by Al Boudreau
“Oh, my goodness,” Sarah cried. “That would be huge.”
“Keep on working those files, OK? I’ll be right back.”
* * *
“You are not going to believe the degree of travelling this woman has done,” Sarah said as I came back inside the house.
“Is that right?”
“She’s been to more places in the past six months than I’ve been in my entire lifetime. Paris, Madrid, Rome, Los Angeles, Johannesburg, Milan. It’s unbelievable.”
“How about Bangladesh?”
Sarah took a moment to check the list. “Nope. No travel to that part of the world at all. Why did you---oh, I get it. The money that was taken out of our accounts.”
“Right.”
“Unfortunately, these particular records don’t cover that time period, anyway. Happened too recently. Speaking of which, did you talk to Stoney?”
I sat back down next to Sarah. “Yep. Told him about LeBlanc’s Janet Broe alias, and explained the permanent makeup situation to him. He was blown away that she’d managed to pull off fooling the system, using that particular method. Said people had been trying to do so for years, but always ended up getting caught. Anyway, I asked him to make this new search his number one priority. Said he’d run the name through the system to see if he gets any hits. Promised to send a packet right away if he uncovers any actionable information.”
“Think he’ll find something?”
“Hard to say. Could go either way, but this woman appears to be very clever. Other than her failure to make that photo the esthetician used at the spa disappear, that is.”
“Thank goodness Kendrick Coughlin designed such a great security system for Agamenticus.”
“Yep. We’d still be twiddling our thumbs if he hadn’t.”
I pulled out my notebook to jot down whatever key details I might find while reviewing LeBlanc’s history, then began looking into where she’d lived, and when she’d lived there. “I forgot to tell you this, but Stoney mentioned earlier that LeBlanc has dual citizenship. I think I just discovered where.”
“Really? Isn’t dual citizenship uncommon? I’ve never known anyone who’s had it.”
“It’s more common than you think, but our government doesn’t publish any actual statistics on the subject.”
“Interesting. So, what are the two places our little friend calls home?”
“Newark, Delaware, and Johannesburg, South Africa.”
“Really? Those seem like odd choices. I mean, why Delaware, of all places?”
“First reason that pops into my head? Maybe she’s looking to start a business. More than half of the publicly traded companies in this country were incorporated in Delaware. The tax laws there are more favorable than any other state in our country.”
“I never knew that. Matter of fact, I often forget Delaware is even a state. It’s so tiny. But, your explanation sounds plausible. Do you have a theory about South Africa, too?”
“Can’t say I do. I don’t know much about the place, except that more Caucasians live there than anywhere else on the continent. Nearly ten percent of South Africa’s population is white.”
“Man, I’m getting a serious geography lesson out of this,” Sarah said.
“LeBlanc lived in New Zealand for ten years before establishing citizenship in our country, and Sydney, Australia, before that. That’s where she was born.”
“Huh. Turns out this woman is quite intriguing. Could be one of the reasons Reynolds fell so hard for her.”
“I suppose,” I said as I jotted down some quick notes. “OK. Let’s see what this worldly wonder has been doing to make all the money she needs to be a jet-setter.”
“Past experience? Con artist,” Sarah said, then began laughing.
“Right. I wish figuring her out was as simple as that,” I said, then began looking at LeBlanc’s employment history---which took no more than a few seconds. According to Stoney, she’d only been employed by two entities: a startup called ICU, and the University of Johannesburg. There wasn’t much information in the packet about the startup, but there was a fair amount concerning LeBlanc’s involvement with the university.
“I’m going to go open a bottle of cabernet,” Sarah said. “Want some?”
“No, thanks,” I said as I made another entry in my notes.
“I’m dying here,” I heard Sarah call out as she made her way toward the kitchen. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What does LeBlanc do for work?”
“I have absolutely no idea. But, according to what I’m seeing, it looks as though she lied to the professor.”
“Somehow, that bit of news doesn’t surprise me, much,” Sarah said as she walked back into the living room, glass of red wine in hand.
“Good point. So, LeBlanc graduated from University of Johannesburg with a Bachelors of Science Information Technology degree. No indication of major studies in liberal arts or international finance, aside from the usual requisite classes. However, she did collect a paycheck every week from the university. First, to work in their bookstore, then to tutor underclassmen, and finally, working as a professor’s assistant. She also worked for a tech startup called ICU. Looks like her employment with that outfit began roughly a year before she graduated.”
“Impressive. Busy girl.”
“Yep. Could explain why she may have chosen to become a citizen of South Africa, too. Cheap tuition, along with decent job opportunities. Seems to be a highly motivated individual. According to this timeline, she graduated three years ago, and worked for ICU up until about a year ago.”
Sarah put her wine down, picked up the e-reader, and began scrolling through the information. “That makes sense. Jibes with what I’m seeing for travel. The vast majority of her trips took place over the past year, or so.”
