"Yes."
Debbie glanced at me and reached to her. "Won't you please come in?"
Mrs. Byrd nodded her head.
As Debbie walked next to her, she asked, "What's your first name?"
"Cherie."
We went into the house and I signaled to Bradley that it would be a minute. He continued to study some documents that he had spread on his lap. We took Cherie Byrd to the kitchen, where she sat at our table. Debbie poured her a cup of coffee, which she took gladly. I asked her, "Did you drive from D.C. this morning?"
"Yes."
"How'd you find where I lived?"
"Tinny had your address on that envelope. I just used MapQuest."
"Thanks for coming. What made you want to come find me?"
"Tinny was mur-"
"I know. I'm so sorry. It's so… horrible. Police have any leads?"
"Nothing. He was working on a lot of cases. It could be anything." She clutched her purse to her chest, then looked into my eyes for the first time. "It could have been this case. I always told him something like this was going to happen. He wouldn't listen to me. He just kept doing it, living his life, thinking he was bulletproof and smarter than everybody-"
"I'm really sorry. He was a good friend of mine. I can't believe I never met you."
"I know. He spoke of you."
"So why did you come see me?"
She nodded her head and relaxed slightly. "I've been going through his things. One of them was our wall safe. He kept it in his closet, and I never went into it. I didn't even know what was in it. I'd forgotten the combination to it because I'd only done it once when he put it in. But I remembered he wrote the combination on the bottom of the drawer of my dresser with a black-ink pen so if I ever needed to get into that safe, all I ever needed to do was turn over my drawers. That's what he said, just turn over your drawers and you can get it. So I remembered that and found the combination and opened that wall safe yesterday. There were all kinds of things in there that I don't have any idea what they were. Some things I did know and didn't want to know. Like a gun and some bullets and some cash money. Then I found this envelope. He had a yellow sticky on it that looked pretty new. The sticky said-hold on, I've brought it with me." She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded yellow sticky. She tried to unfold it, but the adhesion was too strong. I looked at it and read, "If anything happens to me, give this to Mike Nolan."
The envelope that I held had my name and address on it. It was a letter-size, not thick. I asked, "Did you open this?"
She shook her head. "No. He told me to bring it to you and I have. It's out of my hands and into yours. So I think I'll go now."
"Wait one minute. I want you to be here when I open it."
She was hesitant, but said nothing.
I broke the seal of the Scotch tape on the back flap and opened the envelope. I pulled out a piece of paper and a key. On the piece of paper was written, If you're reading this, something has happened to me. I can't tell you what, 'cause I don't know. I also can't tell you if it was related to this case. I hope not. And I hope I didn't make a fool of myself, but I told you I'd take care of you so I'm going to. Then in large block letters he had written,
J. Mark Grosvenor
. Underneath was a home address, cell phone number, home telephone number, and pager. Taped to the bottom of the page was a key. I pulled the key off and looked at it. I wasn't sure what it was. I held it up. "Do you recognize this?"
Cherie took her reading glasses out of her purse and examined the key. "Well, I do. It's a key for a safety-deposit box at our bank."
"Is this from your safety-deposit box?"
She shook her head. "No, ours is a different number."
"You think this is another safety-deposit box at your bank?"
"Looks like it to me."
I looked at my watch and considered the implications of putting Bradley on the witness stand with no preparation. If anyone could do it, it was him. "Take me there. Now. We don't have any time to lose."
I stood up, put the key in my pocket, and said to Debbie, "Would you watch Wayne? Don't let him out of your sight, except for the bathroom. Seriously. Literally. Do not let him out of your sight. If anybody comes to the door looking for me or him, or anybody else, nobody's home. I'll call you on your cell phone, otherwise don't talk to
anybody
. Don't answer the house phone. Understand?" She looked alarmed at my intensity.
"I understand, but explain this to me."
"Later." I turned to Cherie. "Let's go. I'll drive."
As I started my car, I pulled out my cell phone from my glove box and texted Rachel, who was sitting next to Brightman in trial. She was probably pulling her hair out. I told her to call me at her first break and I headed off to D.C.
