“Maybe. But I’ve been in this bank before, Mr. Carter. I had an account here I closed out last week, you’ll recall, when I believed I’d be leaving.”
“Yes. We can put that back in effect anytime you like, of course.”
York waved that off. “That big safe back there — mighty impressive. But every time I came in here, I noticed it was standin’ open. Isn’t that awful risky?”
Now something like embarrassment was crawling up the high collars. “It had never proved so before. In retrospect...”
“Then why do it?”
“Sir, it’s a common practice in Western banks. Folks of pioneer stock don’t trust a safe with its door closed.”
“That’s funny. I’d think just the opposite.”
The banker shook his head. “To the contrary. The depositors prefer a full view of their money stacked within, and the sight of that metal door, many inches thick. It provides the appearance of safety.”
“Appearance is right.”
Carter’s voice grew cold. “Sheriff, your manner is beginning to grate upon me.”
“You and the rest of the Citizens Committee didn’t ask me to stay on because of my charm. Don’t you also have bars of gold and silver in that safe?”
“We do. Those and the cash and coin in the cashier-window drawers were all that remained. Not enough to stay solvent. With my own infusion of funds, however, and what Mr. Zachary Gauge intends to deposit... well, let us just say we had a very narrow escape, sir.”
York gestured toward the safe, whose door today was very much closed. “Why didn’t they take those bars of precious metal?”
“Too heavy.”
“Or too much trouble.” York nodded toward the safe. “If they knew those bags of cash were sitting there in an open safe, the thieves could risk a daring daylight robbery. Knowing they could pull it off in probably a minute.”
The banker shrugged. “I would say your time estimate, at least, is correct.”
“Then do you understand why I suspect an inside job?”
The man’s chin came up. “I do not.”
York shook his head. “Your top clerk, your ‘chief cashier,’ makes ten dollars a week. You don’t think twenty-five thousand presents a temptation? What do the other two clerks make?”
“...Eight dollars a week.”
“And the janitor?”
“Five.”
“I want to speak to all of them. We can do it here or at my office.”
Alarm widened the banker’s eyes. “Oh, not at your office, Sheriff. People would talk.”
“I kind of think people are already talking, Mr. Carter.”
The banker shook his head firmly. “You’re wrong, Sheriff. You may be a man of sharp instincts and shrewd insights, but you misjudge this town. In a few moments, our doors will open. You’ll see no run on this bank. I dare say no one will take me up on my offer, either, of paying out twenty-five cents on the dollar for those who wish to close out their accounts.”
Not after Zachary saved your bacon, York thought.
“But I do understand your need,” Carter said, with strained patience, “to speak to my employees. The janitor is only here afternoons and evenings, so we will have to arrange that for another time. But you can talk to my clerks here at my desk. I’ll fill in for them at their windows as needed.”
York talked to the three clerks, individually.
Eldon Howe — his features regular, his build slender — was in his thirties, lived in a boardinghouse, and was dating the preacher’s daughter. He liked working with numbers, enjoyed people, and said with a shy smile, “The money is good here — and it’s indoors and clean.”
Plump, pleasant Wilburn Glascock was in his twenties, and he and his wife had a new baby boy. His wife had inherited a little money, and they owned a small house in town. Glascock seemed happy with his lot in life, and called the bank president “a fine man and fair to work for. We all get an extra five dollars at Christmas.”
Each man acknowledged having a revolver in his cash drawer, but said that Carter and Upton had signaled not to use the weapons. With two customers in the bank at the time of the robbery, both men found this a prudent reaction.
The bank’s new chief cashier, Upton, sang a similar song.
“He’s a fine man, our Mr. Carter.” His eyes were dark blue and set so close together near a knob of a nose, the round lenses of the wire glasses nearly bumped. “Trinidad is lucky indeed to have such a conscientious guardian of its treasure.”
This voluntary endorsement struck York as trying too hard, so he pressed the issue.
“You don’t think some of the practices here at the bank are suspect?”
“Suspect? What do you mean... ‘suspect’?”
“Bagging that money up days before it was to be transferred. Safe doors standing open, where all of that cash was just begging to be stolen.”
The clerk was shaking his head. “Customers get nervous, if they can’t see the insides of that safe, piled with cash.”
“But it wasn’t piled with cash. It was piled with bags of cash. Easily transported. No withdrawal could have been quicker or easier.”
Sweat pearled the man’s high forehead, and it wasn’t at all warm in the bank. “Just what are you implying, Sheriff?”
York gave the man a lazy half-smile. “Am I implying something? Other than perhaps ill-advised procedure?”
Thin lips twitched a frown. “Leaving the safe doors open has been standard practice since we opened. In eight years, there’s never been a problem.”
“You’ve been here since the start, I understand. And you worked at the mercantile before that, also for Mr. Carter?”
The cashier was nodding. “I did. As I say, he’s a fine man. He’s always taken care of me.”
“How so?”
Upton flicked a nervous smile. “Just... he pays well, and steady.”
“Are you a married man, sir?”
The close-set eyes blinked away sweat. “No. Uh, what does that have to do with the price of eggs?”
“Well, I guess it would double the price, since you’d be buying for two.”
“...I’m engaged.”
“Congratulations. Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Pearl Kenner.”
“Over at the Victory?”
“She used to work there. She quit two weeks ago.”
York grinned, keeping it friendly. “Well, sounds like she’s getting ready to set up housekeeping. Are you thinking of buying a place?”
Upton swallowed thickly. “Pearl will just be moving into my room at the boardinghouse, for now — why? Why is this your business, Sheriff? I thought you were questioning me about the robbery.”
York answered that with his own question: “You didn’t happen to know Bill Johnson, did you, Mr. Upton? I’d imagine he frequented the Victory now and again.”
“Never met the man.”
“But maybe you knew him by sight or reputation.”
“No.”
York shrugged. “You’re bound to know some of the rough bunch that Harry Gauge brought in, to deputy for him and work his ranches... right? Between the bank and the Victory?”
Upton shifted uncomfortably in his boss’s chair. “No, I didn’t know him by name or reputation, either. And, yes, like a lot of working people in this town, I go to the Victory for a drink in the evenings, sometimes. But when I know it’s going to be a night where those rowdy cowboys are on the prowl... you know, payday night?... I avoid that place like poison.”
York gave him another friendly grin. “Well, Pearl’s a nice gal. Everybody likes Pearl.”
Upton frowned. “Do you mean something by that, Sheriff?”