The Chief of Audit Service had now moved on. 'What our sneak thief has been doing is milking dormant accounts. Once we detected a single fraudulent pattern earlier this evening, others were not hard to find."
Still in his lecturer's manner, and for the benefit of the PBI men, he defined a dormant account. It was an account savings or checking, Burnside explained which had little or no activity. All banks had customers who for varied reasons left such accounts untouched over long periods, sometimes for many years, and with surprisingly large sums remaining in them. Modest interest did accumulate in savings accounts, of course, and some people undoubtedly had that in mind, though others incredible but true abandoned their accounts entirely.
When a checking account was observed to be inactive, with no deposits or withdrawals, banks ceased mailing monthly statements and substituted an annual one. Even those, at times, were returned marked: "Moved address unknown."
Standard precautions were taken to prevent fraudulent use of dormant accounts, the audit chief continued. The account records were segregated; then, if a transaction suddenly occurred it was scrutinized by an operations officer to make sure it was legitimate. Normally such precautions were effective. As assistant operations officer; Miles Eastin had authority to scrutinize and approve dormant account transactions. He had used the authority to cover up his own dishonesty the fact that he had been stealing from such accounts himself.
"Eastin has been rather clever, selecting those accounts least likely to cause trouble. We have here a series of forged withdrawal slips, though not forged very skillfully because there are obvious traces of his handwriting, after which the amounts have been transferred into what ape appears to be a dummy account of his own under an assumed name. There's an obvious similarity of handwriting there also, though naturally experts will be needed to give evidence."
One by one they examined the withdrawal slips, comparing the handwriting with the checks they had looked at earlier. Although an attempt had been made at disguise, a resemblance was unmistakable.
The second FBI agent, Dalrymple, had been writing careful notes. Looking up, he asked, "Is there a total figure on the money involved?"
Gayne answered, "So far we've pinpointed close to eight thousand dollars. Tomorrow, though, well have access to older records through microfilm and the computer, which may show more."
Burnside added, "When we confront Eastin with what we know already; it could be he'll decide to make things easier by admitting the rest. That's sometimes a pattern when we catch embezzlers."
He's enjoying this, Edwina thought; really enjoying it. She felt irrationally defensive about Miles llastin, then asked, "Have you any idea how long this has been going on?"
"From what's been uncovered so far," Gayne informed them, "it looks like at least a year, possibly longer."
Edwina turned to face Hal Burnside. "So you missed it completely at the last audit. Isn't an inspection of dormant accounts part of your job?"
It was like pricking a bubble. The audit chief flushed crimson as he admitted, "Yes, it is. But even we miss things occasionally when a thief has covered his tracks well."
"Obviously. Though you did say a moment ago the handwriting was a giveaway." Burnside said sourly, "Well, we've caught it now." She reminded him, "After I called you in."
The FBI agent Innes broke the ensuing silence. "None of this puts us any further ahead so far as Wednesday's missing cash goes."
"Except it makes Eastin the prime suspect," Burnside said. He seemed relieved to redirect the conversation. "And he may admit that, too."
"He won't," Nolan Wainwright growled. "That cat is too damn smart. Besides, why should he? We still don't know how he did it."
Until now the bank security head had said little, though he had shown surprise, then his face had hardened as the auditors produced their succession of documents and the evidence of guilt. Edwina wondered if Wainwright was remembering how both of them had put pressure on the teller, Juanita Nunez, disbelieving the girl's protested innocence. Even now, Edwina supposed, there was a possibility the Nunez girl had been in league with Eastin, but it seemed unlikely.
Hal Burnside stood up to go, refastening his briefcase. "Here's where Audit leaves off and the law takes over."
"We'll require these papers and a signed statement," Innes said. "Mr. Gayne will stay, and be at your disposal."
"One more question. Do you think that Eastin has any idea he's been found out?"
"I doubt it." Burnside glanced toward his assistant who shook his head.
"I'm certain he doesn't. We were careful not to show what we were looking for and, to cover up, we asked for many things we didn't need."
"I don't think so either," Edwina said. She remembered sadly how busy and cheerful Miles Eastin had been immediately before she had left the branch with Burnside. Why had he done it? Why, oh why?
Innes nodded his approval. 'When let's keep it that way. We'll pick Eastin up for questioning as soon as we've finished here, but he mustn't be warned. He's still at the bank?"
"Yes," Edwina said. "He'll stay at least until we get back, and normally he'd be among the last to leave."
Nolan Wainwright cut in, his voice unusually harsh, "Amend those instructions. Keep him there as late as possible. After that, let him go home thinking he hasn't been found out." The others glanced at the bank security chief, puzzled iand startled. In particular the eyes of the two FBI men searched Wainwright's face. A message seemed to pss between them.
Innes hesitated, then conceded, "All right. Do it that way."
A few minutes later, Edwina and Burnside took the elevator down.
Innes said politely to the remaining auditor, "Before we take your statement, I wonder if you'd leave us alone a moment." "Certainly." Gayne left the conference room.
The second FBI agent closed his notebook and put down his pencil.
Innes faced Nolan Wainwright. "You've something in mind?"
"I have." Wainwright hesitated, wrestling mentally with choices and his conscience. Experience told him that the evidence against Eastin had gaps which needed to be filled. Yet to fill them the law would have to be bent in a way running counter to his own beliefs. He asked the FBI man, "Are you sure you want to know?"
The two eyed each other. They had known each other for years and shared a mutual respect.
"Getting evidence nowadays is sensitive," Innes said. "We can't take some of the liberties we used to, and if we do it's liable to bounce back."
There was a silence, then the second FBI agent said, "Tell us as much as you think you should."
Wainwright interlaced his fingers and considered them. His body transmitted tension, as his voice had earlier. "Okay, we've enough to nail Eastin on a larceny rap. Let's say the amount stolen is eight thousand dollars, more or less. What do you think a judge will give him?"
"For a first offense he'll draw a suspended sentence," Innes said. "The court won't worry about the money value. They'll figure banks have lots and it's insured anyway."
"Check!" Wainwright's fingers tightened visibly. "But if we can prove he took that other cash the six thousand last Wednesday; if we can show he aimed to throw the blame on the girl, and damn near did.. ."
Innes grunted understanding. "If you could show that, any reasonable judge would send him straight to jail. But can you?"
"I intend to. Because I personally want that son of a bitch behind bars."
"I know what you mean," the FBI man said thoughtfully. "I'd like to see it happen too."
"In that case do it my way. Don't pick up Eastin tonight. Give me until morning." "I'm not sure," Innes mused. "I'm not sure I can."
The three of them waited, conscious of knowledge, duty, and a pull and tug within themselves. The other two guessed roughly what Wainwright had in mind. But when, and to what extent, did an end justify the means? Equally to the point: How much liberty nowadays could a law-enforcement officer take and get away with?
Yet the FBI men had become involved in the case and shared Wainwright's view about objectives.
"If we do wait till morning," the second agent cautioned, "we don't want Eastin to run. That could cause everybody trouble." "And I don't want a bruised potato either," Innes said. "He won't run. He won't be bruised. I guarantee it." Innes glanced toward his colleague who shrugged.