“Well, in that case, I think I may try another go at following her. I have to tell you, though, I’m beginning to lose hope of ever getting irrefutable proof.”
“Don’t, Paul,” Bob encouraged. “There's an arrogance about these people, and that means they’re bound to make a mistake. We just have to hope we’ll be lucky enough to have someone there to videotape it.” And Bob was right. I had to try again. I thanked Bob for that info, and called Joyce.
“Hi Paul, what’s up?” Joyce answered, with the sound of shuffling papers in the background. I was in the kitchen cleaning up after breakfast when the sound of drawers opening and closing reverberated down the hall from upstairs. Johnny was getting dressed for school.
“I got a call from Bob Thompson this morning and he told me that Audrey called him and told him to keep Tommy until Monday. I know we haven’t had much success, but why don't we give it one more try and see if we can catch her in the act tonight. Do you have someone who can follow her beginning around five o’clock?”
The shuffle of little feet coming down the stairs meant Johnny had finished dressing and I needed to end the call.
“My guy is on another case, but he’ll be free at five. I’ll tell him to go right to her apartment.”
“Thanks, Joyce. I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up the phone and turned to see Johnny standing in the doorway, wearing a bright green Celtics t-shirt my father had given him, red shorts, and a beaming smile.
“Ready to go, Daddy.”
I spent the rest of the day thinking about what Joyce was going to uncover, or not. That night, after pizza and a movie with Johnny, I crawled into bed early, keeping my cell phone close by while I slept. Around midnight, it rang.
“Hey, Joyce, how’s it going?” I was bleary-eyed but immediately awake, knowing Joyce wouldn't call this late if she didn’t have something substantial to tell me.
“Pretty good, Paul. Actually, really good. We’ve had quite a night.” I could hear the excitement in her voice, knowing she too was eager to find something on Audrey after so many failed attempts. “Audrey was at her apartment at five when our guy got there and stayed until eight when she left with her daughter. She was dressed to the max, which told us that she was probably going to drop her daughter off somewhere before continuing on to hook. She did drop her daughter off at school for some function, and then drove on to her parents’ condo on Huntington Island. She was there for about an hour before leaving at 9:30 for her ultimate destination, a nightclub called ‘The Horseshoe.’ However, she must have thought she was being followed, because she drove right past it, traveling an additional four miles north before making a series of U-turns and a dozen or so half turns before ending back on Main Street and the club.”
“Uh huh,” was all I said, eager to hear the story continue.
“She entered the nightclub and met up with Royce, as well as two other men who my guy thought were pimps, and two girls. They all sat at one table and the liquor was flowing. The place was packed, and lots of men were approaching the girls, which meant my guy couldn’t take any pictures, since he would have had to get extremely close to the suspects. He stood right next to Royce. Around 11:30, one of the other men approached Royce, asked him a question, and my guy overheard Royce say, ‘Offer $250 and see if she’ll take it.’ Then she danced with this guy, kissed him, and put her cell phone number into his cell phone. They left shortly afterward in their separate cars with my guy following Audrey to the next town, where he lost her. Being late, they were the only two cars on the streets, so my guy couldn’t follow too closely. After he lost her, he drove back to her apartment and confirmed that she had not returned home.”
“Wow,” I said, after she finished. I pictured the events as Joyce recounted them and wondered if that was a typical Friday night out for Audrey. “So, what do you think Joyce. Is that it? Is that enough to convince a judge she’s a hooker?”
“I’ve had a lot of court experiences in these types of cases and it should definitely be enough to convince a judge.”
“Great, Joyce. That’s great. Thanks, and good night.” I softly closed my cell phone, wanting to believe so much that Joyce was right, that it would be enough. I knew, however, that Adam would be the one to give me a better idea of how useful this new information might be in court. With our second mediation fast approaching, I was anxious to have as much evidence as possible to use as leverage. If they didn’t settle this time, there would certainly be some wonderful testimony in court about Audrey’s secret life.
