Cut and Run (Lucy Kincaid #16) - Allison Brennan Page 0,97
after the fact? Very likely. He may not have even known that Denise Albright was dead until it hit the papers. But someone told him to lie three years ago.
“Did you know Denise Albright?”
The teller glanced at the president. “It’s okay, Stephanie. We’re cooperating fully with this investigation. Anything you know about Mrs. Albright or the embezzlement will help.”
“I don’t know anything about the embezzlement,” she said. “I was stunned—shocked—when I heard. Mrs. Albright wasn’t overly friendly or anything, but she did a lot of business with the bank, and every Christmas she’d remember the staff and bring in cookies or pastries or something like that. The year before she left she brought in these beautiful ornaments. Little angels, all handmade. She said she’d bought them from a church group raising money for a mission. It was a lovely thought.”
“And what was her relationship with Mr. Pollero? Did he know her well?”
“As well as any of us. Because she was a signatory on several accounts, he worked closely with her. She always recommended our branch to her clients, and it helped because she was local, so if there were any discrepancies she could come in and we would go through the documents. We’re a small, personal-service bank—the national chains rarely provide our level of customer service.”
Lucy didn’t need the plug for the bank, but she appreciated the employee’s dedication.
“What time did Mr. Pollero leave yesterday?”
“Right after closing.”
“Was that unusual?”
“No. We have very specific closing protocols, and he’s not part of that.”
“This is a tough question, and you might have to think about it. But do you remember if you saw Mrs. Albright the last day she came in? Friday, September 21, three years ago?”
“I didn’t—and I know because the police asked me three years ago. But it was a Friday and Friday is always busy.”
“But you would have recognized her.”
“Of course. She came in at least once a month, if not more often.”
“Even with online banking as an option?”
“Like I said, we provide exceptional customer service, and many of our customers don’t use online banking. It’s a generational thing—young people are more apt to use a phone app than someone my age.”
That was generally true, Lucy thought. She did almost everything online.
“Did Mr. Pollero take anything with him last night when he left?” Lucy asked. “A box, items from his desk?”
“Only his briefcase, which he brings daily.”
The photo would fit in his briefcase.
“Can you please look around this office and tell me if anything is missing?”
She did. “He always had a picture of his daughter here,” she said. “That’s gone. And his silver pen.”
“He usually leaves it on the desk?”
“It has a holder. He got it after twenty years of service, it’s very nice, engraved. But he might have put it away, or brought it home for another reason.”
What other reason Lucy couldn’t imagine, but she didn’t say.
“Nothing else seems to be missing.”
Lucy thanked them both for their time, then asked for privacy. She closed the door of Pollero’s office behind them and said to Adam and Laura, “We need to talk to his wife.”
“You think he fled.”
“He definitely planned to flee. I don’t know what his financial situation is, but I would suggest that you ask the bank president to look at their records and make sure nothing is off.”
“What are you thinking here, Kincaid?” Adam asked. “That he was bribed into forging the authorization forms?”
“Bribed or threatened. Possibly he’s done small things in the past, fudging here and there. Few people start with a major crime like stealing three million dollars.”
“Maybe he didn’t know.”
“He knew. He was coached. I’m even wondering if the authorization was put in after the Albrights were already dead.” Lucy paused. “I need to talk to the teller again.”
“About?”
“I want to show her the photo.”
They called her back in. Stephanie looked worried. Lucy said, “Stephanie, I promise, you’re not in trouble. There’s no need to be worried.”
“I can’t help it. I like Mr. Pollero.”
“He seems like a terrific boss.”
“He is.”
She opened the folder where the only thing in it was the photo from three years ago that Pollero said was Denise Albright.
“Do you know this woman?”
“Of course. That’s Kitty Fitzpatrick. You’re not saying that she’s also in trouble?”
“No,” Lucy said, though she didn’t know at this point. “This photo is fuzzy. How can you tell it’s Ms. Fitzpatrick?”
“Because she always wears those big red sunglasses and a flower on her shirt.” She pointed. There was a large flower brooch over her right breast. “I