by Al Boudreau
I put it out of my mind and got back to the task at hand.
“Discover any clear images of this jackass while I was gone?” James asked.
“Nope. The visor of his ball cap obscures any decent view of his face. I’m telling you, this guy’s a pro. He knew exactly what he was doing. Probably knew right where each camera was located.”
“What about inside the shop?” James asked. “Wonder if they’ve got their own security cameras inside the place?”
“Never noticed any,” I said. “I usually spot them, wherever they are.”
The footage we’d been sent was on a continuous loop, replaying over and over as many times as you cared to watch it. We both looked back down at the computer screen just as the guy who’d ripped me off was leaving the shop. “That’s him right there,” I said.
“Huh. Only shows a few seconds of him before he disappears from view.” James began working the keys on his computer and a list of state-owned camera ID numbers, including exact locations for each, popped up on his screen. He studied the list for a beat then picked up his phone and hit one of the preset buttons. “Hey, Gil. Detective James over at Bridgeport PD again. Need you to send me a few more feeds. GH-707, 708, 711, and 712. Expand the time frame out another five minutes before and after the previous ones you sent for locations 709 and 710, OK? Thanks.”
It took me a few seconds to figure out what James was up to. “Looking for how he got there?”
“Exactly. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Identify his ride and get a license plate number.”
“Good call,” I said. “Glad you’re on point. I hate to admit it, but this incident knocked me off kilter.”
“Understandable,” James said. “It’s always different when you have to solve a crime committed against you. Cops and ex-cops tend to take it personally. Clouds your vision.”
“No doubt.” I was about to ask James if he was speaking from experience when my cell phone began chirping. It was the ringtone I’d chosen to indicate incoming calls from Sarah. “What’s up?”
“Why did you take so much money out of my account?” she asked, her tone less than cordial. “I just went online to pay a few bills. Now, thanks to you, there’s not enough money in my account to cover anywhere near what I owe. Couldn’t you at least have given me a heads-up?”
“Sorry,” I replied. “Didn’t think sixty bucks would make such a radical difference in your personal finances.”
“Sixty? You mean nine hundred, seventy-one,” I heard her say.
I was dumbfounded. I pulled her card out of my pocket, checked the receipt, then took a few seconds to try and make sense of it all. At a complete loss, I said, “Look, Sarah, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I took exactly sixty dollars out of your account. Got the receipt, along with three twenty dollar bills, right here in my hand.”
There was a long silence in my ear before Sarah asked, “So … you didn’t make a second withdrawal of nine hundred, eleven dollars from my account?”
The figure immediately threw up a red flag in my mind. “Nine-eleven?”
“That’s right,” Sarah said, the irritation in her voice telling me she still hadn’t caught on.
“I’m leaving the PD now. Meet me over at the bank, right away.”
Chapter 8
I spotted Sarah’s car in the bank parking lot as soon as I made the turn off from the main road.
She got out and made a beeline for my car as I pulled into an empty spot. “Carter, what’s going on?”
“Nine hundred, eleven dollars,” I said as we made our way inside. “Nine-one-one?”
Sarah suddenly caught on, her expression changing from annoyance to fear. “Oh, my goodness. I … that never occurred to me.”
We went directly to the bank branch manager’s office, her door wide open. Fortunately, no one was in there with her when we arrived. “Can I help you folks?” she asked.
“I certainly hope so,” I said and motioned for Sarah to step inside.
“Please, have a seat,” the woman said. “What can I help you with, today?”
I looked at Sarah then back at the manager. “We have reason to believe someone’s made an unauthorized withdrawal from one of our accounts.”
“Oh, dear,” the woman said. “What’s the account number, please?”
Sarah recited the nine digit number as if it were nothing, the manager’s fingers simultaneously clicking away on the desktop keyboard. “I apologize, but bank policy requires that I see some identification from both of you before discussing details of the account.”
Sarah had her license at the ready as I reached for my wallet. It was in that moment I was painfully reminded … I no longer had a wallet. Sarah looked at me then rolled her eyes as the same thought hit her.
“Sorry,” I said to the woman. “I was the victim of a pickpocket this morning, so … I, uh. Well, I have no ID on me at the moment.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Well … was the account opened in both of your names?”
Sarah shook her head. “No. It’s my personal account.”
“OK, no problem. I have your account information here in front of me, Sarah. I’m seeing two recent withdrawals from that particular account, both of them from earlier this afternoon. Does that sound right?”
“Yes. The one for nine hundred, eleven dollars is the one we’re concerned about,” Sarah said.
“All right. Let me see what details, if any, the system will provide regarding that specific transaction,” the manager said, her fingers once again clicking away on her keyboard. After a few seconds she asked, “Sarah, have you shared your username and password with anyone else?”
“Just Carter, here,” she said and put her hand on my shoulder.
“OK, well, it’s odd, but the system is showing that the monies in question were transferred to an account in Bangladesh, of all places. Do you have family there?”
