Art of the Con: Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 6 Read online

  “Yeah, well, how do we do that? We’re clean out of favors with the Bridgeport PD,” Sarah said. “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.”

  “Guess we’ll have to spend some of the professor’s money getting it done another way, then. And, I know just the guy to contact.”

  Sarah smirked. “Good old Stoney the Hacker, right?”

  “Of course. He’s a virtual one-stop shop when it comes to gaining access to whatever it is folks in our line of work need. Though, I have to say … he’s gotten a bit pricey since his old man came on board.”

  “Didn’t Stoney’s father retire early from the FBI, or something?” Sarah asked.

  “Yep. Said see-ya-later to the Bureau and started working for Stoney the next day. Guess he’s of the opinion know-how shouldn’t come cheap.”

  “Uh-huh. Safe to say the professor’s little indiscretions are going to cost him dearly.”

  “I told him as much last night. He didn’t seem too pleased, but knows he doesn’t have much in the way of options.”

  Sarah grabbed the photo out of my hand and studied it again. “How long do we wait before contacting Stoney?”

  “We don’t wait at all. I highly doubt this girl’s going to show her face around here again, but … well, even if she doesn’t, getting you in the university’s door may prove beneficial in other ways. Maybe our little temptress has had personal contact with other students. Or, other professors.”

  “Gotcha,” Sarah said. She paused for a beat then asked, “What’s the likelihood this girl might have given another student information we might find useful?”

  “Not very likely, but possible. She’s only human.”

  “And, young.”

  “Yep. People slip up. Make mistakes. Not only that, but maybe one of her cohorts was, or still is, working the university angle right here with her. Our girl in the photo may be blown, but her associates might not.”

  “Got it. Does that mean I should try for auditing only Professor Reynolds’s lectures?”

  “For now. Let’s see if that nets us any clues we can use.”

  “OK,” Sarah said as she snugged the zipper of her parka tight up under her chin. “I’m going to head in and see what I can find out.”

  I gave her a nod then reached over to the glove box and pulled out a pouch containing the burner phone I use exclusively for contacting Stoney. I put the battery in the device, powered it up, and placed the call.

  “Slim,” I heard the familiar voice screech on the other end of the call. “Long time,” he said.

  “Yep. Over a year, if my memory serves me. Listen, I need to find a girl.”

  “Don’t we all,” Stoney replied, his wit as quick as ever. “Still got the username and password for my Mickey Mat Job Monster account?”

  “Ten-four,” I said.

  “Good. Upload the name and image of your girl to that account. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, then heard a click at the other end. “Stoney?” He was gone. I immediately popped the battery out of the phone, stashed the parts in the pouch, and tossed it back into the glove box.

  As a general rule, I always asked Stoney what kind of money we were looking at for delivery of whatever information I was looking for. Only, this time he hadn’t given me the opportunity to find out.

  Which I figured could only mean one thing: chasing down this Melody Savin character was going to be expensive.

  Chapter 4

  I’d been parked at Fulford University no more than five minutes when Sarah returned from the admissions office, a sour look on her face. “Well, that was fun,” she said as she climbed in and slammed the car door shut.

  “I take it you’re not all signed up and ready to go?”

  “I’m on the lists.”

  “The lists … plural?”

  “Number twenty-seven on the waiting list to audit one of the professor’s classes, and number thirty-three on the other.”

  “Huh. Guess his lectures are pretty popular.”

  “Unreal. The woman in admissions---who was a real witch, by the way---said the seats in Reynolds’s lectures were the most sought after across Fulford’s entire curriculum.”

  “Well, should be easy enough to arrange an exception. We’ll talk to Reynolds---”

  “Nope. Not gonna work,” Sarah blurted out. “I asked. There are exactly one hundred seats inside the hall he uses. The university has a strict policy; they don’t allow students to stand in, nor sit on the floor.”

  I let Sarah’s words sink in for a few seconds then looked at her and asked, “Think the professor could use an assistant?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, there’s probably a waiting list for that, too.”

  “I’ve got to believe Reynolds can come up with some kind of work-around. I mean, he needs our help with his situation, so he has to be willing to help us out, right? Let’s put the ball in his court. Let him figure it out.”

  Sarah inhaled then let out a big sigh. “I guess.”

  I reached out and grabbed her hand. “You seem more upset than you normally would be with a minor setback like this one. Something else happen in there?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said with zero hesitation.

  “OK, then,” I said, knowing her well enough to realize if I simply dropped the subject she’d tell me all about it.

  “The snooty admissions woman,” Sarah said. “She made a comment that really ticked me off, that’s all.”

  I remained silent and reached for the ignition switch while Sarah began rifling through her purse. She pulled out some lip gloss, tugged down on the sun visor, and switched the lighted mirror on. I waited for her to finish before putting the car in gear.

  “Am I looking old?” she asked as she switched the light off and tucked the visor up against the headliner.

  “Not even close,” I replied.

