“Why, that’s a fine idea.” Ms. Sobel smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes. “The first rule is, interns do not interrupt branch managers for no reason. Learn that one, very well.”
The nasty words felt like a slap. Nancy wasn’t sure how to respond, and for a moment she just stared at Ms. Sobel, stunned by the woman’s rudeness.
Ms. Sobel half rose and leaned forward over her desk. “I believe I made myself clear.” She pointed to the door. “You can go out the same way you came in.”
“Pardon me,” said Nancy coolly. Without saying goodbye, she turned and left the room.
***
“I can’t believe she was so nasty!” Bess exclaimed. She pushed back her half-finished plate of goulash—her second helping—and gazed from Nancy to George to Nancy’s father, to the Drews’ housekeeper, Hannah Gruen. Nancy had invited her friends over for dinner. It was the least she could do for them after the day’s hair-raising events. Hannah had treated them all to a specially cooked meal, and they’d all relaxed a bit while Nancy filled her family in on the details of the case.
“Well, what do you think about events at the bank, Hannah?” Bess asked.
Hannah Gruen had raised Nancy almost like a daughter after Nancy’s mother had died years before. All the girls came to her for her caring advice. Still, Nancy wished Bess hadn’t asked her for it just now. She knew what was coming.
“What I think,” Hannah said in no uncertain terms, “is that Nancy should get off this case before she really gets hurt!” She shook her head for emphasis, but her gentle eyes showed fear more than anything else.
“It’s not as serious as that,” Nancy said calmly. “I think someone’s just trying to scare me, that’s all. If they’d wanted to kill me, they’d have used a real grenade, not one filled with tear gas.” Secretly, she agreed with Hannah—at least with the first part of what she’d said—but she didn’t want either the housekeeper or her father to worry.
“Do you think Ms. Sobel could have been the one who threw the smoke bomb?” Nancy’s father suggested. Lean and handsome, Carson Drew sat at the head of the table, looking every bit as worried about his daughter as Hannah did. “It sounds to me like she was conspicuously absent when you and the guard came up from the basement.”
“Yeah,” George agreed. “Maybe she was hiding out in her office afterward, trying to look busy. That would explain why she was so angry when you confronted her. Maybe she felt guilty.”
“It’s entirely possible,” Nancy said. “But we have no way of knowing unless we can prove she was near the stairs right before the explosion.” She looked back and forth between Bess and George. “Are you sure you didn’t see anything?” she asked them.
“We were in the back,” George said. “We didn’t know what was going on until we heard that big bang.”
Crash! Bess’s voice was drowned out by what seemed like an echo of the afternoon’s explosion. In the next instant the group was bathed in a shower of glass as the dining room window shattered into a million sharp pieces. Nancy whirled around. A large rock lay on the Drews’ carpet. A piece of white paper was wrapped around the rock, and a rubber band held it in place.
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Nancy could feel her temper rising. Someone had purposely thrown that rock through their window! She had to know what the note said, but more important, who had thrown it. She dashed to the front door, banging it open and rushing outside. The others weren’t far behind her. She peered down the street just as a white convertible sports car with prominent fins on the back went screeching around the corner. Before it disappeared from view, Nancy made out two figures in the front seat. One of them had curly pale-colored hair that flew wildly in the wind. As the car took off, one of the people whooped loudly with cruel laughter. Still, Nancy couldn’t get a good glimpse of either one.
Disappointed, Nancy trooped inside with the others. Well, maybe the note would hold some clues. Reaching past the broken glass, she picked up the rock. She pulled on the rubber band so hard that it broke. Then she unfolded the note.
“What does it say?” asked Bess breathlessly.
Slowly Nancy read out loud. “ 'Stay away from the vault, or we’ll put you in cold storage. You can bank on it!’ ”
Intruders in the Night
“They couldn’t make it any plainer than that,” Hannah burst out, pointing emphatically at the note. “Nancy, they mean to kill you.”
“It’s just a threat,” Nancy hastened to say. “They wouldn’t really do it.” But she didn’t believe her own words, and she knew she couldn’t fool Hannah either. “I didn’t get a good look at the people in the car,” she added, quickly changing the subject. “Odd car, though. Some sort of old-make convertible from the fifties.”
“Nineteen fifty-seven, to be exact,” Nancy’s father informed her.
