at quarter after eleven that morning. The bank was on a side street off Fairfax Drive with limited street parking, so she pulled into the small lot behind the bank that serviced the row of businesses on the block.
It wasn’t a bank she would have chosen had she been a bank robber: there was only one public entrance, the street wasn’t well traveled, it was blocks from the metro, and didn’t have much parking. Not to mention it was less than ten minutes from the courthouse, eight minutes from a police substation, with narrow side streets that were easy for law enforcement to block off.
That further bolstered the FBI theory that Mike Hannigan had been targeting a specific security box in this branch.
When Regan walked into the bank, she noted some differences. First, the security guard was younger and more alert than the older rent-a-cop who had previously worked there. Second, the formerly open, high-ceilinged bank had walled off three offices, with lowered ceilings, for the manager and two loan officers, and the tellers were now behind thick plastic shields. That wasn’t unusual; many banks had converted to such protective dividers over the last twenty, thirty years—even a neighborhood bank like this that prided itself on personalized customer service.
A pedestal with a sign-in sheet stood sentry next to a comfortable grouping of four large leather chairs and circular coffee table stacked with financial magazines and a lone kids’ book. The manager, Stuart Van Horn, stood chatting with a customer outside his office door.
Van Horn was tall, slender, and impeccably dressed. Midforties, dark graying hair, wire-rimmed glasses, large hands.
Another staff member—by her name tag, the loan manager—approached her.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
“I’m waiting for Mr. Van Horn.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. But I need to speak with him,” she said, preempting any attempt to convince her to sit with the loan officer.
“Of course. May I tell him who’s waiting?”
“Regan Merritt.” She didn’t want to explain the reason for her visit twice, so she didn’t give the loan officer any additional information.
As soon as the customer Van Horn was speaking with left, the staff member approached him, spoke quietly, and he looked over at her. He tilted his head slightly as he approached. “Ms. Merritt, I don’t believe we have an appointment. Do we know each other?”
“I was one of the marshals who responded to the bank robbery two years ago.”
“Yes, I do remember you now. How may I assist you?”
“Do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course.” She politely declined his offer of coffee or water and followed him into his office.
He sat behind his desk—highly polished dark wood, clear of all paperwork, only a computer and keyboard in the corner. A framed picture of his family was on the credenza behind him: wife, three kids under ten, two dogs. Her eyes lingered just a moment on the lone boy, the youngest of the three, about four or five. He looked both sweet and mischievous. Her heart ached. She tore her eyes away and sat in the chair across from the manager.
“Thomas Granger came to see you three weeks ago. You may not have heard, but Tommy was killed on Monday.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said sympathetically. “In the line of duty?”
“No. He was murdered,” she said bluntly. “I’m helping to recreate his activities in the weeks leading up to his death. He had a meeting with you on his calendar. Did you contact him, or did he contact you?” Jump right in, don’t give him time to think about why she, aformermarshal, was asking these questions.
“Deputy Granger called me to set up a meeting.”
“What did you discuss?”
