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| Scene Title | What's In The Box? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Elisabeth opens up Edward Ray's safety deposit box. No answers there - just more questions. |
| Date | July 31, 2009 |
The First National Bank of Long Island - Glen Head, NY - was clearly designed with the idea of blending in with the local housing. The square building's white walls and green-painted shutters and flower boxes hearken to a homey sort of Americana that isn't found in the city proper these days. The afternoon traffic is light, only a few cars in the parking lot, and chances are most of those are just the workers at the bank.
It makes Elisabeth more than a little leery that Edward Ray knew enough about her — foresaw enough of the probabilities of the situation - to leave a safety deposit box with her name attached. But she brings her driver's license and her badge, both of them ought to be acceptable forms of identification… though she hasn't got a KEY for the box, she figures she can get around that by the whole 'inherited the box when he died' story. She called ahead to let the bank manager know she needed a meeting. She steps into the bank and glances around, heading for the desk off to the side where in any bank there's usually someone sitting to deal with walk-ins. "Hello," she greets to the woman quietly. "Could you let the manager know that Detective Harrison is here? He's expecting me."
"Of course, Detective," the woman at the desk replies after a surprised blink from behind thick, turtleshell glasses; no doubt, in this part of New York, police coming in using their proper titles isn't the most common of events. A phone's picked up, and she depresses a number. "Mister DeCuir? Yes, a Detective Harrison is here to see you? Yes, thank you."
She looks up, flashing a businesslike smile, "He'll be right out, Detective. Please, have a seat."
Elisabeth returns the smile and nods. "Thank you." And she proceeds to sit politely and wait for the bank manager. After all, what she's doing is personal business — her professional credentials, she hopes will merely allay the man's suspicion about her lack of a key. And she's goign to feel mighty stupid if the key is secreted at Coney Island or something.
Just a minute or two later, the manager emerges; a nice grey suit, glasses, a thick mustache and a receding hairline combine with his warm smile to put forth a fairly harmless image of a man. "Detective," he greets affably, stepping over to offer his hand, "Good to see you, I hope you're having a fine day, a fine day indeed."
Standing up to take the proffered hand, Elisabeth smiles easily. "Mr. DeCuir, it's a pleasure. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice," she says quietly. "I'm afraid the situation I'm finding myself in is rather odd."
The hand's pumped enthusiastically, and Mister DeCuir's other sweeps in the direction of one of the side offices. "Please, my office," he offers, drawing his hand back and leading the detective in that direction, circling about the desk and easing down into his chair, "Now, what can I help you with, Detective?"
As she follows him into the office, Elisabeth doesn't seem at all ill at ease. "I have a safety deposit box with you that I'm ashamed to say I have no idea where the key is. I'm sure the bank has procedures for what to do when a key can't be located. So I need to find out what I need to do besides bring you my identification documents to be able to retrieve the box," she says to the man.
"It is," admits the manager in rather rueful tones, "An unfortunately frequent occurance… but, really all we need to do is confirm your identity, Detective, and I'm sure that won't be a problem. We have master keys, of course, but it'll take a few weeks to have a new one for you made."
Elisabeth grins at him. "Oh good. I felt a little ridiculous having to come in here and tell you that. I mean… who loses a key to a safe deposit box?? Apparently everyone," she laughs. "That's fine — if your master key can get me in today, waiting for the new key is not that big a problem." She brings out her driver's license, which has her address and everything else, as well as her badge. "Will these work for identification?"
DeCuir chuckles heartily, admitting, "If it wasn't for my wife, some days I think I'd lose my head, I assure you." He reaches over for the license and badge, glancing over them briefly before leaning down to open a drawer, pulling out— paperwork. There's always paperwork. "Certainly. I just need you to fill these out, and we'll get the box open for you."
Well, it thus far doesn't seem too terribly difficult. Elisabeth works on filling out the paperwork for the man, truly curious about what the hell's in that vault.
Fortunately, her job's ensured that she's more than used to paperwork. It takes a bit, and during the last few pages the manager excuses himself to go find the keys, but eventually all's in order. "Very well, Detective," the manager offers affably, "Let's go, then."
Elisabeth follows along in his wake, her blue eyes skimming the bank absently as they go along. She's quiet, just doing her banking business. A safety deposity box with an unknown something or another in it. Lord… what is she getting into.
The key's given to her, with the caution that it'll need to be given back before she leaves. Then she's let into the safety deposit room, and the manager leaves her alone, heading back to the office no doubt. Rows of tiny metal doors, only one of which has the number listed.
Only when the box is opened and taken into the small room where she's alone does Elisabeth draw in a breath. For a long moment, she looks at the box warily, as if she expects a snake to pop out or something. And then finally, glancing over her shoulder, she opens the thing while mentally berating herself for being stupid.
The first thing, or at least the top thing, in the box is a gun. A nine-millimeter pistol, loaded if she checks, the safety off. Beside it sits a keyring with six keys, atop a single piece of paper, a computer printout of some kind.
There's a frown at the sight of the weapon, and Elisabeth reaches into her pocket for a latex glove — she's taken to keeping one in her pocket this week, given the serial killer case. Slipping her hand into it, she picks up the gun. Not that she's ever likely to turn it in, but she doesn't want HER prints on it if it's at all possible at this moment. She does check whether it's loaded, leaving the clip sitting on the table. She sets it aside and pulls the printout from beneath the keys.
The gun's definately loaded. The printout has a familiar logo - Mapquest. It details a route from Cambridge, MA to Manhattan by land. The date's listed as December 18th, 2008, 7:16am.
Flipping the paper in her hand over to check the back, Elisabeth studies the page closely for a few long moments before turning her attention to the key ring to check and see if anything useful is there.
There isn't, unfortunately, anything particularly distinguishable about the keys. They could go to anything.
Blowing out a long breath, Elisabeth considers the options here. In the end, she puts the pistol's clip into her slacks pocket along with the keys, shoves the pistol itself into the back of her pants next to the holster that's already there making sure that her top covers it, and takes the paper in her hand. She returns the box to its slot, locks it up, and returns the keys to the front desk. "Thank you very much," she tells the woman there. "Have a good day."
The keys are taken with a smile, though the secretary gives her a very curious look on her way out. "Have a good day, Detective Harrison," she calls after her, "Drive safe, now!"
As she gets outside to her car, Elisabeth sits there pondering what the hell she's got in her hands. Looks like the weekend might require a trip to Massachusetts, perhaps. She fires off a quick text message. Rtrvd contents of box - in my name. Call me after work, will fill you in. And then she locks the extra gun and its clip into the glove box along with the map and heads back to the precinct. Serial killer cases don't solve themselves.