Pied Piper

CHAPTER 57

Central air-conditioning provided the New Orleans downtown public library with a large population of homeless, some of whom were effective at passing themselves off as readers, others who abandoned the ruse altogether, sitting at tables while fighting off the exhaustion of walking the streets at night. Technically, the library could not ask them to leave unless they fell asleep. Eyelids fluttered. An occasional page of a newspaper turned in keeping with the act.

The homeless seemed to collect in the periodicals section, perhaps because of its abundance of chairs and tables. Perhaps because of the sports section. Boldt and Daphne split up. Most of the news they sought they believed too recent to have reached microfiche.

Boldt refused Daphne’s suggestion to approach NOPD’s Detective Broole about the attorney Chevalier’s dealings, this based on the assumption that a cop’s curiosity could put the word out on the street, which in turn could jeopardize their efforts.

LaMoia, who wanted to work the husband and wife conviction, also wanted to consult Broole. “Cops know more than newspapers,” he repeated one too many times, bringing Boldt’s wrath down upon him. Assigned surveillance of the attorney, Chevalier, LaMoia was halfway across town. He intended not only “to sit on the man” but to install a caller-ID box on Chevalier’s phone lines in order to monitor the attorney’s incoming calls. Legality was no longer an issue; they had no way to trace Chevalier’s outgoing calls without the involvement of Broole. A warrant would have to be justified. LaMoia had to justify that warrant, as well as keep an eye out for Hale.

Boldt denied both suggestions, electing instead to gather intelligence. The more fact, the more hard information they brought Broole, the better.

Boldt searched newspaper indexes for Vincent Chevalier. Daphne took Judge Adams of Tanipahoa Parish. Thankfully, the Times-Picayune ran a good crime beat.

The Times-Picayune was indexed monthly, available on the fifteenth of every month. The most recent index was for articles published in February. Boldt searched the months of January and February and found no reference on any Chevalier, including Vincent. He then waited his turn to access a reference computer terminal that at peak hours allowed each user only three consecutive searches, and maintained a line a half-dozen deep. Boldt was not used to waiting in lines, except for the office copier. His shield generally moved him to the front of any line.

Boldt restricted the search to the Times-Picayune database and then typed in the name:

V_I_N_C_E_N_T__C_H_E_V_A_L_I_E_R

The computer considered the request. Boldt caught himself holding his breath. A moment later seven listings scrolled down the screen, including publication date, partial headlines, page and column numbers. Five of the seven articles had been published in the paper nearly five years earlier. The first two listings had been page 3 stories, implying a relative importance to them. The last two were barely twelve months out of date. The partial headline on the opening hit read: “POLICE DISCONNECT 911 SCAM …” The last article listed had a title that began: “APPEALS COURT SHOOTS …” That first listing swimming in his head, Boldt signaled Daphne-and half those in the reference section-with a frantic wave of the hand. He asked the person in line behind him how to print out a copy of his search results. A few minutes later, he and Daphne took seats in adjacent microfiche viewing stations, the appropriately boxed issues in hand.

“A nine-one-one scam,” he reminded urgently, clumsily threading the cumbersome roll of film into the antiquated machine. He threaded it upside down on his first effort; reversed, his second try.

“Yes, I caught that,” Daphne said calmly, trying to contain him. She threaded her machine correctly the first time and was reading text before Boldt.

“As in Millie Wiggins’ day care center,” Boldt said, still fumbling.

“Yes.”

“It’s them,” Boldt emphasized.

“It suggests a strong possibility, doesn’t it?”

He glanced at her incredulously, as he failed with the machine for the third time. “Goddamn it!” he hollered too loudly, his fingers refusing to cooperate.

“Here.” She leaned across him, corrected his mistake and restored the machine.

Boldt sped ahead to the article written five years earlier as Daphne returned to her station. “It was page three,” he said, prior to actually locating the article. “You’ve got to think that means it was pretty big news at the time.”

“Shh,” Daphne chided. “I’m on to something here.” But a moment later, as Boldt went silent, she couldn’t resist. She slid her fiberglass chair up against Boldt’s and looked on.

“Two hundred and eighty thousand,” she read. “It was run on the elderly.”

Boldt heard her but did not acknowledge. He read slowly and intently. He wanted every last detail committed to memory.

