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Hannigan had shut down the security cameras so they had no visual of what happened in the bank for the twenty-seven minutes that Hannigan held everyone hostage before he was shot and killed.
“Do you personally know Mr. Thompson?”
“By sight. He’d been a customer for about a year.”
“You know that off the top of your head?”
He shook his head. “I learned more about the customers who’d been hostages with us after the situation ended. I felt it was my duty to see if there was any way myself or the company could help them after their ordeal. We offered a lifetime of waived checking fees, though I wish there was more that we could have done.”
“And Mr. Thompson came in regularly?”
“A few times. I recognized him, didn’t know his name. You probably know this from your files, but he was in the middle of financing a gym—which is why he had an appointment with our business loan officer that morning.”
“Did he qualify for the loan?”
“He would have, but he pulled it. He said he needed to rethink his plans. He’d been shot, after all. I think the experience traumatized him.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“No—Mr. Granger asked the same thing. Brian Thompson closed his accounts, but he went to a different branch to do it. We were closed for a week after the incident.”
Regan thanked him and left.
Had Becca Johns been the accomplice? Or Brian Thompson? Tommy had been interested in both Beccaand a second partner—Thompson? That meant Regan was, too.
Within thirty seconds of leaving the bank, Regan knew she was being followed.
She reflected briefly on how she’d picked up the tail. The bank was close enough to the courthouse that they could have followed her from there or they might have had a tag team that she didn’t notice. Unlikely, but possible. She’d been at the bank for more than twenty minutes—someone could have called in her presence. Van Horn didn’t have enough time after she left, and he hadn’t been on his phone or computer when she walked in.
Two men, dark SUV that looked official, but had no government plates.
She considered confronting them, even trapping their vehicle down an alley or dead-end street, but that would be foolhardy to attempt alone. She was one person without backup, and she didn’t know the threat level.
She had planned to drive straight to Tommy’s place to go through his records again. Instead, she drove to the courthouse, there was a greater chance of getting the SUV—now keeping pace two cars behind her—on one of the many cameras outside the building. If they were legit and this was a coincidence, they wouldn’t care about the camera. If they weren’t legit, they’d peel off a block away from the courthouse—assuming they were aware of the higher security there.
Still, she decided to go the long way back, just to see if they followed. She hopped on the highway that cut across Arlington, then exited south of Alexandria.
The SUV kept pace, alternating between two and three cars behind.
When she called Charlie, his phone went straight to voicemail. Likely still in court. She left a message. “Black SUV followed me from the bank. No front plates, no government tags, two unidentified males. I’m heading to the office, meet me there when you’re done with court.” She ended the call.
As Regan neared the courthouse and turned right to access the parking garage, the black SUV kept going north.
No rear plates. Illegal, and should a cop encounter them they’d be pulled over. But no plates made the vehicle impossible for her to trace.
Dammit.
If anyone followed her again, she would turn the tables, find a place to trap and confront them.
The tail confirmed to Regan that she was definitely on the right investigatory trail.
Thirteen
As soon as Regan entered Charlie’s office, he said, “Did you get their plates?”
“No plates, front or back.”
“Where’d you pick them up?”
