The Wrong Man

Of course, I should now imitate every other dog owner (pet companion? - sheesh) and drone on for hours relating why Sampson is the smartest, cutest dog in the world, but let's keep it short and simply say it's true - you'll just have to take my word for it.

After a year with Sampson, we knew we were ready for children. Emma was ready to chuck the pills when all this shit hit the fan.

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By Thursday evening both Grant and Lois had opened my phony emails and both computers were infected with two viruses. Now I was able to read all their emails; what I learned blew my socks off, Grant Martin was having an affair with Emma's mother!

There weren't any lovey-dovey heart-felt expressions of passion or love, just a few emails arranging clandestine meetings. I didn't have time either Thursday night or Friday to dig any deeper into their different folders, I still had to concentrate on my project at work, but I found a critically important email from Lois to Grant.

Grant

I've attached the electronic tickets for Saturday's play with this email. Try to remember - to Emma this is not a date. You're just doing me a favor taking Emma when I feign illness Saturday. Good luck, be your usual charming self and she'll start to see what a loser she married.

Lois

I opened the attachment and found a pdf with two tickets to Saturday's performance of 'The Merchant of Venice'.

This email only added to the mystery. If my mother-in-law is fucking Grant Martin, why is she setting him up on a date with Emma? I normally don't have a devious mind, so maybe the answer was beyond the comprehension of my straight-shooter brain.

I decided to head up to New York and find out for myself how far this would go. I arranged for Sampson to stay at the local kennel and had a very fitful sleep. After Emma left in the morning I hopped on the Amtrak to Manhattan and mulled over my options. I was still in love with Emma and I thought there must be some way to save our marriage.

By the time I arrived at Penn Station I had a game plan. I bought a Yankees ball cap and baseball jacket, a cheap camera and a bag of almonds. With two hours to kill, I stopped at a deli on 43rd Street that had a great Reuben. I made certain not to drink too much coffee or water, this could be a long night.

At 6:30 I was sitting on a park bench across the street from her parents' condo. I wasn't there more than fifteen minutes when I heard a voice beside me.

"What agency are you with?"

I turned to find a pretty lady standing there.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're obviously watching that building, I expect you're following someone. So, which detective agency are you working for?"

"I'm not with an agency. My wife's parents live there and I think she's planning to go out with another man tonight. I'm just watching to see if she goes through with it or not."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But that explains why you're so piss-poor at this. Look, don't be so obvious and what's with that camera? You'd have to be within twenty feet of them to get any clear shots."

She opened her coat to show me a nice Canon with a zoom lens.

"Here, step back here with me. When you see your wife, point her out. I'll get a couple decent shots for you."

"Why would you help me?"

"For the one-hundred dollars you'll give me when I email them to you. Trust me, they'll be worth your money."

"Why did you think I was following someone?"

"Because a quarter of the people of this side of the park are private detectives watching one of those four buildings across the street. Plus, the Yankees cap. Every out-of-town PI picks up a Yankees or Mets cap when they come into town thinking they'll blend in. I figured you for a PI from some hick-town following a wayward wife. I didn't figure you for the cuck husband, though."

Her words stung, but she kept on going with her monologue.

"This part of town is a hotbed of cheaters and a goldmine for detectives. Too much money and too few morals; everybody here is entitled. I'm watching the building next to yours - waiting for some rich lawyer to walk out the door with his mistress; his wife is out of town and hired us to get some evidence of what he's up to. Probably has a pre-nuptial. Tonight, I'll still be here to capture the shots as the two of them return from dinner. It's going to be a long night." She held out her hand. "I'm Karin, with an 'i'."

I watched Emma's building as my new friend talked. Men and women were going in and out, the doorman opening the front door and any taxi or limousine doors for the residents. I didn't know what Grant looked like, so all I could do is wait for Emma to come out the door and see who she was with. Just as Karin finished her introduction, Emma walked out with a man I assumed to be Grant.

"There they are."

Karin whipped the camera up and the shutter flapped a few times. She was damn fast. She must have gotten at least four shots before they stepped into a taxi and drove south.

"Got them."

"What now?"

