Hearts of Sand(7)

“Well, you can’t really blame the New York office,” Patrick said, handing Gregor his full cup. “It was one of the most famous cases they’ve had since the sixties, and the best anybody will say about it is that they botched it. That I botched it. You do know that was the reason I retired?”

“I’d heard something about it.”

“Elizabeth may have been sick then,” Patrick said. “I always forget that you spent the last year on the job more than a little distracted. Even though part of me says that there wasn’t anything we could have done that we didn’t do. You don’t come into a bank robbery case thinking that the bank robbers are a couple of rich kids who happen to be bored.”

“Is that what you think happened? Chapin Waring and this other person—”

“Martin Veer.”

“Martin Veer. They were bored?”

“Well, Gregor, what else would it have been? We looked into them at the time it all blew up in our faces, but there wasn’t any indication that either of them needed money. And then, you know, the whole thing was just bizarre.”

“The whole thing?”

Patrick nodded vigorously. “The Bureau got called in on the bank robberies on the third one. Not that we weren’t investigating the first two, because we were, but the third one was what started the special investigation. Before that, it looked to us like normal bank robberies. Except it didn’t.”

“This isn’t making sense,” Gregor said.

“There were two bank robberies in two different towns in Connecticut, Fairfield and Greenwich. Two perpetrators, both dressed head to toe in black like they were in some commando ops movie. They went in. They waved guns around. They got the money and put it into their own bags. That was interesting right there, because we were just starting to use those paint things that blow up and turn all the money blue, and they knew enough to protect themselves from it. Anyway, they got their money and then they shot up the place. They put a bunch of bullet holes in the ceiling and the walls. Then they got out. The whole thing, both times, took less than three full minutes. And when they were gone, they were gone.”

“Nobody saw two people dressed all in black like commandos wandering around in the streets?”

“Nope. Greenwich is pretty built up for a suburban town, and it was even then. But nobody saw a thing.”

“What about surveillance cameras?”

“This was thirty years ago,” Patrick said. “They had them, but they didn’t have nearly as many as they do now. We did get some surveillance footage. I’ve included whatever is in the public domain in that stack of stuff over there. I’m sure New York will give you the rest. There isn’t much of it. But that’s weird, too.”

“Why?”

“Because”—Patrick shook his head—“it’s hard to put your finger on. The cameras weren’t as good then. So maybe I’m just fussing around about nothing. Try to get New York to give you the actual feed. Look at the film so that you can see them in motion. That’s all I’m going to say. I never knew if I was actually seeing something or if I was imagining things. You tell me.”

“What happened with the third one?” Gregor asked.

“They crossed state lines,” Patrick said. “The third and the fourth ones were in New York State, in Westchester. Not that that’s much of a drive. Greenwich is right on the border with Port Chester. The third robbery was a bank in Rye, the fourth was a bank in Armonk. Armonk was a bit of a drive.”

“Same routine?”

“Yep. Same routine, and same problems for us. You’d think somebody would have seen something somewhere. It was the middle of the summer, for God’s sake. Who walks around in black turtlenecks in summer? You’d figure we would have gotten something. But there was nothing. Then there was number five.”

Gregor nodded. “The one where somebody got killed.”

“Two people,” Patrick said. “Same routine, same complete lack of anybody seeing anything, but when they got to the part where they shot the place up, they ended up hitting two people, a bank guard and a high school kid waiting in line to make a deposit from his first job. Their names are in all that, too. It was in Westport, Connecticut. The Fairfield County Savings Bank.”

Gregor considered this. “You’re sure it was accidental, that somebody died?”

“It was either accidental, or it was done just for kicks. We’ve never been able to find out. We didn’t have a single lead as to who killed them, or who had been robbing those banks. It would have been the biggest news story in town, if the accident hadn’t happened the same damned night.”