The girls and Hannah turned to him, amazed. “How did you know that?” Bess demanded, letting out a laugh. “I never figured you for an old-car buff.”
“I’m not,” Carson Drew agreed, smiling. “But the 1957 Ford Skyliner is a real classic. Back when I was in high school, it was the car to have. I must have spent hours poring over car magazines, taking in its every detail. But the Skyliner was a rare car—they only made a few thousand of them—so I never got to drive one.”
Nancy feigned shock. “Dad! And I thought all you ever studied were your schoolbooks!”
“Those too,” Carson said, shaking his head ruefully.
“I wish the drivers’ faces were as recognizable as their car,” Nancy said, disappointed. “Too bad they didn’t come closer.”
“I’m glad they didn’t,” Hannah said. “Breaking that window was close enough.”
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“I agree,” said Nancy’s father, his light tone changing to one of utmost seriousness. “They’ve already tried to hurt you twice, and this incident proves they know where we live. Next time, I don’t think they’ll stop with rock throwing.”
Hannah shuddered. “Nancy, I’m worried.”
“Maybe you should let the police know what’s going on,” Carson continued. “I think this case is getting too dangerous for you to handle alone.”
Nancy frowned, then shook her head. “First of all,” she told her father, “I’m not alone.” She wrapped her arms around Bess’s and George’s shoulders. “I’ve got great assistance from my two best buddies. Second,” Nancy continued, “I gave my word to Mr. Charles that we’d keep the investigation confidential. Third, if anyone else gets involved, we might scare the criminals away, and then we’ll never catch them.”
Nancy studied her father’s face. He was wearing his “I’m not convinced” look. “Okay,” she said, offering a compromise, “how about this. If anything else happens, I will go to the police.”
Carson Drew pressed his lips together and threw his hands up in the air. “I should know better than to argue with you.” He sighed. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Sure, Dad,” Nancy agreed. “What is it?”
River Heights’ number-one lawyer looked anxiously into his daughter’s eyes. “Please—solve this case fast!”
***
The next morning Nancy smoothed her red dress and straightened her black blazer as she, George, and Bess strode up the marble steps of the Bentley Bank. She figured they’d already been seen so often together that it didn’t matter if they arrived as a group. Maybe people would think they’d just gotten friendly on the job. In any case, from now on the girls would be working as a team.
The security guard at the top of the stairs unlocked the front door to let them in, then locked it again once they’d stepped inside. Nancy checked her watch. “We have a couple of minutes before we have to be at our 'jobs,’” she said. “Let’s go downstairs and check on Larry, see if he’s okay after yesterday’s ordeal. Besides, it might be a good idea to check on the vault too.”
“Good thinking,” George agreed, heading across the lobby. “Around here, you can’t tell what might have happened since yesterday.”
As they made their way downstairs, Nancy thought of the previous day’s grenade. Anyone could have stood at the top of the flight, pitched the smoke bomb down, and let gravity do the rest. As they reached the bottom, Nancy was glad to see Mr. Charles standing by Larry’s desk. She needed to talk to him. Larry, still in his street clothes, was unlocking the gate that led to the vault.
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Mr. Charles turned to greet them with a smile. His nervous mood of the day before seemed to have vanished with a good night’s rest. “I’ll unlock the outer gate for you in a moment,” he said. He and Larry entered the vault area. The girls watched from behind the closed gate while the two men went through their daily ritual of unlocking the vault and disarming the alarm. When they were done, Larry pulled on the door and it glided noiselessly outward.
“Gotta make my quick change into the uniform now.” Larry grinned and headed inside the vault with his duffel bag.
He hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps when Nancy’s eyes gazed across the sparkling floor of the vault. But the floor wasn’t completely clear. A glittering object lay near the wall, small and round, like a ball. It was too even a shape to be a piece of the grenade. “What’s that?” she asked.
Larry stopped abruptly and gazed around the vault. “Well, I’ll be—” He gasped in disbelief.
Nancy watched Mr. Charles steel himself for more bad news. “Now what?” he asked. Taking a few steps forward, he bent down to pick up the object. For several seconds he studied it. He glanced, worried, at Nancy. Then he said to Larry, his voice low, “How about checking the tape.” Clearly, he wanted to make this discovery without an outside witness.