I shook my head. “Something’s not adding up for me, though. LeBlanc was obviously a good student. Smart kid. Tutoring, teaching, and getting hired, pre-graduation. Managed to hold on to that tech job with ICU for three years. Suddenly, after a year of being unemployed and travelling around the globe, she’s being looked at for financial fraud?”
“I see your point,” Sarah said. “Maybe she can’t find a job. Or, she ran out of money and got desperate.
“There are thousands of openings out there for folks with IT backgrounds like hers. With that type of degree and experience, she should be able to write her own ticket.” I sat back and closed my eyes for a beat, doing my best to put all the pieces together.
A minute or so had passed when Sarah asked, “Think that session with the esthetician had anything to do with LeBlanc’s IT background?”
It took me a few seconds to understand what she was getting at. Then it hit me. “You’re talking about the laptop, right?”
“Uh-huh. Didn’t the security guy at Agamenticus tell you LeBlanc kept checking the screen every so often while the esthetician worked on her face?”
“That’s what he told me, all right. Interesting connection. Good heads-up call, Sarah,” I said as I wrote it down. “In fact, think I’ll follow up by doing a little research on this ICU outfit. Would you mind looking deeper into these files while I chase this hunch of yours down in my office?”
“I’m on it,” Sarah said.
I left the room, bound for my desk, more impressed than ever with Sarah’s growing ability to think outside the box when it came to our work. When it came to this particular case, she was definitely the star.
I grabbed the laptop off my desk then went over and settled into my overstuffed armchair. Notebook and pen at the ready, I typed ICU Johannesburg into the search box and hit enter---to find less than a page worth of information.
I scanned the scant number of results, then dumped the page and tried a different search engine.
Same results.
I went ahead and clicked on the top result. It ended up being a PDF document that amounted to nothing more than some vague legal language about ICU’s submission for licensure to the Compani
es and Intellectual Properties Commission in Pretoria. The document said nothing specific about ICU. No mission statement, and no business plan.
No nothing.
I systematically clicked-on and studied the remaining five search results.
Ten minutes later, I’d gleaned just three specific pieces of information for all my effort: that ICU had three employees, that the company was a private entity, and that they were no longer in business.
Now I understood why Stoney’s information packet had so little information compiled on the enterprise.
“That was fast,” Sarah said as I walked back into the living room, laptop in hand.
“I’ve never seen so little information show up in an internet search in all my life. Whatever this organization was up to, they sure didn’t advertise it.”
“You must have discovered something.”
“Yep. Renee LeBlanc is no longer employed by ICU, because they no longer exist.”
“Oh … well, that’s that, then.”
“How about you?” I asked. “Discover any enlightening pearls while I was busy striking out?”
“I did. LeBlanc has been using cash for the majority of her transactions. Or, someone’s been paying her way. According to these records, she only has one credit card, and uses it predominantly around Johannesburg. No credit card transactions in this country, whatsoever. All of her travel was paid for with good old-fashioned paper currency.”
“That’s telling. What about bank accounts?”
“Only keeps enough money in the bank to cover her monthly expenses.”
“You know, that kind of behavior smacks of criminal activity. Not too many steps away from being off the grid. Did you happen to check out her known associates, yet? People she spends time with?”
“I was just about to do that,” Sarah replied.
I sat down next to her and grabbed the other e-reader so we could discuss whatever it was we were about to find.
We’d both reviewed the list for a few minutes using our respective devices when Sarah spoke. “When did you say LeBlanc graduated from the University of Johannesburg?”
“Three years ago.”
“So, I take it you’ve drawn the same conclusion I have after looking at this list of names?”
“Yep. She hasn’t been too social since right around the time she received her degree.”
“Not that she was much of a social butterfly back then, either. This is a really short list. A smattering of friends at the university---mostly alumni---and a handful of names from her time living in New Zealand. And, only one name common to her time in both places.”
“Yep. Dominic Boulland. Forty-two years old. Resident of Bangkok, Thailand.”
“Thailand, huh? Who is this guy?”
“Could be her father,” I said.
“Wouldn’t Stoney have said so, if---nope, hold on. We missed a page. The one just before the known associate’s page. Says family at the top. It just lists LeBlanc’s mother and father, Hamish and Brianna Thompson, of Brisbane, Queensland, Australia.”
“Different last name,” I said.
“Adopted, maybe?”
“Stoney didn’t specify, but I’d be willing to bet that’s probably the case. I’ll put an asterisk in my notes, next to their last name, as a reminder we need to check it out.”
“OK, so, back to this Boulland character. He’s too old to be a love interest if he’s been involved in LeBlanc’s life for that long. Doing the math in my head, if he popped up on the radar screen roughly fifteen years ago, that would have made her ten years old at the time, and him twenty-seven.”
“Yep. Same thing I got.”
“Well, if she was indeed adopted by the Thompsons, Boulland could still be her real father. Or, maybe a half-brother, who decided to care for her once they were both a little older?”