"Now I concentrate on the building next door. It's a little early for them according to my sources. Let's go over here and sit for a minute."

We went and sat on the park bench across from the building next door.

"Business first; if you text me your email address, I'll send the photos. That will cost you one-hundred. If you want, I'll get some shots of them when they return, if I can get them, would you be willing to part with another hundred?"

"Sure."

"OK, tell you what, if you give me the asshole's name, for another three-hundred, I'll do some digging and give you a little background. If we do that we should sign a contract so everything's legal."

"Do I sign with your agency?"

"No, I'm freelance. I'm working as a contractor tonight for the agency the lawyer's wife hired."

"And it's OK for me to hire you and not the agency?"

"Yea. As long as it doesn't interfere with what I'm currently contracted for, I can still do my own thing. It's not a conflict."

I texted Karin my email address and Grant's full name. We chatted for a little while. For some reason I gave Karin the full background on why I was trying to save a marriage that seemed to be in deep shit. Karin was a great listener.

My curiosity got the best of me, how did this petite lady end up as a private detective? My preconceived notions based on a love of film noire and 40's detective movies set me up to envision Sam Spade or Philip Marlow.

Karin laughed when I asked my question.

"I spent fifteen years with the NYPD, the last six years in their intelligence division working on anti-terrorism. I got shot in the leg, lost everything below the knee and ended up on disability." She bent over and lifted her pant leg; damn, it was a prosthetic. "Decided to use what I learned to make some money, but setting my own hours. It's worked out so far. I rarely work weekend nights like tonight. This was a special favor for a friend at the agency."

During the conversation Karin whipped the camera out again and started to take photos of a couple getting into a limo across the street.

"Are you going to follow them to the restaurant?"

"No, most likely it's not the kind of place you can get anything without getting caught. I'll grab a bite to eat down the street, then sit here and wait for their return. Nine times out of ten these couples grab a dinner and then it's back to the love nest for a night of fucking. Not a lot of romance in these affairs."

"So, what's the mistress get out of it besides a meal?"

"You'd be surprised. Some of these women make as much as a good secretary. You just have to be willing to sell your soul and have some old, fat, bald 'Master of the Universe' stick his small cock in all three of your holes - yea, anal is a must for these dipshits. No thanks!" Karin was laughing at this last part.

"What about the wives?"

"Probably half our business. Some poor guy who's working sixty hours a week finally figures out some clown is getting most or all what should be his. You want to know the scariest ones? It's when the DNA comes back and the kids aren't his. Those always end up in a nuclear war. I had a client once who broke into his ex-wife's house, sat on her bed and blew his fucking brains out."

"That had to have gotten to her conscience."

"No, it didn't. This poor slob didn't know his wife was out of town. The damn housekeeper found the body. By the time the ex came home from her spa week in Cannes, the house was clean, the bed replaced, the walls repainted and my client was already cremated. His mother got the ashes. Not a lot of happy endings in this business."

We sat for another minute after that, I was deep in thought whether my story would end poorly. I wasn't going to blow my brains out, but if we did divorce, I'd miss my wife.

"Look, don't take this wrong. If you're going to get a bite to eat, can I buy?"

She looked at me before answering. "No, Jeff. Go on home. I'm going to meet my husband at the diner. I already texted him and he'll be there in ten minutes."

Karin held up her ring finger. Some detective I was, I hadn't even noticed the ring there. We got up from the park bench and started walking. Now I also noticed the slight limp; guess I must be self-absorbed, wallowing in self-pity. I decided to talk about something besides me.

"It must be tough being married when you see all this ugliness. Does it affect your marriage?"

"It does for a lot of my colleagues. Some can't get past all the crap they see. I'm a very lucky lady; my husband Bill knows what I go through on the job. He does both the little things and the big things to make certain I know I'm loved. Take this evening for example. I know his mom is watching our two boys so he can meet me down here and have a quick meal together."

We continued to walk and talk. As we approached the diner I could make out the silhouette of a large man. As we got closer I could tell Bill was a very fit, handsome man. He was my height, but probably had at least thirty pounds on me, and it looked like it was muscle. Karin wrapped her arms around him and he bent down to give her a kiss, but he didn't take his eyes off me.

