CHAPTER 4
SPY SHOP
Tracking down assets of a high rolling husband wasn't my idea of fun. It involved a lot of leg work—reviewing tax rolls, pouring through deed records, endless hours on the telephone talking to contacts with the phone company, the secretary of state's office, and the state comptroller. Then there was the surreptitious contact with ex-employees, ex-girlfriends, and business rivals who might have inside information on hidden assets. Not having the stomach for that sort of thing, I called Paul Thayer, our PI, and gave him that lovely job. He took the assignment without comment and said he'd get back to me in a couple days.
I could have waited until the case was filed and then sent out discovery to get this information, but that would have given Martin Windsor time to cover his tracks. The element of surprise was key to finding the full extent of his assets. In fact, I wasn't planning to serve citation on Windsor until I had Paul's report in hand. My strategy was to ask the court for a TRO prohibiting the sale, disposal, or dissipation of any assets that he owned. The more assets I could specifically list in the application for the TRO the better. The TRO would be granted routinely, but ten days later there would be a temporary injunction hearing where I'd have to prove the need for extraordinary relief.
As I was considering all of this, I heard Stan talking to Jodie. Stan had been gone all day so I was anxious to hear what he'd been up to. I walked out of my office and into the reception area where he and Jodie were talking. He looked over at me.
I smiled. "Hey. You're back."
Stan sighed. "Yeah, thank God. What a day."
"Tell me all about it. Where have you been?"
"Mineral Wells."
"Mineral Wells? Why did you go all the way out there?"
"Peter's scout troop was camping up at Possum Kingdom, and the junior assistant scoutmaster and one of Peter's friends were in a Jeep accident."
"Oh, no. Are they okay?"
"Steven Caldwell, the junior assistant scoutmaster, is fine, but Peter's friend Jimmy died."
"Oh, Jesus. What happened?"
Stan filled me in on the details of the accident, their trip to the hospital, and Steven's bizarre story of being mesmerized by an alien spacecraft. They had stayed overnight and posted Steven's bond early in the morning after the district judge had gotten around to setting it. Steven's explanation of what caused the accident was so crazy I couldn't help but laugh. Stan didn't seem to be amused, however. For a minute I thought maybe he believed the story.
"So, you're not going to try to sell that scenario are you?" I asked.
"No, obviously it wouldn't play well, but what if that's the only defense we have? And since our client believes the story, don't we have an obligation to assert it?"
"Stan, don't even think about it. If you try to blame the accident on an alien spacecraft, not only will you lose the case but you'll never be taken seriously as an attorney again."
"How do you expect me to defend him then?"
"Make something up—a dog ran across the road. How could anybody prove otherwise?"
"I can't tell him to lie."
"Don't tell him to lie, just tell him to think very hard about the accident and come up with a better story."
I laughed. "Right. You want me to encourage him to lie."
"Well, we know there aren't alien spacecraft flying around, so I think you're encouraging him to get real."
"What if he's telling the truth?"Stan said with a straight face. "I was reading in a magazine that fifteen million Americans claim to have seen some kind of alien aircraft or UFO."
I shook my head. "Stan, you're scaring me. We've worked hard and gone through hell to build up a reputation as the best criminal defense firm in Dallas. If you even mention alien spacecraft, we'll be the laughingstocks of the southwest."
"Don't worry. I told Steven not to mention it again. We'll come up with something more credible. I don't know yet what it will be, but we'll think of something."
Just then Jodie walked in, a baffled look on her face and a notepad in her hand.
"What's wrong?" I said.
"I just got a call from the Globe Inquirer. They want to confirm a story they're printing for tomorrow's edition."
"What story?" I asked.
She looked down at her notes and said, "Well the headline is going to be, 'ALIEN SPACECRAFT CAUSES DEATH OF BOY SCOUT IN WEST TEXAS, Scoutmaster claims tragic accident caused by shock of seeing a huge spaceship.'"
Stan laughed, "So much for keeping this under wraps."
"This isn't funny," I said. "We'll never live this down."
"Come on, Paula. You're overreacting. This will give us a lot of great exposure. Think of the press coverage this trial could attract."
"That's what I'm worried about. This is going to be a circus and we're going to look like a couple of clowns."
"What should I tell them?" Jodie asked.
"Tell them no comment," I said.
Jodie nodded and left. Stan walked off still wearing a big smile on his face. I couldn't believe he'd gotten us into this mess. Alien spacecraft? Give me a break. Nobody would believe such a ridiculous story.
The next day Paul sent me his report. After I read it, I called Cheryl Windsor to schedule an appointment to prepare for the temporary injunction hearing. She told me she had acquired a good deal of information as well. She wouldn't elaborate but said I would be quite proud of her. That boast made me very curious.
