by Al Boudreau
“What is it?” she asked.
I pointed toward the screen just as Ronald McEntee, CFO of Stratashield, was shown being perp-walked out of the fancy foyer on Causeway Street.
“The reporter just said McEntee had confessed to his involvement in the embezzlement and murder case.”
“Oh my goodness. Call Tommy O’Hearn and see if he has any scoop,” Sarah blurted out, nearly vibrating with anticipation.
I placed the call.
“CP, I figured I’d be hearing from you,” O’Hey said. “Seems our little friend McEntee was intimately involved with our girl Peg Franklin. McEntee claims Franklin’s husband, Dominic Caldwell, had no idea Franklin and McEntee were stealing money and having their underlings snuffed until it was too late. Looks like that poor schmuck Caldwell tried to reconcile with his wife and throw the FBI off course so she wouldn’t get found out. Explains why he had you and Miss Sarah all jammed up. You two must have been giving him quite a headache, messing with his cover-up. Too bad Samuel Stanton went and took out the wrong guy.”
“I appreciate the news, Tommy. I … I’ve got to let you go,” I said as I turned the TV off and sat down.
“How could we have known?” Sarah asked.
“We couldn’t. Which is why confessions are so mind-blowing at times.”
“What about Stoney’s text? Does it support what we just found out?”
I read the body of the text out loud: “Thought you’d ask about the money trail, with offshore piggybanks cloaked in proxies and such. My old man just took early retirement from a certain financial crimes unit. Got sick and tired of tracking the same crooked insiders for years, serving up evidence, and seeing them get off scot-free. He works for me now. You’re welcome.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yep. The universe works in mysterious ways. And I’ve always been a true believer that in the end justice is served.”
“I hear you, but I can’t help but feel that Caldwell was in an impossible spot. He knew his wife was guilty, but still sacrificed everything to try to protect her.” Sarah replied. She let go a sigh and added, “Speaking of being served, here you go.”
I looked down at the wonderful home-cooked meal before me, then over at Sarah. It would take some time to process the way this whole ordeal had turned out, but I was thankful we were safe. It was good to be home.
The End
Case of Forsaken Identity
Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 2
by
Al Boudreau
Copyright 2016
Query Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved
Case of Forsaken Identity is a work of fiction.
Names, places, and events are either products of the author’s
imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 1
I’d made just one promise to Ellis Odell during our initial phone conversation: to hear him out face-to-face. Now, after spending the past hour and a half listening to the jittery Gen-Xer’s story—while staring at the three unique circular symbols tattooed on his forearm—I discovered why he’d insisted on meeting in person.
He introduced me to the strangest, most disturbing technological development to come along over my entire career as a private eye. Strange, because I hadn’t heard so much as a whisper about anyone successfully developing an implantable GPS tracking device for human beings before now. And disturbing, because if it functioned as well as Odell claimed, the individual who’d perfected the hardware was a genius.
And, according to Odell, a ruthless criminal.
I hoped he was getting ready to wrap up his crazy story as he returned from his trip to the men’s room. I was spent at this point.
“Sorry I took so long,” Odell said. “As I was saying, they sink a tracking disc into the forearm of one child from every member’s family. It’s part of the deal. If you’re stupid enough to break protocol they grab your kid. I fooled myself into thinking I could outsmart them.” He paused and looked up at the black sky. “That’s all of it. You just heard the entire nightmare that happens to be my reality.” He slugged the remainder of his cocktail. “Mr. Peterson, when I asked Richard if he’d be willing to help me, he said he’d come out of retirement for this one case if you agreed to take the lead. This investigation requires discretion. He assures me you’re one of the best investigators out there. And I trust him. I screwed up big-time. Amber, my daughter … she’s only thirteen. I’ll pay whatever you ask. Name it. Please … just help me get my little girl back.”
I was skeptical about both Odell and his story. I made a mental note to do some follow-up research on him and the tracking technology, despite the fact my colleague Richard Kimball said he’d already done so.
“What are the tattoos for?” I asked.
“Tukor forces every member of his organization to get them. Says it’s our calling card.” Odell began to fidget on the stool, fingers drumming the surface of the bar. “Please, Mr. Peterson. Tell me you’ll take my case.”
I looked out at the waves pounding the breakwater barely fifty feet from our vantage point at the poolside tiki bar. Odell had paid for everything right up front: my round-trip travel from Bridgeport, New Hampshire to the island of Oahu, Hawaii, my stay at West Oahu’s exclusive Ko Ahiku Resort, and my expenses while on the island. Even the sickly-sweet resort drink he’d taken the liberty of choosing for me. I’d intentionally dumped most of it on the ground when he went to the john. What was left looked watered-down enough that I could at least stomach it. I took a sip to be polite, wishing it were a beer instead.
“Kaholo, another Hawaiian Hurricane for Mr. Peterson, please,” Odell said.
