“Don’t mention my name,” Max said. “I may have irritated the detective with my questions.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Lucy said with a smile.

Chapter Twenty-three

THURSDAY MORNING

Lucy was surprised when Laura’s direct supervisor, senior agent Adam O’Neal, joined them to serve the warrant on Pollero’s bank. Leo Proctor, the head of FBI SWAT, was there as backup with another agent, though not in SWAT capacity.

“We have certain protocols we follow,” Adam explained. “Because this is a single-branch situation, I spoke with the bank president this morning to alert him as to our intentions and our target. He is cooperating fully. And no,” he continued when he saw the look on Lucy’s face, “he isn’t going to call Pollero and warn him. He’s on his way, however, and it’ll be much easier if he helps us process the warrant.”

Lucy wasn’t as familiar with White Collar Crimes as Violent Crimes, so deferred to those who knew better.

Laura pulled her aside. “It’s SOP, and we already know from corporate headquarters that Pollero called in sick—before Adam spoke to the president.”

“It seems to give an opportunity for a suspect to get away.”

“My unit takes months, sometimes a year or more, to build cases against white collar criminals. Lots of paperwork, records, interviews, tracking money, the whole nine yards. It takes time. We work very closely with banks and have a terrific relationship with all the VPs in our area. In fact, we usually have a dedicated contact in every corporate office. Getting a warrant like this in less than twenty-four hours—pretty amazing. We’re a totally different animal than Violent Crimes.”

“If we took a year, more people would die,” Lucy said.

Serving the warrant went smoothly, and Lucy recognized the advantage of having the bank president on-site.

She and Laura searched Pollero’s office.

“He planned on leaving,” Lucy said.

“Excuse me?” Laura asked.

Lucy hadn’t realized she’d spoke out loud. “Pollero.” She pointed to his desk.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Yesterday there was a photo on his desk of his daughter at her wedding. It’s missing. I need to talk to the staff—whoever works closest with Pollero.”

Laura talked to Adam, who talked to the president, and in five minutes Laura brought in Stephanie Robertson, the head teller who worked the same schedule as Pollero. The bank president, Mr. Shreve, was there with her. “I hope you don’t mind, Agent Kincaid. As my employee, Ms. Robertson has rights.”

“Of course not. I have some questions about Mr. Pollero’s demeanor yesterday.”

“Anything I can do to help,” she said, nervous. She was in her fifties, trim, and dressed in a black skirt and white blouse.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Nineteen years.”

“And Mr. Pollero has been the manager for the last fifteen.” Lucy knew that from her notes.