by Al Boudreau
“That’s a big deal,” I said. “Can you give us a brief overview of what he shared with you?”
“Of course. The crates, the ones they’ve been dropping off those ships onto the decks of Moray’s tugs. They contain gold bars, smuggled into our country from Malaysia. He told me Home---” Carol’s lower lip began quivering, tears running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Just give me a second.”
Sarah got up, grabbed some tissues for Carol, and did her best to provide our client comfort. “Take your time, hon. No hurry.”
“Thank you, Sarah.” Carol pulled herself together and continued. “Bones said he’s confident Homeland is somehow involved in this smuggling operation, too. I argued with him about it at first … but he had so many good points. I just hope and pray Jason isn’t mixed up in this mess.”
Sarah caught my attention and shook her head while Carol was busy drying her eyes.
“Carol, would you mind giving us Robie’s contact information?”
“I’ve already written it down for you. And, he has yours. I told him you were the good guys. He’s open to meeting with you, if you think it would be helpful.”
“Thank you,” I said as I took the paper. “One last question. You mentioned that Robie was willing to testify. Have you changed your mind about pursuing damages?”
“I was never for it, or against it, Mr. Peterson. Jason and Don were the ones adamant that we let it lay. Safe to say everything has changed now. I have no way of knowing what my husband has gotten himself into, but it’s all going to come out. Same with my son, Jason. I have to get myself mentally prepared to go it alone, if that’s all I’m left with. Yes, I intend to go after Moray with every penny and every last ounce of energy I have.”
“Understood,” I said. “Have you been in contact with your daughter?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank goodness for my daughter. Kris and her husband are on a flight from the west coast right now. They’ll be in Maine by supper time.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to know you’ll be with someone who’s on your side,” Sarah said.
“Thank you, Sarah. Do we have other business? Other questions I might answer? I’ve got a lot of work to do at home. I need to get the place ready for company.”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 28
It was a quiet ride from downtown Bridgeport to our home, both of us a bit shell-shocked by everything Carol Taylor had shared with us. I was struck by her courage, her willingness to do whatever was necessary. She was determined to see to it the details of her son’s tragic death were no longer kept in the shadows.
I made the turn onto our street then reached down to shut the radio off.
“Carter?”
I looked over at Sarah. Her face was white, arm stretched out, finger pointing at the road ahead.
I looked up and immediately recognized the Department of Homeland Security SUV coming toward us at a crawl. Though we were too far away to see his face, the driver appeared to be staring out the vehicle’s side window, directly at our home.
I pulled over and came to a stop.
“That’s got to be Jason Taylor,” Sarah said. “What do we do?”
“Sit tight.”
“What if he’s here to lash out at you?”
“That’s what video recorders on cell phones are for.”
Sarah wasted no time in pulling her device out of her purse. “Shooting a video isn’t going to prevent him from doing you harm.”
“Doesn’t look like we’ll be in suspense for long,” I said as the DHS vehicle sped up and headed straight for the front end of our car.
“I still have a little pepper spray left.”
“No. Do not take that out, under any circumstances.”
I looked up, unsure whether to be relieved or concerned. The officer who stepped out of the vehicle wasn’t Jason Taylor.
I didn’t recognize the man at first, but as he approached my door I realized it was Borden, Taylor’s crewmate who’d been there the morning I’d gone back to secure Juneau. I rolled my window down as he crouched next to my car door.
“Mr. Peterson. Glad I caught you. Appreciate it if we could have a chat.”
I nodded. “We were just on our way home. I’m guessing you know the place.”
“I do,” he said and returned to his vehicle.
I waited for him to back the SUV up the street, then drove the short distance to our home.
“Do you know this guy?” Sarah asked.
“Yep. Borden was on the Safe Boat with Jason Taylor the morning I went back to secure Everett Shapleigh’s boat.”
“Any idea why he’s here? Specifically, I mean.”
“Nope,” I said as I got out of the car. To my surprise, Borden approached and offered his hand.
“Mr. Peterson, I’m Seaman Paul Borden. You probably recognize me from our brief encounter last Sunday morning.”
“I do. This is my partner, Sarah Woods.”
“Nice to meet you, Sarah.”
Sarah gave Borden a forced smile and motioned toward the house. “Shall we go inside?”
“Thank you,” Borden said and let us lead the way.
The three of us entered the kitchen. I pulled out a chair for Sarah, then one for Borden. “Please, have a seat.”
Borden took his place at the table. “Mr. Peterson, I’m aware you and Ms. Woods are private investigators, and I have reason to believe you were watching our operations last Sunday morning.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“Mr. Peterson, the video and message Carol Taylor gave you came from me.”
“What?” Sarah blurted out.
“That’s right. I sent them both. Please understand that what I’m about to tell you is neither wise, nor beneficial to my future, but I can’t be a party to what’s been taking place anymore. Not one more day.”
“All right,” I said. “We’re listening.”
