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Authors: Bill S. Ballinger
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didn’t surprise me; I suppose everyone envisions such signs of violence occasionally. In reality, if I killed her, I would still not know the secret of the box. I decided that I must continue to attempt to locate the owner of the box through my own efforts. Later, if Rosemary should give me any information, that would be all right too. Pulling away the muffler, which I wore as an ascot from around my throat, I pointed to the scar. It was still very red and ugly. After he had taken a good look, the banker looked down at his desk. I put the pad to work again.
Giving him my name, I told him that I had no family and had been in a bad automobile accident; witness the scar, and that I could not speak. As a result of the accident, I had lost my memory. This deposit key was my own, but I did not remember where it was located. “It was probably in the same bank where you did your personal or business banking,” he told me. “Do you remember that at all?”
I shook my head. On his desk was a small sign which read C. K. Swan. I wrote, “Mr. Swan, do you have any suggestions?”
Swan thought about it for a few moments. “Well,” he said, first you might try to find out through the banks if one of them has you for a depositor. If you locate an account of your own, you’ll probably find you have a safe deposit box in the same bank. If that doesn’t work, there’s a small publication in New York called the New Amsterdam Safe Box News which circulates through most of the deposit departments of the various banks and box companies. I'll give you the paper’s address, and you might get them to run an ad for you requesting information.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
Picking up his phone, Swan called the bank’s vault department. “Mr. Kraft,” he said, “this is Swan. Can you give me the address of the New Amsterdam Safe Box News? Yes, if you please. I’ll hold the phone.” Cradling the receiver to his ear, Swan reached for his personalized memo pad. The pad was printed with:
… from the desk of
C. K. SWAN, vice-president
Merchants & Chemists Exchange Bank
As the voice of Kraft spoke in his ear, Swan began to scribble on the pad, but his pen was dry. Hastily, he tore off the sheet and reaching for another, wrote the address of the paper with a pencil. Handing the slip tome, he said, “Why is it, whenever you want to use a pen it’s dry?”
I didn’t know. However, I nodded politely and wrote on my own pad, “Thanks very much.” Swan arose from his desk. “Good luck,” he said. “If I can help you, let me know.” We shook hands, and I walked out of the bank.
That evening, very laboriously, I described to Bianca the fact that I had a thousand dollars in my shoe when I had reached the hospital. I went on to explain that evidently I had possessed some money before I had been attacked, and that it was possible I had maintained either a savings account or a checking account at a bank. Unfortunately, of course, if this was true, I couldn’t remember it.
“Don’t you think that Santini has checked this?” Bianca asked.
I explained that I thought he had undoubtedly gone through the motions of it, but that it was dubious if all the banks had been covered and, as the situation was not a very important one to the police, no particular pressure existed for them to explore it further. Bianca agreed with this reasoning. She suggested that she call the banks, herself, to discover if I had an account any place, as it was obvious that I could not call them myself.
In Manhattan there are between four and five hundred banks, including their branches, listed in the classified telephone directory. Bianca began at the top of the list, but very quickly it became obvious that she would have little success. All of the banks refused to give her any information over the phone. After a number of failures, one bank indicated that such information was given to established businesses for credit references.
I had been sitting at the
Giving him my name, I told him that I had no family and had been in a bad automobile accident; witness the scar, and that I could not speak. As a result of the accident, I had lost my memory. This deposit key was my own, but I did not remember where it was located. “It was probably in the same bank where you did your personal or business banking,” he told me. “Do you remember that at all?”
I shook my head. On his desk was a small sign which read C. K. Swan. I wrote, “Mr. Swan, do you have any suggestions?”
Swan thought about it for a few moments. “Well,” he said, first you might try to find out through the banks if one of them has you for a depositor. If you locate an account of your own, you’ll probably find you have a safe deposit box in the same bank. If that doesn’t work, there’s a small publication in New York called the New Amsterdam Safe Box News which circulates through most of the deposit departments of the various banks and box companies. I'll give you the paper’s address, and you might get them to run an ad for you requesting information.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
Picking up his phone, Swan called the bank’s vault department. “Mr. Kraft,” he said, “this is Swan. Can you give me the address of the New Amsterdam Safe Box News? Yes, if you please. I’ll hold the phone.” Cradling the receiver to his ear, Swan reached for his personalized memo pad. The pad was printed with:
… from the desk of
C. K. SWAN, vice-president
Merchants & Chemists Exchange Bank
As the voice of Kraft spoke in his ear, Swan began to scribble on the pad, but his pen was dry. Hastily, he tore off the sheet and reaching for another, wrote the address of the paper with a pencil. Handing the slip tome, he said, “Why is it, whenever you want to use a pen it’s dry?”
I didn’t know. However, I nodded politely and wrote on my own pad, “Thanks very much.” Swan arose from his desk. “Good luck,” he said. “If I can help you, let me know.” We shook hands, and I walked out of the bank.
That evening, very laboriously, I described to Bianca the fact that I had a thousand dollars in my shoe when I had reached the hospital. I went on to explain that evidently I had possessed some money before I had been attacked, and that it was possible I had maintained either a savings account or a checking account at a bank. Unfortunately, of course, if this was true, I couldn’t remember it.
“Don’t you think that Santini has checked this?” Bianca asked.
I explained that I thought he had undoubtedly gone through the motions of it, but that it was dubious if all the banks had been covered and, as the situation was not a very important one to the police, no particular pressure existed for them to explore it further. Bianca agreed with this reasoning. She suggested that she call the banks, herself, to discover if I had an account any place, as it was obvious that I could not call them myself.
In Manhattan there are between four and five hundred banks, including their branches, listed in the classified telephone directory. Bianca began at the top of the list, but very quickly it became obvious that she would have little success. All of the banks refused to give her any information over the phone. After a number of failures, one bank indicated that such information was given to established businesses for credit references.
I had been sitting at the
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