Final Option

we agreed to agree that our little meeting never happened at all....”
     
    Martindale lived inland, if there is such a thing on an island that is less than three miles across, in the parish of Somerset. He had a large, traditional house of pink stucco. Its roof was white and sloped, like all those on the island, to gently direct rainwater into the cistern. It sat at the end of a lane that dripped with bouganvilleas. A short distance away I could see a cemetery, eerie in the moonlight with its concrete crypts, whitewashed and in rows aboveground. The night air was filled with the rhythmic chirping of tree frogs.
    The banker was waiting for me on the porch, genial and apologetic for the hour. He was dressed in linen trousers and an open-necked shirt. I followed him inside and allowed myself to be introduced to his wife, Polly, who was overseeing the washing of the dinner dishes by two teenage girls. I accepted Martindale’s offer of a whiskey and soda which he mixed, British style, with soda from a siphon and no ice. He led me to a terrace overlooking a deep and narrow garden. He pulled up two wrought iron chairs, and we got down to business.
    “Despite the rather overheated notion in the press that we overseas banks are havens for drug money and od knows what else, we are actually very sensitive to any hint of wrongdoing,” began Martindale confidingly. “We can’t be responsible for the actions of our clients—no bank can. You said when we spoke this afternoon that Mr. Hexter was the subject of a government investigation. Does this involve the accounts he maintained in our bank?”
    “Yes, but only in a tangential way. I believe that Mr. Hexter maintained these accounts for purely personal reasons. His children, who have inherited his business, would like to normalize the firm’s operations. Until they discover the identity of the co-signator, they can do nothing. Certainly if the accounts were maintained jointly it must be assumed that Bart Hexter meant to share the assets in them with the co-signator. Yet I would be hard pressed to believe that he’d approve of the co-signator’s emptying of those accounts without the knowledge of his heirs.”
    “It isn’t the bank’s responsibility to second-guess our customer’s intentions,” pointed out my host.
    “It is a great deal of money.”
    “Yes, it certainly is a great deal of money,” drawled the banker.
    “You said on the phone that you might be willing to assist me,” I prodded. “Off the record.”
    “Oh yes. Definitely off the record. If ever you should acknowledge this conversation to anyone I would deny it absolutely. Under oath if necessary, and with a completely clear conscience.”
    “I understand.”
    “I’m afraid that I will not be able to give you that which you desire most.”
    “You mean the second name on the account,” I said, deflated.
    “Such a revelation would indeed constitute a gross breach of trust—one that might be traced back to the bank and leave us open to prosecution and certainly to the loss of many accounts.”
    I didn’t waste my breath telling him that I thought it unlikely. Bankers were all the same. They acted like whores and were as careful of their reputations as virgins. There was no changing them.
    “So what can you tell me?” I asked.
    “I have decided to give you information about the accounts themselves, in the hopes that it may help you uncover the identity of the co-signator. I have copies of all of the account statements, which I will give you, unattributably, of course.”
    He went back into the house and came out with a sheaf of copies.
    “The three accounts were opened on May 4, 1988. I had just joined the bank, and by chance I was the officer who opened the account for them. I must confess that, even by Bermudian standards, their requests for privacy were extreme.”
    “Of the two of them, who did the talking?” I asked.
    “Mr. Hexter.”
    “Is the co-signator a man?”
    “That would be a safe assumption,” replied Martin-dale. “But that is all I will say about him. The accounts were to be numbered, and all correspondence from the bank was to be sent through an international courier company. Deposits were either made in check form through the courier or by wire transfer. Transactions could be affected by phone, provided the caller identified himself as either Mr. Silver or Mr. Bean and a nine-digit code number was provided to the bank.”
    “A nine-digit number? No