Irreconcilable Differences

"Not today we won't," he said with a laugh. "Maybe next time?"

They lay together a while longer, both still breathing heavily and trying to regain their strength.

Finally she spoke. "Frank, I need to grab a quick shower before I leave here. Be a dear and run out to my car and get my little overnight bag, will you? I can't go back to the Resort looking like this."

"Well, I don't know. I think you look pretty good just the way you are. It's that satisfied look, ya know?" he joked with her.

She gave him a playful look. "So, you want me to walk through the lobby nude under my coat and with my hair matted down and my makeup all messed up?"

"It would get everyone's attention, my dear," he said. Then he got dressed and walked out to her car.

She got out of bed and stood nude in front of the mirror, admiring herself. Unbeknownst to her, she was looking right into one of my camera lenses.

For a woman in her forties, she had one helluva body. I had to admit that I enjoyed their show and wondered how they would feel if they knew they had been taped! Perhaps some day they will learn, though I secretly hoped not.

Frank walked back in as she was standing in front of the mirror. She jumped when the door opened.

"Keep standing there with nothing showing except that sexy body of yours, Nancy, and I just might be able to go around with you again," he laughed.

She grabbed the overnight case from him and walked toward the bathroom. "In your dreams, lover," she laughed over her shoulder. Frank turned on the television to wait for her to finish getting cleaned up.

With the recording equipment running, I quietly took my still camera and left the room, walked to the restaurant and got in my pickup. I had been there only about twenty minutes when she came out. I shot still photos of her leaving the room even though my videotape gave me almost every identifiable feature except the lady's DNA. Any videotape, complete with audio, would have to be used only as a last resort. The still photos by themselves would establish a legal presumption of adultery. It's interesting that in Idaho, adultery is still a criminal offense as well as being grounds for divorce. It is never prosecuted criminally, though. There wouldn't be enough room in the jails. And many of the lawyers would be on the inside looking out.

Shortly after she left, I made a call to his contact at the sheriff's office to run her tag. He told me he'd have to call back with the results. Frank came out a short time later, got in his car and left. Interesting. No equipment cases this time.

After giving them both time to get well away from the motel, I returned to the room, packed up my equipment, and loaded it in the pickup. I also used the impressioned key to make one last pass through Frank's room, thinking he or the mystery woman might have left something behind either inadvertently or as trash. They had not, so I went to get the film processed.

While my lady photographer friend was processing the film, my cell phone rang. It was my sheriff's office contact.

The first thing he said was, "Lee, what have you gotten yourself into?"

That is not the way I like to start conversations. Usually, very little good news follows an opening like that.

"Why?"

"That tag you asked me to run comes back to Nancy Carpenter."

That fits. Frank had called her Nancy.

"Okay. What can you tell me about her?"

He laughed slightly. "Nothing you can't find out for yourself on the Internet. You don't recognize her name, do you?"

My contact was enjoying this entirely too much.

"No, who is she?"

"She's Judge Nancy Carpenter of the Idaho Federal District Court."

Well, that definitely qualified for an "Aw, shit."

I lamely said, "I must have copied the license number down wrong, then." He knew better.

"Lee, in over twenty years as a deputy, you never once copied a license number down wrong. And by the way, she's scheduled to speak to a group of lawyers in your fair city tonight, so I'm sure you got the number right. Now what's going on?"

"Mike, it's really nothing." I lied; he knew it. "Her car was parked in the vicinity of the house of someone I'm investigating, that's all. I'm sure she's not involved in anything."

I thanked him, then sat back to try and think through how to handle this new twist. On the one hand, Sherry's divorce case just became hermetically sealed and airtight. On the other hand, it's not a good career choice for a licensed PI to involve a federal judge in a messy divorce. Judges can be a vindictive lot.

My cell phone rang again. Sherry. Frank had come home early. He had told her that he was going to an attorney's conference at the Fightin' Creek Resort later that evening. She didn't believe him.

"Sherry, we need to meet as soon as possible. Frank was 'active' this afternoon. He is probably telling you the truth about the meeting tonight. When we meet, you'll understand why. Since he's going to be out tonight, is there any way you could come to my office for about an hour while he's gone? I have something to show you."