“I certainly do not,” Sarah responded.
The woman remained silent for a beat.
I know it’s probably against bank policy,” I said. “But, I also have an account here. I’d be interested in knowing whether my account has been breached, as well.”
The woman gave me an odd look. “I highly doubt it, but go ahead and give me the account number.”
“Uh, I don’t have it committed to memory, unfortunately.”
“No problem,” she replied. “What’s your social security number?”
That, I was able to remember.
“OK, Mr. Peterson, thank you. Username and password on the account, please.”
I gave her the information.
She brought my recent banking activity up on her screen. “Your account shows one transfer for four hundred, four dollars. The transaction took place just before the withdrawal from Ms. Woods’s account. Same exact destination. Bangladesh.”
I felt my jaw clench as the reality of our situation set in. James got it right: the theft of my wallet, along with these unauthorized cash withdrawals, had to be related to a case.
The professor’s case.
The con artists responsible for the Reynolds scam were sending us a message. I looked at Sarah. “Four-o-four? That’s the number used to indicate an error on the internet. Nine eleven, and four-o-four. I’ve got to believe those numbers are a warning.”
Sarah’s mouth dropped open, while the bank manager looked nothing but confused. “We’re private investigators,” I told the woman. “I have reason to believe these unauthorized transactions are likely related to our latest case.”
The woman took a moment to respond. “Oh, dear. Mr. Peterson, Ms. Woods, I’m terribly sorry this has happened. Though very rare, hackers do manage to defeat banking industry fraud protocols from time to time. I can assure you, if the transactions in question prove to be fraudulent---and it certainly looks as if they are---your funds will be reimbursed in full.” She began typing then stopped. “All right. I’ve just frozen both accounts. No one can
access either of them any longer. Let me get my boss on the phone, and we’ll do our best to get to the bottom of this for you.”
* * *
Forty-five minutes later---after going through what felt like an interrogation, via conference call with the branch manager and her boss---we were free to go; shiny new credit cards, ATM cards, and account numbers in hand. Our missing $1,315 had also been restored, much to our relief.
“That sucked, big-time,” Sarah said as I held the bank’s door open for her. “Looks like we’re dealing with some very scary people.”
“Yep,” I said as we walked across the parking lot. “Professor Reynolds apparently got himself mixed-up with a formidable crew when he started messing around with that young woman.”
“You’re being far too kind, Carter,” Sarah said. “I have a few choice descriptors for that ‘young woman,’ as you call her. Wench-bag being one of them.”
“Don’t mistake my kindness for mercy,” I said. “They made a huge error in judgment when they made it personal. Big mistake when it comes to dealing with me.”
“Correction,” she said. “With us. I’m livid. I want to put every single one of the jerks involved in this behind bars. I mean, seriously. Why can’t they put the time and energy they use to rip off hard-working people into something decent?”
“You mean like earning a living, instead of stealing it?”
“Exactly. Thing is, the bank gave us our money back, but it cost us several hours of our lives. We can’t get that time back.”
“True, but if we can prove these transactions were related to the professor’s case, we can charge for those wasted hours.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But, it’s the principle of it that eats at me.”
“Let’s face it, Sarah. There’s a fair number of evil people in this world. They take what they want, and don’t care who they hurt in order to get it.” I gave her a huge hug then opened her car door. “We’ll get ‘em. See you back at the house?”
She nodded. “Are you coming right along?”
“Yep. Right behind you.”
I pulled out my phone as I made my way to the car, wondering if James had had any luck with the additional surveillance footage.
“Hey, Carter,” he answered. “I was just about to give you a call. We got a clear view of the car your pickpocket was driving. Ran the plates. Ended up being a rental. We’re running down the details, and should have some additional information within the hour. Now, you want to tell me why you left the station so quickly? Everything all right, pal?”
I started the engine as we spoke. “Glad to hear you’re working on a lead. Thanks for following through. As to why I left in such a rush, well … I think you might be right about this pickpocket guy being related to one of our cases. In addition to stealing my wallet, we got hit for nearly fourteen---”
“Carter, I’m going to have to let you go. I’ve got a call coming in related to your guy and his rental. I’ll be in touch.”
I killed the motor and made my way into the house. Sarah was at the kitchen table, working on paying bills---now that we had money again.
“Just got off the phone with James,” I told her. “He was able to place my pickpocket behind the wheel of a rental car. They’re running down the plates now.”
“Cool. Progress, right?”
“That’s all we can ask, I guess.”
“Think we should try to have another sit-down with Reynolds before too much time passes?” she asked.
“We should. I think it’s important he hear what kind of crew we’re dealing with. The sooner, the better.” I got out my phone, dialed the professor’s number, and handed it to Sarah. “Here. You talk to him. He likes you better, anyway.”
“Ha-ha,” Sarah responded.
In light of all that had happened today, I decided I’d check to see if Stoney had tried to contact me. I went to get the dedicated burner phone out of my glove box.
