by Al Boudreau
“What? She---that’s got to be a mistake.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything.” I looked away for a few seconds then turned back toward Sarah. “What if we got it wrong? What if this woman had absolutely nothing to do with the situation involving Reynolds’s money?”
“But … the fake IDs at the school. And, and, well, what about the work she had done on her face at the spa?”
“None of that proves jack. No serious laws broken. Carrying a fake ID in New Hampshire barely constitutes a misdemeanor. I think we have to be mentally prepared to face the fact we may have gotten this one wrong.”
“Nope. No way. I don’t believe that for a second.”
“I had to make a quick decision while I was on the phone with Stoney, so I punted. Told him to dig deep and give us a detailed look at LeBlanc’s movements. Now that I’ve been sitting here thinking about it, I’m having buyer’s remorse. It ain’t gonna be cheap, and might turn out to be a waste of time and money.”
“LeBlanc?”
“Renee LeBlanc. That’s the woman’s real name.”
Sarah nodded her head. “She’s involved. I just know it.”
“Wish I had your confidence on this one. Unfortunately, I have a feeling our long con theory is cooked.”
“Renee LeBlanc has no criminal record. So, what? It doesn’t mean she’s innocent. Maybe it just proves she’s good … as in, never been caught.”
I stared at Sarah, but kept quiet. Her theory wasn’t ringing true to me.
“Or, how about this? Maybe she’s just starting out,” Sarah suggested. “Recruited by a group of career cons who really know their stuff. Think about it. Everyone has to start somewhere. Look at me. Late forties. Involved in detective work for less than five years.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know---”
“Seriously, Carter, there are too many signs that point to fraud for me to doubt it, even for a second. This little slider is up to something beyond romancing the professor. I mean, c’mon. She wouldn’t pull a disappearing act for no reason.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I want to believe that.”
Sarah cocked her head to the side and gave me a long stare. “You always tell me to sit tight, and to be patient. That our efforts will eventually pay off. No offense, Carter, but I think it’s time you took your own advice. Who knows? The packet of information Stoney and his dad are working on may help us connect the dots in ways we can’t see, yet. Renee LeBlanc is as guilty as sin. I can feel it.”
Chapter 19
“That was good,” I said to Sarah as I finished the last bite on my plate. “I never had pot roast quite like that before.”
“Did you really enjoy it, or are you just trying to spare my feelings?” Sarah asked. “Because, you barely said two words during dinner.”
“Yep, I really liked it. My mood has nothing to do with the meal. Look, I heard what you said about being patient and all, but I’m not going to lie to you. I’m still irritated about the news from Stoney.”
Sarah nodded. “We’re going to dig up evidence that will nail this LeBlanc character to the wall. The wall of a jail cell.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I want to believe that’s true. Fact of the matter is, I can’t quite seem to get there in my head. This case has all the hallmarks of a long con, but with Renee LeBlanc having no priors, it shoots all sorts of holes in the con artist theory. Well, for me, anyway. Look, Sarah, I trust your sensibilities when it comes to our work. I really do. I’m just having a hard time believing a woman in her mid-twenties could be a career con artist without some laundry list of marks against her. Shoplifting, aggravated assault, possession, vandalism … something. Anything. I’ve seen a lot of criminals, and a lot of cases come and go. No one is that good. Conversely, everyday folks don’t just wake up one morning and decide they’re going to try and pull off a sophisticated financial crime. Sorry. For me, none of it adds up.”
Sarah slid her dinner plate out of the way, rested her elbows on the table, and propped her chin up in the palms of her hands. “I don’t like seeing you this way.”
“Me, neither. Frustration isn’t a feeling I’m good at coping with.” I got up and began clearing our dishes from the table.
“How would you feel about going out and doing something fun tonight? You know, take a break from work. At least until Stoney gets back to us with the next packet of information on LeBlanc.”
“We may not get another packet for days. Might even be a week, or more. But, I’m open to getting out of the house tonight. I definitely need to clear my head.”
“Tell you what,” Sarah said. “I’ll go get myself cleaned up while you take care of the dishes. When I come back down, I’ll hit you with several suggestions for places we can go to have some fun.”
“Works for me.”
* * *
“I’ll try a size ten,” I said to the clerk behind the counter at Play Away Lanes.
“I’m so excited to try bowling again,” Sarah said as she grabbed her rented shoes from atop the counter. “I think it’s been five years since my last outing.”
“Must have been at least that long,” I said as I grabbed my shoes and headed toward our lane. “We’ve never bowled together.”
“You know … you’re right. You’d better watch it, because I’m pretty good.”
“I don’t doubt it. You’ll probably kick my butt.”
I got our scoring screen set up then sat back and watched Sarah fire the first ball down the alley. I was impressed with her form, as well as the number of pins she annihilated. She gave me a smile then turned and sent ball number two hurtling toward the pins that remained.
Boom. Spare.
“Woo-hoo. Told ya,” she said as she hit the reset pedal.
“Go again,” I said. “We’ll bowl two frames at a time. Makes it easier.”
She nodded and gave it another go. Two balls later, another spare. “Who’s the champ?” she whispered as she did a little victory dance in front of the scoring console.