The following Monday, I contacted Adam about Joyce’s findings, and he was uncharacteristically excited. I also asked Adam to subpoena Florida’s Best Rent-a-Car, Verizon Wireless, Bank of America, and Best Invest, companies that I suspected Audrey of dealing with, for any account information under her name. If the car rental company disclosed Audrey’s pattern of renting cars, or Verizon proved that Audrey had multiple cell phones, this would clearly show that she was not your typical stay-at-home mom.
As for the banks, since her phone log showed that Audrey made a phone call to the Bank of America debit card activation line, I knew Audrey had another bank account other than the one she disclosed to us, the Bank of Florida. Moreover, Terri had told me that Audrey had a brokerage account under a corporate name with up to $900,000 in it. Initially, this number completely shocked me; but then I considered that Audrey had probably been hooking for almost five years, and therefore, mathematically it was quite possible for her to accumulate that much, or more. Since Joyce had followed her making multiple deposits at Bank of Florida, I felt there was a strong likelihood that Audrey had both her checking account and her brokerage account at that bank. So, I called the branch and spoke with the manager for new brokerage investment accounts.
“Who do you use, Fidelity? Charles Schwab?” I asked.
“No, we work through Best Invest.” Learning that, I added Best Invest to the list of companies for Adam to subpoena. If Audrey was hiding anything at any of the requested companies, the leverage this information would give us might convince her to walk away and settle before trial. Unfortunately, we didn't receive any feedback before the mediation.
* * *
November 13, 2009
On the morning of the mediation, I methodically prepared myself for all possible outcomes and confrontations that might occur. I rehearsed arguments in my head as I took a shower, I calculated risks as I shaved before my clouded mirror, and while I dressed I even fantasized about what I would say to her if I were given the opportunity to speak directly to her. By the time I arrived at the offices of her new lawyer, Peter Walton, I was more confident than I had ever been. I sat in my seat with the elation of a man going into battle holding the only weapon on the battlefield. My lawyer, Adam, seemed equally assured, and we awaited the arrival of both the mediator and the opposing counsel. A moment later, our wait ended.
“Where’s Audrey?” we both asked.
“She refuses to sit here with you,” Peter replied, making no movement to join us at the table. “Will you acknowledge that she owns half of your California house?” His arms hung loosely at his sides as he stared down at us.
“No,” I replied firmly, surprised by both his directness and the lack of any kind of formal beginning.
“Okay, that’s it,” Peter said, and he spun around and walked right out of the room.
What just happened?” I asked, feeling at once angry and confused by the curt interchange.
“I’m not sure. But it looks like you’ll have your day in court,” Adam said, shrugging his shoulders. I sat back with the feeling that the wind had been stripped from my sails. I had prepared for every possible scenario except this. I had desperately wanted to show Audrey’s lawyer our documents, believing they would have a tremendous effect, encouraging her to settle right then and there. I also wanted to show Audrey that her days of deceiving me were long gone. I was once again filled with anger, feeling cheated one more time.
Seething in my se
at in the mediation room, I looked up in time to see Audrey whisk by, her powder blue sundress waving behind her in dramatic departure. I could no longer conceal my anger. “Fine! Don’t settle!” I yelled, rising from my seat in indignation. Adam gripped my arm. “The FBI will arrest you, and the IRS will seize all your assets!” She kept walking, giving no clue that she'd heard me. I knew she had, unless she'd suddenly become deaf.
“Okay, okay.” Adam interceded. “Calm down. Don’t worry. You’ll have your day in court.” I slumped back into my seat, clasping my hands together on the desk and lowering my head in dejection. “I do have some good news, I forgot to mention earlier,” he said, hoping to lift my spirits.
“It better be really good,” I responded, raising my eyes to meet his.
