A Shared Confidence by William Topek Page B

tea and waited for our food, and I thought about the three loan officers I’d met back at the bank. There was Myers, twenty-eight, weak chin and shifty eyes, which meant nothing. Soames, fiftyish, straight-backed and stiff, which told me nothing. And Weidermann, thirties, portly and jovial, and a little too eager to please, which proved nothing.
    â€œSo,” Nathan spoke up, “has anything struck you so far? I mean, have you spotted any kind of, well, cue to any of this?” I killed a smile with a sip of my tea. Nathan wouldn’t be one of those who thought detectives were slouch-hat-wearing hoods, firing down a dark alley with an automatic in each fist. No, Nathan’s idea of a detective would be more like Sherlock Holmes. The dissecting mind that misses nothing. The penetrating intellect that weaves a delicate pattern out of seemingly discordant facts. The skilled orator who could clearly outline the most convoluted criminal plot like a college science professor. Hate to disappoint you, Nathan, I thought, but that version isn’t any more accurate than the brick-shouldered dick who can beat confessions out of armies of prizefighters and gun down entire gangs.
    â€œWell, like I told you back at the bank, someone altered those three documents after you signed them, or had it done. Likely the latter, because that’s as professional a job of altering as I’ve ever seen.” I thought for a moment. “You said you remembered extra paperwork from legitimate loans that’s gone missing. But the legitimate loans all balance perfectly. My guess is at least some of those three documents were originally tacked onto real loans. After they were altered, any extra paperwork linking them to real loans was destroyed.”
    Nathan nodded in agreement. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. It’s not uncommon for multiple loans to be made to the same company, broken out for different functions like acquiring equipment or leasing office space or payroll. Some clients prefer it that way; it helps them keep their books more easily.”
    â€œSo you’d have thought nothing of signing more than one loan for the same people?”
    â€œNo, not so long as everything was in order.”
    â€œAnd none of your customers have complained of being shorted on their loans?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” Nathan said, letting out a short breath. “I’ve been waiting for that to happen. Hoping it wouldn’t, of course, but almost wishing it might. It would give me a place to start.”
    The waiter brought our lunch, fish caught fresh that morning with roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables. I tucked in and nagged Nathan to do the same. Marie was right, he hadn’t been eating enough lately. I gave us each several bites before starting up again.
    â€œTell me about these three men of yours I met this morning.” Nathan shrugged and filled me in on the general details of Mssrs. Myers, Soames, and Wiedermann. How long they’d been at the bank, what he knew of their work, what little he knew of their personal habits. I listened, ready to file away anything that might be useful later. Of course, it’s rarely possible to know in advance what might be useful later, which means you end up trying to pay attention to everything and probably wind up with nothing. I pushed my irritation away and forced myself to relax. If meaningful patterns were there, they’d show themselves. Just sit back and watch for any spikes in the graph.
    Soames was the oldest, the most reliable, and the least imaginative. A creature of habit who could be counted on to show up and leave at the same time each day, and approach any task the same way each time. Myers was the youngest. He had the most to learn but seemed eager to soak up everything he could. He was a little hasty in his work at times. Just a few weeks back he’d spilled coffee on an important paper that had to be redone. Nathan had