Irreconcilable Differences

"What's up?" she asked.

"We need to meet. I've gone over the information we copied from Frank's computer, and there are a couple of things to discuss. When would be a good time?"

"How about tomorrow? Is ten o'clock convenient? I've taken the rest of the week off from the library."

After checking my appointments schedule, I agreed. "I think we ought to meet outside town again."

"I had planned to go to Onaway to do some shopping. I've already told Frank that's where I'll be. How about meeting me at the food court at the Onaway shopping mall? I doubt that anyone from here will see us."

"Fine. Ten o'clock tomorrow at the food court."

[Tuesday, August 27]

My drive to the Onaway Mall was pleasant enough on a beautiful late August day. At ten in the morning, there should not be too many shoppers yet. As expected, there were only a few cars in the parking lot. I recognized Sherry's car parked near the entrance to the food court, so I pulled around to a more distant entrance. Better we not be seen coming out together.

I carried a zippered leather notebook with the photos and other material inside.

Sherry spotted me and waved to get my attention. I joined her at one of the tables. She was smiling warmly and seemed very unconcerned about being seen by anyone who might recognize her. When I put the zipper case on the table, she put her hand on mine.

"Lee, I'm really very grateful for the work you are doing. By my accounting, my retainer should just about be consumed. I'll give you another check today."

I was impressed. Usually clients try to get a few freebie hours before replenishing the funds.

"You've still got a bit in the bank, Sherry, so don't be concerned just yet. We may be getting close to the end here."

She hadn't removed her hand from mine, nor had she stopped smiling.

"Well, then tell me, what have you got today?"

I reluctantly slid my hand from under hers, opened the zipper bag, and removed my notes and the photos.

"First of all, I think that we've identified all of Frank's regular girl friends. The good news is that two of the remaining three women have left the area. Frank's emails and contact records seem to suggest he's had no further contact with them. His most recurring contacts seem to be with his secretary, the young girl, and the judge. But there's a mystery woman that I need help in identifying. The only thing in Frank's computer was an email address and some messages with her. There was no phone number and no address. Does the name Connie Thompson mean anything to you?" I had hoped the name would be enough; I had no real desire to show Sherry the photos.

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. Oh, well...

"The Thompson woman sent Frank some pictures. I guess they're of her. They're pretty graphic, and I was hoping not to have to show them to you."

"I'm a big girl, Lee. And remember, I've seen the videotape of Frank doing the judge."

Good point.

I looked around quickly to be sure no one else would be able to see, then I showed her the photos. To say she looked shocked would have been an understatement.

"Know her?" I asked.

Sherry nodded and seemed at a loss for words. Her smile disappeared. Then she shook her head sadly.

"Her name isn't Connie Thompson. At least I don't know her by that name. Her name is Cassandra Donovan. She's Sharon Donovan's mother. Stepmother, actually. God, I didn't realize how much of a slimeball Frank really is."

I wonder if mother knows he's doing daughter, and vice versa. Or for that matter, if either one cares.

"Well, maybe I can cheer you up a little with this tidbit. Frank appears to have about $825,000 in an offshore bank account. Know anything about it?"

She shook her head. "I'm surprised he could have accumulated that much. He has a good law practice, but I didn't think it was that good."

"Well, from what I could tell in his QuickBooks file, he's been making small deposits pretty regularly for the past five years. You wouldn't necessarily have noticed the absence of these individually from your joint bank account. Our only hope would be to get him to transfer some or all of it back under the jurisdiction of the US banking laws. Right now, its untouchable. That's particularly true if you want to minimize courtroom exposure. In other words, you would need to get a federal judge to freeze and seize that account."

"But if we document the existence of the bank account..."

"A US court still can't touch it. Frank will just deny it exists anyway, and the US court can't compel the Cayman bank to disclose any information about the account. Let me do some checking on this. This is really out of my area. But we won't write off the $825,000 just yet."

I continued. "Did you know that Frank has been renting a storage locker for about the last five years?

Again, a questioning stare and a head shake. "Why would he need a storage locker? We have an unfinished basement that has tons of empty storage space. There's no reason for him to rent a locker."

