Art of the Con: Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 6

by Al Boudreau

  “Beats the tar out of me?”

  Sarah buried her face in her hands and collapsed into my arm chair. “We’re dead in the water.”

  I sat myself down on the arm of the chair Sarah was busy fretting in, doing my best to dig deep for a solution. If we failed to lure LeBlanc out of the shadows and into our web, then Sarah was right: we were done.

  Then, it came to me.

  “Look, we broke it down when we discussed it earlier. We agreed it would take a combination of money and sincerity to get this woman to show her face. That hasn’t changed.”

  “What do you mean? He’s spent every last bit of emotional currency we thought we’d have to work with.”

  “Exactly … which is why we’re going to go the other way. Reynolds’s full-throttle desperation didn’t work. Maybe indifference will. Let’s have Reynolds do an about-face. Right now, LeBlanc thinks she’s got him right where she wants him, so she doesn’t have to rush. If we play our cards right, maybe we can get her to think he’s out, wanting to wash his hands of the whole situation.”

  Sarah looked up at me, eyebrows raised. “Get her off her game, thinking the door is about to close, and that she needs to slip through it before it does.”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s it, Carter. That’s the call. It’s our best chance to nail this little wench.”

  I stood up and grabbed Sarah’s hand. “Let’s go sell the concept to him.”

  We got as far as the hallway when Sarah stopped me. “We need to control this from here on in,” she said. “Let me handle Reynolds, OK?”

  I nodded and motioned her ahead.

  We found Reynolds right where we’d left him when we returned to the living room, elbows on his knees, head hanging down, just waiting there on the couch. He didn’t bother to look up when we walked in.

  Sarah sat down next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “May I suggest a way to move forward?”

  “Please,” he said, still focused on the floor.

  “Let us hold on to your phone for twenty-four hours,” Sarah said. “We’ll send a text message to LeBlanc, designed to force a face-to-face meeting between the two of you. Under the guise of you wanting to negotiate a large financial settlement with her. We’ll tell her you’re ready to put the entire episode behind you and move on. You know … like you’re seeking closure.”

  Reynolds looked up at us and nodded. “Do you feel confident she’ll agree to meet with me?”

  “Pretty confident,” Sarah said.

  “And the endgame?” he asked.

  “We have an agreement in place with the Bridgeport Police Department,” I said. “Once we have eyes on LeBlanc, they move in and pick her up.”

  “How will I know what’s happening if you’re in possession of my phone?”

  “We’ll give you a cell phone to use while we have yours,” Sarah said.

  “That’s right,” I said. “The idea, Professor, is to dictate and control where you and Ms. LeBlanc ultimately meet. That way, we can have the police there at the right time. They’ll move in, and apprehend her.”

  “Am I to give her specifics about our reason for meeting if she does indeed come forward?”

  “We haven’t worked out any type of script, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sarah replied. “We’ll text you bullet points of what to say once we’ve worked that part out. You won’t need to engage her for more than a couple of minutes. The gist of it will be that you’re ready to settle with her then go your separate ways.”

  “Understood,” he said, then surrendered his phone to Sarah.

  “Carter, do you want to go grab one of our spare phones for him?”

  “Yep.”

  I headed into my office, satisfied we had a workable plan of attack. I pulled a spare cell out of my desk drawer, turned it on to check the charge, and headed back to the living room.

  “Professor, this phone is nearly identical to yours, so your battery charger should work with it,” I said as I handed the phone to him. I then turned to Sarah. “Maybe we should send our initial text to LeBlanc while we’re all together. I’d like to get this operation moving, ASAP.”

  “I agree.” Sarah said. She stared at the professor’s phone for a few seconds then began working the touch keyboard with her thumbs.

  The professor caught my eye, looking concerned, and probably wondering what kind of message Sarah had in store for the object of his misguided affections.

  So was I.

  Less than a minute later Sarah asked, “How does this sound? I’m sorry, Melody. I can’t go on this way. I need closure. I need this chapter of my life to end. Perhaps we could meet and come to a financial agreement we can both live with. Please text back with your availability so we can work out a time and a place.”

  I looked at the professor. His expression was glum.

  “Yep. Definitely sends the message there’s been a shift,” I said. “Works for me.”

  “Professor?”

  Reynolds turned and looked at her. “I’ll defer to you. It’s all too much for me to process at the moment.”

  Sarah stood up, her focus locked on the small screen in her hand. She stood motionless for a beat, then I saw her thumb move. “That’s it, then. Message sent.”

  I let go a sigh, nearly in sync with a faint moan from the professor.

  Sarah took his hand. “It’s all going to work out for the best. C’mon … I’ll drive you back to the university.”

  He perked-up ever so slightly, and rose to follow Sarah’s lead.

  Sarah paused in front of me on her way past and leaned in. “I’m going to run a few errands after I drop him off,” she said discreetly. “See you in a bit.”

  Chapter 23

  I had a hard time believing the wall clock as I walked into my office. It was barely 9:30 am, but I felt as though we’d already put in a grueling, full day of work.

  Guess that’s what happens when you get up two hours earlier than usual.

