It was a dark and stormy night….
But not near as dark and stormy as his mood!
The endless rain and menacing clouds defined his entire week…which had been a real bitch even without the inclement weather, what with trying to keep up with his regular day job in addition to his pro-bono activities with the Formidable Foursome. After an all-nighter which lasted well into the morning, he's finally made it back to his apartment, thoughts of a cold beer and his lounger increasingly lightening his disposition.
And now this!
"What do you mean, you lost all our…your…savings?" He fairly shouts, gripping the phone with white knuckled intensity.
The answer is doled out between a series of sobs and hiccups as his ex attempts to explain how she became a victim of one of the oldest, and as he knows, most common cons perpetuated on single women: the ever popular Romance Scam. He listens with increasing disgust, trying very hard to refrain from interjecting some colorful expletives as she outlines the entire sad affair from beginning to end.
The end being of course that she's left with an almost empty bank account and lover boy long gone!
"And it didn't occur to you there might be something fishy about a guy you barely knew hitting you up for a loan?" he asks, when she finally finishes her long tale of woe.
"I did know him!" she retorts defensively. "We've been communicating for over six months! He'd just gotten out of the army and was starting a new business…and…"
"Aww, jeeze…!"
"And I have his name. And a photo of him in his uniform!"
Fusco snorts. "Like either one of those is going to check out as the real McCoy! The guy probably wasn't ever in the service!"
The sniffling starts again, and he mentally kicks himself. His ragging on her isn't accomplishing anything good; what he needs now is some actionable information that will allow him to start running down the bastard. Like he needs something else to add to his "to do" list…though that little item just made it to the top!
…because if she's out of money, dollars to donuts the next step will be her asking the courts to raise his alimony payments!
And while he doesn't mind paying child support for Lee – the kid is his son after all – he has a hard time justifying money spent on Botox treatments and designer clothes when his ex is quite capable of finding a well paying job on her own. Besides, a good chunk of that money in the savings account is…was…part of Lee's college fund.
But talking to her over the phone is not working; he finds he's far too inclined to throw the cell into the wall out of sheer frustration!
Time to visit the old homestead…
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Meeting him at the door, she promptly bursts into tears again and he finds himself holding the woman as she cries into his jacket, a woman with whom he had lived for years and with whom he'd made a child together…but who is now not much more than a stranger to him.
He pats her awkwardly on the back until she finally calms down and allows him to lead her to a living room chair. A new one he notes. Yeah, his comfortable recliner was probably the first of the old furniture to be dumped on Good Will.
It feels strange to be in this house again where he'd lived as a family man for so many years. Lots of changes, and not just the furniture; the curtains are different too and the walls are all painted another color, decorating touches that when he was married he'd probably never have even noticed.
He takes a deep breath. Over and done. Water under the bridge.
And there's been a lot of flow under that bridge! So much that it's eroded almost all of the emotional ties he has to the woman, giving him now the ability to view this situation not so much through the eyes of a once-upon-a-time husband, but through that of a NYPD detective. Something that's going to stand him in good stead in this case, allowing him to focus on the facts of the case rather than his emotions!
He's come a long way from the blubbering fool Simmons pulled off a bar stool and took home, and he's glad he decided to call here during school hours. No sense giving Lee any false hope that his parents will ever be getting back together.
"Lion, there's something else…" His ex is sitting on the edge of the chair, nervously shredding a tissue between her fingers. He works hard not to react, not to correct her with a reminder that she has no right to that pet name anymore. He's never liked it and under the circumstances it now really grates.
"What?"
She pulls a folded paper out of the pocket of her designer slacks and silently hands it to him.
He reads quickly, then, "Son of a bitch..!"
"I know your name and where you live and where your son goes to school.
It will take another $9900 to make me forget that information and disappear.
You have until next Friday to wire it to my account."
"How much have you already given this asshole?" he asks with some force.
She starts sniffling again. "I sent him 9900 the first time, to help him get part of the down payment for his new business. It was just a loan. He even emailed me a copy of the earnest money contract showing how the money had been applied."
"And then?"
"He sold his car, but he didn't get enough for it and the deadline on the contract was coming up…."
Fusco bites back a scathing retort, reminding himself to stay focused. He knows this is difficult for her, but it's just as difficult for him, given that the majority of that money she signed over to the scumbag had come out of his NYPD paycheck!
"So you sent him another…what?"
"Same amount; another 9900." She looks up, and adds earnestly, "But it was also applied to the down payment. He confirmed it with a copy of the revised contract!"
"That's it then? That's all you sent him?"
"Yes," she replies in a small voice. Then adds, "Lion, why didn't he just ask for the total to begin with? Why just keep dragging this out…?"
"Because the feds require banks to report cash transactions and deposits of more than ten thousand. Lover boy wasn't smart enough though. The feds make the banks report any transactions within a year that total 10k or more."
"So they'll be able to catch him?"