When Jodie showed her in that afternoon, she was carrying a cardboard storage box. She set it down next to a side chair and took a seat. She was dressed to kill—a black halter-styled crochet dress with a see-through waistband."
"I like that dress," I said, wondering why she was so dressed up. "Where did you get it?"
"Neiman's. I've been doing a lot of shopping since we split up. It helps fight depression."
"I bet."
Seeing her dressed that way made me nervous. She wasn't dressed for work and certainly not for an appointment with her lawyer. It was obvious she was meeting a man. Since she and Martin had already split up it was probably no big deal, but I wondered how long she'd been dating. If she'd been unfaithful during the marriage, I needed to know about it.
"So, tell me. Have you been seeing anyone since you broke up?"
She stiffened. "What?"
"Well, you're not dressed for church."
She looked down at her outfit and then back up at me. "Oh. Well, actually I am meeting someone for happy hour. Everyone says I should move on and not look back. Unfortunately, I have the children so that complicates matters a bit, but yes, I've been dating a little since the breakup—nobody special, though. I'm meeting him later this afternoon, as a matter of fact."
I questioned her about the man she was meeting and satisfied myself that it was a new relationship. We talked awhile about Cheryl's three children—two boys and a girl ages three, five, and seven. She said Martin had threatened a custody battle if she caused him too much grief. She wouldn't let him have custody under any circumstances, she said. We chatted awhile longer and then I handed Cheryl Paul's report. It detailed much of the property that we already knew about but there were several surprises. Martin Windsor owned a limited partnership called Cimarron West, Ltd. It didn't do business itself, but was the major stakeholder in several resort hotels in Mexico and the Carribean. It also had a number of offshore bank accounts and other business interests, the nature of which Paul had been unable to ascertain.
When I was done, I asked, "So, what did you dig up?"
"Oh. . . . Well. . . . I installed several cameras and microphones around the house before I moved out."
"What?" I replied. "Are you nuts?"
"What? A girl's got to protect herself, don't you think?"
"Sure, but you must have a death wish. Aren't you worried he'll discover one of the bugs?"
"So, what if he does. He won't know who planted them. He's got lots of enemies."
“He does?”
“Sure
, he’s an aggressive business man. He’d do anything to make a buck.”
We talked about this for awhile but Cheryl couldn’t give me any names, so I made a note to look into it later.
"Where did you learn how to plant a bug, anyway?"
"The Spy Shop."
"The Spy Shop?"
"Uh huh. They have several stores around town. They sell all kinds of electronic surveillance gear—telephone taps, video cameras, tracking devices—and they have classes every Saturday to teach their customers how to use them."
I laughed. "You've got to be kidding."
"Nope. It was a lot of fun, actually."
I shook my head. "Well, what did you find out? Did you catch him partying with his girlfriend?"
She smiled. "Oh, yes and much, much more. I hope you have a VCR."
I escorted her to the conference room, stuck the video tape in the VCR, and pushed play. The screen flickered and then the living room of the Windsor's house appeared.
"I've got hours of this stuff—four or five tapes," she said. "Most of it's pretty boring, but here in about thirty seconds you'll see something very interesting."
I nodded and kept my focus on the TV screen. After a few seconds a dark, trim, muscular man appeared wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.
"That's Martin," Cheryl said. "In a minute you'll see Alice."
"Okay," I said, understanding now why Cheryl had been attracted to him. He looked like he could be a movie star.
"We're looking at the living room from a camera above the door to the kitchen," Cheryl said. "The door on the far side of the room leads to the master bedroom. The front door and the dining room are to the right."
There was a woman's voice coming from the master bedroom. Martin turned and yelled something to her. A minute later an attractive brunette appeared clad only in a pair of pink bikini panties.
"That's Alice, huh?" I asked.
"Right. What a slut, huh? I knew she had questionable morals, but I never suspected she'd betray me."
Alice had a small transparent baggie in her hand filled with a white substance that looked like cocaine. She sat on the floor and carefully poured a small amount of the powder on the glass coffee table. Martin joined her at the table with a couple of drinks. He watched her intently as she inhaled the substance. When she was done, she threw her head back and took a deep breath. Finally she got up and went to Martin. They kissed, tenderly at first but soon were making passionate love. Cheryl abruptly shut off the tape.
"I'd like to kill that bitch!" Cheryl screamed. "How could your best friend betray you like that?"
"I don't know, but it will definitely help prove our allegation of adultery and preclude him from getting custody of your kids," I said, "if we can get the video tape into evidence."
"Why couldn't we?" she asked.