"Probably. He said he was going to leave about seven and should be back around eleven."

"All right. Here's what I'll do. I'll pick Frank up when he leaves your house and follow him. If there is a meeting at the Resort and if he goes there, I'll page you with a string of ones. That'll be your signal to meet me at the office. Call me on my cell phone to confirm you got the message. If you don't get the page within half an hour after he leaves, assume he went somewhere else and that I'm on him."

"Fine. I'll wait to hear from you."

At 6:55 p.m., Frank pulled his Beemer out of the garage and drove toward the Resort. He parked in the garage, got out of the car dressed in formal evening attire, and went inside. I walked in to the lobby and checked the scheduled meeting list posted in the brass podium inside the lobby entrance. Sure enough, the North Idaho Attorneys Association was meeting in the Kokanee Room, and the guest speaker was to be Judge Nancy Carpenter. A quick walk-by confirmed that Frank was there; glad-handing everyone he could but staying clear of the now appropriately attired Judge Carpenter. But, the image of Judge Carpenter in the fishnet body stocking lingered in my mind...and then my slacks.

I went to a pay phone and paged Sherry with a string of ones. Moments later, she called back to my cell phone. We agreed to meet at my office in twenty minutes.

I arrived at office before Sherry and set up the equipment to play back the videotape from that afternoon.

Sherry knocked on my locked office door, and I let her in. She looked excited. Almost jazzed.

"What have you got, Lee?"

"Well, Frank met a woman this afternoon at the motel."

I showed her the still photos first.

"Do you recognize this woman?"

She looked at the photos carefully, and then shook her head no.

Oh, well. I thought that the mystery woman might have been the same attorney Sherry had caught him with five years before. No such luck.

"Her name is Nancy Carpenter. She's from Boise. She's also an attorney." I paused for a totally gratuitous dramatic effect. "She's also a federal district court judge."

"He's boffing a federal judge? God, he thinks with his dick rather than his brain."

Well. That was a nice concise librarian-like summary of the facts. It occurred to me that perhaps Judge Carpenter was mentoring Frank, preparing him as it were, for his own judgeship.

"Did you get it on video?"

"Yeah, but are you sure you want to see it? I mean, I don't want to upset you..."

She cut me off quickly.

"Lee, show me the video," she said with exactly the same inflection as Jerry "Show Me the Money" Maguire. How appropriate.

I replayed the tape for her, complete with audio. She sat quietly through the tape. When it was over, I cut it off. I figured she would either blow up or start throwing things at his very expensive equipment or she would dissolve into tears.

She did neither.

Instead, she looked at me and said in a resigned and sad voice, "I wish he had done me like that instead of the way he's doing it now."

Now of all the things I expected to hear from her, that wasn't one of them, and it left me momentarily speechless.

She dismissed my uneasiness. "Frank just committed political and financial suicide on that tape. I think we've got enough for me to confront him."

"Sherry, I'd rather you didn't do that just yet. Let's go with our original plan of identifying all of his girlfriends. Assuming Judge Carpenter's initials are in his Daytimer, we only have three of the six. I think it would be good insurance to at least try and identify the remaining three. You said it yourself: The Idaho lawyers are an old-boy (and now, at least one not-so-old girl) network. I think we need to make the case against Frank without involving the judge - at least for now. We might need to contact her separately, if you know what I mean. She's married to a Boise doctor named David Carpenter. She will most certainly not want this tape to ever surface. If Frank balks at settling quietly with you, Judge Carpenter may be able to persuade him."

She nodded in agreement.

"You're right. There's no point in stopping now. I certainly won't have to worry about where to get the money to pay you. After all, it's really Frank that's buying the rope we will use to hang him."

In our remaining few minutes, I asked her if she had checked the keystroke logger we had installed on his computer. She had not. She decided to go home and do it right then since it was only nine o'clock.

At 10:30 p.m. Sherry called on my cell phone. She had followed my instructions to the letter and had retrieved whatever the keystroke logger had captured. We concluded that the best way for her to deliver the diskette would be for me to pick it up from her the next day at the library.

