Y is for Yesterday (Kinsey Millhone #25)

“When did you last see Fritz?”

“Well, that’s just it. He’s been spending weekends with friends. Since his release from CYA, he’s been very testy about my asking where he’s going or where he’s been so I make a point of not inquiring. When I noticed his bed hadn’t been slept in the past three nights, I paid no attention. I went over to the bank this morning and talked to one of the tellers. It seems Fritz showed up with a deposit slip, putting seventy-eight thousand in our savings account and taking back twenty-five thousand in cash.”

“The bank will do that?”

“Ours did. The total on the five checks was a hundred and three thousand dollars, so his taking a portion in cash wasn’t unusual.”

“What if the checks hadn’t cleared?”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference. We keep over five hundred thousand in that account.”

I said, “Wow. How much interest do you earn on savings like that? One percent?”

“Hollis likes to keep some of our assets liquid.”

Half a million in liquid assets seemed like a lot to me, but I didn’t want to stop and argue the folly, which was off-topic.

Meanwhile, she was saying, “Ordinarily, the bank would have put a hold on the money for a few days, but the teller knew the twenty-five was covered because she looked it up. We’ve been customers for twenty years and we’ve never had a problem. The teller knows me, knows Hollis, and knows Fritz. There didn’t appear to be anything irregular.”

“Wasn’t a signature required for the twenty-five in cash?”

“My signature was already on the deposit slip. He forged it.”

“He must have done a damn fine job of it.”

She stiffened slightly, but let the comment go.

“When did he make the deposit?” I asked.

“Friday morning. He made a point of taking the cash in twenties and hundreds.”

“Do you remember seeing him after that?”

She shook her head. “Neither of us do.”

“What about clothes or personal possessions? Did he pack a bag?”

“We keep luggage in a storage area on the ground floor. I haven’t had a chance to check. His closet is always crammed, so there’s really no way to tell if he took anything or not. The bank teller remembers he had a backpack. Maybe red or black, she wasn’t sure.”

“Well, a close guess at any rate. Does he have a valid California driver’s license?”

“He hasn’t had time to apply for one. His expired when he was incarcerated.”

“What about a vehicle? Are yours accounted for?”

“We have two and, yes, both are in the underground garage. He must have gone on foot.”

“Unless someone picked him up.”

“True.”

I was on the verge of stating the two obvious possibilities: either Fritz had generated the blackmail scheme and had finally taken the payout into his own hands, or the extortionist had communicated instructions about how the money was to be delivered and Fritz had acquired the cash and handed it over to the blackmailer, thinking that would put an end to it.

“You have a theory?” I asked.

“I know he was feeling desperate. Hollis and I should have been more supportive. I can see that now.”

In my view, their “support” was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place, but I didn’t think she’d want to hear that. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

She shook her head in the negative.

“No close relatives?”

“Not in the area and none who’d take him in without talking to us first.”

“What about friends? You said he’s been spending weekends with friends. Have you contacted them?”

“I don’t know who they are. He never mentioned anyone by name.”

“He didn’t leave a contact number in case you needed him?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but we were so relieved to think he still had friends we didn’t press him for the particulars.”

“Does he have an address book?”

“I found one that predated his time at CYA. Most of the names and phone numbers are out of date.”

“How many did you call?”

“Five or six. I drew a line through those if you’d like to see.”

She retrieved her handbag from the chair next to her and opened it. She reached in and pulled out a 4-by-6-inch address book with a Led Zeppelin album cover on the front. The black-and-white image showed a rigid airship shaped like a cigar, with the back end in flames. “The ones I tried were disconnects or had been reassigned,” she said as she passed the address book across the desk to me.

Fritz’s handwritten entries were done in a clumsy fashion, with smudges and cross-outs that made them barely legible. In a quick flip-through, the only name I recognized was Iris Lehmann’s and I didn’t believe her number would have been the same. I placed the address book on the desk in front of me. “What’s your current thinking? Will you file a missing person’s report?”

“I don’t think he’s missing. He’s simply gone. I’m hoping you can track him down.”

“But I’m no longer an employee.”

“I thought we went over that. You misunderstood.”

“Not to argue the point, but I don’t see how you could have been any clearer. You said I was fired and I took you at your word.”

“Well, then I suppose I should apologize.”

“That would be a start,” I said. I waited, thinking she would offer an apology, but she seemed to believe the mere mention was as good as a deed well done. I put a hand behind my ear, indicating that I was waiting to hear from her.

“I hope you can appreciate the bind you’re putting me in if you refuse to help,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I can’t hire anyone else without confiding the topic of the extortionist to yet another outside party.”

“Then you better hope Fritz comes home on his own.”

She seemed flustered. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What did you expect?”

“I thought you’d be willing to help.”

“And I thought you’d be offering an apology, so I guess neither one of us is getting what we want. Would you like to try again?”

Lauren cleared her throat. “I’m sorry you misunderstood.”

“You can’t be sorry for my behavior or mental state. You can only be sorry for your own.”

She was quiet for a moment, as though trying to translate the concept into her native tongue, which apparently wasn’t English. “I’m sorry I butted in. I won’t do that again. I’d appreciate it if you’d agree to help.”

“First, let’s see if you really have a problem. If he’s been spending weekends with friends, that might be the simplest explanation. Call me tomorrow morning if he hasn’t showed up by then.”

“And the missing money?”

“Let’s handle one thing at a time.”

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