Carter Peterson Mystery Series (Volume 1)

by Al Boudreau

  “I’ll make a count.” A few seconds later Andrew said, “There are three from yesterday alone. I went all the way back to the beginning of her profile. Looks like she’s been involved with him, on and off, for roughly four years. One of her posts talks about the day Blais got promoted to Marine Sergeant. And that his MOS is Air Control Electronics Operator. There’s even a picture of him in uniform.”

  “MOS?”

  “Military Occupation Specialty. Just a fancy phrase the Corp uses for ‘job.’ Says on the Marine Corp’s website he’d be responsible for installation and operation of tactical air command and control systems.”

  I let that sink in for a minute. “So Blais would either need to have a formal education in electronics, or extensive training with them in the service. Either way, the guy would be considered an electronics expert, right?”

  “That’s my takeaway,” Andrew said. “Six weeks ago this woman posted a picture of the two of them together inside Twentynine Palms Marine Base. Says here in the post that he’d just signed on for a third tour, with the hashtag reenlistment bonus. She also made a comment about it being time to spend some money. Then, not three days later, she appears to be in borderline hysterics. Said Blais went UA. What’s that mean?”

  “Unauthorized absence,” I replied. “It’s the Marine equivalent of going AWOL. After thirty days away, military personnel go from being AWOL, or UA, in Blais’s case, to becoming a deserter.” I let my head fall back against the headrest. “Once you’re labeled a deserter in any branch of the military, it carries felony charges.”

  “No kidding? They serve time in prison? Surprised they haven’t captured him by now.”

  “The military doesn’t waste time and money searching for these guys. They just enter the missing personnel’s information into our national criminal database. Then, if the deserter screws up---something as simple as a speeding ticket---the deserter is held by local authorities until military chasers show up, then gets escorted back for sentencing.”

  My phone chimed, indicating a new text. I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to Andrew. “Check that message, would you?”

  “It’s from Richard. Just says Could use your help.”

  “Let him know we’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Chapter 23

  “It’s about time,” Richard said while sitting on the edge of the couch, looking bewildered.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Turned out to be nothing but a false alarm,” Richard said. “Just gave me a little scare, that’s all.”

  Andrew took a seat next to Richard. “What can we do to help?”

  Richard gave Andrew a sneer. “You can’t do anything to help. It’s Carter’s help I need.”

  “Okay, okay, enough. What is this concerning, Richard?” I asked.

  “Concerning my business back in LA,” Richard replied.

  “Tell us exactly what happened,” I said.

  Andrew nodded, drawing Richard’s attention again. Richard lingered on Andrew’s face for a few seconds before turning to me. “I got three code eights, back to back, a few minutes before I sent you that text. Almost gave me a heart attack. So, I called my guy. Apparently, he took it upon himself to run some diagnostics on our monitoring system.”

  I was about to ask why when Richard’s phone started whistling. His face went pale. “What’s going on, Richard?”

  “Two more texts. Both code eights.”

  “What exactly is a code eight?” I asked.

  Richard began composing a text message. “Well, if it were a real code eight event, it would indicate that a client’s security measures had been breached.”

  “The five texts that came in. Do they indicate breaches in the same location, or separate events?” I asked.

  “They’re not breaches,” Richard snapped. “I told you it was some kind of glitch.” No sooner had the words shot out of his mouth when his phone whistled again.

  “Okay. They’re not breaches,” I said, simply to appease him. “But if these code eight events were the real thing, exactly what security measures would be breached?”

  “Each client has a unique system, designed to satisfy their specific needs. But they all have high-tech safes on their premises. Some clients keep stock certificates in them. Some expensive jewelry. Others cash, gold, collectibles. No two are quite alike. Anyways, a code eight indicates the most serious level of breach. It means someone was able to access the contents of their safe.”

  I glanced at Andrew and pursed my lips. “Here, Richard,” I said. “Use my phone. There must be someone else you can call to confirm these … glitches.”