  I dropped my lethargic carcass into my office chair just as I heard the front door click shut. I was glad Sarah had offered to drive Professor Reynolds back to the university. It gave me an opportunity to absorb our game plan, and get mentally prepared for what might lay ahead.

  I opened the case file, pulled out the photo Reynolds had taken of Renee LeBlanc, and studied it for a minute. I wanted to make sure I’d recognize this woman if and when I saw her. Chances of us having more than one shot at bringing her in were slim to none.

  I pulled out my phone and brought up the other photo supplied by Kendrick Coughlin up in York. It was then I realized we’d never done a comprehensive comparison between this photo, taken prior to permanent makeup job, and the one on my desk.

  I loaded some photo-quality paper into my printer, sent the photo to the device, and generated a hard copy of the image. I then placed the image next to the other one, doing my best to see the differences facial imaging cameras might see. Though subtle, the before and after pictures looked different enough that, had I been unaware, I might have needed to look twice to realize both photos were of the same woman.

  I pulled a dispenser of cellophane tape out of my drawer and taped the images, side-by-side, on the wall of my office, then went and stood in the doorway to compare them from a short distance away.

  It was remarkable how the differences in shading were so much more pronounced from across the room.

  I stretched and let go a yawn, still less than thrilled about getting woken up so early in the morning.

  Nothing a little more coffee couldn’t remedy.

  I went to the kitchen and saw Sarah’s car keys on the table. Confused, I took a look out toward the driveway and discovered she’d grabbed my spare set of keys and taken my vehicle instead of her own.

  One thing was certain: driving my heap would make her appreciate climbing back into her own car.

  I poured the remainder of the morning coffee into a clean mug, then stood there thinking about what to do next as
I enjoyed a few soothing sips. Sarah had mentioned having some errands to run, so I decided the right call would be to follow up my third cup of the day with a nice hot shower.

  I popped into my office, grabbed my phone, and went up to the second floor bathroom. I got myself undressed and lathered my face up for a decent shave. I thought about Reynolds as I scraped the razor across my stubborn stubble, wondering if he’d be able to keep it together if Renee LeBlanc fell for our trap and agreed to meet with him.

  I had doubts, but figured Sarah was giving him a decent pep-talk and coaching session on their ride back to the university. Sarah’s words, coupled with the possibility of suffering the wrath of his wife Vittoria Arnahj, should have been all the professor needed to put him back on the straight and narrow.

  Time would tell.

  * * *

  I’d stood under the shower’s steamy stream long enough to deplete the capacity of our hot water tank, when I thought I heard a banging noise. The water temp dropping, I shut down the valve and reached for my towel.

  That’s when I realized I hadn’t imagined the racket. Someone was pounding on our front door.

  I toweled off the best I could as it dawned on me: Sarah was probably locked out, being that her keys were still on the kitchen table.

  I snugged the towel around my waist and bounded down the stairs, two at a time, hoping to reduce the odds of getting an earful from her. I flipped the lock handle and eased the door open. “Sorry it took---”

  “Mr. Peterson. My apologies. I’m utterly remiss for not having called first, but---well, I’d like to introduce you to my---please say hello to Melody Savin.”

  Chapter 24

  I didn’t get rattled often, but this shocker pushed me well beyond my ability to act---or react. In fact, I was temporarily paralyzed, convinced I was in the midst of a nervous breakdown.

  Fortunately, what seemed like an hour to me was, in reality, no longer than a few seconds.

  “Perhaps we could come in and wait while you clothe yourself,” said Professor Reynolds, his tentative, yet sensible words snapping me back to a semi-functional state.

  “Yes, of … of course. Please, please come in,” I said, the skin on my face feeling like it was on fire. “I’ll be right back. Go ahead and sit.”

  I needed to call James.

  My phone.

  I headed for my office, then remembered I’d taken my phone upstairs with me. I hustled up the flight as fast as an alarmed fool wrapped in a towel could possibly move, darted into the bathroom, and closed the door.

  I placed the call to James---which went directly to voicemail. I dumped the call and tried again. Same result. “James, this is Carter. The woman we discussed. Renee LeBlanc. She’s here. At my house. Please get here, ASAP, or send a cruiser.”

  I threw the door open and scrambled across the hall to the bedroom. I skipped the boxer shorts, getting my jeans on in record time. I was about to pull my jersey down over my head when I heard an argument explode out of dead silence, followed by commotion, rapid footfalls, and my front door slamming shut.

  I tossed my jersey aside and rushed out of the room, descending the stairs so quickly my feet stuttered across the leading edge of most of them. I stormed toward the front door, getting it open just in time to see Reynolds’s vehicle rocketing up the street, an acrid cloud of tire smoke left in its wake.

  I spun around to go grab Sarah’s car keys off from the kitchen table when I saw Reynolds, balled up in a fetal position, on my hallway floor.

  “Professor. You injured?” I inquired, afraid to move him until I got some sense of what had happened.

  He lifted his head slightly, nodding, then shook his head no. “I’m in pain. I’ll be fine in a few moments.”