By the time I got back inside, Sarah was already done talking to our client. “That was fast.”
“Reynolds wants to meet somewhere other than his house. I set the meeting for seven o’clock tonight, and told him I’d text him the address.”
“Maybe his wife’s going to be home tonight.”
“Probably right,” Sarah said. “Men are such dicks. You know, I’m beginning to think I got the last decent guy on the entire planet.”
“I need you to keep reminding yourself of that fact,” I said with a grin.
“Not a problem. Just as long as you continue to behave yourself.”
“Guess you’d know pretty quickly if I didn’t. I’m with you all the time.”
“It works,” she said. “That’s all that matters.”
I assembled the burner phone then placed the call to Stoney and engaged the speaker function.
“Pretty anxious, aren’t you Slim?” he asked.
“We’ve had a few eye-opening revelations about the crew we’re trying to track down, so, in a word … yes.”
“Then, you’re going to be disappointed, because this Savin girl’s face got exactly zero hits over the four major databases we use. We run into this with roughly one out of every five hundred facial recognition searches we do.”
“That sucks,” I said.
“This girl had any work done on her face?”
“Plastic surgery? No idea, but I have my doubts. She’s fairly young.”
“The old man and me, we enhanced that photo you gave us. We both think she probably went that route. Not all people are good candidates, but this girl’s got perfect features, head shape, and bone structure to make it work. Sure-fire way to fool the parameters around facial recognition technology. Well, if you get a good doctor and have beaucoup bucks to spend, that is.”
“Listen. We’re not done, yet. I’m willing to search high and low. I’ll find you guys an earlier picture of this girl.”
“Let me know, Slim. We’ll send it through.”
I shook my head as I ended the call and looked over at Sarah. “This is a major setback. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed James can give us a solid lead on that rental car.”
Chapter 9
It was about 6:30 pm when I walked into the kitchen, prepared to head off to our meeting with Professor Reynolds.
Sarah was seated at the table, reading a fashion magazine. She looked me up and down. “You look nice … but tired.”
“Been a rough one.”
“Why don’t we take my car to the meeting? I’ll drive. You can relax.”
“Deal.”
“You never told me where we’re going,” she said.
“Same whiskey bar I met the professor at last night. You’ll like it. It’s fancy. Besides, I figure he owes us.”
“No complaints, here. Fancy’s just fine with me. We could both use a cocktail.”
“Wonder what happened to James,” I said as we left the house. “I expected to hear from him long before now.”
“Probably out fighting crime,” she said.
“Yep. Got to remind myself the world doesn’t stop just because we need something.”
“Sure would be nice, though.”
I sat back and tried to relax when Sarah asked, “Not sure I really want to know, but how is it even possible these people could hit our accounts as quickly as they did? The guy just lifted your wallet a few hours ago.”
“They must have started well before the pickpocket incident,” I said. “They probably got going last night, as soon as they identified us as being on the professor’s team. I’m thinking they decided to lift my wallet just to show off. Or, maybe to scare us. Let us know they could get right next to us, undetected.”
“Great. That doesn’t make me feel better. At all.”
“Sorry, but you asked. You need to be mentally prepared for how insidious people like these creeps can be.”
“Would you think less of me if I told you I was a little worried?”
“Nope. I’d be more con
cerned if you weren’t. A little is good. Helps you stay sharp,” I said just as my phone chirped. It was James. I answered and turned the speaker on so Sarah could hear.
“Carter. Sorry it took so long to get back to you. Surprise twist on this one. You’re not going to believe it.”
“Hey, uh, I’ve got you on speaker. Sarah’s right here with me.”
“OK. Hey, Sarah. Well, like I said, guys, this one’s a little unsettling.”
Probably the last thing Sarah needed to hear right now. “What did you find out?” I asked.
“The rental car. The one your boy was driving. Found it tucked down at the end of a very long driveway on the outskirts of town. Summer place. Couple of kids discovered the vehicle and heard noises coming from the trunk. One of the kids ran home and got his father. Good thing, too. The elderly couple in the trunk probably wouldn’t have survived till morning with this late season Arctic front coming through.”
“That’s terrible,” Sarah said.
“Yeah, the couple, they’re a little banged up, but they’re both going to be fine. The husband rented their car out of the international airport in Maine early this morning. They got carjacked at breakfast, coming out of a waffle house. We’re in the process of checking the car for prints, but the couple told me the carjacker was wearing gloves when he grabbed them.”
“Thanks, James. We’ll be in touch.”
“OK, this is bad,” Sarah said as soon as I put my phone away. “These people are lunatics.”
“You want to sit this one out?” I asked. “Because, I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“No. I’m fine. It’s discouraging, that’s all. Why do some people have such disrespect for their fellow man?”
“You can’t respect your fellow man if you’re not a man,” I said. “The members of this particular crew are animals. We’re going to put them in a cage, right where they belong.”