“It is. I was speaking with Peter Walton yesterday, to confirm our time today, and we started talking a bit about Audrey. Apparently, Audrey was referred to him by her latest target, a guy named Mark Rogers.”
“Bob Thompson mentioned Mark Rogers to me. His private investigator has been watching him.”
“Yeah, well, he’s been doing more than watching. He actually approached this Mark Rogers and gave him the whole Audrey dossier before warning him to be careful. According to Walton, that was enough. Mark ended their relationship.” Adam was right, the news did make me feel a bit better. At least I had saved one guy from a lot of grief, and losing a lot of money. I thanked Adam, and wearily rose to leave.
The next day, I called Adam to go over what should be our next move in preparing for trial. Before we began, however, Adam had some more news for me.
“I’m glad you called, Paul,” he began. “I just got off the phone with Agent Hunter of the Jupiter Police Department. He wouldn’t give me much information, except to say that he had little resources, and that if you saw Audrey at a Jupiter hotel, to please call him.”
“Interesting,” I said, and pondered for a moment. “I see three possibilities here. One, Agent Hunter is telling the truth and he’s just a local cop with limited resources. Two, his investigation is ongoing, but he simply doesn't want to give you any details. Or, three, he has been investigating, got close to the ring, and they paid him off to stop his investigation.” Though I was personally inclined to believe the first or second theory, Audrey had taught me that the third was more than possible.
“It could be any of the three,” Adam agreed, “Whichever it is, though, we’re powerless.”
“Maybe not,” I said, refusing to let another door close on our investigation. “I think it’s time to kick it up a notch. I’m going to contact the Feds.” Remembering my threat to Audrey, I decided to follow through with it. I would contact the FBI. No one could tell me its resources would be too limited.
“Sounds like a good idea, Paul. Good luck, and let me know what happens.”
“I will,” I agreed, and hung up the phone wondering how to initiate such a call. Did the FBI even have a number in the phone book?
As it turns out, they did. I called the Miami office of the FBI and the receptionist connected me with their West Palm Beach branch. While I waited for the call to connect, I actually felt nervous. This wasn’t some simple call to a private investigator or local cop, this was the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I had no idea how I would be received or what might transpire. After a few rings, however, a man identifying himself only as Toby answered the phone. Taken aback by the casual greeting, I asked him if he was an agent and he confirmed that he was. With that, I gave him a short synopsis of my reason for calling and he asked me to come to the West Palm Beach office to lay out the complete story. I did exactly that the following day.
Walking into the offices of the FBI isn’t something to be taken lightly. Considering the power, the knowledge, and the control represented by those initials, the idea that I might simply saunter in and share a story with an agent seemed surreal. Would they think I was wasting their time? Would they start a file on me? Was there already a file on me? Entering through the large, metal double doors, I was quickly provided with an answer.
The face staring back at me was pure evil. Vacuous eyes, a heavy beard framing a long face, and a slightly smiling expression that was as penetrating as it was haunting. I had seen him plenty of times before, but never quite in this way. His image, larger than life, hung high on a wall with #1 labeled above him in large bold letters. Osama Bin Laden had been on the FBI’s Top Ten Most Wanted List since 1999, and was now the #1 Most Wanted Terrorist. Looking at him, I figured the FBI had bigger fish to fry, and I was too insignificant, too honest to warrant their attention, so my heart rate returned, almost, to normal.
“Mr. Goldman?” the voice jarred me from my concentration on the wanted poster. Standing in front of me were two men.
“Yes,” I answered, thrown off by their all-business expressions. Their shirts were taut, their ties were straight, and their eyes were very intense. Their handshakes were firm. Very firm.
“I am agent Toby Portman. We spoke on the phone yesterday. This is Agent Jones, from our ‘securities fraud’ unit. Let’s go into this interview room over here.” He pointed to a nearby, windowless door. I silently followed their lead into the room and waited for a directive from them where I should sit.
