Page 103 of Fatal Pattern

“Bad news is it’s super common,” Jett continued. “Good news is it’s a specific model from First National’s old security system. I eliminated several banks right off the bat, but it didn’t narrow things down much.”

“Damien would’ve used a bank nearby,” Blade said. “Somewhere he had regular access.”

“Exactly. That’s why we shifted gears and did things the old-fashioned way.” Jett grinned and pointed toward the code streaming across his monitors. “With a twist.”

Harlee swiveled back to face them. “We built an AI agent.”

“With Corbin’s permission,” Jett added, “we cloned his voice.”

Blade’s eyebrows shot up. “You did what?”

“My AI agent is calling every bank in Florida. Corbin’s cloned voice tells them he’s a Special Agent with FDLE, his father passed away, and he’s got this key with a number but doesn’t know where it goes.”

“Don’t worry,” Harlee said. “We programmed in a sad son voice.”

Jett took over the explanation, his hands moving as fast as his words. “Once we eliminate the box by name, AI Corbin says his dad was a criminal and there’s a possibility he used a different name.” He tapped the paper in Blade’s hand. “These are the banks that refused to give any information.”

Harlee held up another sheet. “But these are the ones that gave us the name of whoever owned that box number.”

Blade looked at the second list. Longer than he’d expected. “How does that help us?”

“Because we ran those names against a database of known aliases for Damien Sullivan,” Jett said. He pulled a folded sheet from his shirt pocket and handed it to Blade. “Only one hit.”

He unfolded the paper. A single name stared back at him, written in Jett’s careful handwriting. His heart hammered against his ribs.

He grabbed Jett by the face and kissed the top of his head. “I love your brilliant brain.”

He turned toward Harlee, arms spread wide.

“Touch me and die, Tiger,” she warned, but she couldn’t hide her grin.

Blade laughed and handed the paper to Tori. She scanned the bank name and address, her eyebrows lifting.

“Half hour drive,” she said. “Not bad.”

He pulled out his phone and dialed Garrison’s number, hitting speaker as it rang.

“ADA Garrison.”

“Rene, it’s Blade. I’ve got you on speaker. I need a warrant for a safe deposit box. We’ve got probable cause based on a known alias for Damien Sullivan and the identity of the box holder. The deceased’s son, Corbin King, will consent to the search.” He glanced at Jett to make sure.

Jett gave him a thumbs-up and rolled his chair closer to the phone.

“The alias complicates the identity issue,” Garrison said. “The court will likely want bank records or lease documents as supporting proof that Sullivan actually used this identity.”

Harlee spun in her chair and shot both thumbs up.

“We have supporting documentation,” he said.

“Good. Send it over. Give me half an hour and I’ll see if I can get it signed.”

The line went dead. Blade pocketed the phone and checked his watch. Three forty-seven. The afternoon was burning away, but they finally had a solid lead.

Tori stretched in her chair. “Think Damien actually hid his blackmail book in the box?”

“Only one way to find out. And the bank will be closing soon.” He stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “Either way, we’re about to get answers.”

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