it on. I stay with her for a while — I’m not sure how long exactly, an hour, maybe two. At some point Carol Hamilton walks away.

I see her on my way back out and she smiles but she doesn’t say anything. I guess she is too frightened to offer me hope that she doesn’t think is there.

When I get back outside it’s raining hard. I drive home and

change into some fresh clothes, even ironing a shirt and a pair of pants pulled from the dryer. My look could be the difference between getting the information I need and getting busted.

Back in town I can’t find a park and have to settle for one

six blocks away from the bank. A few years ago and this place

would have been closed on a Saturday afternoon; now hardly

anything closes. I look at my watch and check the opening hours on the door. The bank shuts in less than twenty minutes. I’ve

timed things perfectly.

The security guard gives me a strange look, and I realise it’s because I’ve taken two steps inside and come to a complete stop.

I walk over to him. He seems unsure what to do. I pull out my ID

which I haven’t used in more than two and a half years. I used to have a badge that went along with it, but that got handed back.

The ID has the word Void’ stamped across the side of it, but

I cover it with my finger and let the guard look at it for about a second before I put it away.

‘I seen you on TV,’ he says. ‘Didn’t realise you were still a

cop.’

‘Technically I’m not, but I’m working for them. That’s why

I still have the ID,’ I say, hoping it makes some kind of sense.

‘Didn’t know there was a “technically” when it comes to

working for the police.’

I give him the ‘what-are-you-gonna-do’ stare. ‘Nothing is how

it should be these days,’ I say. ‘All I know is the pay is better on this side of “technically” than on the other side of “actually”.’

He shrugs, as if he doesn’t seem to care one way or the other.

I guess he doesn’t. At twelve bucks an hour, why would he?

have a court order to access a customer’s account,’ I say. ‘Can you point me in the direction of somebody to talk to?’

‘Sure,’ he says, and he brushes a hand over the side of his head where a corner flap of his toupee is sticking up. He leads me

to an open office door and knocks on it. A woman in her mid

thirties stands up from behind her desk and comes over. ‘There’s a guy here who wants to access an account,’ he says, and she looks at him a little blankly because accessing accounts is what people come here to do. But then he adds, ‘He has a court order.’

‘Oh. Well,it’s a little more complicated than that,’ she says, looking me up and down. ‘Hey, haven’t I seen you on TV?’

‘Probably Can we talk in here?’

‘Of course,’ she says, and she looks at the security guard with a dismissive gesture. He doesn’t seem to react one way or the other, he just walks away, but when he gets near the door he seems to look a little more vigilant now that an ex-law enforcement officer is around.

She closes her office door and sits behind her desk. There’s

a name plaque on the front of it. Erica. On the wall there’s an aerial shot of Christchurch that doesn’t show the true emotion of the city, and a couple of photographs, one of which shows Erica standing next to a man who looks vaguely familiar, probably

somebody from one of the numerous banking ads on TV

‘So, what’s this all about, Detective …’

‘Tate,’ I say, and I don’t bother to correct her assumption that I’m still with the force. The business card I was going to give her stays in my hand, and the chances of coming out of here with

what I want have just increased.

“I have an account number here,’ I say, and I slide the bank

statement over to her. I have underlined the account number I

want from Father Julian’s account. I also slide her over the court order. The judge’s name on the top of it is as made up as his

signature.

The thing with court orders is a lot can come down to the

timing of the delivery. Erica picks it up, and then she does exactly what I expect her to do — she glances at her watch. I’ve seen it a dozen times at the end of the working day when we’ve shown

up with one of these orders: it was often the time we’d aim for.

The other thing is that people don’t know what to do with them.

They look at them but they don’t know how to react because

most people have never seen one before. They’ve seen them get

delivered on TV and they figure that what happens on TV is

probably the thing that happens in real life. They suddenly feel like the order has just taken away all their rights of refusal and they don’t argue it. They only ever fight it if they have something to hide.

Erica reads it thoroughly. In the location area the words printed are ‘to access any and all available accounts of the account holder’ and after that I’ve typed out the account number.

‘This is one of your bank account numbers, isn’t it?’ I ask.

‘It is. Is this part of a criminal investigation?’

‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ I say, and I figure she wasn’t expecting anything less.

“I need to call my boss about the order.’

‘No problem.’

“I’ll probably need to fax it to him.’

“I don’t mind waiting. There’s also a space down the bottom

you need to sign once you’ve gone over it.’

She checks the time again. ‘Give me a minute.’

‘Take your time,’ I say.

She leaves me in her office, and I’m not sure whether it’ll be her or the police who come back in. I keep glancing at my watch, and each time I think I should just get up and go, cut my losses before Landry or Schroder arrives.

‘The account is in the name of John Paul,’ she says when she

returns. I figure the court order got faxed to her boss and not much further. Maybe to their law firm, but it’s probably the kind of firm that charges too much to be on retainer on the weekend, so it’s sitting in a fax tray somewhere. I’ve seen it dozens of times.

She’s not giving me a lot, just a few details. She doesn’t see how it can hurt. She sits back down behind her desk. ‘Like the Pope,’

she adds.

‘How long has it been active?’

She twists the computer monitor to face her. ‘Twenty-four

years.’

“I need printouts of payments.’

‘Okay. It’ll take a few minutes.’

“No problem.’

She taps away at her keyboard, then leans back. I don’t hear a printer going anywhere.

‘Did John Paul have any other accounts set up? Or was it just

this one?’ I ask.

‘Just this one. But…’ She stops, then looks back down at the court order.

‘What?’

‘When he set up the account, he also set up a safety deposit

box.’

A safety deposit box? Here?’

‘It’s even at this branch.’

‘Can I access it?’

‘The court order doesn’t say you can.’

‘Listen, Erica, this is very, very important.’

She seems unsure of what to do.

‘This safety deposit box — did John Paul gain access to it with a key?’ I ask.

‘Of course. That’s how everybody opens them.’

‘When was the last time he accessed it?’

She looks at her monitor. ‘Six weeks ago.’

‘How many keys were issued?’

‘Just the one.’

‘Can you tell me if this is it?’ I reach into my pocket and drag out my keys. I twist the one Bruce Alderman gave me off the ring and hand it over to her.

‘Sure. This is for one of our boxes, though I can’t tell you if it’s specifically for John Paul’s box. We don’t label the keys for a reason, you know, in case they get lost and people try to use them.’

I stand up. ‘I need you to take me to it.’

‘What?’ She looks at her watch again. ‘I don’t know — I’ll

have to check with my boss.’

‘Okay, do what you need to do. But you essentially just said