It was an awkward drive. I was actually surprised I'd never met Tinny's wife. Tinny talked about her in glowing terms all the time, yet I'd never met her. I didn't know how to even start a conversation with her. I finally thanked her again for going out of her way to track me down and give me something that she didn't know was significant. But she knew her husband well enough to know that if he thought it important enough to put in a safe and ask her to do it after his death, it was important enough for her to actually do it. She related that it had actually done her good to get out of the house and get out of D.C. to see the rest of the world. She hadn't been outside the District in almost two years. Tinny was always going outside the District in his Corvette, jetting here and there in airplanes, but she preferred to stay home in their small house. I asked her to tell me about their life together, the fun they'd had together. She relaxed and told me stories of their courtship and marriage, their early days when he was work-obsessed and she was repeatedly pregnant. They'd been in love for thirty years, and she still was. When he was killed, her life had been gutted and she would never be the same.
As we drove along, I continued to look at the cars around me. I noticed one that had been behind me the entire way. A fairly new Dodge Caravan. It had stayed fairly far back most of the time. But once it had come close enough for me to get a look at the driver. I had seen young Asian men drive all sorts of cars, but never a Dodge Caravan.
By the time we got to D.C. and headed toward the Northeast section, near Mercedes' Grill, I had almost forgotten about the trial. That was refreshing. As we turned down Tennessee Avenue, she said, "The bank is up there on the right."
We turned into the parking lot, found a spot, and walked into the bank. I followed her straight to the back left corner of the lobby, where they had a light wooden wall with a glass door that separated the safety-deposit boxes from the rest of the bank. She pressed a buzzer next to the door. A young black man appeared on the other side of the glass, recognized her, and smiled. He pressed a button on his side of the glass that released the door, and he pulled it open. We stepped through. "Hello, Ronald," she said, shaking his hand gently. "This is my friend Mike Nolan."
Ronald said, "Hello, Mrs. Byrd. I'm glad to see you. I'm really sorry about Tinny." His face clouded as he shook my hand as an afterthought. "I just can't believe it. I'm so sorry."
She nodded and fought back a tear. "Thank you. Would you give us a hand? I'm here to open a safety-deposit box."
"Yours and Tinny's? I wondered when you were going to come for it."
"No. Another one. Show him the key, Mike."
I handed Ronald the key, which he examined.
"Sure, let me check it. Was it listed under Tinny's name?"
"I don't know. I assume so."
He returned with the signature card in his hand. "It's in Tinny's name and yours." Ronald looked embarrassed. "But we've got a problem. The only signature on the card is Tinny's. To give you access I have to have the owner's signature."
I couldn't believe my ears. I said, "He gave me the key to this box and told me to retrieve something. I'm in the middle of a trial, and it may be evidence. Don't you recognize me?"
Ronald looked at me and suddenly realized who I was. "You're the attorney in the trial about the president's helicopter."
"Exactly. And Tinny was my investigator. He'd found something critically important, was killed, and left a note for his wife-" I pulled it out of my pocket. "Here's the note he left for her to give me in case he died. He wants me to have access to that box."
Ronald read it and returned Tinny's note to me. "That's amazing. There must be something really important in there, but I'm sorry, I can't let you into the box. The bank has rules. I can't change them."
I felt that old nemesis of mine, that white anger that I sometimes had to fight, raging up inside me. I had to pause for a moment. "Ronald, this is not the time to be a bureaucratic hero and screw me with rules. Let us into that safety-deposit box."
I had miscalculated. He felt the power that came from being able to deny an angry person his strongest desire. "I can't, Mr. Nolan. Sorry."
"You'd better get the manager."
Ronald said, "It won't make any difference. He's the one that told me never to change these rules. But worse, he's out."
I detected just a slight bit of joy in Ronald. It was total bullshit and I was not going to be deterred. "Is there anyone here senior to you, Ronald?"
"Assistant manager. Debra Hastings. She's over there."