“I’m already in trouble,” I said as we swapped positions.
“Knock ‘em down,” she said.
Which I did. Two. Along with two gutter balls.
This went on for the next forty-five minutes. It seemed the harder I tried, the worse I got.
Final tally for the evening: Sarah, with three games; me, none.
I paid the tab as Sarah changed her footwear, the counter clerk offering a smile and a shake of his head as he handed over my change and a hard copy of our score sheet.
Everybody’s a critic.
“Think I got hustled,” I said as I held the door open for Sarah.
My comment was met with laughter. “Well, I did play on a league when I was in my teens, and my parents used to take me bowling, at least once a week, when I was a kid.”
“There it is. Now I don’t feel so bad.”
“I know you better than that. It didn’t bother you at all that you got beat.”
“Course not. You won, fair and square. Besides, it just a game.”
“I hope you had fun, though,” she said as she put her arm around my waist.
“Actually, I did. It was a good time.”
Sarah stopped in her tracks and grabbed my arm, bringing our progress across the parking lot to a screeching halt. “You know, it’s early. How would you feel about heading inside Margarita’s for a couple of drinks? The place is only a thirty second walk from where we’re standing.”
“I don’t know. Drinks, two nights in a row? We’ve been hitting the alcohol fairly hard this week.”
“And, your point is?”
I smiled and changed direction. “Cocktails, it is, then.”
We found the place packed as we stepped inside, but happened to luck out as we noticed a young couple sitting at the bar, just getting ready to pay their tab.
“Excuse me,” Sarah said to them. “You two---”
“Seats are all yours,” the woman said.
We thanked them and got settled in.
“Two house margaritas, please,” Sarah said to the bartender, then swiveled her barstool toward mine. “Thanks for agreeing to go out, tonight. I wasn’t aware of it earlier, but I think I needed this as much as you did.”
“Probably right. The last couple of days have been rough on both of us.”
The bartender placed our drinks in front of us, along with a basket of chips and small bowl of salsa.
“Oh, hello beautiful fishbowl of goodness,” Sarah said as she slid the generous cocktail closer to the front edge of the bar.
I had to laugh. “These Margarita glasses really do look like fishbowls with stems and bases attached. They don’t mess around at this place. These are mean looking cocktails.”
“Sure are. Doubt we’ll need to order another round.”
I dug right into the chips and salsa, then took a couple sips of my drink through the oversized, green straw sticking out of it. I took a look around and tried to absorb the festive spirit of the place, hoping it would help me ignore the nagging questions still rattling around in my head concerning the Reynolds case.
It wasn’t working.
“Would you be upset if I bounced an idea off you?”
“Only if it has nothing to do with the professor,” she said without looking over at me.
I didn’t say another word, choosing instead to put a good hurting on the alcohol level in my glass.
Sarah reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t mind talking about the case, but you have to promise me something, beforehand.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Promise me you won’t go to the dark side.”
“OK, it’s a deal. Actually, I’m good. Whole new attitude and outlook after getting my butt handed to me over at the bowling alley.”
The comment made Sarah laugh. “All right. What’s on your mind?”
The bar area was loud, so I got up off from my stool and slid it closer to Sarah’s, hoping to avoid shouting the details of our ongoing investigation to everyone in the place. “Right after we met with Reynolds at his house, you asked if it would be impossible for this woman to be working alone. I told you it wouldn’t be impossible, but pretty close to it. Well, that was before we found out Reynolds was sleeping with her.”
Sarah nodded. “I’m with you, so far.”
I reached for Sarah’s hand. “A couple points you made before dinner. You said that even though LeBlanc has no criminal record, it doesn’t prove she’s innocent of trying to make off with Reynolds’s money. Then, you suggested she might just be starting out, and that everyone has to start somewhere.”
“That, I did.”
“Well, it got me thinking about the big picture, as it relates to the case. Reynolds originally led me to believe he was the victim of a financial con. Which made sense, at first. Then, thanks to you, we discovered he was cheating on his wife with this woman. And, ultimately, that he’d fallen in love with her. So, here’s the two million dollar question: is this woman a con artist, or is she simply working on blackmailing Reynolds?”
Sarah raised her eyebrows as she squeezed my hand. “Oh!”
“Oh? Does that mean you think I’m onto something?”
She turned to take a few sips of her drink then asked, “Wouldn’t blackmail be a whole lot more manageable for this woman to pull off on her own?”
“Absolutely.”
Sarah took another pull from her straw. She remained silent for a beat, then asked, “If this LeBlanc woman was planning on blackmailing the professor, why try to get away with transferring the funds, beforehand? Why not just tell him, straight-up; give me X amount of dollars, or I’ll drop the bombshell of our indiscretions on your wife?”
“Good question.” I thought about it for a second and said, “To save time, maybe? It’s like this. Threaten an individual, and that person may think you’re bluffing. Pull the trigger, and there’s no room left for doubt.”
“Solid theory,” Sarah said. “The professor’s wife definitely knows something is up, and Reynolds is sweating it, as we speak. All this LeBlanc woman has to do now is make her demand, and it’s likely a foregone conclusion he’ll pay up.”