Larry seemed to understand. “I’ll need my tool chest to crack that camera open,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Larry opened the outer gate and ushered the three girls into the vestibule. “You’ll be okay in here with Mr. Charles.” He pointed to the notebook on his desk. “Don’t forget to sign in.” Then he disappeared up the steps.
Quickly, the girls followed his instructions. Then Nancy looked at the object in Mr. Charles’s hand. “May I see that?” she asked.
Pressing his lips together in silent frustration, Mr. Charles dropped the ball into Nancy’s palm. It was a clip-on earring, round and encrusted with dark green gems. For its size, it was very heavy. “It looks old-fashioned,” Nancy said, rolling the earring around on her hand.
Then Nancy noticed something else. Caught in the clip on the back of the earring were several strands of gray hair. She couldn’t help wondering if the hair belonged to Evelyn Sobel. Perhaps while going through drawers of expensive jewelry in the vault the night before, she’d been tempted to try one on and—
Nancy’s thoughts were interrupted as Larry reentered the vault, a stepladder in one hand and a toolbox in the other. He flipped the box open, grabbed a screwdriver, then set up the ladder and climbed up to the video camera. Soon he had pried open the camera’s metal casing. Slipping out the cassette, he handed it to Mr. Charles.
“I’m going upstairs to play the tape,” Mr. Charles said. “Perhaps you girls should come upstairs too. It’s after nine—time for all of us to get to work.” He motioned with his head, and Nancy knew his words were just to protect their cover. He wanted them to see the tape.
Moments later the four sat perplexed before the president’s VCR. They had fast-forwarded the entire tape and seen nothing but static.
“Erased!” Mr. Charles exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the top of his desk. “How could they erase the tape and rob the vault at the same time?”
“They couldn’t,” Nancy said simply. “But maybe they replaced the tape with one of their own.” She turned the earring over and over absently in her hand. “As for robbery, maybe they’ve taken jewelry, maybe not. Until one of your box holders reports something missing, we won’t know.”
“But if there still isn’t anything gone, what are they looking for?” Bess asked, frustration flushing her cheeks.
Nancy shook her head. “I have no idea. If we could answer that question, it might help us figure out who’s involved. Mr. Charles, what do people store in their boxes?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” Mr. Charles said, “because I don’t know myself. We don’t have any idea what our box holders put in the vault. It’s the customer’s right to privacy.”
“You mean they can put anything they want in there?” Bess asked.
“Anything,” Mr. Charles said, nodding.
“Even things that are illegal?” Bess insisted, incredulous.
“They’re not supposed to,” Mr. Charles told the girls. “When they sign for their box, they agree not to use it for anything improper. Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing whether our customers stick to that agreement.”
Slowly, an idea was forming in Nancy’s mind. Bess had stumbled on a brilliant explanation. Maybe the thieves hadn’t stolen jewels because they’d be too easy to trace. The owner of the gems would call the police, and then it might quickly be all over for the crooks. But if the criminals took something illegal—something that wasn’t supposed to be in a box at all—then the theft would never get reported, there’d be no investigation, and they’d go scot-free!
“Mr. Charles,” Nancy said seriously, “do you have a complete list of all the box holders?”
“Of course,” Mr. Charles said. “We keep an updated list on our computer.”
“Could we take a look at it? It might give us some ideas about what’s being kept in the vault and what the thieves are after.”
Mr. Charles pressed his lips together. “That list is confidential,” he said, “and accessible by a secret code word that only I have.”
Nancy didn’t try to persuade him. She knew Mr. Charles would have to come to his own decision.
“It would be a breach of banking procedure,” Mr. Charles went on slowly. “But on the other hand, I’m the one who sets procedure, so I guess I can break it in this situation. I’ll bring up the list of customers and cross-reference it with payment schedules and vault visits. You can study the information and see if it’s helpful.”
“Maybe George can take care of that,” Nancy suggested, glancing at her friend.
“Sure,” George agreed. “I can come up and do it on my lunch break. Maurice already oriented me on the computer downstairs. Are all the bank’s computers the same?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Charles. “In fact, they share a central memory.”
“So whatever is entered into one is accessible from any other?” George asked.
“Exactly,” said Mr. Charles. “To get into the system, you need a password. Most bank employees know it. And there are certain classified files—like the vault safe-depositor list—that you need a second password to get into. I’ll set you up with everything you need at lunch.”
