©1 April 2025 Levite
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1.
I simply added the list of Historic Properties to my list of routine assignments.
The first thing I did was to download their map of the county with highlighted symbols of where what was. Some of the symbols turned out to be other properties like a marker along the highway indicating where something had happened during the War of 1812, while others were their office and the museum.
So I went in and added another symbol to the map indicating the first dozen or so of the properties with a special paranormal added attraction.
But that was as far as I got, because something else came up that seems to have become something of a specialty of mine without my intending it to. A computer issue.
This one was an Identity Theft Case, but not the fraudulent use of an individual's identity, somebody had created a fake account as a County Agency. They had opened several credit accounts with various businesses and had purchased all sorts of equipment, and even made travel arrangements in the name of Jeremy Effington with a credit card issued for the Agency.
I sat in the Finance Office and looked through the bills.
"This looks real," I said to the Admin that I'd worked with before.
"Yes, but it's not ours."
"OK, I'll..."
She smiled and finished for me, "You'll go through it and work your magic and come back and tell me some fourteen year old was playing office in Hong Kong or something."
"Probably."
There were several problems with the records. One being that the addresses where real world materials were ordered for ranged from the main County Complex, where they did report receiving an order for copier paper that didn't appear to belong to anybody, to a dozen sets of artist's colored pencils that nobody claimed, on to addresses in Arizona and even one that went to Canada.
Unfortunately for the Admin's gift of prophecy, none went to Hong Kong.
Then as I dug some more I found where several items had been returned to sender as undeliverable. The delivery company driver had even tried to find the correct address, but gave up after several tries. It would seem that 794 Ocean Avenue in Quogue, New York doesn't exist. Oh, there is a Quogue, who's pronunciation I always get wrong according to a couple of people who live there, and there is an Ocean Avenue. But according to several different maps, the seven hundred block would be almost a mile out in the Atlantic if the street were extended that far.
Some of the items appear to have been kept by whoever got it, which they were entitled to do as it had been sent to them. Including one package of art prints that had arrived at a place in Sag Harbor. I decided that when I was out there sometime I'd stop by and see what the Sag Harbor Port Master's Office did with them.
Other items had been returned because the people at the real address didn't want or need whatever had arrived. Including various office items, and in one case, a sewing machine. A Big sewing machine.
"That's an interesting looking machine," I said to myself as I looked at what had been ordered, and paid for. Shipped, and then returned. There was a name and number for who had told the driver they didn't want it. So I called her.
The reason they had refused delivery and returned the item was that it was simply gigantic. It had been delivered by motor freight, and needed a forklift to get it off the truck. The free standing embroidery machine took dozens of large rolls of thread, and was made to embroider things like full size curtains, bed quilts, and even rolls of carpet. The cost? Over Twenty Thousand Dollars.
The lady at the small real estate office in Princeton, New Jersey who had refused the delivery said that it probably wouldn't have fit in the building.
The good news is that one of the accounts was now suspended and in default of payment and no new orders were being accepted on it.
The bad news is, and the reason I now had the case, was that the credit card company had turned the matter over to a collection agency, and they were now hounding the Finance Department for payment. They had said there were several charges, and "many" products delivered that had not been paid for.
So I got to talk to a person who said they were a collections supervisor at the agency.
They accused me of being a party to the fraud.
"Excuse me, sir. Do you have any idea who you are talking to?" I asked him.
"You said you're a police officer investigating this case. We've heard that before, deadbeats will try to say anything to get us to suspend our efforts to collect an outstanding debt."
"I see. And your office is in Brooklyn?"
"One of our offices is, yes."
"Good."
2.
I don't often have to go to a judge and get a warrant. But in this case, I needed to see the information they had on file for the things they said had been charged to the account.
I don't like going into the city, but this time I did. And because the supervisor had been so unpleasant, I took one of our newer officers, Miss Cynthia, with me, who was in uniform, to go well into Brooklyn and try to find someplace to park along Nostrand Avenue.
