Craig’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“At nine-fourteen a.m., a man called the Spokane Valley Credit Union’s voice line and asked to transfer two hundred twelve thousand dollars from the account of Lenora Pratt. He played a recording.” Hank’s voice stayed level. “Two weeks ago, Lenora walked into that branch and put a flag on her file. If the phrase ‘peach cobbler’ is heard anywhere in a voice authorization, the account locks, and the fr*ud unit is alerted. The recording you played contained it twice.”
The color left Craig’s face.
“The lock engaged at nine-fifteen. They told you ‘processing, allow forty-eight hours,’ because that’s what they’re trained to say. Their fr*ud officer called me at nine-forty, because Lenora listed me as her emergency contact. And at ten-oh-five, she and I gave a statement to Detective Iverson of the Spokane Police.”
“That’s — that’s not —”
