If not Nunez, who?

Someone who knows procedures, could somehow watch for opportunity.

Staff? Inside job?

But how?

"How" later. Find motive first, then person.

Motive? Someone who needs money badly?

She repeated in capitals, NEEDS MONEY. And added Examine personal checking/savings accounts, all branch, personnel - TONIGHT!

Edwina began leafing quickly through an FMA Head­quarters phone book, looking for "Chief of Audit Service.'

Chapter 13.

On Friday afternoons all branches of First Mercantile American Bank stayed open an extra three hours.

Thus, at the main downtown branch this Friday, the outer street doors were closed and locked by a security guard at 6 p.m.. A few customers, still in the bank at closing time, were let out by the same guard, one by one, through a single plate-glass door.

At 6:05 precisely, a series of sharp, peremptory taps sounded on the outside of the glass door. When the guard turned his head in response, he observed a young male fig­ure dressed in a dark topcoat and business suit, carrying a briefcase. To attract attention inside, the figure had tapped with a fifty-cent piece wrapped in a handkerchief.

As the guard approached, the man with the briefcase held an identity document flat against the glass. The guard in­spected it, unlocked the door, and the young man stepped inside.

Then, before the guard could close the door, a proliferation occurred, as unexpected and remarkable as a magi­cian's trick. Where there had been one individual with briefcase and proffered credentials, suddenly there were six, behind them six more, with still another phalanx at the rear. Swiftly, like an inundation, they streamed into the bank.

A man, older than most of the others and emanating au­thority, announced curtly, "Headquarters Audit Staff."

"Yessir," the security guard said; he was a veteran at the bank who had been through this before, and he continued checking the other credentials holders in. There were twenty, mostly men, four women. All went immediately to various locations in the bank.

The older man who had made the announcement headed for the platform and Edwina's desk. As she rose to greet him, she regarded the continuing influx into the bank with unconcealed surprise.

"Mr. Burnside, is this a full-dress audit?"

"It certainly is, Mrs. D'Orsey." The audit department head removed his overcoat and hung it near the platform.

Elsewhere in the bank other staff members wore discon­certed expressions, while some groaned and voiced ag­grieved comments. "Oh, jeez! A Friday, of all times to pick! Dammit, I had a dinner date! Who says auditors are human?"

Most were aware of what the visit by a headquarters audit group entailed. Tellers knew there would be an extra counting of their cash before they left tonight, and vault reserve cash would be checked out too. Accountants would be required to stay until their records were listed and bal­anced. Senior management staff would be lucky to be away by midnight.

The newcomers had already, quickly and politely, taken over all ledgers. From this moment any additions or changes would be under scrutiny.

Edwina said, "When I asked for an examination of staff accounts I didn't expect this." Normally a branch bank au­dit took place every eighteen months to two years and to­night's was doubly unexpected since a full audit of the main downtown branch had occurred only eight months earlier.

"We decide the how, where, and when of audit, Mrs. D'Orsey." As always, Hal Burnside maintained a cool aloofness, the hallmark of a bank examiner. Within any major bank an audit department was an independent, watch­dog unit with authority and prerogatives like the Inspector­ate General of an army. Its members were never intimidated by rank, and even senior managers were candidates for re­proof about irregularities which a thoroughgoing inspection of a branch revealed - and there were invariably some.

"I know about that," Edwina acknowledged. "I'm just surprised you could arrange all this so quickly."

The audit chief smiled, a trifle smugly. "We have our methods and resources."

What he did not reveal was that a surprise audit of an­other FMA branch had been planned for this evening. Fol­lowing Edwina's phone call three hours ago, the earlier plan was canceled, arrangements hastily revised, and additional staff called in for the present expedition.

Such cloak-and-dagger tactics were not unusual. An es­sential part of the audit function was to descend, irregularly and without warning, on any of the bank's branches. Elab­orate precautions were taken to preserve secrecy and any audit staff member who violated it was in serious trouble. Few did, inadvertently.

For today's maneuver, the score of auditors involved had assembled an hour ago in a salon of a downtown hotel, though even that destination had not been revealed until the latest possible moment. There they were briefed, duties al­located, then inconspicuously, in twos and threes, they had walked toward the main downtown branch of FMA. Until the last few crucial minutes they loitered in lobbies of nearby buildings, strolled casually, or browsed store win­dows. Then, traditionally, the most junior member of the group had rapped on the bank door to demand admission. As soon as it was gained, the others, like an assembling regiment, fell in behind him.