As is the way of many parts of New York City, the building with the collection agency in it was large, and soulless, and had everything in it from a home visit nursing group to a music tutor. So while we were walking down the hall toward the office we wanted, we got to hear several students playing what could have been a Sousa march with more enthusiasm than talent.
The door to the collection agency was locked. But there was a push button to ring for access.
I listened to the voice for a moment, then identified myself, and we were buzzed in.
Except we weren't in the office. We were now in a reception area where a woman looked at us with open suspicion through what I suspected was bullet resistant glass.
It took awhile. But eventually we were in a side office with the 'account supervisor' I'd spoken to, and an actual manger who understood both sides.
"I've been here for seven years, and I've never seen an account like this," the manager said. "In fact, I worked at Shore Trust Bank for years before this, and never even heard of something like this."
My uniformed escort caught my eye.
"I've got a question, if I may," Miss Cynthia said.
"Please do," the manager said before I could.
"How did they manage to open so many accounts like this?" She asked, "When I went to buy a new car, they put me through the wringer. They pulled my bank statements and pay checks from all the way back to when I was in high school."
The manager nodded, "I went through the same thing for a loan awhile back. And I'd been a customer at the same place for twenty years. I'd bet that our friend here," he tapped one of the print outs, "put through a dozen applications with all sorts of credit issuers before this one opened an account. And all it takes is one card, and you can use it to get others issued."
Miss Cynthia asked another question, "But don't they have to have a mailing address?"
"Not as much any more," he looked through the printout. "Here's one. This is a mail drop. A retail space that has mailboxes for customers to use. They probably have them all over. Probably in a fake name, paid in advance."
"Maybe they used the credit card to pay it," the supervisor said.
In the end, the supervisor did apologize for doubting me, and told me about a good place for lunch on the way back out of town.
We didn't stop.
I had a copy of everything in the file, and they agreed that, for now, to stop hassling the county while there was an open criminal case in progress.
We were just leaving the city when my phone rang. As I was simply riding along enjoying the scenery while Miss Cynthia drove, I answered. It was the collection agency.
"Detective Elaine, sorry to bother you again so soon, but another account under the same name was just submitted for collection. It came in right after you left."
"More of the same?" I asked.
"Yes, but on this one, one of the addresses used for shipping several times is the same as those we talked about from the other accounts. It's in Williston Park."
"Good. We just passed that exit, give me the address and we'll go back and check it out."
The address was an otherwise nondescript house on Cushing Avenue. We drove by it once and then my partner for the day turned around and we came back and stopped in front of the house next door.
"Should we call for backup?" Miss Cynthia asked me.
"Not yet, but be ready to. We have no idea what's going on. It might just be some housewife who's gotten a couple of packages she didn't order."
She agreed and after we sat and watched the place for a few more minutes, we got out and walked up to the door. I rang the doorbell and we waited.
In a moment a very large woman in sweatpants and a huge T-shirt with the picture of a leopard and a joke about spots on it answered the door. "Hello. Can I help you?"
"I hope so." I showed her my ID and introduced us. "Have you received any packages of items you didn't order in a different name?"
She didn't respond the way I had expected.
"Oh, yes, there's a ton of it. Can you help me make her stop sending this stuff?"
Miss Cynthia was as surprised as I was, "You know who sent the things?"
"Yes. My sister. She's called me about a couple of them to make sure I got them. She probably thinks it's funny. Please, come in, I'll show you." She stepped back and gestured for us to follow her. She walked down a short hallway and turned into the living room and dining room of the house. "It's all in there, most of them I haven't even opened." She pointed to a stack of boxes.
"Do you mind if we look at them?" I asked her. "A number of the items were billed to Suffolk County. That's why we're here."
"Oh. No, be my guest. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"No, not right now. Thank you ma'am. Maybe later." I looked at the boxes, "This may take awhile." I looked over at my partner, "Let's see if we can find a packing list with the purchaser's information."
We started sorting through the boxes and found a several of them with a packing list taped to the outside of the container.
