Perfect Grave

Chapter Forty-Eight

T he West Pacific Trust Bank on Yesler Way near 23rd Avenue was a small stand-alone branch, built in the 1980s.

It was a one-story structure with concrete columns and tempered-glass walls that captured Henry Wade’s reflection after he’d parked in the lot.

Leon Dean Sperbeck, using the alias Sid Foley, had cashed his welfare check here a few days ago.

Quite a trick for a dead man, Henry thought as he entered the bank. He removed his sunglasses and announced himself to the branch manager, Eloise Sherridan, who’d agreed to a meeting. On the phone with her earlier, Henry had guessed Eloise might be near his age, but in person she looked younger, quite striking in her business suit. Her hand was warm when she shook his.

Eloise closed the door to her neat office.

“So, Mr. Wade, how can I help you? You said you were investigating a security matter, concerning…” She began typing on her keyboard and studied her monitor over her half-frame glasses, “Mr. Sperbeck. The name and information you’d provided concerned a Mr. Leon Dean Sperbeck and a Sid Richard Foley?”

“My client is the insurance firm for a financial institution that suffered a substantial loss several years ago because of Mr. Sperbeck. He was convicted of that crime, which also involved”-Henry paused to clear his throat-“the shooting death of a customer.”

“I see.”

“It was many years ago, but since his recent release, it’s now believed Sperbeck may still profit from that crime. And in the course of my investigation, I’ve learned that he may have recently committed another crime, welfare fraud, cashing a check under the name of Sid Richard Foley.”

“I see. And you say he cashed that check at this branch.” Eloise stared at her monitor.

“Here’s his picture. I’d like to confirm by visual ID if he in fact was the person who cashed the check here.”

Henry showed Eloise the Department of Corrections photograph of Sperbeck, hoping the psychological effect of a prison photo would help him navigate through the bank’s privacy policies.

As Eloise looked at it, Henry nudged her by emphasizing the key facts.

“As I’d mentioned, he was recently released from prison, where he served time for his role in the murder of an innocent bank customer during an armed robbery.”

“And you’d like to confirm if he cashed the check for $346.23 three days ago?”

Henry nodded.

“And this concerns a security matter with another financial institution?”

Henry nodded.

“One moment.” Eloise stepped from the office, leaving Henry with a hint of lilac in the air before she returned a few minutes later. “Madeline was the teller who handled the check, but she’s off today. We’re going to run our surveillance recording from that time. I’ve asked Tim Baker, my assistant manager, to get it for us. It’ll only take a moment. We’ll run it here. It’s on a CD.” She smiled.

Henry smiled, but his stomach was tensing, dreading what was surely coming. Several moments later a young man in a suit presented a CD to Eloise.

“It’s on here, El, go to 3457. That coincides with the transaction time.”

“Thanks, Tim.” Eloise slid the CD into her computer and it began downloading. “All counter transactions are synchronized with our cameras. We’ll get a look at him from several angles.” She typed in a few commands. “Please, come around and see.”

Henry went around Eloise’s desk. Her large monitor displayed several frames of the man at the counter and Henry’s gut twisted.

“It’s him.”

“That was easy, Mr. Wade. Is that it? Do you want color printouts?”

“Yes. Thanks. And, please, this is the address I have for him. Can you confirm it?”

Henry pulled a page from his briefcase and placed it before her. Eloise consulted it, then double-checked her computer files. “That seems outdated,” she said. “He must have moved recently; we have a different one for him. I’ll print it out for you.”

When the printing finished, Eloise gathered the pages into a plain folder for Henry, who slid them into his case.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You know, when I was a teller I experienced several armed robberies. That’s why I decided to help you. That, and the fact that you strike me as a trustworthy man who’ll keep our business here confidential.”

“That’s the private part of my job,” he said.

Henry’s pickup was in the far corner of the lot sheltered under the shade of a tall tree. He got into the cab, but did not turn the key. His breathing quickened.

It was real now.

Sperbeck was free.

Sperbeck had faked his death. Christ, what’s he up to?

Henry stared at his files. At Sperbeck’s face. At the new address. It was all here in this folder. God, he ached for a drink. He licked his lips and in one motion reached under the passenger seat, felt the brown paper bag, and heard the liquid swish as he set it on his lap.

Whiskey.

Purchased last night.

Without unwrapping the bag, he gripped the bottle with both hands. Felt the hard glass. He held it against his chin, swore he could smell the healing quality of alcohol as he imagined that first hot swallow flowing down his throat.

This was not the answer.

He put the bag back under the seat and his arm nudged against his gun, holstered under his jacket.

He was licensed to end a life. Licensed to kill another human being.

He hated it.

Hated it.

Henry inhaled deeply. His hands were shaking and he gripped the wheel.

Twenty-five years and now Sperbeck was this close again.

It was time Henry Wade put it all to rest. He had to face this head-on. He had to face it sober. If he failed, he would die.

He thought of his son. He needed help.

Jay.

He started his engine and eased out of the lot, unaware that down the street, half a block away, someone was watching him.

Awaiting his next move.