Now, within the bank, audit team members were at every key position.

A convicted bank embezzler of the 1970s, who success­fully concealed his massive defalcations for some twenty years, observed while eventually en route to prison, "The auditors used to come in and do nothing but shoot the breeze for forty minutes. Give me half of that time and I can cover up anything."

The audit department of First Mercantile American, and other large North American banks, took no such chance.

Not even five minutes passed after the surprise of the au­ditors' arrival until they were all in preassigned positions, observing everything.

Resigned, regular staff members of the branch went on to complete their day's work, then to assist the auditors as needed.

Once started, the process would continue through the fol­lowing week and part of the next. But the most critical portion of the examination would take place within the next few hours.

"Let's you and me get to work, Mrs. D'Orsey," Burnside said. "We'll start with the deposit accounts, both time and demand." He opened his briefcase on Edwina's desk.

By 8 P.m.. the initial surprise attending the audit team's arrival had worn off, a notable amount of work had been accomplished, and ranks of the regular branch staff were thinning. All tellers had left; so had some of the accoun­tants. Cash had been counted, inspection of other records was well advanced. The visitors had been courteous and, in some cases, helpful in pointing out mild errors, all of which was part of their job.

Among the senior management staff still remaining were Edwina, Tottenhce, and Miles Eastin. The two men had been kept busy locating information and responding to que­ries. Now, however, Tottenhoe appeared tired. But young Eastin, who had responded helpfully and cheerfully to every demand so far, was as fresh and energetic as when the evening had begun. It was Miles Eastin who arranged for sandwiches and coffee to be sent in for auditors and staff.

Of the several audit task forces, a small group was con­centrating on savings and checking accounts and, from time to time, one among their number would bring a written note to the Chief of Audit Service at Edwina's desk. In every case he glanced over the information, nodded, and added the note to other papers in his briefcase.

At ten minutes to nine he received what appeared to be a lengthier note with several other papers clipped to it. This Burnside studied carefully, then announced, "I think Mrs. D'Orsey and I will take a break. We'll go out for our coffee and supper."

A few minutes later he escorted Edwina through the same street door by which the auditors had entered nearly three hours earlier.

Outside the building the audit chief apologized. "I'm sorry, but that was a small theatrical performance. I'm afraid our supper, if any, will have to wait." As Edwina looked puzzled he added, "You and I are on our way to a meeting, but I didn't want it known."

With Burnside leading, they turned right, walking half a block from the still brightly lighted bank, then used a pe­destrian mall to double back to Rosselli Plaza and the FMA Headquarters Tower. The night was cold and Edwina pulled her coat tightly around her, reflecting that the tunnel route would have been both shorter and warmer. Why all the mystery?

Inside the bank headquarters building, Hal Burnside signed a night visitors book, after which a guard accom­panied them in an elevator to the eleventh floor. A sign and arrow indicated SECURITY DEPARTMENT. Nolan Wainwright and the two FBI men who had dealt with' the cash loss were waiting for them there.

Almost at once they were joined by another member of the audit team who clearly had followed Edwina and Burnside from the bank.

Introductions were accomplished quickly. The latest ar­rival was a youngish man named Gayne, with cool, alert eyes behind heavy-rimmed glasses which made him look severe. It was Gayne who had delivered the several notes and documents to Burnside while the latter worked at Edwina's desk.

Now, at Nolan Wainwright's suggestion, they moved into a conference room and seated themselves around a cir­cular table.

Hal Burnside told the FBI agents, "I hope what we've discovered will justify calling you gentlemen out at this time of night."

This meeting, Edwina realized, must have been planned several hours ago. She asked, "Then you have discovered something?"

“Unfortunately, a good deal more than anyone expected, Mrs. D`Orsey.”

At a nod from Burnside, the audit assistant, Gayne, be­gan to spread out papers.

"As the result of your suggestion," Burnside stated in a lecturer's tone, "an examination has been made of personal bank accounts - savings and checking - of all personnel employed at the main downtown branch. What we were seeking was some evidence of individual financial diffi­culty. Fairly conclusively, we found it."

He sounds like a pompous schoolmaster, Edwina thought. But she continued listening intently.