  “The woman in admissions asked for my transcript. When I told her I didn’t have one, she made some comment about me not being allowed to stand in and register for my son or daughter.”

  I scratched the razor stubble on my chin as I backed out of our parking spot. “I won’t pretend to know what this woman was thinking, but I doubt she intended to make a crack about your age. My guess is that her office sees a lot of folks trying to bend the rules. It’s probably the first thing she says when someone doesn’t have the right paperwork.”

  “Seriously, Carter, I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but … that doesn’t even make sense.”

  I knew better than to say another word about Sarah’s encounter, so I changed the subject. “By the way, I was able to get in touch with Stoney. Told me to send him the photo of the girl and he’d get going on it.”

  Sarah nodded, her gaze focused on the road ahead. “Good. At least one of us has had a little luck getting this case moving forward.”

  I pulled out into traffic with every intention of heading home when a thought crossed my mind. I slowed and waited for the right opportunity then pulled a U-turn and headed back toward the university.

  “Forget something?” Sarah inquired.

  “Let’s go have a chat with campus security. Maybe they’ve seen this girl around.”

  “Seems like a longshot, with over fourteen thousand kids running around, but I guess it can’t hurt to ask.”

  I signaled my intent to turn into the same parking lot we’d left moments before when I noticed Sarah shaking her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Stay on the main road. Keep going straight for about a quarter mile. Campus cops are on the left.”

  “How’d you know where they were located?”

  “We drove right by their building when we were coming in, Detective,” she said then began laughing.

  I gave her a look---as if my feelings were hurt---but couldn’t keep the charade going an
d began laughing right along with her. I didn’t mind the ribbing at all, in light of the fact it seemed to pull Sarah out of her funk.

  We parked and began walking toward the single-story wood structure, photo of Melody Savin in hand. I reached inside my pocket and pulled out my notebook, hoping the act would somehow help our chances of getting some decent information to jot down.

  I opened the door for Sarah, then followed her inside. The area the campus cops occupied was a wide open space, a long counter separating us from where the authorities did their business. There were four desks, two sets of two grouped together. Two of the four desk chairs were occupied.

  “Help you?” a thirty-something woman in uniform asked after we’d been standing there for a few seconds. She pushed her chair back, but didn’t bother to get up and come over to the counter.

  I decided to play it straight and tell her who we were and what we were after, hoping to gain some sort of professional courtesy. I held Savin’s photo up and said, “Hope so. We’re private investigators, and we’re trying to locate a grad student who attends Fulford.”

  The second officer, who looked to be in his early sixties, looked up from his paperwork for the first time since we’d entered. Both officers got up and made their way over to the counter.

  The male officer, whose name tag said Cote, reached out to take the photo. He studied it for about ten seconds then handed it to his younger co-worker. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen the girl. What did she do?” he asked.

  Before I could answer, the female officer shook the photo in front of Cote’s face and said, “Oh, you’ve seen her, all right. The catfight. Remember?”

  Cote gave her a blank stare then looked at the picture again. “Nah. Not the same girl.”

  The female officer, whose name tag said Salter, gave him a subtle nod. “She looks different in this picture than she did that night, Cote, but it’s the same girl. I’m sure of it.”

  “How? What makes you so sure?” Cote asked.

  “Her nose. It’s … distinctive.”

  Cote responded by squinting his eyes at her, then grabbed the photo and gave it another look. He tossed the picture onto the counter then walked over to one of their file cabinets. “Only you’d pick up on something like that,” he said while shaking his head.

  Salter rolled her eyes then looked at us and leaned forward. She cocked her head and cupped her hand over one side of her mouth, looking as if she was about to share a secret. “I’m gay,” she announced in a surprisingly elevated voice.

  I glanced at Sarah. I could tell she was struggling to hold back her laughter.

  Salter looked back and forth between us. “No, it’s OK. It was meant to be funny. Cote and me, we have a good relationship. All that sexual-harassment-in-the-workplace stuff doesn’t apply when it comes to him and me.”

  Cote returned to the counter, file in hand. “You’re a special kind of crazy, Salter,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

  “I like you two,” Sarah said, then began to chuckle. “Seems like you have an awesome working relationship.”

  “He’s okay,” Salter replied and gave Sarah a wink.

  Cote spoke without looking up as he leafed through the paperwork. “We have to settle for getting this twisted sense of humor stuff out of our systems while it’s just her and me in here.” He paused for a beat then added, “Our antics aren’t widely appreciated by fellow co-workers, if you know what I mean.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “Folks are a little more uppity these days. More than they used to be, anyhow.”

  Cote slid the file over in front of Salter. “I’ve got to give it to you, kid. You nailed it. It’s definitely her, all right. Calling that incident she was involved in a catfight threw me off, though. According to the surveillance footage we watched, it wasn’t much of a fight. Pretty one-sided, in fact.”

  Salter gave a subtle nod and smiled as she studied the file photo. “Janet Broe. I knew she was the same girl.” She spun the picture around so we could see it.

  “Her last name is Broe?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” Salter replied. “B-R-O-E. We checked both her driver’s license and student ID. They matched.”