"There is if he's trying to hide something from you. Unfortunately, his computer records didn't tell me where the locker is. If I knew where it was, I'd take a peek inside."

"Do you want me to look in his file cabinet at home?"

"No, that's too risky. And besides, if he's trying to hide it from you, he's not likely to keep any records at home. No, I'm probably going to have to tail him and hope that someday he goes to the locker. And, it may be nothing relevant to you at all." I didn't really believe that.

"One last thing, Sherry. Do you still want to go to the motel with me Thursday?"

"Of course."

"All right. Why don't you park your car at the Factory Direct mall in front of the bookstore Thursday at 11:00? I'll pick you up there and we'll go on out to Stateline."

"That will be fine." She stood up to leave. She looked as if she was in pain, on the verge of tears.

"Hey, you don't have to go if you don't want to." I was hoping she would back out.

"Oh, no, it isn't that," she said. "It's just that I keep thinking about Frank with both Sharon and Cassie Donovan. With all these women, in fact. The more I think about it...," she trailed off. "You know, Lee, I know I'm no lingerie model, but at the same time, I tried very hard to make myself attractive to Frank. It really hurts me to know how unsatisfying I must have been to him."

There was nothing I could say that would make her feel better, and for once in my life, I kept my mouth shut. I wondered what defect in character or behavior had allowed Frank to hurt his wife, my client, as much as he had. The emotional pain he was inflicting on Sherry was very real and very intense. My personal dislike for Frank Wilson was growing.

Sherry paused to regain her composure. Then she thanked me and left.

I went back to my car. It was a little before noon. If Frank intended to follow his usual pattern, he would be leaving the office in a couple hours and heading to the motel. Well, I had nothing better to do, so I decided to sit on him at the office. If he hadn't left the office by 2:30 or so, I figured he was not going to the Motel.

I pulled into a parking spot near his law office at about 1:10 p.m.. Good. The Mercedes was still there. But no sooner had I settled in than Frank walked out of the office, jumped in the car, and took off. Odd. He wasn't headed for the freeway he would take to the motel. It made good sense to follow him. I stayed back far enough that he would not be able to detect me. Suddenly, he did a fast u-turn, then came back to Juniper Street and turned in. I knew Juniper Street was a cul-de-sac where he was. The u-turn and then pulling into a cul-de-sac suggested that Frank might be doing a really sloppy surveillance detection run. These were amateur tricks. I was a block away and could see that Frank was parked facing back toward Courthouse Road, and he was still in his car. Amateur.

He apparently felt safe to proceed. Frank pulled back out onto Courthouse Road and made a left turn going north. I cautiously fell in four or five car lengths behind. About ten minutes later, Frank parked in front of the office of Silver Valley Mini-Storage. He went in the office, and from what I could see from a distance with my binoculars, appeared to be giving something to the office manager. The not quite world famous investigator puts the countersurveillance together with the rental storage place and concludes that this is where Frank has the storage locker. Hey, we PI's don't get the big bucks for nothing. Of course, now I needed to find out exactly which locker was his.

Frank left the rental office with a paper in his hand and got back in his car. I had hoped he would go to his locker, but instead he came out to Courthouse Road, turned left, and headed back downtown. Probably headed back to the office.

I decided that the rental locker, if Frank really did have one there, was more important than following him. He had gone to extreme measures to hide his connection to the storage locker. I concluded that getting a look at that locker was more important at this point than following him either to the office or maybe even to the motel. So, I pulled into the parking lot of the Silver Valley Mini-Storage. Then I went inside to rent a storage locker.

There was no one in the office except the manager. I just started asking him all the usual questions about locker sizes, costs, and security when a man came in behind me. The fellow looked a little agitated. The manager, who seemed to know the man, asked me if he could help the man while I looked at the rental contract. Fine, no problem. They talked briefly, then the manager returned to me.

"This gentlemen is having a problem with the lock on his unit. Would you mind if I helped him while you decide what size locker you need?"