I had with me the phone logs and my analysis and, while I spread them out over the table as I had done with both Sergeant Kowalski and Agent Hunter before, I began my long, detailed story of how I came to know the true Audrey. In contrast to the other two occasions, however, neither men took notes, nor did they take their eyes off me for more than a moment at any time.
“Do you have any proof that she takes money for sex?” Agent Portman asked directly, disregarding the countless papers before him.
“Yes, I do,” I said, somewhat defensively. “On Friday night, November 2nd, my private eye followed Audrey to the Horsehoe Club, and overheard a conversation where her pimp Royce Rocco told a prospective customer to offer her $250 and see if she'd take it. Audrey and this man then danced, and left the nightclub together.”
This seemed to satisfy the agents. They finally took their eyes off me, and began to intently study the paperwork. They asked me if I knew anything about operations in other states. I gave them the phone logs of Audrey’s two Chicago trips, and I showed them the number of a contact guy in New York, Vinny Rivera. Audrey called him at least twice each month, meaning he was either a very satisfied customer or her New York pimp. Under the circumstances, I decided not to mention that the source of this particular information was my psychic, Terri Lynn.
While I spoke, Agent Portman wrote on a “complaint form” that there were two local pimps, Royce Rocco and Tony Sawgrass, as well as pimps in New York and Chicago. The entire interview lasted about an hour, at the end of which Agent Jones, who’d been silent for most of the meeting, spoke up.
“We will make Royce talk,” was all he said. His firm statement made me believe him, though I was curious how.
“How?” I asked. “He certainly will lie to you.” Images of good cop/ bad cop, intense, long inquiries, and sleep deprivation filled my head. What was really involved in leaning on someone?
“He’ll be facing significant prison time. He’ll talk,” he stated tersely. “We’ll also interview the local tricks, and they’ll talk. We’ll have our associates in New York and Chicago interview those pimps, and they’ll talk too.”
I stared back at him, not sure what else to say. It was clear that this was no longer my investigation. “This woman must be stopped,” Agent Jones added, leaning in toward me to emphasize his seriousness. “There are children involved.” I nodded in agreement as a shiver ran up my back. I was pleased that they understood all the ramifications of Audrey being a hooker. “Also,” he continued, “if the ring is paying off cops in Spencer County, this is very serious. I honestly wish I wasn’t in the securities division, because I’d like to take on this case personally. Besides, with all the work you’ve done, this case is already half made.” He looked over at Agent Por
ter, who nodded slightly.
“Would you please tell me,” I asked both agents, placing both of my palms on the arms of the chair for balance, “what is your professional opinion of the local cops?”
Their Cheshire grins gave me my answer, but they said nothing. Agent Portman completed his complaint form and looked up at me.
“Mr. Goldman, our next step is to give this complaint, along with your documents, to the head of the prostitution unit. That unit will assign an agent, who will contact you and ask you to come in and explain your story once again. That is, if you’re willing.”
“Absolutely,” I confirmed, feeling a flood of self-importance rush over me. We ended our interview, and each crushed my hand in turn. I thanked the agents, and made my way out the door, elated and anxious for my next meeting.
My elation turned into frustration, however, when no one from the prostitution unit contacted me for two weeks. Finally, I decided to call them.
I felt the best plan was to speak with the same agent as before, Agent Portman. Answering my call on the third ring, the receptionist agreed to connect me. A moment later, I heard, “Agent Portman.”
“Agent Portman, this is Paul Goldman. We met two weeks ago and I gave you information on the Audrey Munson prostitution ring. How are you?”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Goldman?” Agent Portman asked coolly, offering no pleasantries.
“Well, I've been expecting a call from an agent in the prostitution unit to arrange my second meeting, but no one has called me. Can you tell me please, has the FBI decided to take my case?” Again, his manner was less than cordial.
“I have given your complaint to two desks, the prostitution unit and the high crimes unit, but I am not allowed to tell you anything further.”
Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit Page 21