“Great,” George said. “Well, I guess we’d better get to work before people start wondering where we are.”
Mr. Charles opened his office door, and the girls filed into Ms. Kussack’s area. The secretary was spooning coffee grounds into the coffeemaker.
“Good morning,” she called as the girls stepped past, then went back to the coffeemaker.
As the three girls began their trek down the long hallway, Nancy thanked George for giving up her lunch hour to pore over the computer lists.
“Oh, don’t mention it. It’ll be fun.” George paused a moment. “I always wanted to be a computer geek,” she joked.
After all the activity of the day before, the morning was a bit of a letdown. Banking business as usual could be pretty boring, Nancy realized. So it was with a twinge of excitement that, just before noon, Nancy spotted a familiar slim figure entering the bank’s front door. Jill Adler shook her black hair, seemed determined as she headed for the tellers’ windows.
“Jill!” Nancy called, hurrying to her.
Jill Adler turned, recognized Nancy, and smiled. “Hi!”
“What are you doing here?” Nancy asked. “Are you going to ask for your job back?”
“No,” answered Jill. “But I have good news! Last night Maurice called me and said he’d changed his mind. He broke it off with his new girlfriend and wants to get back together with me.”
“So what are you going to do?” Nancy wanted to know.
“I’m not sure,” Jill said. “I still think he acted pretty badly, and I don’t really know if things can ever be the same between us. But I have to see him, that much I do know.”
Nancy pursed her lips. She found Maurice’s behavior suspicious.
“Besides,” Jill said, “I’m dying of curiosity. Maurice said he wants to give me something—something sparkly!” she continued happily. “We’re having lunch at Kathy’s Cafe. And Nancy, he said it’s not just a ring!”
Nancy sucked in her breath. She had to admit that she was curious too. Just where was a bank teller getting the money for all this jewelry?
“Oh, there’s Maurice now.” Jill pointed as the head teller stepped from behind the Plexiglas. “Wish me luck,” she murmured. With a quick wave, she ran to him. Just as quickly, Nancy ran to find Bess.
“I’ve got good news for you,” Nancy said, stepping up to her friend’s teller window.
“You won the lottery and you want to deposit a million dollars in our bank?” Bess teased.
“No.” Nancy laughed. “It’s time for lunch, and I’m treating you to a meal at Kathy’s Cafe.”
***
Nancy held the Kathy’s Cafe menu in front of her face for the second time in two days. But her gaze wasn’t on the lists of burgers and salads. Instead, her eyes wandered to the cozy couple sitting two tables away. She’d picked her spot carefully, just for the view. Maurice and Jill had pulled their chairs close to each other. Maurice had his arm around Jill, and she nestled against him.
In a moment the waiter came over and took Nancy and Bess’s order.
“If I were her, I wouldn’t trust him again so fast,” Bess commented, nodding toward Jill. “I mean, think about it. He dumps her yesterday morning, but he wants her back the same night? It doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Nancy said. “And I can’t explain it. But if Maurice gives her what I think he’s going to, we may have some evidence against them.”
The waiter returned with a burger for Bess, a steaming bowl of soup for Nancy, and two shakes. The girls were just digging in when Maurice unwrapped his arm from around Jill’s shoulders and reached into his jacket pocket.
“This is it, this is it!” Nancy whispered excitedly to Bess.
The two friends watched as he pulled out a long, thin black velvet box and, whispering in Jill’s ear, handed it to her. She flashed a twenty-four-carat smile as she flipped the lid. Even from two tables away it was hard to miss the glare of light reflecting off diamonds and emeralds.
“A bracelet!” Jill cried, sounding thrilled. “Maurice, you shouldn’t have done it!”
Maurice leaned back in his chair, looking one hundred percent confident. “Don’t worry,” he said smugly. “You ought to know by now, there’s plenty more where that came from.”
New Suspicions
Bess gasped and her eyes grew round. “Did you hear that?” she whispered. “He might just as well have said, 'Don’t worry, I stole the bracelet out of the vault!’ Maurice and Jill must be working together.”
“Not so fast, Bess,” Nancy cautioned. “I agree this looks like another piece of evidence, but it’s still not conclusive.”
