Art of the Con: Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 6

by Al Boudreau

  “Good thing we have Stoney on our side,” Sarah said.

  “True, but I have a hunch the people we’re looking for are just as talented. You don’t defeat the safeguards of a financial institution without knowing a thing or two. It’s going to take all of our resources to do battle with these jerks.”

  “Probably a good thing Reynolds has a few bucks.”

  “Yep. Thing is, if he’d been a little less greedy at the get-go, he wouldn’t be looking at massive potential losses now.”

  “Sad to say, but it seems like it’s just the way of the world these days.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Keeps us busy, though.”

  Chapter 5

  It was a little after lunchtime when we walked in the house. I went directly into my office, grabbed an old laptop computer and a burner phone I used when my identity needed to remain masked, and headed for the kitchen. By the time I got there, Sarah had pulled a bunch of stuff out of the refrigerator.

  “Hungry?” she asked. “I’m going to throw together a ham sandwich with all the fixings. Happy to make two.”

  “Please, but better make it three,” I said. “I’m starving.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Be right back,” I said as I held the laptop up for Sarah to see. “I’m going to head down the street and use the coffee shop’s wifi connection to send this picture to Stoney.”

  “OK. Lunch will be ready when you get back.”

  I smiled and headed out the door, eager to make some progress with the professor’s case. Stoney the Hacker was usually pretty quick when it came to turning data around. My guess was that I’d see a packet of information from him within 24 hours.

  I let go a sigh of contentment as I drove the short distance down the street, happy to be busy with a number of decent cases. I felt grateful that Sarah liked what we did for work enough to want to continue honing her investigative skills.

  Business ventures shared with one’s spouse, lover, partner, tend to fail pretty quickly. But, we were lucky. I was lucky. Sarah was good at what we did for work, and getting better all the time.

  I pulled into the closest available curbside parking spot adjacent to the coffee shop and fired up the computer. Much to my surprise, their wifi internet connection had five bars of strength. I wouldn’t even have to get out of the car to send Stoney the image.

  I took a snapshot of the picture with my burner phone, uploaded the image to my computer, and sent it along to Stoney’s Job Monster account.

  Done.

  I was about to put the car in reverse and head back to the house when I got a craving for some caffeine. Probably the power of suggestion, but … well, I was already here. Might just as well run in and get a couple cups to go.

  I went inside, and to save time, made a simple request: two large, black coffees. The young kid behind the counter recognized me as a regular and had my order ready before I could put my wallet back in my pocket.

  I tossed a ten-spot on the counter, thanked him, and turned heel to go---only to run straight into another customer. One of the two cups got squeezed between my chest and the man’s arm, popping the cover off and sending a wave of scalding hot liquid all over both of us.

  “Whoa,” I said. “I---I’m really sorry about that.”

  “Not at all,” the stranger said as he grabbed me by the shoulder. “Here, I’ll get you another.”

  “Nothing doing,” I said as he squeezed past me---nearly knocking the second cup out of my hand. “Here … let me buy yours.”

  “Nonsense,” he replied. “I insist.”

  I shook my head and shrugged as I put the cover back on the cup. “Actually, I am in a bit of a hurry. Mind if we just call it good?”

  “If that’s your preference, I’m fine with it,” he said and proceeded to the counter.

  I headed out the door, 1-1/2 black coffees and a piping-hot shirt and jacket to show for my fumbled efforts.

  * * *

  “What on earth happened to you?” Sarah asked as I returned from my errand.

  “Don’t ask,” I said as I spied two sandwiches---and fresh cup of coffee---in my usual spot at the kitchen table. I put the cups down that I’d brought home, peeled off my coffee-soaked jacket, and headed upstairs to change my shirt.

  I draped my soiled shirt over the top of the bedroom door and walked over to the closet to grab a dry one. That’s when I sensed something was off. I couldn’t figure it out for a few seconds. Then it hit me. I checked my back pocket.