I waved off the bartender with the strange haircut. “No, I’m fine with just the one drink, thank you.” He had a young face, which somehow worked with the strange haircut—best described as an odd peak running up the center of his head where the part would normally be. Almost like the crest of a dark grey wave.
“Mr. Odell, I can appreciate the predicament you’re in, but the fact you don’t want to involve the police concerns me. And it complicates the matter. I know time is a factor, but I can’t give you an answer before I discuss the details of your case with my partner, Sarah. Unfortunately, it’s 2 a.m. where she is right now. Give me until lunchtime tomorrow. I promise I’ll let you know by then.”
“I understand. Guess I’m okay with the wait. Could we make it 11:30 a.m. at The Surf Rider? It’s at the top of Ko Ahiku Tower 1. 10th floor.”
“Fine,” I replied, unable to muster much more conversation. The five-hour time difference between the East coast and Oahu was tough enough. Coupled with the twelve-plus hours I’d just spent in the air, 9 p.m. local time was about to become bedtime. “I hope you won’t be offended if I excuse myself and turn in for the evening. It’s been a long day.”
Odell nodded and slid a keycard, rental car packet, and map over to me. “Not offended. Enjoy your room, get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
I tossed a few bucks on the bar, then followed the arrows on the map Odell provided. He’d picked me up at Honolulu International Airport and handed my bags off to the concierge upon arrival at Ko Ahik
u, so I hadn’t even seen my room yet.
The map led me down a lush landscaped path toward my ground-level suite, the fragrance of exotic flowers filling the air as I walked. I’d never experienced such lavish surroundings in all my life.
It made me uncomfortable.
I entered Ko Ahiku Tower 1, followed the hallway to the end, and unlocked the door to my accommodations. An ample living room faced the ocean, the moonlit view more commanding than the one I’d taken in from the bar. I pushed the suite’s sliding window-wall into its cavity which opened up the interior to a tiled lanai, its seating arrangement designed to take in the sights and sounds of the Pacific Ocean.
Lowering my tired bones into an overstuffed reclining lounge chair, I tried to block Odell’s jarring story from my mind. The echo of his words proved more powerful than the massive waves coming from thousands of miles away to crash against the shore.
Odell made me wary, yet I wanted to help him. Even though he was a criminal. The difference between this guy and most others whose vocation involved breaking the law could be summed up in three words: he wanted out. He hoped to change his life for the better, and had somehow managed to convince me it would be for keeps.
Odell’s physical appearance could be best described as ordinary—aside from the three circular symbols arranged in a triangular pattern on his skin. At 5 foot 9, sporting a fit build, dark brown hair, and average looks, he could walk into a crowd and blend in enough to virtually disappear. Which worked to one’s advantage when pursuing a life of crime.
Two issues caused my heartburn to flare.
First off, my gut told me there were details about this case Odell hadn’t shared yet, which forced me to make certain assumptions. Reading between the lines was not how I usually went about weighing the merits of a potential investigation.
My other problem involved convincing my significant other. Sarah Woods had started out as an unlikely protégé of mine and ended up becoming my partner, both professionally and in life. However, a recent gunshot wound she’d sustained, coupled with being kidnapped, had changed the game for both of us. Her role had become more office-oriented than it had been prior to the trauma. The downside: her absence from the field made her less apt to support cases in which there was a high likelihood I’d be put in harm’s way.
However, our relationship was based on trust and honesty. I needed to tell her what I knew, which way my gut was steering me, and how lucrative I thought the case might be.
I missed Sarah tonight. Not just because I’d grown so fond of her over the past several years, but also because of her uncanny ability to intuit whether or not we should take a case. I’d made it a habit to include her in interviews with potential clients. Her nose for baloney had caused me to steer clear of several cases in the past I’d have otherwise taken, and probably regretted.
This time I was forced to analyze and interpret what I’d seen and heard on my own. I knew Sarah wanted me to stay safe, but she also wanted us to succeed and thrive. If experience was a reliable indicator, a job like the one Ellis Odell hit me with tonight could end up being a lucrative case.
Chapter 2
“We’ve been on the phone less than two minutes, yet I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’ve already decided to take this case,” Sarah said as she sat in our home office over six thousand miles away.
“C’mon, that’s not fair. We’ve always made these decisions together. This time is no different. If you tell me we should walk away from this case, I’ll drop it.”
“I need more details. What are we looking at?”
I decided the first detail I’d share with Sarah was that our potential client was a criminal. “You’re not going to like this part, but Ellis Odell is a drug dealer who wants out.”
“Carter. We said we’d automatically turn away clients whose work involved breaking the law, remember?”
“Of course I remember. But Odell’s trying to clean up his act. That’s why they took his daughter in the first place. And why I think he deserves our help.”
“Haven’t the police made headway with the case?” Sarah asked.
“Odell refuses to get them involved. Claims the kidnappers will know, and harm the girl.”