We had receipts for everything from filters for hydraulic fluid in earth moving equipment to training pants for toddlers with super heroes on them. The lady of the house didn't have either one of those around.
I compared the name on one of the packing sheets with the names on the report from the collection agency. "Authorized by Simon Teedleball," I read off the sales slip, then I found that name on the collection records, "right here, three times."
The lady seemed startled by the name. "That was the name of our third grade teacher. My sister is a year older than me, but she missed a year of school, and we ended up in the same grade from then on. She's always talked about him ever since."
"What about Kelly Deimos, I think that's how you'd pronounce it."
The lady thought about it for a minute, "Give me a second," she said and went to a bookcase, then she found what she was looking for. She flipped through what looked like a high school yearbook. "Here she is," and handed my partner the book.
"Kelly Deimos, captain of the cheerleading team," Miss Cynthia handed it to me.
"Looks like a cheerleader," I said as I compared the spellings. "Close enough." Then I looked at another name on the list from the collection agency, "what about Jimmy Ashmoore?"
"She used to work for him. I've got paper she got from them, hang on..." She went back to the bookcase and got down a scrapbook, "This is all her stuff," she said as she flipped through, "here it is." She handed the scrapbook to me.
"Merry Christmas to all our employees, Connie and Jimmy Ashmoore." I read off a card, "So, your sister isn't here."
"No, she lives at a group home up in the Bronx. She had some problems a few years ago, and ended up there."
"Why would she do this?" I gestured to the pile of stuff.
"Last fall she got in trouble for going shopping too often. They're not supposed to buy things unless they really need them, and they have to get some purchases approved, even though they are using their own money. She got all upset and said she'd show them." She sighed. "My sister may have some emotional issues, but she's really, really smart. She had a full scholarship to Long Island University for business. For awhile she had a double major in business management and computers. She worked for a long time in the home office for a retail store doing orders and payments. Then things happened."
I looked down the list of addresses and how the account information was recorded. It made sense. And it looked like it had been done by somebody with insider information and a point to prove.
"Well, we know who did it. But why would she send stuff all over the area?" Miss Cynthia asked.
"Just to do it." I answered.
The lady agreed, "She used to do that when we were in high school. She'd order a pizza and have it delivered to some random address. I remember in our high school, she was so good at forging teacher's names they issued rubber stamps to all the teachers for things like hall and library passes. She wrote passes for other kids to do some really off the wall stuff, like to watch clouds on the roof of the gym for science class and stuff, and they looked real, and some of them got up there."
My partner laughed at it. So did I.
Then I asked her, "you said she has emotional problems and is in a group home. I need to ask as part of this investigation. There could well be criminal charges filed against her for this."
She nodded, "I know. It's OK. She had a breakdown, and then got so depressed she was in the hospital for a long time. And then she couldn't work, and now..."
"And now in the home she has access to the Internet so she can, well, do this." I gestured to the papers.
"They're supposed to monitor what the residents do on line. It's supposed to be educational and all that."
"They're supposed to, being the key words there. Evidently, your sister figured out a way around that."
The lady sighed again, "if anybody could."
"They may want to come get all this as evidence," Miss Cynthia said.
I agreed, "Yes, if for no other reason than to go through it to see if there's any more billing documents or other record of who ordered it and when."
"You're welcome to it."
The New York State Police White Collar Crimes Division now took over the case. They interviewed the lady's sister, and found more victims who had been sent bills from credit cards they didn't own, and the case went on from there.
While I was still somewhat involved with the case, it wasn't mine any longer, and I was grateful.
3.
I had already gone out to a couple of the sites from the Historic List just to see what was what and where it was, and now I could continue that preliminary review.
I'd also been in contact with Manager Marjorie about how I could get a key to a couple of the properties that weren't normally occupied.
And then one evening I stopped at a store and went in to pick up a couple of things that I knew I needed.
