Doubleback: A Novel (21 page)

“Restart your computer,” Ellie murmured.

“Right. That’s not the case anymore, at least with the kind of systems we have. But if someone didn’t know that—say they were ten years out of date—they might think the only way to make something secure was to shut down the system.”

“Could Chris Messenger have done that?” Georgia asked. “Powered it down?”

“Absolutely. She was head of IT. She could do almost anything online.”

“And if the computers and the elevators were somehow on the same power line, the elevators would shut down, too.”

“That’s right. But, like I said, in the five years I’ve been here, that’s never happened. Or, if it did, it happened late at night when no one was using the elevators.”

“But aren’t there back-up generators,” Ellie asked, “to prevent that from happening?”

“There are, but if someone disabled the back-ups...”

“But why would Chris have powered them down?” Georgia said. “She’s up to date on computers. She’d know it wasn’t necessary.”

“Maybe it was a signal. You know, ‘mission accomplished,’” Ellie said.

“Shut down the elevators for a signal?” Georgia looked at them. “You watch way too much TV. Look, it was a hot day. Com Ed is known for rolling brownouts. Especially in the Loop. Maybe that’s all it was.”

“Or maybe she was forced to.” Ellie pulled out a scrap of paper. “Write down the name of the woman who won’t get on the elevator. If you don’t mind.”

Cody scrawled down a name. Ellie folded the paper and slipped it into her bag.

Georgia shook her head. “I guess you like chasing your tail, too.”

Ellie’s cheeks reddened.

“Sorry. It’s been a bad day.” Georgia held out her hand for the paper. “I’ll do it.”

“Apology accepted.” Ellie fished the paper out of her bag. “You sure?”

“It’s part of the package,” she deadpanned. “Okay. Let’s talk about something more important. I need a look at that log. It shouldn’t be that big a deal. It’s not like hacking into someone’s system. Or,” she smiled wryly, “hijacking elevators. I mean, how much skill does it take to read a few sheets of paper? All I need is access.”

Ellie looked thoughtful. “So, how do we get you that access?”

Georgia flicked her eyes to the barista behind the counter. He was cleaning the expresso machine with a white rag. “Tell me about the door to the teller area. Do they use swipe cards to get in and out?”

Wegman nodded. “All the doors use them. But even if you can get in, the drawer it’s kept in is securely locked.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Georgia had learned how to pick locks years ago. Larry, an elderly locksmith in the neighborhood, had taught her. And sold her a set of picks. “Will your swipe card get me in?”

“No. We’re all keyed to specific areas.”

“So how would you get into the teller department if you needed to?”

“Someone would have to let me in.”

Georgia watched the barista wipe down the drink counter. When he looked up and saw her watching him, he smiled. His earrings—he must have been wearing three or four—sparkled in the light. He finished wiping the counter, folded the rag, and hung it on a hook behind the counter. His shift must be ending, she thought. He was cleaning up for the next. Georgia looked back at Cody and Ellie and smiled.

chapter
26

S
unday evening Georgia drove back down to Midwest National to wait for the cleaning crews. Shafts of light from the setting sun spilled between buildings, casting elongated shadows on the streets. The heat from yesterday had broken, and a cool breeze whistled through the concrete canyons. Georgia felt lucky to find a parking spot near the bank’s entrance.

The cleaning crews started filtering in around eight. Most were Hispanic-looking women and were dressed in blue uniforms. Georgia had studied Spanish in college but hadn’t had much opportunity to use it since. She hoped she could make herself understood.

A few minutes before nine she crossed at the light and went to the front door of the bank. She’d asked Cody Wegman who the cleaning company was. It took him a while, but eventually he came up with “Corporate Enterprises of Chicago.” When she got home, she Googled the company and found their website. She copied their logo, printed it, and created a fake badge, adding her name as “Supervisor.” She did the same with a business card. Then she went to Kinko’s where she laminated the badge and printed a few copies of the card. Now, armed with those, and her driver’s license, she pushed through the revolving door.