Mind? I felt like doing backflips and handsprings. I told the manager to take as much time as he needed. Both he and the gentleman with the broken lock thanked me profusely. The manager locked his cash drawer, encouraged me to help myself to a cup of coffee, and left. As soon as he was out of sight, I made a beeline to his computer. Too bad. Nothing on the screen. I had hoped that he might have left Frank's record on the computer.

As I debated whether or not to rummage through the in-box on the desk, I noticed the computer printer near the file cabinet. The paper box underneath was feeding continuous feed paper up into the printer, and it was feeding an original and a copy. I looked at the output from the printer. There were several continuous feed printed sheets, still attached at their perforations, stacked in the basket. The last one, the sheet on top, was a monthly payment receipt copy for Frederick Watkins. I recognized the phone number on the sheet as Frank Wilson's private number at his law office. His locker number was 148, located on the ground floor. It was a 4 by 8 by 10-foot unit. Jackpot!

I went back and poured myself a cup of really bad coffee and waited for the manager to return. When he did, I wondered if he had any small ground floor units available. As luck would have it, he had three, and he asked if I would like to see them. We walked outside the building, then alongside it to a side entry door. The door opened into a long corridor. The sign said "120 - 150." As we walked through the corridor, the manager said that the units available were numbers 122, 139, and 144. I looked at all of them and selected 144. I noticed that the lock on Frank's unit, number 148, was a combination padlock. I had been hoping for a simple key-operated padlock that I could pick, but you take what you get. We went back to the office and completed the rental agreement for unit 144. I paid the security deposit and first months rent, and then told the manager I would be bringing some boxes back later that afternoon. So far, it had been a very productive day. Little did I know it would get even better.

I returned to my office and paged Sherry. She called back immediately. I told her that I was pretty sure I had located Frank's storage locker. She was elated. I didn't tell her that I intended to go back and try to get into Frank's locker. No point in getting her hopes up too much.

Since I had some old boxes of junk and files taking up office space, I figured that I might as well get them out of the office and take advantage of the storage space. They fit nicely into the back of my pickup along with my little utility cart. Before leaving the office, I took a small rawhide mallet out of my safe. (Doesn't everyone keep a small rawhide mallet in his safe?) Then I headed back to the storage locker.

I parked my pickup near the side door that led down the corridor to my locker. Then I took all of my boxes in and stacked them in the hallway just before reaching my door. There were enough boxes stacked so that anyone entering the corridor could not clearly see what I was doing. I opened my locker door as if I were preparing to put the boxes inside.

I stepped inside my locker and put on a pair of vinyl disposable surgical gloves. No need to leave nasty fingerprints behind. Seeing and hearing no one else, I moved quickly to Frank's locker, number 148. I placed my index finger on my left hand on top of his combination lock's body in the upside-down "U" formed by the shackle and applied slight downward pressure. After two or three raps of the rawhide mallet in just the right spot, the lock popped open. You can shoot these locks with a rifle, just don't hit 'em with a hammer.

I glanced past my boxes down the hallway again to make sure no one was there. Then I opened the door to Frank's locker. There were only four items inside: two very heavy plastic equipment cases, one smaller plastic equipment case, and a camera tripod. Fascinating. The equipment cases had hinged lids that latched to provide a watertight seal. Both larger cases were about 30 inches long by 18 inches deep by 18 inches high. The smaller case, similar construction, was the size of a conventional briefcase.

The cases were not locked, so I popped one of the larger cases open. Its contents appeared to be studio lighting and cords that a photographer might use. I closed that case and returned it to its original position.

I opened the second large case. It held a complete Canon XL-1S miniDV camcorder system. The camera itself sells for nearly $4,000, and the accessories Frank had would have easily added another $2,000 to the overall cost. There were also several microphones, stands, and a mic mixer. Once I stopped drooling over the equipment, I had a pretty good idea what the smaller case might hold. I reluctantly closed the camera equipment case and carefully replaced it.

Sure enough. When I opened the smaller case, I saw about twenty miniDV tape cassettes. Some were new and unopened, but eight or ten had been opened and had labels. The label on each tape had only a date and some initials. Now I was almost certain what the tapes contained. If I was right, Frank was making high-quality videos of some of his motel sessions. I decided to take a risk and borrow one of the tapes. I picked one of the earliest tapes, hoping that Frank would not notice it missing before I could return it. It was labeled "9-18-00 SD+LL 30 min." I dropped the miniDV tape in my coat pocket, then closed the case, and left his locker, being very careful to reposition the lock exactly as I had found it.