Her hopeful tone makes him feel guilty, though Lord knows why it should. This whole disaster is all on her!
But still, he tries to be gentle.
"Not a given. The whole banking system is in such a mess now with all the new rules, the bureaucrats are over whelmed. They've got much bigger fish to fry. By the time they get around to looking at this, he'll probably have skipped the country."
She covers her face with her hands and remains silent for several minutes before responding.
"So what do we do?"
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"Are you going to help here or not?"
Fusco's temper is coming to a slow boil. He'd been put on the back burner for the better part of an hour while his contact had been in and out of the office, answering phones, and making numerous trips to the coffee pot to refill an obscenely large mug. A mug with a Flyers logo, one of the Bruins biggest competitor. Figures…
Maybe this was not such a good idea. The Chief would almost certainly order him to dump this problem on the Frauds department rather than investing criminal investigative time on it. He's even thought about calling the Professor and asking for help but Glasses and his callous crew have much bigger and far more dangerous targets to keep them busy lately.
Besides, the thought of Wonder Boy and the Goth Queen smirking over his ex's gullibility puts him off.
"Look, Detective", says the investigator finally, his rumpled suit a snow field of powdered sugar, compliments of the funnel cake on which he had been snacking. "We receive hundreds of allegations a month from victims who state they got involved in an online relationship with someone who claims to be a U.S. Soldier."
And to make his point, he motions to a skyscraper stack of folders on the nearby file cabinet.
"The con gets the woman hooked with all sorts of sugary dialogue and then inevitably begins asking for money for various false service-related needs. Like transportation costs, or communication fees, or marriage, or processing out and medical fees. Victims of these scams lose tens of thousands of dollars, with a very low possibility of recovery."
He attempts to dust off the front of his jacket, but in the process merely manages to smear the greasy sugar into the fabric.
"Your ex is just one of a very long line of victims."
"Yeah, well, you're Special Frauds, so tell me how you go about finding these scum bags?"
The detective is quick to read the subtext in that question and throws the chubby cop a skeptical look.
"You think of going after the guy yourself?"
"Yeah. 'Cause I consider this more than a con. It's extortion under threat of bodily harm. So you got a problem with that?"
The guy makes a sound somewhere between a snort and a scoff.
"Not at all. I got plenty to do without adding another headache to the stack. Knock yourself out."
Which is of course exactly the answer Fusco expected he'd get. If he's to get his ex out of this mess within the given time frame, it's going to be up to him.
"So any pointers as to where I start?"
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.
"Ms. Shaw, I would really prefer you not bring Bear these treats. He's on a special diet and…"
"He's likes them, Finch." Shaw replies, breaking off another section of the Pupperoni stick and holding it out to the salivating dog. The gentleness with which Bear takes the treat from her fingers is belied by the sudden violent movement of teeth and tongue which has the piece quickly disappearing. "Besides, he could stand to gain some weight."
"That may be Ms. Shaw, but those treats contain some questionable meat by-products…in addition to onion, which is bad for dogs," he replies. "And all sorts of preservative chemicals. You will note they don't need to be refrigerated." He fixes a determined gaze on the black garbed assassin. "It's worse than fast food, so please refrain from tempting him with problematic foodstuffs."
Shaw glances at the older man. Evidently concluding that the issue is really distressing him, she sighs and pockets the rest of the small bag. Finch is not fooled however, knowing she'll probably just ensure he's not around the next time she gives treats to the dog.
But with the problem currently settled to his satisfaction he proceeds to retrieve a photo from the printer and limps thoughtfully to the suspect board, ignoring Bear's huffing sounds as his sometimes difficult employee moves to the computer station chair.
If she puts her feet up on his desk… He turn and prepares his sternest look, but she refrains from making that mistake. Unlike his other employee.
"Another number, Finch?"
Focusing his attention back on the board and taping the image next to a second photo, he steps back, a deep frown carving furrows in his face. "Yes. Just this morning. Two Numbers actually."
But Shaw shows little interest in the matter, her mind obviously elsewhere. With just a cursory glance at the board, she says, "Well, call in Captain America to help you. I've got an appointment with a gunsmith in Queens." And with that pronouncement she pats Bear on the head and proceeds out of the library.
Should he call her back? He turns stiffly, watching her walk out the gate and down the stairs, a prowling cat on a mission. If he did, he thinks - hopes - she would respond in a positive manner and offer to help. But with Ms. Shaw one can never be certain…
Unlike Reese, he's not that sure that Shaw has truly committed to the team yet, sometimes giving the impression that she's merely honing her skills, filling in her free time. Or maybe she was serious in her past comments and really does just hang around only because of Bear. Who knows?
Besides, this situation might require a scalpel, not a hammer.
He turns back to the board to study the two images. One is of a stranger, middle aged and balding, a male staring out of the confines of the photo with calculating eyes. The other…the other is one of a person he knows well. What he doesn't know is if these two Numbers are in some way related.
Time to call in reinforcements.
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To be continued...