  Richard snatched the phone from my hand. “I only have one other employee available. My third guy is on vacation.” He placed the call and said, “You stupid … straight to voice mail, of course.”

  Andrew stood up and I took Andrew’s place on the couch, next to Richard, and put my hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been friends for a long time, so I need two things from you right now. I need you to take a deep breath to clear your head, then I need you to stay calm and let me help.”

  I watched him inhale deeply and exhale in a huge sigh. “Help? How are you going to help?” he asked in a voice that carried both fear and defeat.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to answer without biting my head off,” I said.

  “Yeah, okay,” Richard said. “What do you want to know?”

  “Your three employees. How long has each of them worked for you?”

  “My bookkeeper—the one I can’t reach—has been with me from the beginning. My installation tech is fairly new. Hired him about two months ago, part time. He’s in the Marines, but close to the end of his duty. Wants to work for me full-time once he’s out. I gave him some time off while I’m here in Hawaii so he could spend more time at home with his wife. They just had their first child. And my latest employee, the person I spoke with who’s responsible for systems monitoring. He came on board a little over a month ago.”

  I looked over Richard’s shoulder at Andrew, who raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

  “Okay. Your installation technician. Where’d you find him?”

  Richard took a few seconds to think. “Well … I interviewed a slew of candidates for that position, so I honestly don’t remember. I took out help-wanted ads online and in the trade papers to find candidates.”

  “All right. So, why this particular guy? What made you hire him?”

  “I hired him because he had a decent amount of prior experience, and he was willing to work for much less than anyone else I talked to.”

  “How old?” I asked.

  “Forties.”

  “And your system’s monitoring guy. Where’d you find him, and how old?”

  “He was a slam-dunk,” Richard said. “My previous system’s person simply failed to show up for work one Monday morning. No notice. Nothing. Just vanished. I was in a panic, because I had to do the job myself until I could find a replacement. Then, by some miracle, this new guy calls the next day. Asks if I have any job openings. Said he’d just finished serving in the military and was looking for private sector work. He’s also in his forties.”

  “Do you know which branch of the military?

  “He was in the Marines, too.”

  “Does he monitor your client’s systems from your office or from his home?” I asked.

  “Both,” Richard replied. “He can also do his job on the go with the fancy cell phone I gave him.”

  “Andrew, call Sarah right away and explain the circumstances to her,” I said as I shot up off the couch. “See what you two can come up with to slow this train wreck down.”

  “Train wreck?” Richard asked. “What exactly are you talking about?”

  “It’s one in the morning back home,” Andrew reminded me.

  “Make the call,” I said without hesitation. “Sarah will understand.”

  Richard stood up and grabbed my arm
. “Carter. Tell me. What do you mean by train wreck?”

  “Pack your things,” I said as I shook loose of his grip, rushed into the bedroom, and grabbed my laptop.

  When I returned to the living room Richard remained in the same spot, his phone on the couch cushion, still whistling away. I grabbed his elbow to lead him into his bedroom, but he resisted.

  “They’re not glitches, are they?” he asked, his speech now little more than a mumble. “My clients are really getting hit.”

  “No way of knowing from here. C’mon, we need to get you packed and on a plane,” I said. I led Richard into the bedroom and coaxed him into getting his belongings together before I began searching websites for the first available flight to Los Angeles.

  Within minutes I had Richard’s tickets booked and paid for. I grabbed the handset from the nightstand telephone and dialed the front desk. “Yes, I need a taxi to the airport. Immediately.”

  “I’m done,” Richard said as he closed his suitcase.

  “Don’t forget your bag in the closet,” I replied while searching the entire bedroom for any items he might have missed.

  “I wasn’t talking about packing,” he said. “My business. It’s over. I’m sunk.”

  “Nonsense,” I responded. “Don’t talk that way. You’re going to get through this. The sooner we can get you back to LA, the better. I’ve already got Sarah working on this. And I’ll do everything I can from here. However, I do need one thing from you. And this is very important. You’re going to have a little time before you board your flight. Send me texts with every client address you can remember.”