  I jotted the info down. “This catfight, as you called it. Any idea what it was about, and who with?”

  “I probably should have asked before, but do you nice people have a couple PI licenses you can show me?” Cote asked. “You know, before we get too far into this thing.”

  “Sure do,” Sarah said, and dug hers out as I handed mine over.

  Cote gave them a quick look then handed them back. “Ms. Woods, Mr. Peterson, thanks. So … according to what we were told, and corroborated by our university surveillance footage, this Broe woman was on her way into the library at 8:20 pm, a week ago today, when she was approached by a second female student by the name of Penny Cantwell. The pair got into it verbally, then Cantwell gave Broe a shove.”

  “Wrong move,” Salter said. “Miss Penny proceeded to get her butt kicked.”

  “I’ll say,” Cote added. “Strange part was, neither party came forward to report the incident after the fact. Broe continued on into the library, while Cantwell headed back to her dorm room. The resident assistant over at the dorm was the one who came and got us. After a number of other students mentioned to her what rough shape this Cantwell girl was in.”

  Salter tossed her hands out to her sides. “We spoke to both women roughly thirty minutes after the incident took place. Neither of them would tell us what the altercation was about. We still don’t know.”

  I jotted down what we’d been given. “Mind me asking if Broe lives on campus, too?”

  “She does not,” Cote replied. “Funny thing is, we should have a record of where she lives on file, but that information was left blank on her paperwork. I have no idea how or why she was issued a student ID card without the university being given that information.”

  “Broe’s driver’s license was from Connecticut, if that’s any help,” Salter said. “Doubt she makes that commute too often.”

  “Do you have copies of Ms. Broe’s license and ID handy?” I asked.

  Cote flipped through a couple sheets of paper and pulled one out. “I can’t give you a copy of this, but you’re free to take a peek.”

  “Works for me,” I said.

  Cote handed the paper over.

  “She looks no different in these two photos than she does in the one we were given,” Sarah said.

  “Yep. I agree.”

  “Either of you seen her around since that night?” Sarah asked Cote and Salter. They looked at one another, and both shook their heads.

  “OK. Well, thank you both for your time and cooperation,” I said, then got the door for Sarah. I began processing what we’d learned while heading back to the car.

  Sarah grabbed my hand as we were walking. “Interesting, huh?”

  “Yep. Curious our girl was using two different names with folks on campus. But, not surprising, I guess, considering how shifty con artists tend to be.”

  “She must have a real good reason for doing it, because it makes getting caught in a lie a lot more likely.”

  “Good point,” I said. “I’m interested in what sort of reaction Reynolds will have when we hit him with this new information.”

  “My guess is he’ll be confused by it. I highly doubt he’s aware his evil little lust interest is running around using several aliases across campus.”

  I laughed. “True. He wasn’t keyed in to the fact she might be using an alias at all, never mind several.”

  We climbed in the car and got ready to drive off when Sarah said, “I’m confused. If this girl told the professor one name, but registered at the university using a second, wouldn’t he know about it right away? What about transcripts, attendance, grades? All that stuff. Wouldn’t she be messing herself up right from the start?”

  “Maybe not. What if she was just auditing his class?”

  “Hmm.” Sar
ah paused for a moment. “That might be it. I doubt they’d burden a professor of his stature with all that administrative crap, so he’d be none the wiser. And, if she kept to herself, no one would know her by either name, anyway.”

  “We need to ask him what her status is, concerning his lectures,” I said as I pulled out my notebook and jotted the question down.

  “Maybe this girl had multiple aliases at the ready, going in. Just in case a run-in like the one that happened with Cantwell took place. That way, word couldn’t get back to the professor that his precious Melody Savin was in trouble.”

  I nodded. “A safeguard. Good thought.”

  “Thanks. Now that I think about it, if what I suggested is really the case, these people are downright scary.”

  I started the car and backed out of our parking space. “The best scammers are smart like chess players; they think and plan many moves ahead. Always on the lookout for different scenarios that might crop up to put a wrench in their works. There’s usually a lot of money at stake, so they do their homework.”

  “Ha. Homework. I see what you did there.”

  I looked at her for a few seconds before it occurred to me what she was talking about. “Oh, yeah. Can’t say I was trying to be clever on that one. Didn’t even make the connection till you mentioned it.”

  Sarah reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “That’s what I like about you, Carter Peterson. Most people would go ahead and take credit for being witty, whether they meant to be or not.”

  “Guess I should start being less honest,” I said, just to get a rise out of her.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you. I know you too well at this point. I’d catch on in a heartbeat.”

  “I believe you.”

  “We heading home?”

  I nodded. “I want to send Stoney the photo of Melody Savin---Janet Broe, whatever her name is---as soon as possible. These scammers have a considerable head start on figuring out how to create a work-around. You know, in case the professor decides not to play ball with them. We need to determine who this girl really is. Then, we might be able to find out who her associates are. It’s our only logical first step.”