This is the gist of the conversation I initiated in every bank I entered. First, I’d ask the nearest teller if I could see the bank manager, who was usually visible at his desk in a modest glass cubicle or maybe seated at a nondescript desk on the floor. After I introduced myself to the manager or assistant manager, I’d show my current driver’s license and a photostat of my investigator’s license, and then hand over my business card. I’d mention R. Terrence Dace and ask if he’d been a customer. I’d explain that the key to a safe deposit box had been found among his effects. I’d toss Aaron Blumberg’s name out at the first opportunity, indicating that the coroner’s investigator would make arrangements to open the box in the presence of a bank officer once we knew where the deceased did his banking. Mention of the coroner’s investigator worked like magic. Operating on my own, I doubted anyone would have given me the time of day.

I hit pay dirt in the tenth bank when the teller referred me to an assistant vice president named Ted Hill, who nodded at the mention of Dace’s name.

“Mr. Dace was a valued customer. I’m sorry to hear he’s passed on.”

“I gather he was ill for some time,” I said. “The coroner’s office wondered if a court order would be required to get into the box.”

“That’s not necessary. We’re happy to cooperate with the public administrator’s office. Tell Mr. Blumberg we’ll do anything we can to help. Have him call and we’ll set up an appointment at his convenience.”

And just like that, the lid to Pandora’s box flew open. It would take me another day before I understood how many imps had been freed, but for the moment, I was inordinately pleased with myself.

10

I left the bank and drove home. I’d promised to help move supplies and equipment from Henry’s guest rooms back into the storage areas off the kitchen at Rosie’s Tavern, and I wanted to make good on the offer. I found a parking space and walked the short distance to the studio, noting that Henry’s station wagon was already sitting in the drive, the back hatch open in preparation for loading. I rounded the corner just as Henry emerged from the house, toting a cardboard box laden with packaged goods. I half expected to see William in the backyard leaning on his cane, but he was nowhere in evidence.

“Where’s William? I thought he’d be supervising.”

“I dropped him off for his physical therapy appointment. I’ll pick him up in an hour. In the meantime, I thought I might as well start loading up. Seems silly to drive half a block, but I refuse to haul it all by hand.”