  Richard nodded. “I don’t have to remember them. They’re included in each code eight message I received. I’ll forward every one of them to you.”

  “Excellent.” The phone on Richard’s nightstand began buzzing. “C’mon,” I said as I grabbed his bags. “Your taxi’s here. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 24

  I returned to our suite to find Andrew sitting at the kitchen bar, surrounded by every device we had at our disposal. Sarah’s voice filled the air, piped through the speaker of Andrew’s cell phone from 6,000 miles away.

  “Carter just got back from sending Richard off,” Andrew said to Sarah.

  “Hey, Sarah. Sorry about waking you in the middle of the night again.”

  “That’s okay. Richard really needs our help.”

  “Yeah, he’s full-on screwed,” I said.

  “Maybe not,” Andrew replied.

  “Yeah, we may have an idea,” Sarah said. “Carter, Andrew tells me there are a number of people with military backgrounds involved.”

  “That’s right. But judging from the number of texts Richard got, it could be a small army.”

  “Or literally, a platoon of Marines,” she countered. “So, lay it out for me. Andrew said you’re pretty certain this Randall Blais is the mastermind, and that two of the three employees who work for Richard are likely involved. Anyone else?”

  “Possibly one other person that we know of. Richard said a woman in her forties became friends with Richard’s wife. Said her name was Tiffany Bell. No way of knowing if that’s the woman’s real name, but she offered Emily and two of her friends a trip to Paris. Claimed she won the tickets. The timing is suspect. She made the offer shortly before Blais, masquerading as Ellis Odell, offered Richard this case.”

  Andrew raised his eyebrows and nodded, unaware of this particular angle.

  “Okay,” Sarah said, “so Blais gets both Richard and Emily out of LA at the same time, and for a significant duration. Meanwhile, Blais is apparently playing choreographer behind the scenes, preparing this mega-heist of Richard’s clients?”

  “That’s what it looks like. And with two of Blais’s men virtually running Richard’s business for the last thirty days …”

  “Yeah, it’s ugly,” Sarah said. However, now that I’ve had a minute to think about it, there’s no way these hoods could hit that many of Richard’s client’s homes so quickly. Maybe they’re tripping the warnings at all those homes to create confusion, then cherry-picking the most lucrative ones.”

  “Good point. So, one of you want to tell me your idea?” I asked.

  “Go ahead, Andrew,” Sarah said.

  “Well, Blais is officially labeled a deserter, so we know the Marines want to get their hands on him. What if we contacted Twentynine Palms and brought them up to speed? Maybe they’d be willing to deploy a unit to catch these guys.”

  “That might work,” I said. “We know where Richard’s offices are located, and we have an address for each of his clients.” I let the concept sink in for a beat.

  “Do it,” Sarah said. “Then text me Richard’s client’s addresses. I’ll contact state and local police in California. No way do the LA cops want a crime like this one going down around their city. A situation like this could cause serious panic.”

  “Okay, Sarah. As usual, you’re a star,” I said. “Sorry to wake you, but I’m glad we did. Let’s get busy.”

  “Where do we start?” Andrew asked once we’d said our goodbyes to Sarah.

  “I’d better take the task of explaining this mess to the Marines. You call Kehoe.”

  Andrew nodded and began writing down bullet points to go over with Sergeant Kehoe, to ensure he wouldn’t forget key components of our plan.

  I forwarded every text Richard had sent me to Sarah, then did a search to come up with the proper contact information for Twentynine Palms Marine Base. After reviewing a long list of contact numbers I decided the one for the base’s military police was probably my best first choice.

  I entered the number and headed for my bedroom. “Private Jenks, Twentynine Palms, office of Military Police,” the voice on the line said.

  I switched the phone to speaker, introduced myself, then carefully and methodically laid it all out for this Marine in the desert, some 3,000 miles away.