  My wallet was missing.

  I yanked a shirt out of the closet---hard enough to send the hanger spinning around the closet rod. I could still here it jostling around as I double-timed it down the stairs. I rushed to put my shirt on, only to freeze like a mannequin when it hit me…

  …the guy at the coffee shop.

  He’d lifted my wallet.

  Sarah saw me standing there like a zombie and knew something was up. “Carter? What’s wrong?”

  Her words snapped me out of my stupefied trance. “I need you to help me make some calls. To every bank we have credit cards with. My wallet. It just got stolen?”

  “What? How? I mean, are you sure?”

  “Yep,” I said as I headed for my office. “Guy down at the coffee shop lifted it off me.”

  “Oh, no way,” she said as she came in behind me. “I can’t believe that would happen here in Bridgeport. What a sleazy thing to do.”

  I grabbed the pile of statements from the shelf, leafed through them to cull last month’s receipts, then held half the pile out in front of Sarah and tossed the remainder on my desk. “Call each of them, please. I’ll contact the rest.”

  Sarah grabbed the statements and hurried out of my office.

  I pulled my notebook out, sat down behind my desk, then leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment. I focused on a mental image of the scumbag who’d lifted my wallet, doing my best to recall every last detail about the guy.

  Which instantly pissed me off.

  He’d pulled a classic pickpocket sequence on me---textbook, even---without me catching on, until now. He got me good.

  In hindsight I recognized the entire setup. The baseball cap he wore, pulled down low. The spilled hot coffee, to create a distraction I couldn’t ignore. Then, the overdone apology to disarm any anger I might throw his way. Last, but not least, the classic lift maneuver: grabbing my shoulder and brushing past me after the fact.

  I snatched my pen from the desktop, inadvertently rapping my knuckles on the hardwood surface. I shook off the pain and began writing; late thirties or early forties, five foot ten, one hundred ninety pounds, very short hair, or bald---the cap eliminating my ability to make that determination. Ditto on hair color. Dark eyes, probably brown. Average looks, with no distinctive scars, birthmarks, or tattoos. No limp or funny walk.

  I felt confident I could identify this slider from a lineup if given the opportunity, but finding him using the description I’d just recorded would be a non-starter. His looks were perfectly ordinary.

  I tossed the pen back on my desk, flipped my notebook closed, then rested my elbows on the desk as I massaged my temples. I was angry with myself more than I was with the guy who now had my wallet, a fair amount of cash, my driver’s license, PI’s license, and all my credit cards. I used to be a cop, for crying out loud. I’d filed hundreds of reports for pickpocket victims from all walks of life.

  Now, I was one of them.

  I put my pity party on hold and placed the first call.

  Chapter 6

  “Take my ATM card and get yourself some cash,” Sarah said as I put my jacket on. “And, please … take a few minutes to eat before you head down to the police station. You said you were starving. That was almost an hour ago.”

  I walked over to the table and grabbed one of the sandwiches, along with the half empty, to-go cup of black coffee I’d brought back after having my wallet stolen. “I’ll have them on the way there.” I gave Sarah a kiss on the forehead,
took the card, then turned and headed for the car.

  It wasn’t like I was hungry anymore. Getting ripped-off is more than enough to kill your appetite. Truth be told, I’d taken the sandwich just so Sarah wouldn’t feel as though she’d wasted her time and effort making it for me.

  Taking the cup of coffee with me was more out of spite. I wasn’t about to dump it down the drain after all I’d endured to get it. I figured if I drank it, I wouldn’t view the act of entering the shop as a total loss, though the beverage would likely end up being the most expensive few ounces of coffee I’d ever consume in my lifetime.

  Unfortunately, I had a bad feeling the cost was only going to increase over the long haul. These types of situations had a tendency to eat time like road salt against bare metal. I’d seen it many times before.

  Just not on a personal level.