“What more do you need?” Bess asked, exasperated. “Maurice knows half the vault code, and he’s got a lot of expensive jewelry he can’t afford. All we have to do now is prove he drives a white ’fifty-seven Skyliner, and we’ve got him nailed!” With an air of finality, Bess chomped down on her Kathyburger, which was topped with mushrooms and three kinds of cheese.
Nancy’s spoon stirred endless circles in her chicken noodle soup. “It’s not that I disagree with you, Bess,” she said quietly to her friend. “Some of the facts do point to Maurice. But we have no proof. And what’s more, he might be involved, yet that doesn’t necessarily mean Jill’s working with him. She’s so nice—and vulnerable. She just doesn’t strike me as the criminal type.”
“Well, what about Evelyn Sobel?” Bess suggested. “There’s a lot of evidence pointing to her—her strange behavior, her visits to the vault, and the fact that she knows the combination. Put her and Maurice together, and that vault just pops open!” Pleased with herself, Bess took a long sip of chocolate milk shake through a plastic straw.
“It does add up,” Nancy agreed, staring at her spoon as it swirled through the noodles.
“Not to mention the leather glove,” Bess added.
Nancy looked up, staring intently at her friend. “That’s where the Sobel theory falls flat,” she said firmly.
“What do you mean?” asked Bess. “The glove is the most obvious link to Ms. Sobel.”
“That’s the problem,” said Nancy. “It’s too obvious. Think about it. If Ms. Sobel was the one who broke into Mr. Charles’s safe, she might have worn gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. But why would she take one off? She’d never do that until she was safely outside his office.”
Bess punched at her chocolate shake with her straw. “I never thought of that,” she admitted.
“Which means it’s more likely that someone else left the glove there,” Nancy concluded.
“You mean someone’s setting Ms. Sobel up?” asked Bess.
“It’s possible,” Nancy said, finally digging into her soup. “In which case, Maurice would have to be working with someone else. Maybe with Larry Jaye. Larry knows the vault combination, and Maurice knows the alarm code. Together the two of them could get into the vault.”
Bess looked up from her food, surprised. “How could it be Larry?” she asked. “You know he didn’t throw the tear gas yesterday, because he was with you when it happened. Besides, he seems pretty nice too.”
“Maurice might have thrown it,” Nancy said. “Larry could have just played along.”
“Well, what about the break-in to Mr. Charles’s safe?” Bess asked. “You said Larry was with you when that happened too.”
“He looks innocent so far,” Nancy agreed. “I’m just saying we can’t rule him out.”
Nancy and Bess had almost finished their meal when Maurice and Jill rose from their table, arm in arm. It looked as though the two would reconcile. Nancy wasn’t sure whether to be happy or not. As they approached, Nancy noticed the diamond and emerald bracelet sparkling on Jill’s wrist. She smiled, expecting Jill to stop and show off her gift, but Jill walked right past. Puzzled, Nancy stared after the couple as they stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Nice and vulnerable, huh?” Bess said. “First she acts like your friend, then she ignores you. She doesn’t seem too nice to me.”
Nancy shrugged and pulled her wallet out of her purse. “At this point, we can’t rule anyone out.” She left some money on the table. “We’d better get back. I wonder if George has found anything useful in the computer.”
A few minutes later the girls were back at the Bentley Bank, peering over George’s shoulder at a computer printout that she had laid across Alan Charles’s desk. Mr. Charles had pulled up an armchair across from her.
“You won’t believe who some of these safe-deposit box holders are,” George commented, pointing to a few names on her sheet. “I’m going nuts wondering what’s in all of them!” George read a name off her list. “Annette Williams,” she explained, “is an elderly widow who is said to keep a safe-deposit box to store her dog’s biscuits.”
“That was in the computer?” Nancy asked.
“Not exactly,” said George. “But there were two names listed for her box, and the second one was Snooky. I asked Mr. Charles, and he said everyone at the bank has heard about her and her dog.”
“Of course, it’s just rumor,” Mr. Charles added.
Nancy laughed. “What else did you find?”
“Well, there’s this really rich man, Robert Springett, who’s got twenty boxes all to himself. But he’s not the big news. In fact, I think I may have discovered the clue we’re looking for.”
“Don’t torture us,” said Bess. “Out with it.”
“It’s about this guy, Bob Davis,” George said. “He’s been renting a safe-deposit box for years, but he never visits it.”