“I’m prepared to share this information with the authorities, but I wanted to reveal all I know to you, first. I’ve avoided direct contact with Carol Taylor for obvious reasons, but I trust you’ll share what I’m about to tell you with her.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I joined the Coast Guard about four years ago, with every intention of it being a lifelong career. During my time here, while stationed in Bridgeport, I watched Jason Taylor get recruited from Moray to our Coast Guard division. I never thought anything of it until he got promoted. I was far more qualified to become the next third class petty officer at our location, but was instantly passed over for Taylor. That’s when I started getting the odd assignments.”
“Odd?”
“Mr. Peterson, what you saw us doing out there Sunday morning was highly illegal, immoral, and beyond reproach. I’m ashamed of my involvement with the operation, and can’t live with myself any longer. I’ve decided to come forward, confess, and face whatever consequences the future holds.”
“What was the operation?”
“We’ve been running interference for Moray, once a month, while contraband is offloaded to the Euginia Moray from a specific ship.”
“The Sandakan Sun?”
“Correct. Jason Taylor has full knowledge of the inner workings, and though I can’t speak to how much his father knows, I’m certain Frenchie Taylor was an unknowing pawn. He died while doing a job he didn’t understand, pushed into it by two men; family members who should have had his back. Instead, they helped send him to his grave.”
“Then, did their best to cover it up?” I asked.
“Yes, sir---at the behest of my commanding officer and the higher-ups at Moray. In addition, both of the Taylors were compensated handsomely for keeping the details of Frenchie Taylor’s death a secret.”
“What about you? Were you paid to keep quiet, too?”
Borden hung his head. “Yes, sir. I was compensated, as well. But, I intend to fix it, st
arting here and now.”
“I’d say you already started … by sharing what you knew with Carol Taylor,” Sarah said.
“Yes, ma’am. I suppose you’re right.”
“Hey, knock it off with the ma’am stuff,” Sarah said. “You’re going to make me feel old.”
“Sorry,” Borden responded, Sarah’s levity making him laugh, shaking a tear loose from the corner of his eye. He quickly wiped it away, and his smile disappeared just as quickly as it had come. “I have nothing more, other than to tell you I respect what you do for work. Carol Taylor has a rough road ahead. I hope my actions will help her to find peace.”
Sarah reached out and squeezed Borden’s hand. “You’re a good man who has made some mistakes. You’re going to get through this. We’ll go to bat for you and help in any way we can.”
Borden slid his chair back and stood up. “Thank you both. I have a feeling I’ll be needing all the support I can get.”
Chapter 29
Six weeks had passed since our encounter with Seaman Paul Borden, his nagging conscience a bullet fired from the smoking gun we’d been searching for. Borden proved to be a man whose upbringing wouldn’t allow him to live a life sullied by deceit, his sworn testimony providing the damning blow needed to bring the Taylor men to justice.
Now, as I returned home from my final meeting with Carol Taylor, I felt good about the outcome, and our involvement in the case. I pulled into our driveway, knowing Sarah was eager to hear what I’d learned.
“There you are,” Sarah said as I walked through the door. “You were gone quite a while.”
“Yep. Carol Taylor had a lot to say. Including praise for our abilities. She made me promise to send her sincere thanks.”
“Aw, that’s nice. How’s she doing?”
“Surprisingly well. Her daughter and son-in-law were there. Carol decided to sell her place and move to the west coast. She just put a deposit on a small house, right up the street from Kris. The movers were pulling into Carol’s driveway when I left.”
“That’s awesome. What about her husband and son?”
“Well, from what I gathered, Don only knew a little about what was going on with the smuggling operation, but Jason was all in. Looks like they’ll both do time, but Jason’s going to end up being Moray’s scapegoat. The corporation will ultimately pay a big fine, but people always want to see someone’s head on a stick.”
“I have a hard time feeling sorry for either of them,” Sarah said. “According to what we learned from Borden, Jason Taylor knew exactly what he was doing. How is Carol dealing with all of that?”
“She told me Jason and Don broke her heart long before all the details came to light. Said their dismissive attitudes about what happened to Frenchie set off alarm bells for her. She always knew Jason was Don’s favorite. Said Frenchie was just a pawn for those two to get what they wanted. Don never told Carol he received money from Moray for keeping the details of Frenchie’s death quiet.”
“Terrible,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “She must feel as though all three men in her life are dead.”
“She told me she’ll never stop loving her family, but doubts she’ll ever find it in her heart to grant them forgiveness. But, you know what? I got the sense she’s found closure. Like she’s somehow made peace with it all, and is ready to move forward with her new life.”
“I’m so happy to hear that,” Sarah said. “Seems like the best outcome any of us could have hoped for.”
“I agree. Carol’s daughter Kris seems like an energetic go-getter. Said she’s going to put Carol to work in the family business as soon as they get her settled. Keep Carol busy.”
