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“He was never introduced.”
“How long has Mr. Novak been a customer of your bank?” I continued.
His discomfort turned into annoyance.
“The lady asked you a question,” said Zeppelin.
“Many years,” Meier responded, looking directly at Zep, who then looked at me.
“Be more specific,” I added.
The man’s eyes darted between Macht and Zeppelin, visibly apprehensive about my interrogating him.
I stood, put my hands on his desk, and leaned forward. “I asked you a question, Meier, and I expect an answer. I also expect you to look at me when you deliver it.”
The man’s gaze met mine. “I would have to look up how long he’s held accounts at BJB.”
“Approximately?”
“Longer than I’ve been here.”
“Which is?” With each question, the volume of my voice increased.
“Nine years.”
Something else occurred to me. “How many accounts does Novak keep at your institution?”
Meier reverted to looking between Macht and Zeppelin rather than at me. Not only had I had enough, but the bank manager didn’t appear to be intimidated by either man. I made it my mission to ensure I made him exceedingly uncomfortable.
“How many?” I shouted, slamming his desk with my fist.
“Mr. Novak doesn’t directly own any accounts at BJB.”
I turned to Macht. “Get the warrant.”
He nodded and swiped the screen of his mobile, then stood, as did Zeppelin.
“Wait!” Meier said, his voice raised like mine was.
I glanced over my shoulder. “You have one more chance to be forthcoming. If you are not, we will obtain a warrant.”
“Mr. Novak makes deposits on behalf of one of our customers. Actually, two now.”
“How often?”
“There is no set pattern, but in the last year, it has been more infrequent. Prior to that, it was once per month.”
Probably due to his house arrest. “For now, we’re only interested in your confirmation of one of the customers Mr. Novak represents.”
He nodded.
“AMPS.”
Where before he’d looked uncomfortable and apprehensive, now he turned deathly pale at the mere mention of the organization’s acronym.
15
ZEPPELIN
