“Police? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing that I’m sure we can’t work out,” Laura replied. “It involves an account my husband held here.”

“Yes?”

“I can’t find the statements and I was hoping you could tell me what the current balance is.”

“One moment.” Richard Corsel tapped a few keys on his computer terminal. “Your husband no longer has an account here, Mrs. Baskin.”

“I’m sure he had one before we left for Australia a few weeks ago.”

“That’s very possible, Mrs. Baskin, but the account is closed.”

“Was the money withdrawn or transferred?”

Richard Corsel coughed into his fist. “I’m not allowed to say.”

“By whose authority?”

“Your husband’s.”

She sat forward. “What?”

“When your husband cleared out his account, he left very specific stipulations. One of these was not to give out any information involving his funds.”

“But he’s dead.”

“That does not alter his request.”

She glanced over at T.C. to make sure she was hearing right. “When did he close the account?” she asked.

“I can’t tell you that either. I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Corsel, the money is missing. No one has any idea where it is being held.”

“I’m sorry. There’s really nothing I can do.”

She peered into his eyes. They darted away from Laura’s glare like scared birds. “I want to know what happened to that account.”

“I can’t tell you.”

T.C. stood. “Let’s go, Laura.”

“What are you talking about?” Laura raged. “I’m not leaving until I find out what happened to that account.”

“Mr. Corsel already said it’s confidential.”

Richard Corsel nodded. “Please, Mrs. Baskin, I am only obeying your husband’s wishes.”

“His wishes? He told you not to tell his wife what happened to his account?”

“I . . . I can’t reveal that.”

“Mr. Corsel, you are forcing my hand.”

His voice cracked. “There is really nothing I can do.”

“Well, there is something I can do,” Laura snapped. “May I borrow your phone?”

“Of course.”

She dialed, waited, had the call transferred, and then she spoke. “Sam? It’s Laura. Thank you. It’s nice to hear your voice, too. I need you to do something for me. How much is Svengali holding in Heritage of Boston? I know it’s a lot but can you give me a good estimation?”

Richard Corsel was turning white.

“Jesus, Laura,” T.C. interrupted, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Wait outside, T.C. I don’t want you to get involved in this.”

“But—”

“Please just do what I say.”

With a shrug T.C. stood and headed out. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Corsel alone to confront Laura.

“What’s that, Sam? How many millions? Fine. Transfer it to First Boston. Tell the board of directors at Heritage of Boston that I was annoyed by the service of one of its vice presidents, a Mr. Richard Corsel. Tell them I also suspect he’s involved in a scheme to rip me off. Right, that’s C-O-R-S-E-L. Got that?”

“Wait!” Richard Corsel interrupted. “Can’t we talk about this?”

“Hold on a second, Sam. Excuse me?”

“Please, Mrs. Baskin, just hang up and let’s discuss this rationally.”

She turned back to the phone. “Sam, if you don’t hear from me in the next ten minutes, go ahead with the transaction.” She hung up. “I’m listening.”

“Mrs. Baskin, you are using blackmail.”

“I want to know what happened to that account, Mr. Corsel, and believe me, I’ll find out. This is no idle threat. If you still won’t tell me after I transfer the Svengali funds, I’ll have the press and my lawyers swarming all over the place. The media should love a story about a widow who wants to donate her late husband’s earnings to charity and the bank that may have stolen the money.”

“Stolen?”

“The bank’s reputation will be somewhat compromised, Mr. Corsel, but eventually I will get the information.”

Richard Corsel looked as if he had just lost a boxing match.

“By the way,” Laura added, “Sam is very precise. I only have a few minutes left to stop him.”

Corsel lowered his head. “I don’t know where the account is exactly. You have to believe me.”

“Go on.”

“Your husband had me transfer the money to a bank in Switzerland.”

“When?”

He paused. “Please, Mrs. Baskin, I can’t tell you.”

“Which bank in Switzerland?”

“Bank of Geneva. But I know it didn’t stay there long, so you can’t make a claim there. And you may be able to threaten Heritage of Boston, but there’s no way to budge a Swiss bank.”

“But why would David do something like that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Did he handle this transaction in person?”

“No, I spoke to him on the phone.”

“Are you sure it was David’s voice?”

“Positive. I know your husband’s voice very well—even with the static. Plus he used a code number only he knows.”

“784CF90821BC,” Laura stated.

“And obviously,” Richard Corsel replied, “he trusted you with it.”

“David always told me everything, Mr. Corsel,” she said. “Now would you please hand me the phone? I have to call Sam.”

LAURA recounted the conversation to T.C. as they headed back to the car.

“I can’t believe you did that, Laura. I arrest people for doing that sort of thing.”

“Okay, guilty. So what do you think?”

“About Switzerland? I think Corsel is right. I’ve got a few friends at the FBI’s office, but I doubt we’ll find out what happened to the account after it reached the Bank of Geneva.”

“But why would David do this?”

T.C. shrugged. “Maybe he wanted to have some money stored away in case the bottom fell out.”

“And not tell me about it?”

“Maybe he was going to and didn’t have a chance. You said he had the Heritage account recently. Maybe he made the transaction right before you eloped and decided a honeymoon was not the place to discuss finances.”