  I kept my fingers crossed that Detective James was scheduled for work today, and that he’d be at his desk when I arrived. We’d worked many cases together, the close cooperation between Bridgeport PD and our detective outfit helping to close countless cases over the years. If any member of the department was capable of helping to get to the bottom of who this mystery man at the coffee shop was, my money was on James.

  Or, it would be … after I went to the ATM machine. The money I’d had in my pocket earlier was now long gone.

  I chugged down the cold coffee and took a few bites of my sandwich as I pulled up to the drive-through, automated teller kiosk. I grabbed sixty bucks, folded it around Sarah’s card with the receipt, and continued on my way.

  I turned the radio on, looking for any kind of distraction from beating myself up over what had happened. Having been victimized by a petty thief really burned my butt, and I was already tired of thinking about it.

  It took hearing Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves crackling through my worn-out speakers to cement the fact: I was having a piss-poor day.

  I turned the radio back off then belted out my own off-key entertainment---a horrible rendition of Steppenwolf’s Born To Be Wild---thinking how fortunate the rest of the world was that they didn’t have to hear it, too. At least it put a smile on my face. A smile that lasted for exactly two minutes: the time it took to drive from the bank to the police station. Detective James’s unmarked cruiser wasn’t parked in his designated spot, meaning he was either out at some crime scene, or enjoying a day off from work.

  I wheeled into the visitor section of the lot and parked. I needed to file a report, James or no James. I made the short walk across the lot to the PD’s entrance. I went to reach for the door handle when a two second siren blast wailed directly behind me, nearly making me jump off the steps.

  I turned to see Detective James slapping the steering wheel of his cruiser, laughing as if the act of startling me was the funniest thing he’d ever witnessed.

  Maybe it was.

  I turned and walked over toward his parking spot, anxious to provide him with the details of my run-in down at the coffee shop.

  James was still chuckling as he got out of his unit. “Sorry, Carter. Didn’t think my enthusiastic greeting would startle you quite as much as it did.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks for that,” I said. “Not like I’m having a bad enough day all ready, or anything.”

  My comment got James’s attention, the smile quickly fading from his face when he saw I was serious. “Never knew you to complain about such things. Must be serious. What’s up?” he asked.

  I pointed toward the station and began moving in that direction. “Let’s go inside. Too cold to be loitering around out here.”

  “Sure, sure,” James said. “Everything OK at home?”

  “Yep. Fine. Sarah’s good.” We stepped inside the station and I shook off the cold.

  “All right, Carter. We’re officially inside the station. Tell me what’s going on, pal.”

  I looked at James and opened my mouth to speak, but hesitated. I was almost too embarrassed to admit what had happened. “I, uh … I got my wallet stolen this morning.”

  James cocked his head back with a furrowed brow. “How? I mean, where did this happen?” he asked as we made our way down the hall to his desk.

  “Coffee shop. The one down the street from my place.”

  James scratched his head then motioned for me to take a seat. He sat down at his desk, opened up one of the drawers, and pulled out a bag of pretzels. “Hope you don’t mind. Been a busy one. Never got a chance to grab lunch.”

  I held up my hand and shook my head. “Nope. Go right ahead. There’s half a sandwich sitting on the front seat of my car if you’re interested.”

  He gave me an odd look, but didn’t ask. “So … how did this theft occur? You leave your wallet on the counter, or something?”

  I shook my head. “The scumbag bumped me. Spilled hot coffee all over me then lifted my wallet from my back pocket.”

  James’s jaw dropped.

  “I know. I can’t believe it, either. Been beating myself up over it ever since.”

  “How long ago?” he asked.

  I looked up at the wall clock. “Little under two hours ago.”

  “Huh.” James stared at me for a beat as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed, munching on a handful of pretzels. “We’ve got excellent surveillance cameras in that area, Carter. We’ll see this loser on our recordings, for sure.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said. “Thing is, this jerk had a baseball cap on, so my guess is the cameras won’t reveal much. Not only that, but … well, nothing stood out about him. I hate to say it, but he was good. Really good. I never even knew he got me until I started changing out of my coffee-soaked clothes back at the house.”

