He didn?t say anything. He sat there like a man with his head in the guillotine, waiting for the blade to
drop.
“I repeat,” Seaborn said, putting a little strength back in his voice. “I knew the man as Turner. He was
just another businessman. We were actively soliciting new business and capital into the community,
that?s no secret And he made us a very attractive offer.”
“No strings attached, right?”
He paused for a minute and said, “Right.”
“Who proposed the banking arrangements?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“This is what I know, Mr. Seaborn. I know that Tagliani did his banking with you. I know that Lu
Cohen was the bagman for the operation and made all the cash deposits directly to you. I also know
that a lot of that cash came from pimping, gambling, and narcotics, and that classifies it as ill-gotten
gains, which is dirty money, and that means we can confiscate it, and any other money made through
the use of it, by anybody connected to them.”
“I don?t know where his money came from,” Seaborn said.
“Cohen made enormous cash deposits to you almost every day. You didn?t find that odd?”
“It?s not my business to question my customers,” he said.
“It?s your business to report all deposits over ten thousand dollars to the IRS, isn?t it?”
That stumped him. He looked out the window again. I followed his gaze. I could see Stick down on
the pier, talking to Whippet.
“I assure you,” he said, after a long pause, “that there was nothing illegal in his banking transactions.
It would be a violation of confidence to discuss it any further.”
“At least three of the accounts are Panamanian mirror accounts,” I said.
“Still none of my business and perfectly legal,” he said, too quickly.
He was feeling stronger and putting up a pretty good fight. I had only two cards left to play.
“What about the Rio Company?” I said.
“What about it?” he said. “It?s one of their corporations. They have dozens. I really don?t know for
what purpose. I was not Cohen?s confidant, I was simply his banker.”
He seemed sincere enough. So I played my last ace.
“How about the pyramid accounts?” I asked.
This time he jumped as if a flea had bitten his ass.
“I told you, I don?t know anything about their business,” he said, almost in a whisper.
I reached into my pocket and took out the tape recorder, punched the play button, and sat it on the