[Friday, August 23]

Friday morning I strolled into the Kellogg County library and went to one of the stacks. Maybe two minutes later, Sherry passed behind him with a cartload of books to be reshelved. As she passed, she dropped the diskette in my pocket and kept on walking. No conversation. I put my hand in the pocket to confirm the diskette's presence, and then proceeded to the counter to check out a book.

Back at my office I put the keystroke logger diskette in the computer, dumped the information into an Excel file, and then printed it out. It was apparent from the number of pages printing that Frank used his computer quite a bit since Sherry had installed the electronic spy the preceding Sunday. It took me almost all day to break out and interpret the keystrokes. Frank had used his ACT! software, so retrieving the password to let Sherry open it was a snap. And I figured since I was probably going to end up in jail anyway for bugging the hotel room, why not get some idea of what else Frank might have hidden on his computer.

Well, Frank likes to look at porn. No big deal, I rationalized. After all, I had watched and taped Frank and the judge doing the Posturepedic polka. And truth be told, I had enjoyed watching! Better not throw too many stones from inside my own glass house.

But what's this? Frank also encrypts some files and emails. No problem. There's his passphrase for that, too. That will be needed later to really dig into his computer. I continued to look at a few of the emails he's sent since the keystroke logger was installed?

Well, well, well. Here are some very recent encrypted emails, one to smilingirisheyes@yahoo.com, whom he addresses as "My lovely Sharon." Probably none other than the barely legal Ms. Donovan. And they are hot! Apparently Frank enjoys much younger women. Sharon Donovan is "legal" now, but if Frank pursues his predilection for the under eighteen's, he's going to wind up in prison with a butt-buddy named Emery.

The next email message was brief but by far the most important. It was from Frank to supertits@hotmail.com telling her that "It's all set for Thursday. Be there about 1:45, okay? She will be there at 2." From his email address book I determined that 'supertits' was none other (and not surprisingly) than Lori Lee. Now, why would Frank email her rather than just telling her at the office? Oh, well, Williams, don't start thinking too much. I could only guess who the other "she" might be.

After cooling down and organizing the findings from Frank's computer, I paged my client. She called back almost immediately from a payphone.

"Sherry, you did great work with the keystroke logger. There's some very useful information. Can you pick a time and place to meet to go over it?"

"Frank's supposed to be playing golf again tomorrow. He'll be leaving about eight o'clock. How about meeting at your office at nine?"

"Could you possibly make it 8:30 bring his laptop computer with you? I suspect that there could be a lot of good stuff in there. But all I want to do tomorrow is have a friend of mine image his hard drive."

I started to explain what I meant by "image," but Sherry cut me off and let me know immediately that she understood the term.

"I should be able to be there at 8:30. The only hitch would be if the weather looks bad, there's no telling for sure when Frank would come back. I wouldn't be able to explain why I had his computer if he caught me with it."

"I understand. Use your own judgment. If you think it's too risky, don't try it. If you're not here, I'll assume that Frank didn't go golfing. Then just give me a call when you safely can."

[Saturday, August 24]

I arrived at the office at 8 a.m. My computer wizardess, Darlene, was there waiting outside my door.

"So, ace detective, we're imaging a hard drive today, huh? What are you working on? A murder? A blackmail? What?

"Nah, just a divorce."

"Bummer. I was hoping it was something really, really important."

Darlene is a senior at North Pines College. Yes, she is a computer geek, but she's also on the volleyball and swimming teams. She wants to become an FBI agent eventually. I'm doing everything I can to change her mind about that. A mind is a terrible thing to waste in the employ of perhaps the most bureaucratic law enforcement agency in the world. Hence the name nearly all locals give the Feebs: Fucking Bureaucratic Investigators. I wouldn't mind having their paycheck and investigative resources, though.

Promptly at 8:30 a.m. Sherry walked through the door. She gave Darlene a look that asked, "What are you doing here?" I introduced them and informed Sherry that Darlene had signed nondisclosure agreements to work for me. Sherry handed her the computer and Darlene set to work on it at my secretary's desk.

Sherry and I went into my inner office and closed the door behind us.

The first thing Sherry said, rather icily, was "She's a nice looking young (she emphasized 'young') girl."