CITY BEAT-POLICE MADE TWO ARRESTS ON TUESDAY IN THE SO-CALLED 911 SCAM THAT HAD BEEN PUZZLING INVESTIGATORS FOR WEEKS AND HAS COST AREA VICTIMS, MOSTLY THE ELDERLY, NEARLY $280,000. FOLLOWING A TELECOMMUNICATIONS STING INVOLVING COORDINATED TECHNOLOGIES LINKING AIR TOUCH CELLULAR, SOUTHWESTERN BELL AND SPRINT COMMUNICATIONS, THE CONFIDENCE GAME, WHICH PITTED THE FICTIONAL CALLER AS A LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICER ATTEMPTING TO UNRAVEL A BANK EMBEZZLEMENT SCANDAL, WAS FINALLY PUT ON HOLD. ARRESTED WERE ROGER CROWLEY, 28, OF NEW ORLEANS, AND HIS WIFE, LISA. THE PAIR, WHO HAVE OPERATED UNDER AS MANY AS TWENTY-TWO ALIASES, ARE WANTED ON RELATED CHARGES IN FIVE OTHER STATES INCLUDING NEVADA, ARIZONA AND FLORIDA. IF CONVICTED, THE COUPLE INDIVIDUALLY FACE UP TO FIFTEEN YEARS JAIL TIME AND FINES EXCEEDING $200,000. THE CROWLEYS’ ATTORNEY, VINCENT CHEVALIER, SAID HE WOULD FILE FOR DISMISSAL BASED ON ENTRAPMENT. INSISTING HIS CLIENTS WERE VICTIMS THEMSELVES-OF A LAW ENFORCEMENT WITCH-HUNT-CHEVALIER INSISTED ON HIS CLIENTS’ INNOCENCE AND SUGGESTED TO REPORTERS THAT THE CASE WOULD NEVER REACH TRIAL.

Three subsequent articles proved Chevalier wrong. The case did go to trial, a jury trial, resulting in what to Boldt’s eye was a ninthinning plea bargain down to intent to defraud that cut short the trial and lessened the sentences to seven years each, restoration of the victims’ assets and fines of ten thousand dollars each. Translated, it meant release in two to three years, restoration at thirty cents on the dollar, and two, twenty-five-hundred-dollar fines. It was the Crowleys’ first conviction after eleven years and twenty-seven separate arrests in five states. There was nothing in the articles to connect the couple to any kidnapping, child abduction, child abuse or extortion.

Daphne made the connection ten minutes later. “Middle of last year, the Crowleys sued the state of Louisiana for blocking an adoption they had planned.”

Boldt shot her a look of astonishment. He said, “Convicted felons aren’t allowed to adopt,” well aware of the federal law.

Daphne continued, “The Crowleys took possession of an infant girl born in Arkansas. They might have pulled it off, except the biological mother was an unwed fourteen-year-old, a minor, and her parents contested the adoption. Vincent Chevalier both arranged the adoption and represented the Crowleys in their lawsuit and their appeal.”

“Lost both,” Boldt guessed.

“Yes.”

“Motive enough for this spree,” Boldt suggested.

“A couple denied parenthood?” she said. “Worse than the wrath of a woman scorned.”

“Confirm with Broole that Roger Crowley has an eagle tattooed on his left forearm. Then convince him that Crowley’s at large. We need a warrant to trap-and-trace telephone calls inside Chevalier’s office, from his cellular, and from pay phones in and around the surrounding neighborhood. Whatever you do, don’t mention the Pied Piper investigation.”

Keeping up with Boldt’s hurried strides, Daphne said, “Is there some water you want me to walk on in the meantime?”

“Just try.”

“I will.”

“What happens to them after the adoption is blocked?” he asked.

“Denied the adoption, they decided to pursue other means of obtaining a child. But not for themselves anymore. For others.”

“Forget about it,” he said.

“The penny flutes. They wanted the abductions connected. They’re making a statement. It’s the Robin Hood Syndrome. They see themselves as saviors. In their minds, their actions are perfectly justified. They know what it’s like to be denied parenthood.”

“Stop,” he said harshly. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“You need to,” she protested. “These are the people who have your daughter.”