Fiona Gavelle just wanted to get a roll of quarters but ended up in the middle of another murder investigation. Meet Father Gizzle and Mary Ann and find out whether or not Fiona gave her business card to the murderer.
The police car parked on the sidewalk didn’t suggest anything out of order, but the crowd inside the bank did. As the door hit me in the ass, I stopped like a cartoon character.
Feigning confidence to cover my indecision, I scanned the room. Ten or twelve police and an equal number of humorless guys in suits were watching me with at least scorn. Mr. Fives, the bank manager was sitting in the lounge area squeezing his face in his hands, then running them up through his hair making it stand up in goofy clumps.
His eyes widened, “Ms. Gavelle you need to help me.” He stood up part way and sank down in resignation.
Relieved to see a friendly face, and inappropriately curious, I started over to him.
“Are you okay Mr. Fives?”
Before he answered, a large man stepped between us fuming with exasperation.
“You can’t talk to him.”
“He’s asked to speak to his lawyer.” I searched for a poker face to apply. Oh how I love when my mind works at lawyer speed.
After some mumbling and discussion among the suits and uniforms, the large man stepped aside and Mr. Fives and I went into his office. The floor to ceiling glass walls would drive me crazy but in a bank I guess they were necessary. Mr. Fives looked considerably less handsome with a splotchy face than when sitting at his desk printing out extra copies of my monthly statements or hawking a new credit card feature.
“I don’t know what happened…” he started.
A slight blur of movement distracted me. “Wait,” I held up my hand.
“They think I…” He blundered.
“Ssh.” I whispered impatiently.
For a few seconds he looked confused. Looking through to the curious crowd inching closer to the glass, watching us without shame, he figured it out. Turning his back to the glass window, he continued. “Carol’s dead. She was murdered in the vault this morning.” His nose was running and he wiped it on a real handkerchief wadded up in a death grip in his hand.
“Carol?” I started. “Murdered?”
“Dead, murdered, gone, and they think I did it because I was the last one in the vault last night.”
“You didn’t admit anything did you?”
His wretched look suggested he had. Didn’t he watch television? Innocent questions and honest answers always get people in trouble.
My fingers were less than steady when I pulled out my cell phone and called Bob Noodle, an attorney who actually practices criminal law. I’m just a reasonable faker because I watch lawyer and cop programs and reruns of Police Woman.
Bio: Una Tiers is an attorney in Chicago, Illinois. She murders people (on paper) to relieve stress or if they sass her. Her school chum asked if she would be in one of her books and the result is Not Safe for the Bank(er). It’s a short story/humorcide.