Hmmm. Maybe I was reading a little too much into that remark. Let's move on.

I discussed the results of the keystroke logger. Sherry warmed up immediately. I told her that my plan was to take the image copy of Frank's hard drive and study it in detail over the weekend and on Monday if necessary. Then I would be at the motel on Tuesday and Thursday. I didn't know if Frank would be there Tuesday, but the emails suggested it was certain that he would be there on Thursday.

"I'd like to be there with you on Thursday," Sherry said rather insistently.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I said.

My concern, though I didn't tell Sherry this, was that she might go ballistic when she saw Frank and his dynamic duo together.

Sherry seemed to be reading my mind. "Look, I'm not going to be a problem. I just want to see for myself what Frank's up to. I'll be quiet, and I won't tell you how to do your job. I just need to see..."

Well, all things considered, she had controlled herself pretty well to this point. I rolled like a cheap Corvair.

"All right. But you'll have to ride with me. We can't risk Frank seeing your car. Wear comfortable old clothes. That motel room may make you want to burn them after we're done. Besides that, we won't be able to run the air conditioning, so it's going to be hot I there. Frank usually gets to the motel room about 2:00 p.m., but we should be there and set up and ready to go by noon. He told his secretary to be there by 1:45 and the other person is coming at 2:00. He'll probably get there earlier. If you can sneak a peek at his Daytimer for next Thursday, that will give us a better idea. Think about the best way for us to hook up on Thursday. Unless something really important breaks, I probably will only talk with you on the phone before then."

There was a knock on my door. It was Darlene telling us that she had finished her work. She gave the laptop to Sherry and gave the hard drive copy to me. She looked at me, then at Sherry. Then she gave me an enigmatic smile and left. I wonder what that was all about?

Sherry got up and walked toward the door to leave. But just as she got to the door, she turned, walked back to me, and kissed me. On the lips. Hard. Then she took Frank's computer and left. I just stood there like a dumbstruck idiot. Not a pretty sight: A dumbstruck idiot with an erection. I began to wonder if Darlene was psychic.

[Sunday, August 25, and Monday, August 26]

Examining the contents of Frank's computer was almost easier than going through the keystroke logging program's information. But it was much more informative.

Frank's ACT! database was a gold mine. It not only confirmed the identities of the three women we knew about, but it also pointed us toward the remaining three women. A quick check of some local records showed that two of the remaining three had moved out of the area. Way out of the area. There was no indication in ACT! or in his emails that Frank had any continuing contact with them, so I wrote them off.

The one remaining name, whose initials "CT" also showed up periodically in Frank's Daytimer for "appointments", was Connie Thompson. All he had for her was an email address, no telephone numbers and no street or mailing addresses. Cross-checking with his emails, I found that he contacted her at least weekly via email. There was no telling where she might be located, however. There were some photos attached to some of her emails, so I quite naturally looked at them. They were, to say the very least, provocative poses with a wide range of sexual toys and an impressive wardrobe with very small pieces and strategic holes. I copied the photos.

I made a note to show the pictures to Sherry to see if she recognized the name or the pictures.

Since I'm a paid-for snoop, I decided to rummage through the rest of the stuff in Frank's computer.

Here's another encrypted file. Well, isn't this interesting. It's a QuickBooks accounting program. And the encrypted database shows $825,000 deposited in a bank account in Frank's name in the Grand Cayman Islands. What a surprise...I doubted that Frank was smart enough to be able to hide assets offshore. Sherry's name is not on the account. "Gee," the intuitive investigator wondered, "Could he be hiding it from her?" She, and of course the attorney who ultimately negotiates her divorce settlement, will be very happy to know about that money. Customs and the IRS would certainly like to know about the cash stash as well, but my client is Sherry, not the feds.

Further examination of Frank's QuickBooks revealed that he had been renting a local storage locker for several years. Something else to ask Sherry about.

I looked at the rest of Frank's emails and found only a few more that suggested he was exchanging graphic messages with some of his girlfriends. They weren't exactly smoking gun messages, but they certainly did establish a regular pattern of behavior. I paged Sherry. By the time she called back, it was 4 p.m. on Monday.