I, Richard - Elizabeth George [64]
“So you watched him in the vault.”
“Only once. I swear it. Once. The rest of the time…Well, when he first came in to make his deposits—for the checking account, you know?—he'd just wait for me. He'd let other people go past him till I was available. He saw the picture of Brittany once—that's my little girl?—that I keep at my window—right over there?—and he asked me about her and that's how we got to know each other. He said he had a little girl as well only she was older and they hadn't seen each other in years and he missed her and that's what we talked about. He was divorced. I knew that because he said ‘my ex-wife' and I thought at first… Well, he made me feel special and I thought wouldn't it be neat if I met someone right here at the bank? So I watched him and I was friendly. And he didn't seem to mind.”
“He's dead.”
“Dead. Oh my gosh. I'm sorry. I didn't know.” She gestured to the metal box. “I was curious about this, is all. Really. That's it.”
“How long has this been here?” Charlie asked. “The money, I mean.”
“I don't really…Two weeks? Three?” Linda said. “It was in between times when he usually came in with his paycheck.”
“What happened? Why did you watch him?”
“Because he was… He was all lit up that day. He was high.”
“On drugs?”
“Not like that. Just happy high. Flying. He had this briefcase with him and he rang the bell just like you did and I went over and he signed the card. He said, ‘I'm glad it's you, Linda. I wouldn't trust this day to anyone else.' ”
“ ‘This day?'”
“See, I didn't know what he meant, which is why I watched him. And what he did was put the briefcase on the counter. He opened the deposit box and took out a slew of papers and he put them in the briefcase and put what was in the briefcase in the box. And that was the money. And that's what I saw. I thought he was… Well, it looked like he'd sold drugs or something because why else would he be carrying around so much cash. And I couldn't believe it because he seemed so straight. And that's all I saw. I didn't talk to him when he left, and I didn't ever see him again.”
Eric selling drugs. Charlie snatched at the thought. Drugs. Yes. That was the answer. But not the type Linda was thinking about.
The girl pictured Eric dealing in those bricklike bags of cocaine one saw on TV or in movies. She fancied him pushing marijuana to high school kids outside the local liquor store. She thought he was supplying yuppies with heroin, Ecstasy, or some other designer drug. But she didn't imagine him stealing from Biosyn—an efficacious immunosuppressant, a cutting-edge form of chemotherapy with no side effects, an AIDS vaccine ready to be marketed, a Viagra for women…What was it, Eric?—and selling it on the international black market to the highest bidder, who would make a fortune manufacturing it.
Terry Stewart's words came back to Charlie as she stood looking down at the closed deposit box in the airless confines of the bank's secure vault: Pipe dreams, Charlie. That's all they were. Except they hadn't been. Not for Eric. He'd been forty-two years old with the majority of his life behind him. He'd seen his chance and he'd taken it. One negotiation, one sale, and a vast accumulation of cash. So many things were beginning to make sense now. Things he'd said. Things he'd done. Who he had become.
Charlie locked the deposit box and returned it to its space in the vault. She felt sick at heart, but at least she was uncovering the truth about her husband. The only question remaining for her was: What had Eric stolen from Biosyn? And the only possible answer seemed to be: nothing at all.
He'd taken money—perhaps a down payment?—for something which he had promised to deliver. He'd failed to procure what he had sold, and as a result, he'd died. With him gone, her house had been searched in an attempt to find the drug, and that search presaged danger for her as long as the promised substance wasn't placed into the palm of whoever had paid for it.