"I should perhaps explain," the audit chief told the two FBI men, "that most bank employees maintain their per­sonal accounts at the branch where they work. One reason is that the accounts are 'free' - that is, without service charges. Another reason - the more important - is that em­ployees receive a special low interest rate on loans, usually one percent below prime rate."

Innes, the senior FBI agent, nodded. "Yes, we knew that."

"You'll also realize, then, that an employee who has taken advantage of his or her special bank credit - has bor­rowed to the limit, in fact - and then borrows other sums from an outside source such as a finance company, where interest rates are notoriously high, has placed himself or herself in a tenuous financial position."

Innes, with a trace of impatience, said, "Of course."

"It appears we have a bank employee to whom exactly that has happened." He motioned to the assistant, Gayne, who turned over several canceled checks which until now had been facedown.

"As you'll observe, these checks are made out to three separate finance companies. Incidentally, we've already been in touch by telephone with two of the companies, and notwithstanding the payments that you see, both accounts are seriously delinquent. It's a reasonable guess that, in the morning, the third company will tell us the same story."

Gayne interjected, "And these checks are for the current month only. Tomorrow we'll look at microfilm records for several months back."

"One other fact is relevant," the audit chief proceeded. "The individual concerned could not possibly have made these payments" - he gestured toward the canceled checks - "on the basis of a bank salary, the amount of which we know. Therefore during the past several hours we have searched for evidence of theft from the bank, and this has now been found."

Once again the assistant, Gayne, began placing papers on the conference table.

... evidence of theft from the bank ... this has now been found. Edwina, scarcely listening any more, had her eyes riveted on the signature on each of the canceled checks­ - a signature she saw each day, familiar to her, bold and clear. The sight of it, here and now, appalled and saddened her.

The signature was Eastin's - young Miles whom she liked so well, who was so efficient as assistant operations officer, so helpful and tireless, even tonight, and whom only this week she had decided to promote when Tottenhoe re­tired.

The Chief of Audit Service had now moved on. "What our sneak thief has been doing is milking dormant accounts. Once we detected a single fraudulent pattern earlier this evening, others were not hard to find."

Still in his lecturer's manner, and for the benefit of the FBI men, he defined a dormant account. It was an account - savings or checking, Burnside explained - which had little or no activity. All banks had customers who for varied reasons left such accounts untouched over long pe­riods, sometimes for many years, and with surprisingly large sums remaining in them. Modest interest did accu­mulate in savings accounts, of course, and some people undoubtedly had that in mind, though others - incredible but true - abandoned their accounts entirely.

When a checking account was observed to be inactive, with no deposits or withdrawals, banks ceased mailing monthly statements and substituted an annual one. Even those, at times, were returned marked: "Moved - address unknown."

Standard precautions were taken to prevent fraudulent use of dormant accounts, the audit chief continued. The account records were segregated; then, if a transaction sud­denly occurred it was scrutinized by an operations officer to make sure it was legitimate. Normally such precautions were effective. As assistant operations officer, Miles Eastin had authority to scrutinize and approve dormant account transactions. He had used the authority to cover up his own dishonesty - the fact that he had been stealing from such accounts himself.

"Eastin has been rather clever, selecting those accounts least likely to cause trouble. We have here a series of forged withdrawal slips, though not forged very skillfully because there are obvious traces of his handwriting, after which the amounts have been transferred into what appears to be a dummy account of his own under an assumed name. There's an obvious similarity of handwriting there also, though naturally experts will be needed to give evidence."

One by one they examined the withdrawal slips, com­paring the handwriting with the checks they had looked at earlier. Although an attempt had been made at disguise, a resemblance was unmistakable.

The second FBI agent, Dalrymple, had been writing care­ful notes. Looking up, he asked, "Is there a total figure on the money involved?"

Gayne answered, 'So far we've pinpointed close to eight thousand dollars. Tomorrow, though, we'll have access to older records through microfilm and the computer, which may show more."

Burnside added, "When we confront Eastin with what we know already, it could be he'll decide to make things easier by admitting the rest. That's sometimes a pattern when we catch embezzlers."

He's enjoying this, Edwina thought; really enjoying it. She felt irrationally defensive about Miles Eastin, then asked, "Have you any idea how long this has been going on?"

"From what's been uncovered so far," Gayne informed them, "it looks like at least a year, possibly longer."

Edwina turned to face Hal Burnside. "So you missed it completely at the last audit. Isn't an inspection of dormant accounts part of your job?"