  “Be right back,” I said and rushed upstairs to get my phone. I selected the touchpad screen and tapped out 911, then got myself back down to the professor’s side. “Did you tell LeBlanc she could take your car?”

  “No … I didn’t.”

  “What year, what make, and what license plate tags?”

  “It’s a 2014 Volvo. New Hampshire tag number 9679.”

  I placed the call and hit speaker.

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  I’m with an assault victim who just had his car stolen. “Victim’s name is Benjamin Reynolds. Stolen vehicle is a 2014 Volvo. Color, silver. New Hampshire tags. 9679.”

  “Physical location?”

  “603 Westford Avenue,” I said. “I also have the perpetrator’s name---uh, names.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Renee LeBlanc, AKA Janet Broe, AKA Melody Savin.”

  “Your name?”

  “This is Carter Peterson.”

  “Mr. Peterson, I have officers en route to 603 Westford Avenue. Would you like me to send an ambulance, as well?”

  I looked down at Reynolds, who began shaking his head. “Negative on the ambulance,” I replied and ended the call.

  Reynolds propped himself on his elbows and pivoted around so he could sit up, resting his back against the hallway wall. “I apologize. I had no opportunity to think.”

  “Where did you find her?” I asked.

  “She approached me in the university parking lot shortly after Ms. Woods dropped me off. She said she’d come to the university to look for me. She received our text while standing outside the hall in which I give my lectures. She was about to send a response when she saw me getting into my vehicle”

  “Oh, man,” I said as I tried to imagine what must have been going through his head at the time. “What excuse did you use to get her to come here?”

  “She said she was ready to settle, and insisted we get it done right away.” Reynolds inhaled deeply then let go a deep sigh. “The pressure was immense. I had to come up with a workable course of action … right then and there. All I could think of was to tell her we could drive to my attorney’s home to sign the necessary documents.”

  “Nicely done. Very well played,” I said. “But, what happened once you got here? While I was upstairs, getting dressed?”

  Reynolds shook his head. “She expressed the need to use your restroom. Well … I had no idea where it was, so I led her down the hallway to look for it.” Reynolds hesitated, hung his head, and pointed toward my office door. “She looked in there and saw those images of her hanging on your wall. Unfortunately, she knew exactly what they were. Needless to say, I lacked the finesse to spin that one. She offered me a formidable knee to the groin, took my car keys, and ran out of here like a startled feline.”

  I squeezed the back of my neck. “This couldn’t have gone---”

  A high-pitched squeal distracted my train of thought. I jogged across the living room in time to see Detective James sprinting across my front yard, firearm drawn.

  “She’s gone,” I said as I swung the front door open. “I just called it in.”

  James stepped inside and saw Reynolds sitting on the hallway floor. “This guy all right?” he asked as he made his way over to the professor.

  “Yep. Detective James, say hello to Professor Benjamin Reynolds. He just took a blow to the cajones.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear that, Professor,” James said. “That’s rough.”

  “For sure,” I said as I looked down at Reynolds then turned my attention back to James. “Silver lining? LeBlanc made off with the professor’s vehicle. Now we’ve got something iron-clad to hold her on.”

  “Give me the tag number. I’ll step out to my car. Get on the radio and make sure this thing gets high priority.”

  “New Hampshire tag 9679. Silver Volvo sedan.”

  James looked down at Reynolds and gave him a nod. “We’ll get her.”

  Chapter 25

  “Let’s get you up off the floor and over to a more comfortable spot,” I said to Professor Reynolds. “Then, I need to give Sarah a call to let her know what’s happening.”

  Reynolds reached out for my hand, and, working as a team, we managed to get him back on his
feet.

  “Thank you,” he said, standing a bit hunched over.

  “C’mon in the living room and take a seat on the couch,” I said, then led the way while placing a call to Sarah.

  “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?” he asked.

  I nodded as I heard Sarah’s voicemail kick in. I ended the call, not wanting to leave a message as sensitive as this one would be.

  I turned and headed for the kitchen, but stopped half way. “Professor, maybe you’d prefer something stronger than water. I’ve got Scotch whiskey, if you’d care for a belt.”

  “Thank you for offering. I’d like to take you up on it, but I’d best refrain.”

  “How about some aspirin to go with your water?”

  “Please.”

  I went to the kitchen and began filling a glass with ice when I heard my phone chirping.

  Sarah.

  “You’re not going to believe this one,” I said, and proceeded to bring her up to speed as I filled the water glass.

  She vowed to head back to the house right away and clicked off.

  “As promised, Professor,” I said as I walked back into the living room and handed him the glass and the pills.

  “What will happen to her?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Melody---uh, sorry … Ms. LeBlanc. What will happen when they locate her?”

  “She’ll be arrested. Taken into custody and questioned. We have an excellent working relationship with the police department here in Bridgeport, so you can count on us being present when they question her.”

  Reynolds looked troubled by the news.

  “Carter?” I heard James call out.

  “In the living room.”

  “They got her. State police spotted your client’s car travelling south on 95. My boys are on scene. They’ll be rolling into the station with LeBlanc in roughly ten minutes. If you’re all set, here, I’m going to go meet them down there.”

  “By all means. I won’t be far behind.”