She probably could have dispensed with the preparations. The security guard, a beefy man with red-rimmed eyes and wiry gray hair, was absorbed in a Sox game on a tiny TV that sat on the desk. He barely glanced at her badge. Georgia wondered how he’d managed to wire the Sox game into the building’s security system.

She clipped the badge to her shirt. She’d purposely worn an old denim work shirt, khaki slacks, sneakers, and had pulled her hair back into a pony tail. “Excuse me. I’d like to start in the lobby. Should I just go through the door?”

The guard didn’t look up but nodded noncommittally. “I’ll buzz you in. The crew’s already there.”

She headed toward the glass doors that led to the lobby and teller areas, thanking her lucky stars for his inattention. She remembered the lobby: a huge room with thick blue carpeting, desks and chairs, and plants that actually looked healthy. She also remembered the perfectly tailored woman at one of the desks who could have worked at More-than-Friends. There was no woman now. No one at all. But the lights were on, and she heard faint strains of music.

She heard the latch release and pushed through the door. The music, a bouncy salsa, was louder now. To her left an alcove of teller booths stretched the length of the room. It was closed off with doors at both ends. To the right were clusters of desks and a grouping of sofas. So people could count their money in comfort? A supply cart stood about twenty feet from one of the teller booth doors.

“Hello?” Georgia called out. “Anyone there?”

A dark-haired woman stuck her head out of the alcove. Georgia beckoned. The woman looked both ways, hand on her chest, as though she wasn’t sure Georgia meant her. Georgia waved again and held up her badge. “Supervisor,” she said, giving it a Spanish accent. She hoped she had the right word.

The woman reluctantly came through the door. Georgia wanted to follow her back into the teller booths right away, but she had to play it cool.

“
Buenas Tardes
,” Georgia said. “
Soy la supervisora nueva. Hace una semana
.”

The woman nodded. Up close, she looked young, maybe under thirty. But her brows knit together and her expression was worried. Georgia wondered if the woman was an illegal and thought Georgia was there to check her papers.

“Es okay?” The woman asked in a small voice.

Georgia gave her a reassuring smile. “
Si.
Okay. I am here just to watch.
Estoy observando. No mas.”

“Ahh.” The woman’s face smoothed out.

Georgia smiled. So far so good. The woman went back to her supply cart. Georgia followed. The music grew louder. Perched on top of the supply cart was a radio. It looked old, like the transistor radio her parents owned when she was a little girl. When the woman saw Georgia gazing at it, she snapped it off.

Georgia shook her head. “
No es necessario.
It’s fine.”

The woman shot Georgia a quizzical glance.

“El radio. No problema.”

The woman’s lips approximated a smile, revealing crooked teeth. She nodded as if she understood but left the radio off. Then she started to roll her cart across the room. Away from the teller booths. Wrong direction.

A female voice from the back of the room called out in Spanish. Georgia looked. A second supply cart stood beside a desk, and another woman was dusting its surface. She finished and rolled her cart toward them. She looked remarkably like the first woman, but older. Were they sisters? A rapid conversation ensued in Spanish. All Georgia could make out were the words “supervisor,” and “observer.”

Georgia put on her most disarming smile. The second woman dipped her head. “I am Isabella Santiago,” she said in accented English and pointed to the ID card clipped to her waist. When Georgia looked, a spark of fear shot up her spine. It was altogether different from the one she’d made. Would the woman notice? She pretended to read the woman’s ID.

“Gracias, Isabella. Me llama Georgia Davis.”

The woman gazed at Georgia’s ID. From her attitude Isabella appeared to have more seniority than the first woman, and she seemed to register the difference between the cards. Georgia was about to launch into a rationale about corporate always changing things, trying to improve, not leaving well enough alone, but decided against it. She was supposed to be a Supervisor. To Isabella she
was
corporate. She didn’t need excuses.

“What’s your colleague’s name?” Georgia asked.

“Maria.”

“Does she speak English?”

“Not much,” Isabella said.

Georgia nodded. “Please tell Maria not to be afraid. I’m not here to check up on you. I’m just here to find out what you do. See if you have everything you need. We want to help you do your job better.” She motioned with her hand. “So you both just go ahead with your work. I’ll follow along, okay?”