“Yep, unless we catch her first.”
Chapter 20
“Man, that drink was potent,” Sarah said as we walked in the house after our fun, yet productive night out.
“You’re just a lightweight,” I said, making sure I was out of swatting distance. I headed for the living room and my usual spot on the sofa.
“That was a darn good outing,” Sarah said as she sat down beside me. “You’re in a much better mood, and we got some excellent brainstorming done with the Reynolds case.
“Definitely.”
“So, how are we going to play it? Do we tell Professor Reynolds there’s been a shift in our thinking?”
“You mean, in terms of con job versus blackmail?”
“Right.”
I threw my hands in the air. “What do we really know at the moment? Not only that, but would it matter to him, anyway? Whether con or blackmail, he wants us to bail him out of this sticky situation he’s gotten himself into. I say we keep our theory to ourselves. At least until we can get our hands on that new information packet Stoney’s working up. Like you said before, there may be stuff in there that will help us connect the dots in ways we can’t see, yet.”
“I did say that, didn’t I? You know, I’m pretty darn good at this investigative gig, even if I do say so, myself. ”
I reached out for her hand. “All kidding aside, Sarah, you’re the one responsible for bringing this case to the next level. You were able to pull some great info out of Professor Reynolds, and you got my head straightened out enough to be able to start making sense of it all. I’m proud of you.”
“Aw, thank you, sweetie. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
“It’s all true. And … you’re a heck of a bowler, to boot.”
“Thanks. Hey, have you checked to see if we got anything from Stoney, yet?”
“I haven’t, only because I figure it’s going to take him some time to pull it all together.” I sat there for a few seconds, then got to my feet. “You know what? You’ve been right about almost every aspect of this case. If you think I should check, I’m going to go check.”
Sarah gave me a thumbs-up. “Can’t hurt to take a look, right?”
I headed into my office, got comfortable in my desk chair, and went on the internet to bring up Stoney’s Job Monster account. I began typing in his username, and realized I was typing the username for one of my bank accounts, instead. After sitting there for nearly a minute, doing my best to remember the information, I broke down and looked it up in my notes.
Brain fade. I blame the alcohol.
Stoney’s username and password now right in front of me, I plugged the information in and waited for the screen to change.
Boom. Sarah was firing on all eight cylinders. There, before me, was a new packet of information, along with a brief note from Stoney. It read: More to come, Slim. Most recent background first. Later.
I grabbed a couple e-readers off the shelf behind my desk and loaded the entire file batch onto both. That way, Sarah could be reviewing the information at the same time I was, without one of us having to look over the other’s shoulder the entire time. It also afforded us a greater level of security, as the e-readers would remain offline after I uploaded Stoney’s timely work.
“Yes!” Sarah exclaimed as I walked in the living room, two devices in hand. “Maybe I should go buy a handful of lottery tickets.”
“Nah. Then we wouldn’t have to work anymore, and we’d miss out on all the fun we’re having.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “I should have thought of that.”
I sat back down on the couch and fired up the e-reader. I scrolled through the files, noting that Stoney had organized Renee LeBlanc’s information into easy-to-navigate categories, includi
ng where she’d lived, where and when she’d travelled, her bills and financial statements, who she spent time with, and what she did for work. Each category had the latest info listed first---the most recent being from two weeks prior---then worked backwards, chronologically.
Sarah gasped as she began reviewing LeBlanc’s life. “I can’t believe how detailed this information is. This Stoney friend of yours is one scary dude. The fact he was able to put together a packet like this within a matter of hours is truly astonishing.”
“Don’t give Stoney all the credit. He was never this good until he brought his father on board. The possibilities are endless when your old man happens to be a retired Fed. There’s probably nothing the guy can’t uncover when it comes to your average American citizen.”
“It’s truly unsettling,” Sarah said. “Glad his microscope is focused on her, and not me.”
“No kidding. It’s amazing how comprehensive this information is.”
“Probably comes with an amazing price tag, too.”
“It won’t be cheap. But, considering how quickly they got these files to us, the bill may not be as bad as I first thought.”
“I’m going to dive into LeBlanc’s travel information, first,” Sarah said.
“OK. I’ll concentrate on where she’s lived.”
No more than a few seconds had passed when Sarah said, “How come the information starts so far---oh, never mind. Just answered my own question.”
“Which was what?”
“The most recent records are from two weeks ago,” Sarah replied. “It took me a second to remember that LeBlanc changed her name and appearance around that time. That’s when the professor said he first met her.”
I tossed the e-reader aside, popped up off the couch like a jack-in-the-box, and high-tailed it toward the front door.
“What’s the matter?” Sarah asked.
“Broe. Janet Broe. With all the highs and lows surrounding this case and all that’s been going on, I totally forgot to mention LeBlanc’s second alias to Stoney. I included the Melody Savin alias when I sent him that picture Reynolds took of her coming out of the spa. We didn’t find out about the second alias---Janet Broe---until later that day. I never gave it to Stoney. If she was using it around the university, maybe she was using it to travel in and out of the country, too. If so, we may be able to get this packet updated to real-time, including the past two weeks.
