Read Online The Quick Adios (Times Six) by Tom Corcoran - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tom Corcoran
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tomorrow,” said Wiley. “Have I gone past my thirty seconds?”
“Take another thirty,” I said. “This is good info.”
“Okay, the condo at The Tideline is owned by a big Canadian holding company called Branchdale Corporation. The occupants, as you thought, are Mr. and Mrs. Emerson Caldwell. The mortgage payments and condo dues are seven months in arrears. Last year’s property taxes haven’t been paid, but they’re not overdue yet.”
“That makes me wonder if Ocilla was supposed to take care of those things,” I said. “Maybe she was pocketing the money.”
“We’ll put that on our list, too,” said Wiley. “Meanwhile, Caldwell made news in the Keys ten years ago when he was suspected of bilking an investor group. This was long before Madoff, but the term “Ponzi scheme” showed up in one news release. After about four days of bad press he proved that the deal was legitimate and no one lost money. The scam rumors were traced to a former business partner, also Canadian, now deceased.”
“Where does that leave us?” I said.
“Here’s the thing, Mr. Rutledge,” said Fecko. “One of Caldwell’s early investors was your friend, Sheriff Chicken Neck Liska.”
“Oh, shit.”
“We thought you might say that.”
I dropped a few money shots into the bank but my creativity ran dry. I couldn’t show the structure’s proximity to the highway until morning, anyway. And I was sure to see a few more photogenic angles in daylight or, in this case, favorable shadows.
Beeson saw me hang the camera around my neck and collapse the tripod’s legs. He drove into the lot, picked me up then rolled fifty yards to the main entrance.
“I won’t be five minutes,” he said. “Come on in for a preview, but please forgive the access control system.”
In spite of the crime lights, I chose to keep my camera bag with me. Following him up a short walkway, I looked around, saw two video cameras aimed toward the entry alcove. The one on the swivel mount was easy to spot. The other, set into an architectural detail, was visible if you had sharp eyes and were smart enough to look. But not many B&E practitioners play on the upper slope of the IQ curve.
Grimacing, Beeson summoned his memorized list. He began by inserting a thick electronic key, then waved a magnetic smart card toward a sensor. He was prompted to enter a five-digit PIN. “They hooked me for the whole package,” he said. “We had to integrate the ID devices with the video imaging, make it ADA compliant and allow for emergency egress, their term for getting out in a fire. Inside it will also catch you tailgating my authorization.”
“Not sure what that means,” I said.
“That’s when two people enter on a single okay. Your legs will trip the infrared if I don’t enter a special buffering code. The system goes haywire if someone is pulling a suitcase on wheels.”
“This is what it takes to please high-end tenants?” I said.
“You bet it does, out here by the lonesome highway. They’re security-conscious. It blows their socks off.”
“Like the first brochure in that package you sent me?”
“Right…” he said, “but that’s a good point. With no tenants, high- or low-end, I probably should re-think the whole installation.”
“Does it run all the time?”
“Only after sunset these days,” said Beeson. “I had to disable the daytime codes to please my real estate broker and his three salespeople.”
“Who monitors the video?”
“Nobody,” he said. “It gets stored for seventy-two hours, then erased unless we have an unauthorized entry attempt during that time. You want to hear the pisser? There’s an almost identical installation at the back of the building. That one runs twenty-four-seven. This whole setup cost me as much as the roof.”
I wanted to ask, but he interrupted my thought with the answer.
“Yes,” He added. “I signed a damned lease agreement. “
The door emitted an electronic click. Beeson
“Take another thirty,” I said. “This is good info.”
“Okay, the condo at The Tideline is owned by a big Canadian holding company called Branchdale Corporation. The occupants, as you thought, are Mr. and Mrs. Emerson Caldwell. The mortgage payments and condo dues are seven months in arrears. Last year’s property taxes haven’t been paid, but they’re not overdue yet.”
“That makes me wonder if Ocilla was supposed to take care of those things,” I said. “Maybe she was pocketing the money.”
“We’ll put that on our list, too,” said Wiley. “Meanwhile, Caldwell made news in the Keys ten years ago when he was suspected of bilking an investor group. This was long before Madoff, but the term “Ponzi scheme” showed up in one news release. After about four days of bad press he proved that the deal was legitimate and no one lost money. The scam rumors were traced to a former business partner, also Canadian, now deceased.”
“Where does that leave us?” I said.
“Here’s the thing, Mr. Rutledge,” said Fecko. “One of Caldwell’s early investors was your friend, Sheriff Chicken Neck Liska.”
“Oh, shit.”
“We thought you might say that.”
I dropped a few money shots into the bank but my creativity ran dry. I couldn’t show the structure’s proximity to the highway until morning, anyway. And I was sure to see a few more photogenic angles in daylight or, in this case, favorable shadows.
Beeson saw me hang the camera around my neck and collapse the tripod’s legs. He drove into the lot, picked me up then rolled fifty yards to the main entrance.
“I won’t be five minutes,” he said. “Come on in for a preview, but please forgive the access control system.”
In spite of the crime lights, I chose to keep my camera bag with me. Following him up a short walkway, I looked around, saw two video cameras aimed toward the entry alcove. The one on the swivel mount was easy to spot. The other, set into an architectural detail, was visible if you had sharp eyes and were smart enough to look. But not many B&E practitioners play on the upper slope of the IQ curve.
Grimacing, Beeson summoned his memorized list. He began by inserting a thick electronic key, then waved a magnetic smart card toward a sensor. He was prompted to enter a five-digit PIN. “They hooked me for the whole package,” he said. “We had to integrate the ID devices with the video imaging, make it ADA compliant and allow for emergency egress, their term for getting out in a fire. Inside it will also catch you tailgating my authorization.”
“Not sure what that means,” I said.
“That’s when two people enter on a single okay. Your legs will trip the infrared if I don’t enter a special buffering code. The system goes haywire if someone is pulling a suitcase on wheels.”
“This is what it takes to please high-end tenants?” I said.
“You bet it does, out here by the lonesome highway. They’re security-conscious. It blows their socks off.”
“Like the first brochure in that package you sent me?”
“Right…” he said, “but that’s a good point. With no tenants, high- or low-end, I probably should re-think the whole installation.”
“Does it run all the time?”
“Only after sunset these days,” said Beeson. “I had to disable the daytime codes to please my real estate broker and his three salespeople.”
“Who monitors the video?”
“Nobody,” he said. “It gets stored for seventy-two hours, then erased unless we have an unauthorized entry attempt during that time. You want to hear the pisser? There’s an almost identical installation at the back of the building. That one runs twenty-four-seven. This whole setup cost me as much as the roof.”
I wanted to ask, but he interrupted my thought with the answer.
“Yes,” He added. “I signed a damned lease agreement. “
The door emitted an electronic click. Beeson
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