Isabella’s eyes narrowed. Georgia didn’t blame her for being suspicious. Her own bullshit meter was off the scale. But then Isabella’s shoulders lifted slightly, as if she’d decided Georgia was either telling the truth or it wasn’t a big enough deal to worry about. “Okay.”

The pressure in Georgia’s chest loosened. “You divide up the floor?”

“Si. She does the front, I do the back.”

And who does the teller booths, Georgia wanted to ask.

The two women starting talking in Spanish again. Their voices were hushed, but Georgia thought Maria was asking how long Georgia would be tailing them.

“
No se
.” Isabella pushed her cart to the back of the room.

Which meant Maria would be cleaning the front. Good. If Maria had secrets of her own, she’d probably be less inclined to wonder why Georgia wanted to go into the teller booths. Maybe less observant, as well.

Maria went to the first desk at the front of the room. She worked methodically but slowly, emptying the waste basket, dusting the cabinet and desk, spraying Windex on glass surfaces. Then she moved to another desk and started all over again. Rather than stand there with nothing to do, Georgia pitched in. Maria didn’t say a word, but by the third desk, they’d achieved a steady rhythm. Maria would dust and spray, while Georgia would empty the trash.

Still, it took another six desks and a long thirty minutes before they met up with Isabella who’d been working back to front. Maria detached an industrial vacuum cleaner from the supply cart, plugged it in, and started to run it across the carpet. They would be finished soon and would be going to another floor. But Georgia hadn’t seen the teller booths yet. Her pulse sped up. She grabbed the vacuum from Maria.

Surprise chased across Maria’s face. “No, Mees. I do.”

Georgia held up her hand and shook her head. “No.
Yo trabajo
too.
Qiero trabahar tambien
.”

Maria and Isabella exchanged glances. They must have thought she was crazy. Still vacuuming, Georgia worked her way to the closest teller door. She motioned to the door.

Maria held up her swipe card.

Georgia nodded.

Maria slid her card through the card reader. A green light flashed on, and the door opened. Georgia followed Maria in. The room itself was long and narrow. On one side were about ten teller booths separated by partitions. On the other was a long counter with file cabinets and drawers underneath.

Both Sechrest and Wegman said the log was kept in a drawer, but there had to be over twenty drawers and just as many file cabinets. Each one had a tiny lock under the handle. Georgia felt for her picks in her back pocket. Drawers like these only had two or three pins and were notoriously easy to pick. But how could she proceed without Maria seeing what she was up to? And which one held the cashiers’ check log?

She turned around. Maria was right behind her. Georgia pointed to her watch. “You look tired.
Quieres descansar?
Do you want to take a break?
Un break
?”

Maria grinned. “
Un descansco?
”

“
Si. Un descanso
.” Georgia nodded energetically. “I’ll finish in here.”

“’Es okay?
De veras
?”

“Absolutely. You go.
Vete
.” Georgia waved her out of the teller area.

Maria gave her a toothy smile and left. Georgia pushed the vacuum cleaner to the side but left it running. As she did, she checked the ceiling for cameras. She didn’t see any. Which was odd. There had to be cameras watching the tellers. Maybe they were in the individual booths, rather than the general work space. She hoped to hell she was right.

She slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and pulled out her lock picks. There were no identifying labels on any of the drawers, and for a horrified moment, she thought she might have to open each one to find the log. Which, of course, wouldn’t be possible in the few minutes she had.

She edged down the side of the room past the drawers, searching the counters for any clue that the log was close by. She spotted in-trays and out-trays, all empty; thick three-ring binders, which she assumed specified tellers’ procedures, and, farther down, a small safe. She frowned. No way could she crack a safe. But they’d said drawer, not safe.

She’d completed one pass down the side of the room and was starting back up when she noticed a drawer underneath the manuals. It was a little longer and wider than the others. She went to it and slipped her tension wrench inside. She gently levered it, then inserted her rake, decided she didn’t need it, put in the hook instead, and worked it a few seconds. The lock popped, and she opened the drawer.