As though on cue, I heard heels tapping on the pavement behind me and turned to watch a balding, heavyset fellow lumber past my car. He walked like a man who hurt. He glanced at me idly and I registered a bouquet of fading bruises on his right cheek, purple, yellow, and green—quite the dashing assortment. I hadn’t caught a full-on view of his face so I couldn’t make a judgment about his sporting black eyes. Seemed reasonable to assume that whatever door he’d walked into would have rendered sufficient damage for blackened eyes along with the puffy cheek. I waited until he’d gone in and then folded the paper and put the lid on my coffee cup, which I stashed on the passenger-side floor.

I went into the bank. There were two half-walls in front of me with a wide aisle between. A corridor opened off each side of the reception area. I counted five doors down one hallway and two down the other. There was no sound, not even bad music being piped in. No employees in sight. Clearly, they were in their cubbyholes, gearing up for the day, unprepared for the early arrival of customers or bank robbers, whichever came first. I was at leisure to case the joint, but it didn’t look like a place that carried cash. I’d have paid a hundred dollars for a ladies’ room.

Finally, the petite, dark-haired woman appeared on my right. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know anyone was out here. Can I help you?”

“A man with bruises on his face came in here a few minutes ago and I think he may work here. You have any idea who I’m talking about?”

“Sure. That’s Walker McNally, the VP of New Client Relations. He has meetings all morning, but if you want to talk to him, I can see if he has a minute.”

“No need. He looked familiar, but the name doesn’t ring a bell so I must have mistaken him for someone else.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”