I shrugged. “Seems like a stretch, but … guess we can’t rule anything out at this point.”
Sarah let go a yawn as she began scrolling through the pages again.
Meanwhile, I reached for my laptop and logged on to the Job Monster account, thinking Stoney might have sent an update concerning the Broe alias.
Nothing.
It had been an exhausting, yet fruitful day. I shut my computer down, then reached for the e-reader and did the same.
I looked over at Sarah, with the intention of asking if she wanted to watch a movie, but she was fast asleep.
I let go an epic yawn and shook her kneecap.
“Wha---”
“C’mon, Detective,” I said as I stood up and reached for her hand. “It’s been a long day. What do you say we head upstairs and get some sleep?”
Sarah gave me a labored smile. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter 21
A slight tug on the covers woke me from the strange dream I was having---which was OK. Caddying for Bill Murray had never been a secret ambition of mine.
The room still pitch dark, I rolled over to check the digital clock.
5:18 am.
I slowly slid my arm over toward the other side of the bed, when the sound of water cascading against the shower curtain down the hall satisfied my curiosity: Sarah was up. I spent no longer than a couple seconds wondering why, then adjusted the covers and closed my eyes, hoping to ease back into a comfortable slumber for another hour or two.
Ten minutes later, still awake and now smelling the aroma of fresh-ground coffee in the air, I gave up the fight and slid my legs over the edge of the bed.
Guess I was getting up early today.
I put on a pair of sweatpants and a jersey, visited the still steamy bathroom to take a quick leak, then down the stairs I wearily went. “What’s the occasion?” I asked as I walked into the kitchen, Sarah looking much fresher than I felt.
“I woke up around four-thirty and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I’d get up and get coffee brewing.”
“Not like you to have trouble sleeping,” I said.
“I wake up a lot in the middle of the night, but usually fall right back asleep … just not this morning. My mind was restless.”
“About what?”
“Our conversation last night,” she said as she filled a couple mugs with hot coffee. “The whole con job versus blackmail idea.”
I took a seat at the table and warmed my hands on the steaming mug. “What about it, specifically?”
Sarah carefully nodded as she took a few sips, then said, “The blackmail scenario made a lot of sense to me until I remembered the pickpocket incident. We never discussed that in relation to your theory. As you often say, it just doesn’t add up.”
I took a sip of coffee and realized she was right. “Don’t you know it’s too early to be taxing my brain like this?”
“I’m not any happier about it than you are. I’d still be sleeping right now if that coffee shop incident hadn’t started messing with my gray matter so darn early.”
I raised my eyebrows and gave a subtle shrug. “Tough trying to make something fit when it doesn’t.”
“I know,” Sarah said. “I tried convincing myself that the theft---your wallet, and all that money from our accounts---was a matter of coincidental timing, and unrelated to the Reynolds case. But, really, what are the odds?”
“Stranger things have happened, but the likelihood of the theft having nothing to do with the case is a longshot, at best. Plus, we have zilch on this pickpocket jackass, so we have no way of knowing, one way or the other, anyway.”
“This stinks,” she said. “I thought your blackmail concept had real merit.”
I offered her a half-baked smiled. “I’d get up and take a bow, but I’m not quite awake, yet.”
“Sorry I woke you. I was trying so hard to be quiet.”
“It’s just as well,” I said. “Getting a jump on the day might make a positive difference.”
“It might. Hey, you think it’s too early to assume we have a packet from Stoney waiting for us?”
“Not
necessarily,” I said. “That dude keeps some strange hours. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever put in a call to him and had him not answer. I have my doubts he ever sleeps.”
“Well … what are you waiting for? Go check. Go check.”
“OK, you’re a little too perky for this early hour,” I said as I stood up. “Better ease back on the java, just a tad.”
“Coffee mug in hand, I ambled down the hall to my office, fingers crossed the new day would bring some sort of revelation to move this case forward.
I didn’t bother to sit down at my desk, thinking it was unlikely I’d find anything new when I logged in to Stoney’s Job Monster account.
I was wrong.
I felt a huge grin spread across my face as I read Stoney’s one word note: Bingo.
“We got it,” I shouted as I grabbed the device, nearly tipping my mug over in the process, and brought both back to the kitchen with me.
“What’s in it?” Sarah asked, her voice a full octave higher than normal.
“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it, yet.”
Sarah dragged her chair over next to mine and sat down while the new packet of information began filling the screen. The first page to appear showed an enlarged copy of Janet Broe’s---AKA Renee LeBlanc’s---Connecticut driver’s license, as well as her Fulford University student identification card.
“Man, those guys are good,” Sarah said as we examined the images. “Same exact ones the campus cops showed us. How the heck did Stoney and his dad get these so fast?”
“Guess they knew right where to look,” I said as I clicked over to the next page. A page showing an enlarged image of a document we didn’t know existed until now: an authentic looking passport issued by The United States of America.
“Whoa,” Sarah said. “That’s totally out of control.”