  “That really blows,” James said. “Think it was random?”

  “Not sure I follow you.”

  “In other words, what’s your gut telling you? Was this guy just some petty thief looking to make a fast buck, or is this character related to one of the cases you and Sarah are working on?”

  I tipped my head back as his question bounced around inside my brain. I stared at the ceiling for what seemed like a long time as my anger intensified. It was then I realized I’d been so irritated about falling victim to a thief, I’d failed to ask myself a question that was nothing more than basic detective work. Investigations 101. “Uh … I don’t know,” I replied. “I doubt it was a calculated theft. I mean, we did just start a new case involving a long con, but I can’t imagine these people could have moved on me that quickly. I just met our new client for the first time last night. Been less than twenty-four hours since we signed the contract.”

  “You said it yourself, Carter. The guy was ‘really good.’ Anything is possible, right?”

  I shrugged. “Guess I can’t rule it out, but my gut’s saying it’s highly unlikely. How would he have gotten the timing right? It’s not like I’d been planning this trip to the coffee shop for days.”

  “Maybe he’s been watching you. Doubt you’d have been aware of a tail, under the circumstances.”

  He was right. I shook my head. “Let’s face it. If these people were smart enough to go to that length, they’re smart enough not to get caught.”

  “All right,” James said and tossed his hands in the air. “Still think we ought to check out the surveillance footage, though. We might get lucky.”

  “Are we talking about private cameras owned by the coffee shop?” I asked.

  “Nah,” James said as he shook his head. “State owned. Monitored by our boys over at the fusion center. All I need to do is make one phone call, and we’ll have the footage right here on my computer screen in less time than it takes to go fetch a cup of coffee.”

  I pursed my lips and thought about it for a few seconds. “Yep. Let’s do it.”

  Chapter 7

  I thought James had been exaggerating a little when he told me how quickly he could get surveillance footage of my discouraging experience at the coffee shop. But, five minutes later we were staring at his computer, a split
screen view showing two different angles of the action that had taken place earlier.

  I was about to ask James a question when Chief Goodhue appeared, looking none too happy. He got within about five feet of James’s desk and said, “Detective. My office.”

  “Here we go,” James muttered once the chief turned his back.

  I continued to follow the action on the computer screen as James trudged off, Sarah’s words playing back inside my head. Last time I talked to Detective James, he mentioned something about the chief not being too pleased with us waltzing in there every time we need help finding someone.

  No sooner had I developed this uneasy feeling about James getting chewed out by the chief when I saw them heading back toward the desk.

  “Carter,” said the chief as he stood there before me. “I understand you ran into some trouble earlier today.”

  “You could say that,” I replied as James sat back down at his desk.

  “I’ve given Detective James permission to request additional resources from the fusion center, if needed,” Chief Goodhue said. “Let’s find this piece-of-work that ripped you off and let him know he’s messing around with the wrong people, in the wrong city.”

  “Much appreciated, Chief,” I said with a nod. I waited for him to return to his office then turned to James. “That’s a relief. Thought you were about to get reamed because of me.”

  “Nah. He’s pissed at me for something I did yesterday morning. Why would you think he’d be upset about you being here? Goodhue has massive respect for you and Sarah.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Good to know. Thing is, Sarah mentioned something you said about the chief not appreciating us taking advantage of the department’s resources, so I thought---”

  “Whoa, whoa … hold on. Something I said?”

  “That’s right. Something about us waltzing in here whenever we need to find someone.”

  James sat back in his chair. “I don’t remember saying---oh, yeah. Sorry. I did say something like that to Sarah. I was in a cranky mood one day when she came in. Just to be clear, that comment came from me, not the chief. I apologized to Sarah the following day, but I guess I never clarified. We … we’re all good.”