"When were these tapes made?"
"I set up the cameras Saturday morning in several locations—the living room, bedroom, and the kitchen. They were shot Saturday afternoon and evening. I only had eight hour tapes. I retrieved them . . . well, I'm not sure exactly when."
"Getting surreptitious surveillance tapes into evidence is a complicated issue. You didn't have permission of either of the parties to film them. It could be an invasion of their privacy. The best argument we have is that it was your house so you had a right to install the cameras. Your husband would, of course, argue that you had moved out and were not in possession of the house any longer. It's a crap shoot whether a judge would let the evidence in."
"It doesn't matter. I doubt Martin will deny the affair. What I caught on this second video tape is more interesting."
"Really? Let's see it."
Cheryl removed the first video and placed the second one on in the machine. After a minute the same room appeared but this time there were three men seated watching a football game. Martin was in a stuffed chair and two other men were seated on the sofa. Everyone had a beer and there were chips and salsa on the coffee table. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door and Martin got up to answer it.
Martin escorted two men into the living room. One was thin and bald and the other one must have weighed 300 lbs. The bald man had a black briefcase which he put down next to the salsa on the coffee table. They were laughing and fooling around until the bald man said, "Okay, let's get this show on the road. I've got to get to the airport."
With that someone shut off the TV and the room became quiet. The bald man then leaned down and opened the briefcase. It was full of cash in neat stacks. It was impossible to tell exactly what denomination they were, but I suspected they were hundreds. That was the most common bill used by criminal elements. After one of the men examined the cash, he nodded to Martin and the bald man closed the briefcase. At that point someone turned the TV back on and the two men left, leaving the briefcase on the coffee table. When the football game was over, everyone left and Martin took the briefcase into the bedroom.
"I guess your husband has some illegal business going on."
Cheryl shook her head. "I thought I knew Martin, but this is a different man. I can't believe I'm married to a drug dealer."
"It was only one packet. It doesn't prove he's dealing."
"What about the money?"
"It could be for anything. But he's not very smart screwing your best friend and watching her use drugs. Did you ever see him use drugs himself while you two were together?"
"No. When I've indulged myself in the past, he's always declined. He does like to watch though."
"Where did you get your stuff?"
"Martin always found it for me. He said getting it was easy. I asked him a few times where he got it, but he just ignored the question."
"So, what do you want to do?" I asked.
"I don't know. Maybe we should tell him if he doesn't agree to a generous property settlement, we'll go to the police with these tapes."
"That would be extortion. We could both go to jail for that."
"Really, why?"
"I don't know. I guess because you shouldn't be able to buy your way out of jail. We can use this information to our advantage though, but we have to be very careful how we do it."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we can let it slip that we know what your husband is up to, but we can't threaten him. We don't need to threaten him anyway. He'll understand pretty quickly that he'd better give you what you want, or suffer the consequences."
"How will you let it slip?"
"Once the case is filed and he hires an attorney, I'll have a heart-to-heart talk with his counsel. I'll convey to him the wisdom in quickly settling the case to avoid the risk of secrets being inadvertently revealed. It shouldn't be too hard getting the message across."
"Good. Do you need any more evidence? I removed all the cameras and bugs, but I can put them back if it would help."
"No, that won't be necessary. How did you manage to retrieve them without Martin finding out?"
"I don't remember exactly. It's kind of weird but when I got into my car this morning I found all of the equipment in my trunk. I can't remember removing it, but obviously I did."
"Wait a minute. You have no memory of retrieving it?"
Cheryl grimaced. "No, I really don't. I've racked my brains, but can't remember a thing."
"Could someone else have removed it and put it back in your trunk?"
"I don't see how. Nobody knew it was there except me."
"What if Martin found it? He might have stuck it back in your car to shake you up."
"No way. He doesn't have keys to my car and I always keep it locked. Besides, if he had found it he would have destroyed the tapes."
"Right. That would make sense. You must have removed it. It's just so weird that you can't remember anything."
I pondered this for a moment. As sincere as Cheryl seemed, how could she forget something as traumatic as retrieving illegal surveillance equipment? You don't do something like that every day. Something wasn't right. Eithe
r Cheryl was playing games with me or she'd suffered a short term memory loss. I supposed that was possible, but it didn't seem likely. I had been working with her for several weeks and hadn't seen any evidence of it. In fact, my impression was that she was highly intelligent, capable, and very much focused on her objectives in life. So, if she couldn't remember what had happened the night before, I suspected it was because she had been drunk or someone had drugged her. Either way I needed to know what had happened. I couldn't represent her effectively if I wasn't fully aware of what was going on in her life.
Cactus Island, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 8 Page 4