“I don’t like it. It’s risky, and your safety is way more important than money.”
“I’ll have backup,” I replied. “Richard was a competent PI back in the day, and we work well together. If we decide to pull the trigger on this job, I promise to be extra careful.”
I heard Sarah sigh in frustration. “Do me a favor. Please don’t use the phrase pull the trigger. It reminds me of the day I got shot.”
“Sorry. Consider it banished from my repertoire.”
Sarah laughed. “Using fancy words doesn’t get you off the hook, mister. Getting back to Odell. What kind of drugs was he pushing?”
“That matters?” I asked.
“Of course it matters. Drugs ruin lives. Drugs destroy families. I mean, pot is one thing, but heroin? That stuff kills.”
I paused to consider her viewpoint. “He told me he dealt in prescription drugs. And sometimes marijuana. Said he wasn’t into the heavy stuff.”
“How old is his daughter? Does he know who took her?”
“Amber is thirteen years old. And yeah, we have a pretty good idea who her kidnappers are.”
“Aw, she’s just a kid, Carter.” Sarah went quiet for a beat. “What do we know about these kidnapper creeps?”
“Odell told me straight-up that all the people he’s involved with are criminals of some kind.”
Sarah let go a sigh. “So what’s the plan, you and Richard busting down the kidnapper’s door, guns blazing? These people sound dangerous, Carter. Seriously.”
“We’ll come up with a solid course of action once Richard arrives. What’s wrong, Sarah? Please don’t get angry, but you’re sounding way more cynical than usual. Something else bothering you?”
“I’m just grouchy, that’s all. I’ve only been awake for an hour. My coffee hasn’t kicked in yet, my shoulder is throbbing, and I’m feeling antsy. I want to be out there with you in the thick of things, not sitting in an office doing background checks and research.”
“You said you were okay with taking a less active role for a while.”
“I know,” Sarah said, “but I’m not liking the decision.”
“Let’s revisit this conversation once you’ve healed. Right now you need to take it easy or you’ll do more damage. Your doctor’s words, not mine. In the meantime, I need to make us some money.”
There was a long silence at the other end of the line before Sarah said, “I want you to consider hiring Andrew to work this case with you and Richard.”
“Andrew who? Whoa, you mean your brother Andrew?”
“Yes, my brother Andrew.”
“No offense, but he was an accountant.”
“I’m well aware what he did for a living. He’s young, fit, and able-bodied. Andrew stopped by for a heart-to-heart talk last night. He needs a job and wants to pursue a career doing what we do. Said he’s willing to get an education in criminal justice. If this case is as lucrative as it sounds, we can afford to have an extra person working it, right?”
“So that means you’re okay with me taking on the case?”
Sarah hesitated. “Yes. Go ahead. Take the case.”
“Okay. I’ll call Andrew as soon as I get off the phone with you.”
“Thanks, handsome. I think it’ll be a good situation for him, and for us. He’ll get some hands-on experience and you’ll have an extra man available to do the grunt work while you focus on solving the case.” After a short pause Sarah added, “I can’t be there, but he can. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”
“I do. Let’s make it happen.”
“I’ll head over and help him pack. And maybe offer up some of the finer points of working with you.”
“That ought to be an interesting conversation” I said. “Anyways, I guess I should give O
dell a call. Maybe postpone our meeting until I figure out how to tell him his investigative team just got bigger, and more expensive.” I was stalling, trying to find the least disturbing words possible to tell Sarah these guys had buried a tracking device under a thirteen-year-old girl’s skin.
“Okay,” Sarah said. “I’ll call you when I have Andrew’s flight information.”
“Good. Oh, uh … one other thing.” I took a deep breath.
“What is it?” Sarah asked.
“I … I miss you.”
“Aww. Miss you, too. Be safe. Bye.”
“Bye.” I hung my head as I cleared the screen on my phone, not real comfortable with the fact I’d failed to get all the details out before our conversation ended. It was a mistake I needed to fix. Soon.
I checked the time: 11:25 a.m. I needed to touch base with Odell now. I was running late for our meeting. I’d agreed to meet Odell at 11:30. But waiting for Richard to get here and including him in our meeting would be time better spent. I began scrolling for Odell’s phone number, only to set the phone down halfway through the list. How was I going to broach the subject of hiring an additional person to help locate his daughter? Should I angle for more money? How would he react? Then I remembered what he’d said at the bar last night: I’ll pay whatever you ask. Name it. Please, just help me get my little girl back.
I finished dialing.
“Mr. Peterson, good morning. I just got seated at our table. Are you on your way up?”
“Uh, that’s why I’m calling. I apologize, but I’m going to ask that we reschedule. Mr. Odell, we’ve decided to take your case, but I’ll need to hire a third person.”
“Do it,” Odell said without any hesitation. “I asked you to find my daughter and bring her back safely. If you tell me you need another person to help get it done, I’m willing to go along with that.”