I looked around, saw Debra, went back to the glass door, buzzed the button I'd seen him buzz, and slammed it open. I marched across to Debra's desk and interrupted a conversation she was having that was undoubtedly extremely important, probably somebody opening a new checking account. "Ms. Hastings. As the assistant manager, I need your help with a safety-deposit box immediately. This is an emergency. Ronald asked me to get you."
She looked at me like I was a lunatic. "I'm with a customer, sir, you'll have to wait-"
"No, I'm not waiting for anything. Get up, come with me right now to the safety-deposit-box area. I must insist."
"Sir, are you threatening me?"
"No. I am not. I am begging you."
She looked at this customer sitting in a chair that was right next to me who was trying to inch away from me and said, "Will you excuse me for just a minute, I'll be right back."
"No problem. Take your time," the customer said.
Debra got up and followed me to the safety-deposit-box area. She put her access card in front of the reader, and the glass door opened away from us. We walked in. Debra walked over to where Ronald and Cherie were silently standing. Debra was about forty-five, thin, and homely. I said to her, "My name is Mike Nolan. I'm an attorney involved in the trial over the crash of the president's helicopter. Do you recognize me?"
She looked at me with shock on her face. "Yes, I do."
"I had a private investigator working for me, Mr. Tinny Byrd. You may have heard they found his remains. He'd been murdered and thrown to the dogs. Do you remember that?"
"Yes, I do. That was-"
"This is his wife. She found a note in her home safe from Tinny to me that instructed her to bring me a key to the safety-deposit box right over there in your bank. I have that key and asked for access. That access has been denied by my good friend Ronald here. Would you please tell him to give me, or you can authorize it yourself, access to that box with that key that was given to me by the owner of that box?"
She nodded with immediate understanding. "That should be no problem. Do you have the signature card, Ronald?"
He handed it to her and she looked at it. "Only Mr. Byrd's signature is on the card. So he would have to be the one to sign for the box."
I tried to slow down and take a breath. "Right. He's dead. I just told you that. So is it your belief that no one left on the face of the earth can now open that box?"
She smiled as she understood the implications of my question, but also recognized the simple solution. "Oh, no. It's no problem. His wife can access the account."
I relaxed. "There we go."
Debra continued, "All we need is the death certificate and the documents appointing you executrix of his estate."
I looked at Cherie. She said, "I don't have copies of those on me."
Debra understood. "That's no problem. You and Mr. Nolan can just go get it, and when you get back, then you can have access to the box."
I tried not to scream. "I don't have time for her to go retrieve a copy of the death certificate. I want you to open the box
now."
"I can't do that."
I wanted to break something, but then a thought occurred to me. I looked at Ronald. "You said the box was in the name of both Mr. and Mrs. Byrd. Right?"
"Yes, sir. But she never signed the signature card."
"But the other owner can add her signature to the account, to the box signature card, at any time, right?"
"That's true."
"Then give it to her now, let her sign it now in your presence."
Ronald shook his head. "Can't do that. The signature has to be notarized."
"Is there a notary in the bank?"
"Yes, Rikki Carlson is a notary."
"Which window?"
"The first-"
I headed to the glass door, pressed the buzzer, and ripped it open and jogged over to the first window. A customer was talking to Rikki. I took her CLOSED sign, and slammed it down in front of him. "This window is closed. Rikki, please come with me and bring your notary kit."
"Sir, I don't know you."
"Debra, the assistant manager, and Ronald, the gentleman at the safety-deposit-box area have asked you to notarize the signature of one of the box owners. It is critically important and you will be right back."
The customer was pissed. "This is ridiculous. Who do you think you are-"
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, pulled out a $50 bill, and slammed it down in front of him. "Here. Is your two minutes worth fifty bucks? Take it."
Rikki shrugged, turned behind her, grabbed her purse, and followed me to the safety-deposit-box area. Ronald buzzed her through when he saw her coming, and I followed her quickly. We went through the process, the charade, the ridiculousness of her notarizing Cherie's signature on a signature card so she could turn around and sign a piece of paper authorizing herself to have access to her box. We finally stepped into the safe, used our key and Ronald's, and pulled out the long, medium-size box. Ronald said, "Would you like to step into the booth to open it?"