“Banks are required to file a CTR — a currency transaction report — for any deposit of ten thousand dollars or more. That raises a red flag for the regulatory authorities. It’s a way of keeping track of the big money flow between banks.”
“But these transfers weren’t between two different banks. They were internal transactions, from one account holder at Banco del Istmo to another. Why would that attract anyone’s attention?”
“I’m sure the intra-bank transfer was the last layer of protection in a series of deposits and wire transfers that crossed several national borders. No doubt at least one of the banks along the way did business in the United States, which meant it would have been required to file a CTR for deposits of ten thousand or more. The final internal transfers at Banco del Istmo were each less than ten thousand dollars because they mirrored the amount of the inter-bank transfers.”
“That makes sense, I guess. It also explains why the name on the account at Banco del Istmo doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
“Who is it?” asked Norm.
“It’s a foreign corporation registered in the Cayman Islands. Jablon Enterprises, Ltd. I don’t have a clue who that could be.”
“Quite possibly, you never will. No doubt it’s just a shell corporation.”
“But even if it’s a shell, aren’t they required to have real human beings as officers and directors? Somewhere that has to be a matter of public record, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but the only place those records would be is in the Cayman Islands.”
“Then that’s where I need to go.”
“You’ll need a passport first. You should be able to pick it up at the embassy tomorrow morning.”
Ryan grimaced. “I hate to lose a day just waiting around.”
“Frankly, I hate to see you go. You’ve already been robbed, Ryan. And that was just for checking on your father’s account. If you start snooping around the Cayman Islands for the names behind this shell corporation, they may not be so polite the next time around.”
“I can be discreet.”
“Sure you can.”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“What, notify your next of kin?”
“Don’t be a wiseass. I need your help sorting this out. I’ve been thinking about this rape conviction. The fact that those documents were in the safe deposit box with the other bank records makes it clear that the extortion is somehow connected to the rape, agreed?”
“I don’t think it was purely coincidence that those records were in the same box, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“Exactly. Now, if you think about it, there are a limited number of people on this planet who can afford to pay five million dollars in extortion money.”
“It’s a big world out there, Ryan.”
“Not that big. Especially when you consider that whoever that person is, somewhere along the line he had to come into contact with my father. More than likely it dates back to the rape.”
“That’s logical.”
“Agreed. So the only sensible thing we can do is reconstruct that period of my father’s life — when Frank Duffy was sixteen. Let’s go back in time and look at the people my father knew back then. And let’s find out where they ended up. Specifically, let’s see if any of them turned out to be the kind of person who could afford to pay five million dollars in blackmail.”
“How do you suggest we go back forty-five years?”
“School is probably the best way. I called the school superintendent’s office this morning. Unfortunately, they don’t have any class lists going back that far. The only way to figure out who was in my dad’s class is to look at the actual yearbooks.”
“Did your dad have one?”
“I went through all his possessions after he died. I didn’t see one. I have a feeling that was a time in his life he preferred to erase. But they keep them at the high school, in the records department.”
Norm paused. “So you want me to drive all the friggin’ way down to Piedmont Springs to look at forty-five-year-old yearbooks?”
“It’s easier than that. My mom’s family goes back five generations in Prowers County. But my dad didn’t move there until after the rape — probably in shame, which explains why he was never really happy there. I can remember when I was a kid. The best reason he could give me for staying in Piedmont Springs was because my mom’s side of the family had roots there. I guess he felt like he was living in exile.”
“So where did he go to high school? Until he was sixteen, I mean?”
“Dad grew up in Boulder. He would have been a student at Boulder High School when the rape took place.”
“So you want me to go to Boulder?”
“It’s less than an hour’s drive for you, Norm.”
“All right, I can do it this week.”
“I’d like you to go today. Just copy the books and get your investigator to check these people out. There can’t be that many of my dad’s classmates who ended up being millionaires.”
Norm checked the appointment calendar on his desk and made a face. “Shit. Okay. I’ll juggle things around and do my best to get over there this afternoon. If it’s that important to you.”
“Thanks,” said Ryan. “It’s really that important.”
Brent Langford was stretched out on the couch in the living room, wearing only gym shorts. Even half-naked he was overheated, his body glistening with sweat. The hottest point of the afternoon had passed hours ago, yet it only seemed to be getting hotter inside the house. The old window-unit air conditioner had been busted since last summer, still no money to fix it. A fan turned lazily in the open window, sucking in hot air from the plains. It had been the summer’s stickiest day so far. So hot, Brent hadn’t ventured outside all day. He had spent most of the day right on the couch, flipping through the brochures for the new Corvette.
A convertible, he thought, smiling to himself. Gonna get me a convertible. And that blonde in the bikini to boot.
A knock at the front door disturbed his fantasy. Brent didn’t move. He just turned the page, undecided between the yellow or the red one.
A second knock, louder this time.
He grabbed the remote control and lowered the volume on the television. “Sarah!” he shouted. “Answer the door already!”
Half a minute later, Sarah crossed the room. The heat had her almost immobilized. Her obstetrician had told her to stay home from work today and elevate her ankles. It had struck Sarah as funny in a twisted way. She hadn’t had any ankles since about the seventh month.
She breathed extra-heavy as she passed Brent on the couch, exaggerating just a little to make him feel guilty. He didn’t notice.
The front door was already open. She spoke through the screen door to the stranger on the porch. “Can I help you?”
He nodded respectfully. “Afternoon, ma’am. Is this here your permanent residence?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at her pregnant belly. “And I presume you’re over fifteen years of age.”
She scoffed. “Yeah.”
He pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. “I have something here for you from the Prowers County Sheriff.”
Sarah opened the screen door and took it.
“What-” she started to ask. But the man ran away the second she touched it, as if there were a bomb inside. She watched as he jumped into his car and sped down the road.
Brent called from the living room. “Who is it, Sarah?”
She was reading from a document as she walked from the foyer to the living room. “I don’t know who that was. But he just left us a subpoena.”
“A subpoena?”
“Yeah. It’s from Ryan’s divorce case. Looks like it’s from Liz’s lawyer. Issued to Brent Langford. You are hereby commanded to appear for deposition-”
“Deposition!” He jumped up and snatched the subpoena from her hand. He stared at it for a moment, then threw it on the couch. “Damn, I don’t want to give no deposition. What did you take that thing for?”
“I didn’t know what it was.”
“Well, dumbshit, did you even think to ask?”
“He said it was from the sheriff.”