  “I understand, sir,” Jenks said once I stopped talking. “Give me a moment to catch up with my notes.” Jenks went silent for a moment then said, “May I put you on hold, sir? I’m going to wake my supervisor. This one’s a little above my pay grade.”

  “Understood,” I said. “I’ll hang on the line.”

  I watched the time tick by on my cell phone’s screen. A full five minutes had passed as I listened to a recruitment pitch recording repeat several half a dozen times. I could hear Andrew talking on the phone with Kehoe in the other room.

  The list of reasons why I should become a Marine ceased, followed by a new individual’s voice. “Mr. Peterson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Master Gunnery Sergeant Koflak here. Sir, with your permission, I’ll be recording our conversation. Do I have your permission to do so?”

  “Fine,” I replied.

  “Thank you, sir. As you know, Sergeant Randall Blais is a person of interest for Twentynine Palms. I’ve reviewed the information shared during your conversation with Private Jenks. Sir, I see here you claim to have proof Sergeant Blais has had some form of reconstructive surgery performed on his face?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Sir, would you be willing to provide any and all documentation you might possess which would support your claim?” Koflak asked.

  “I’d be happy to,” I said. “If you give me your forwarding information, I’ll send it right away.”

  Koflak obliged, and a moment later, had every piece of evidence supporting my claim.

  “Uh, wow, okay, sir,” Koflak said once the email hit his desk. “I want to thank you, on behalf of the United States Marines.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “So, I’m still a little unclear as to what’s going to happen next. Will you be able to send members from your base over to the area where these crimes are taking place?”

  “Sir, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss any of our operations with you. Doing so would be considered a breach of operational security as prescribed by our Marine code of conduct. But I’ll cer
tainly do what I can, sir. Good morning.”

  And just like that the conversation ended.

  I returned to the kitchen and realized Andrew had finished his conversation with Sergeant Kehoe. “How did it go on your end?” I asked.

  Andrew smiled, nodded, and looked down at his notes. “You were absolutely right. Kaholo is FBI.”

  I felt my jaw drop. “What? Kehoe came right out and told you that. Over the phone?”

  “Not in so many words. In fact, we didn’t even use his name. I started our conversation by referring to him as ‘the bartender,’ so Kehoe wouldn’t think I was some kind of hack. I know enough not to use names on the phone.”

  “Okay, that’s good,” I said, “but how did you arrive at him being a Fed?”

  “Simple. Kehoe said, and I quote, ‘Our bartender friend is fed up, if you know what I mean.’”

  I scratched my head and chuckled. “Good pull. Not sure I would have figured that one out.”

  Andrew’s expression went serious. “Kehoe asked that I pass along an update to you. He said that in searching Todd Graf’s home they made some interesting finds. They weren’t necessarily related to our case, and Kehoe wouldn’t give me details, but he used them as leverage to get Graf to talk.”

  “That’s fantastic. What did he say?”

  “Well, Graf swears he’s never heard the name Randall Blais. Said his dealings were with Ellis Odell. Apparently, he got duped by Blais---aka fake Odell---just like we did. They found a lot of cash inside Graf’s home. Graf admitted it had come from the man we now know as Blais, and that the money was payment for having the tracking device installed in his arm. Blais told Graf that he needed to prove to investors that the technology was legitimate, and that a team of investigators would be looking for him using a GPS tracker. He wasn’t required to do anything else. Just go about his business until the investigators found him.”

  I thought about the revelation for a moment. “Okay, okay, that makes sense. So maybe, once we located Graf using the GPS tracking hardware, the technology instantly became legitimate. Proven out by passing a real-world field test conducted by professionals, and showing investors that the system really works. Could explain why we’re here. And aligns with what Amber Odell told the police in her interview. I wonder … was that cockamamie story about Amber getting kidnapped nothing more than a ruse to get us to take the job? You know, appeal to our emotions?”