“Maybe he’s forgotten he has it,” Bess suggested.
“That’s not possible,” George replied, shaking her head. “You have to pay for the box every year, and Davis has never missed a payment. But it gets more interesting,” George continued. “Davis moved away from Bentley over twenty years ago.”
“That’s odd,” Nancy murmured. “Why would he keep a box here if he lives elsewhere?”
“The really important fact is where Mr. Davis moved to,” George announced. “You see, Bob Davis moved away because he had to do a little time in the Illinois Federal Penitentiary!”
“Jail?” Nancy exclaimed, her blue eyes lighting up. “I wonder what type of crime he committed. Maybe it’s linked to why he’d need a safe-deposit box all these years. If he’s been in jail for over twenty years, he must have done something serious. The police would have a record of it.”
Mr. Charles thought for a moment. “The Bentley Times just ran an article about the local police station’s new computer,” he said. “Apparently, it’s tied in to police stations all over the country. I’m sure you could find out more about Davis there.”
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get over there,” Nancy said.
Mr. Charles gave them easy directions to the police station. “Just do me one favor,” he said. “While you’re there, don’t mention why you’re looking for this information. I’d still like to keep this business quiet as long as possible.”
“You got it,” said Nancy.
“There’s just one problem,” Bess piped up.
“What’s that?” asked Nancy.
“Lunchtime’s over,” she pointed out. “How can we leave the bank?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Mr. Charles assured them. “I’ll tell Maurice that you’re on an errand for me.”
“Thanks,” said Nancy. “We’ll be back before closing time.”
***
A short walk through Bentley’s sun-splashed streets brought Nancy, Bess, and George to a two-story cement building. If the rest of Bentley was picturesque, the police station stood out as an eyesore. Even inside, the beige linoleum was worn and the whole place needed a new coat of paint.
At the far end of the room a gray metal desk stood on a low platform. Behind the desk sat a young police officer with short, tightly curled hair and a mustache. A placard sitting on the front of the desk said Sergeant Steven Ramirez.
“Excuse me,” said Nancy.
The desk sergeant looked up from his paperwork. “What can I do for you ladies?” he asked.
Nancy had already thought up a cover story. “We’re doing a school project on criminals of the twentieth century,” she told the sergeant, “and our teacher said you might have information on arrest records.”
Sergeant Ramirez’s eyes lit up. “You must have heard about our new computer. We’re hooked up to police stations all over the country. We’ve got records on almost every criminal convicted in this country in the past thirty years.”
“That’s exactly what we’re looking for,” Nancy said.
“Come around behind the desk,” said Sergeant Ramirez, breaking into a grin.
Behind the desk an impressive display had been set up. The technology, Nancy realized, was the very latest. An up-to-the-second black computer monitor rested on a black console. In front of it was a black rod the size of a pencil.
“Where’s the keyboard?” George asked.
“Aha!” exclaimed Sergeant Ramirez, pointing one finger up in the air. “Let’s find out.”
He flipped a switch on the side of the console, and the monitor lit up with a menu of programs. Touching the rod directly to the screen, Ramirez highlighted each item on the menu.
“Oh, I get it,” said George. “You don’t even need to type. Very advanced.”
The sergeant nodded. “Now,” he said, “what would you like to know?”
“Well,” Nancy began, “we’re especially interested in one criminal in particular. His name is Bob Davis.”
“Common name,” said Ramirez. “Can you tell me anything else about him?”
“He used to live in Bentley,” said Nancy. “Now he’s in the Illinois Federal Penitentiary.”
“That should be enough,” Ramirez told her. Touching the rod to the monitor, he called up a second menu, then a third, then a fourth. Finally, the screen came up with text. A mug-shot photograph was perfectly highlighted in the right corner. “His record,” Ramirez announced proudly.
Nancy leaned forward eagerly and peered at the screen. At the top, the file said that David Baker was also known as Bob Davis, David Roberts, and Danny Bob Robins. “Are these his aliases?” Nancy asked.
Ramirez glanced at the screen. “Yes. David Baker’s his real name.”
Baker’s list of convictions was long, covering over thirty years of crime. Nancy’s eyes ran down the text. Cat burglary, car theft, counterfeiting. But it was only when she got to the final charge that she realized she’d hit pay dirt. Twenty-three years ago, David Baker had been convicted of armed bank robbery!