"Bill, this is my new client, Jeff. Jeff, this is my husband Bill."

We shook hands, both of us staring into the others' eyes and giving a firm, but not over the top, handshake. Bill spoke first.

"Let me guess, tight end?"

"Damn, you're good. Did you play?"

"No, wrestled heavyweight at Penn State." Bill's smile was easy, he turned and while he had his arm around Karin, his smile broadened and his eyes shined. "Hungry?" he asked me.

"No, thanks though. I'm going to head to the train station and catch the train back home. Karin, please send the contract when you can, I'll sign it and get it back to you right away with the money. Thanks for taking my case - is that the right word?"

Karin laughed.

I shook Bill's hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Bill. You are one lucky man, but I got a feeling you're both lucky. Take care and thanks for the invitation to dinner. You two give me hope."

Bill looked at Karin and she just whispered, "I'll explain."

I actually walked away with a smile on my face.

I slept in Sunday morning, the lack of sleep over the past few days were catching up on me. With a pot of coffee brewing, I fired up my laptop and attached a hard drive to download all Grant's emails from his archived folders.

I also decided not to wait for Karin's phone call, at a decent hour I'd contact her on the cell number she gave me - I needed to know what happened Saturday night after I left the city.

With a cup of coffee and a toasted bagel, I started to read the emails. One thing I learned; Grant Martin was a weasel, Lois Taylor was not the only married woman he was fucking, but one email in Grant's outbox folder answered many of my questions.

Dennis

Time to repay your debt.

I've been fucking an old high society matron for the past four months. This bitch is so blue-blooded she wouldn't think about fucking anyone below her station. Hence her willingness to fuck me, given my family tree. What she doesn't know, of course, is my asshole father disowned me five years ago.

You're probably wondering why I'm even bothering with some old, used up broad. Two reasons. She's loaded and her daughter is a babe. But this old bitch is insane. She's trying to break up her daughter's marriage to some low life so the daughter and I can get married, then the old cunt and I can see each other without anyone suspecting a thing. Can you believe this shit? You can't make this stuff up!

Did I mention I work for her husband and the guy is a clueless cuck?

The old bitch is putting the screws to her daughter to dump her husband and I'm waiting in the wings to pick up the pieces. I can guarantee a very long engagement, the daughter might be a babe, but way too conservative for my taste and you know I'm not the marrying type. At some point this old broad will probably want to talk to my old man. That's not going to happen and that's where you come in.

I'm sending you a burner phone. Keep it charged. When I call you, answer it and pretend you're my father. I'll have her talk to you - don't overplay it - just get off the phone as quick as you can. Remember, I'm counting on you like you counted on me last year. Don't fuck it up.

Sorry for the James Bond shit - but I'm not taking chances on losing this until I've had a chance to reel in a decent score - did I mention this old broad is worth millions? Yea - I did.

Your brother TKE,

Grant

Reading this I almost felt sorry for Lois, for less than a second, then realized I was dealing with a nest of snakes. This was positively out of my league, I hoped someone with Karin's expertise could help me figure out my next move.

While waiting to call Karin, Grant signed on to his computer and spent a few hours online, including signing on to his work server and accessing a few different programs. I watched and recorded everything he did; I now had his User ID and password at the bank.

By 2:00 PM I couldn't stand it any longer and called Karin on her cell.

"Hello, Jeff. I've been waiting for your call."

"Sorry to bug you on a Sunday, please apologize to your husband and children, but I have to know. What did you see last night after I left?"

"You'll be happy to know your wife showed up in a cab just after ten. She exited the cab and walked to the door. Grant walked with her and it looked as if he was trying to get her to allow him in. She was shaking her head. He tried to kiss her, she turned and he only kissed her cheek before she walked through the door. The doorman must have been given instructions because he stopped Grant from walking through the door. He turned away, but only after cussing out the doorman. By then the cab was gone, Grant must have already paid the cab, pretty cheeky of him - must not get turned down too often. In other words, your bride wasn't swept away by his charm; she came home at a decent time and nothing inappropriate happened."