“Carol’s lucky to have Kris,” Sarah said. “Speaking of busy, two calls just came in while you were out. I left both messages on the machine so you could hear them.”
I took a seat at the kitchen table and ran my fingers through my hair. “Sounds exhausting.”
Sarah laughed. “Give it a day and you’ll be raring to go. Besides, I have a little surprise in store for you.”
“I like surprises. Well, good ones, anyway.”
Sarah pointed toward the living room. I got up and went to see what she had going. “Massage table? Lit candles?”
“That’s right. You mentioned the fact you never get massages anymore, so I thought I’d reset the calendar on that one. Go take a shower, then get your butt back down here.”
I peeled my shirt off and headed toward the stairs. “Yes, ma’am. No time to waste. I’ve got calls to return.”
The End
*************************************************************************
T hank you for reading
The Truth Will Drop
Book 5 of The Carter Peterson Mystery Series.
We now invite you to read a sample chapter
from Book 6
entitled
Art Of The Con
People often marvel at how others can be so foolish as to fall victim to a con artist---until it happens to them. Private investigator Carter Peterson and partner Sarah Woods receive a call from one such mark; their new client, a well-educated professor, was cleverly persuaded to pledge his life savings to a young woman whose scheme “guarantees riches beyond his wildest dreams.” Now, the detectives must up their game before this swindling seductress can make her getaway. If the PI pair is successful, the money will be returned to its rightful owner, thus exposing the Art Of The Con.
* * *
Chapter 1, as well as a link to order the full novella, are included below.
Chapter 1
I couldn’t help but wonder, as I sat across from my partner Sarah Woods; what was it about Professor Benjamin Reynolds that had tipped off the conmen responsible for the financial world-of-hurt our new client now found himself in? How had these reprobates known he’d eventually grant them access to everything? Bank accounts. Investments. Assets.
It was a given that Reynolds, like all victims of confidence schemes, had allowed himself to be manipulated. To be steered toward that dastardly duo all conmen count on to separate marks from their money: need and greed. Problem was, Reynolds had given these people the proverbial keys to the castle without asking himself an important question: what was in it for them?
I’d learned a lot about scam artists and their victims during time spent as beat cop on the streets of Boston. Most folks believe they’re too smart to fall victim to a scam---which ends up being their first mistake. The majority of people in this world, whether surgeon, lawyer, or college professor, are vulnerable to being swindled, given the right conman and the right set of circumstances.
The most important lesson to learn about scam artists is that they don’t care how smart you are; their only concern is how emotional you are.
We all have emotional needs, but what most fraud victims have in common is that they’re unable to put those needs to bed while making financial decisions. Conmen are experts at getting your emotions involved while boosting your confidence in the belief there’s money to be made.
Reynolds hadn’t struck me as an overly emotional guy during our initial consultation last night, but now, as Sarah was brought up to speed with the same tale of woe he’d shared with me less than 12 hours before, I witnessed a certain vulnerability in the guy. Maybe he’d put on a brave face during our man-to-man, not wanting to show his sensitive side.
This was my first clue as to why the con he’d fallen for had been so effective up until the moment he got spooked and called us: the only operator he’d been able to identify so far happened to be a young woman.
As it turned out, Reynolds also possessed a second attribute conmen look for: he was well-off. When we’d met last night, my first impression was that the guy might have a few bucks socked away, his fancy clothes and the exclusive whiskey bar he’d chosen for our first meeting pretty reliable indicators. However, the ornate woodwork surrounding us in this custom-built mahogany library, nestled within his 5,800 square foot home, conf
irmed it; he was a swindler’s wet dream.
They’d definitely seen this guy coming from a mile away, the whole situation reminding me of a favorite quote penned by E. R. Beadle, a clergyman who’d lived during the mid-1800s, who wrote: Half the work that is done in this world is to make things appear what they are not.
“Carter,” Sarah said. “Ben thinks he’s covered all the information with me that you two talked about last night. Do we have any other questions for him before he heads to the university?”
“I have but a few minutes left,” Reynolds added. “I mustn’t be late for my ten o’clock lecture.”
“Just a couple more questions and we’ll be out of your hair,” I replied, the statement earning me a clenched-jaw stare from Sarah. It took me a beat to understand why---until I turned back toward our client. It was only then I remembered: he was nearly bald. “Professor Reynolds, you told me last night that the only person you suspect is involved in this scheme is a woman named Melody.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” he replied. “Melody Savin. She’s a grad student at the university.”
“Ms. Savin is the individual you shared your financial information with, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Professor, what that means is this: Ms. Savin is likely the closer; the person who gets you to hand over your money. I don’t need you to answer this question now, as I know you’re pressed for time, but this is important. Is there anyone else you can think of who’s new in your life? A colleague, an acquaintance, a salesperson? Because, there’s a high probability Ms. Savin is not the only player involved. When it comes to long cons, the closer’s role generally comes into play late in the game; which means a number of other individuals were likely involved early on, during the foundation work.”