Murder on Potrero Hill by M. L. Hamilton Page A

isn’t professional and I know you’re short staffed since I’m the only loan officer, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. It’s only been a week and…”
    “Look, Jake,” interrupted Andrews. He was about Jake’s height with a bald crown and a circle of close cropped grey hair marking a line from his ears to the back of his head. He had deep-set, watery blue eyes and a beak of a nose. “You’ve been a good employee for the last three years. I have no complaints.”
    “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that you…”
    “You’ve got to understand – it’s an image thing, Jake. It’s hard enough to project a positive image as a banker, but any little whiff of scandal and the media vultures would be on us like white on rice.”
    Jake rubbed a hand over his face, feeling again the stubble on his jaw. “What? I don’t think I understand what you’re saying.”
    “Don’t make me spell it out, Jake. I’m trying to avoid a scene.”
    “What scene? I don’t even understand what you’re saying.”
    Andrews looked over his shoulder. A security guard had moved into the space between the door and the teller line. Jake’s attention shifted to him.
    “When this all blows over, I’ll be happy to write you a recommendation. You’ve been one of our best loan officers. No doubts about your numbers.”
    Jake’s eyes snapped to his face. “You’re firing me?”
    Andrews blew out his breath. “The police said…”
    “The police have been here?”
    People in line turned around at the sound of his voice and Jake realized he was yelling.
    Andrews held up his hands, motioning Jake to keep his voice down. “I don’t want a scene. Neither do you.”
    “Are you firing me?”
    “Jake, image is everything in business and…”
    “Answer me!”
    Andrews took a step back. “Corporate policy doesn’t allow for a suspect in a criminal case to represent the bank.”
    “I didn’t do anything!” Jake shouted, taking a step forward.
    Andrews’ hands came up again and the guard moved closer. “No scene, Jake, okay? You don’t need any more trouble right now.”
    “Are you kidding me? You’re firing me because some idiot cops think I’m a suspect! I swear I’ll sue this bank. I’ll sue the police department. This is defamation of character. This is outrageous!”
    A few people broke away from the line and hurried toward the doors. Andrews caught the motion from the corner of his eyes before he looked back at Jake.
    “I need you to leave now, Jake. Please, just leave. You’re scaring customers away.”
    Jake found himself shaking with rage. “You can’t do this to me. Mr. Andrews, please. This is ridiculous.”
    The guard moved beyond Andrews and reached for Jake. He stumbled back, but the guard grabbed his arm.
    “I didn’t want it to be like this, Jake. I really didn’t want it to be like this.” He held out his hand. “I need your keys.”
    Jake’s eyes involuntarily went to the blotter on his desk where he’d laid the keys when he came in. Andrews’ gaze followed it and he moved over to snag them up.
    “Come on,” said the security guard, tightening his grip.
    “Let go of me!” Jake tried to break his hold, but the guard pulled him toward the glass doors. “God damn it, let go of me!”
    The guard didn’t even speak and Andrews moved back as if he was afraid Jake might contaminate him.
    “Okay, okay,” said Jake, bracing his feet on the carpet. “I’ll leave. Just let me get my things. Just let me get my things!” He frantically looked over his shoulder at his boss, but Andrews had pulled out his cell phone and was calling someone. Jake had a suspicion he knew who it was.
    The guard knocked him off balance, dragging him closer to the doors. His briefcase with Zoë’s journal was still in the credenza. They couldn’t make him leave before he got that.
    “Mr. Andrews? Please, Mr. Andrews, let me get my things.”
    Andrews placed the phone in his pocket. “The police are on the way, Jake. I