"Other than her going out on a date with another man." I was happy Emma hadn't slept with the asshole, but still pissed how our marriage was falling apart.

"Remember what you told me last night, she was set up by her mother. It doesn't excuse all her behavior, but it does create a reason she's been acting this way."

"OK, I'll give her that. But this you have to hear. It seems Grant Martin is screwing Emma's mom and Lois Taylor is wrecking my marriage to keep Martin close."

"No kidding, that's just so cold! I've been in this business for years and it just never fails to shock me how evil people can be. How did you find this out?"

"If I tell you, do we have some kind of client-detective privilege?"

"No, Jeff. If I get subpoenaed, I'd have to tell. So, if you're doing something illegal, you have to decide whether to share."

I thought about it and figured - what the hell - and told Karin how I obtained the emails. She, like many people back in the last decade, was stunned. I also told her I had Martin's User ID and password for accessing personal accounts and wire transfers.

"You can actually take over this guy's computer and read his passwords? Damn, later this week you'll have to teach me how to protect myself from guys like you. But for now, I'm headed back to join my family, we're watching 'The Wizard of OZ' and the kids are giving me their "when you going to get off the phone" eyes."

"Sorry, Karin. Call me tomorrow after you dig into Martin's background and I'll tell you the rest." With that we hung up and I went back digging through Grant Martin's and Lois Taylor's emails.

By Sunday night when Emma returned from her parents' I had all kinds of information, but no idea how I was going to use any of it. I also had all my clothes and other personal items in the guest bedroom and bath. It didn't take her long to come rushing into the kitchen where I sat drinking a Yuengling.

"Jeffery, where are your clothes?"

I ignored her question. "How was your date last night?"

Emma had a look on her face I hadn't seen before; did it register guilt, horror, deceit? "What are you talking about? I didn't go on a date!" Emma said it with such conviction, I may have believed her if I hadn't seen her climb into that cab with my own two eyes.

"What do you call it when you go to a play with a non-related member of the opposite sex? Should we look it up in the dictionary?"

There was that look again. "What, did you have me followed?"

"Not that it's relevant, but I went into the city yesterday. I was going to try and convince you and your mother that I should take you to the play, I pulled up to their building just in time to see you get into a cab with some guy. Who was it?"

(Ok - I lied to her, but it sounded plausible and I didn't want Emma to know what I really was up to and what I really knew.)

"Jeff, my mother became ill at the last minute and one of my parents' friends was kind enough to take me. Nothing happened."

I played dumb. "So, who is this kind friend, does he have a name?"

"Grant Martin; he works for my father."

I decided it was time to start her thinking. "Look Emma, this is bullshit. Your parents are trying to split us up. Think about it; I'll bet a thousand dollars your mother made a miraculous recovery Sunday. This illness was staged, how did Grant Martin just happen to be available at the last minute? It's time you got your head out of your ass and understand our marriage is almost over."

Emma reeled back on her heels as if she'd been shot. I didn't want this to turn into a shouting match, so took this opportunity to leave the kitchen and head to the guestroom. It was an uneasy night with little sleep; I ended up getting up, out of the house and in the office before seven.

At eight my cell phone buzzed indicating a text received; checking the phone I saw Emma sent two words, "Sharon Roberts." My guess is Emma already talked to her mother and Lois was filling her head with crap.

My marriage was quickly circling the toilet bowl, headed for the sewer.

Late Monday afternoon Karin called me at work.

"Are you somewhere where we can talk privately?"

I closed my office door. "Yea, I'm in my office, what's up?"

"First, tell me again about Grant Martin's position at the bank. I figured you have all that, so I concentrated on non-work issues."

I looked down at my notes. "From what I can tell from his emails and access permissions, he's a personal banker. He basically handles Trust accounts and other money management for wealthy clients. Yesterday I watched as he read emails that came in from three different clients, two of the three asked him to transfer funds from various accounts into or out of other accounts. Grant set up instructions for wire transfers that moved those funds as soon as the bank opened this morning. The money should have transferred this morning. I can confirm later today when I get to my computer at home. I don't want to use my work computer for any of this."