After putting my boxes in my locker, I drove quickly to the local camera shop where I rented a miniDV tape player. Then I headed for my office.

Inside the office I disconnected my ancient VHS cassette recorder/player and connected the rented miniDV tape player. My secretary had gone for the day, so I wasn't concerned about anyone overhearing what might be on the tape. What I saw and heard confirmed my suspicions: A very young Sharon Donovan engaging in a variety of sexual acts with Frank's secretary, Lori Lee. Both women were clearly enjoying themselves and were voluntary participants, though if the date was correct, the very young Miss Donovan was almost certainly underage. I recognized the motel room, and Frank's voice was audible in the background giving them both encouragement. What was not clear is how Frank intended to use the tapes. He might just be making them for his own use, but if so, why use such high quality and very expensive equipment? No, more likely Frank was intending to sell the tapes, maybe to private buyers, maybe to a commercial distributor.

I didn't take the time to watch the entire tape. In truth, that Frank and his secretary, Lori Lee, were apparently engaging in child porn was sickening. I had no desire to view it, and my attraction to Lori Lee was almost instantly gone. Instead, I hurriedly rewound the tape, put it back in the box, and drove back to the storage locker. By now it was about 4:00 p.m. Frank should be at work for at least another hour, so I felt safe going back into his locker and returning the tape to its exact original position. Before leaving, I quickly looked at the other labels on the recorded tapes. The only initials that didn't appear on tapes were Judge Nancy Carpenter's. Perhaps he hadn't asked or she had refused. Or perhaps he had used a hidden camera. We wouldn't know until we looked at all the tapes.

After leaving the storage locker, I paged Sherry to call me. Though I could have waited until the next day to tell her about the storage locker, I thought that she was entitled to know immediately what I had found. There was nothing to gain by waiting to tell her.

"He's doing what?" She was almost screaming into the phone when I gave her the information.

"Sherry, calm down. I only looked at part of one tape, but it looks like Frank and three of the four women we know about are making tapes, probably for sale. Only Judge Carpenter's initials didn't appear. Of course, I didn't look at all the tapes. She could be there, too, with her identity concealed. And it's my guess that Frank won't appear on any of the tapes. Unless there are some other men or boys involved, these are going to be solo girl or girl-girl tapes. That makes sense. If he has aspirations of being elected to public office or being appointed as a judge, the last thing he would want to have surface is a videotape of him having sex with someone other than his wife. Particularly if one of the women happened to have been underage at the time."

"Oh, these tapes are going to come out all right. I'll see his testicles hanging on the courthouse flagpole before I let him get elected to anything."

I paused to consider that picture in my mind. I was tempted to offer her a dull knife.

"Wait a minute, Sherry. Think this through. Your objective here is long-term financial security at Frank's expense. If you expose him publicly, his earning power is in the tank. You're better off having the evidence and letting him know you have it rather than using the evidence in court."

"But how do we get the tapes? We can't subpoena them, or they'll have to be turned over to the court, right?" Apparently she had picked up a bit of law from Frank.

"That's true. On the other hand, Frank can't very well file a police complaint if the tapes disappear from his storage locker, can he? I have a plan. At the appropriate time, I will simply remove the recorded tapes from the locker. I'll carefully remove their labels and put his original labels back on blank miniDV tapes identical to the ones I'm removing. Then I'll put the blank relabeled tapes back in the locker. If and when Frank ever plays the tapes, he'll just see a blank screen, but I don't think it will ever come to that. You see, I'll make the tape switch to coincide with the filing of your divorce papers. Then you will disclose to your attorney that you have hired me as your private investigator. I will tell your attorney about the storage locker and suggest he subpoena the contents. But before the subpoena is served, Frank is going to get wind of the subpoena. He will probably go in and destroy the tapes without ever looking at them. He may also get rid of the video equipment, but I doubt that. Once he's destroyed the blank tapes, he'll think he's home free."