I saw the three guys standing at the end of the building. They had that look to them that I knew meant they were probably not discussing the latest developments in home interior decorating. But they stayed down there and didn't seem to be paying attention to the customers coming and going.
I was wrong about that one.
When I came out of the store I glanced that way and didn't see them.
The reason I didn't see them was that they were waiting out by the cars.
One of them came from behind me and grabbed the grocery bag I was carrying. The other tried to grab my arm.
Later I had to explain what happened to the local police, as well as my boss, and the County Police, while they played the surveillance video from the store's security system.
I know one of my best Muay Thai kicks is the Teep Trong. In a tournament, if I can unleash it correctly, I can win the tournament.
I unleashed it.
"That's the Teep Trong, the foot jab." I said to the Detective from the city police.
"That looks like it hurt," the Sheriff said as the city's tech guy enlarged the video of the third hoodlum catching my left foot in his solar plexus.
"It did," the Detective said, "according to the hospital, he's got a couple of cracked ribs and a bruised lung."
The rest of the video showed me throwing the guy that had grabbed my bag up against another car and then punching the third guy right on the nose.
"He's got a broken nose." The Detective said.
The guy that bounced off the side of a minivan got up and ran off, but they picked him up later trying to catch a train back to where they'd come from.
My bag of groceries ended up on the ground, and my jar of mayonnaise was broken. Which upset me more than the encounter with the three losers.
All three of them had had various run ins with the police before. Usually for stupid stuff.
Lately they'd taken to driving out further on the Island to do their stupid stuff. Stopping where they'd hadn't been arrested before, and seeing what sort of trouble they could cause for other people. Stealing purses, or taking a joy ride in somebody else's car, shoplifting, random vandalism, and that sort of thing.
That afternoon, they said they picked me to steal my groceries and my car. They claimed they had no intention of raping me or anything like that.
Oh well.
The County pressed the charge of assaulting a police officer. The State backed it down to attempted theft, and they were back on the street before the third guy's ribs had completely healed.
The good news, such as it was, was that while they were on their conditional release, the guy that had bounced off the van and then ran away was caught in a stolen car with some unprescribed medication. That time he ended up staying put in another county's lockup.
The punch line came two weeks later when I was informed that the guy with the broken nose had gotten a lawyer to file a lawsuit against me and the department, and the country, and the grocery store, and everybody and everything else saying that I had used unnecessary force and violence during their arrest.
The judge laughed the lawsuit out of court, and reminded the lawyer that as a Sheriff's Deputy, I was carrying a pistol, and knew how to use it, and that if his client was upset that a woman had punched him in the nose, that perhaps he should find a different occupation besides robbery.
A few days later Manager Marjorie came to the office with a metal box.
She stopped at the front desk and asked for the Sheriff. So when I heard him talking to somebody and looked over and saw her I wondered what was going on. I didn't have long to wonder.
"Detective Elaine."
"Manager Marjorie."
She stood there for a moment, then continued, "I just heard this morning about what happened. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
I wasn't sure what she was talking about, and my confusion evidently showed because the Sheriff explained, "the parking lot guys."
"Oh, yes. I'm OK."
"I know, but it's just so terrible that that happened to you."
"I'm glad they came after me instead of somebody that can't defend themselves."
She nodded, "somebody like me. I wouldn't have a prayer if they'd come after me."
"That's why I tried to take them off the street for awhile," I answered.
"Thank you for that," she said and then seemed to realize that she was standing there holding a box. "I brought this for you. It was specially approved and assigned to issue to the Sheriff's Office, and for your investigation. We're going to leave it here, that way if there is a problem at a location, there is somebody else that can go out there."
"I think it's an excellent idea," my boss said.
"Which means he wants me to be in charge of it."
"Also an excellent idea," he replied.
"And I agree," Manager Marjorie sat the box on the corner of my desk and opened it. "Every property has a tag, with the alarm code if it has one," she picked one, "see, the name of the house, the address, and the alarm code. If any keys are missing from the places on your list, let me know and I'll get it to you."
"Two keys? Door handle and deadbolt?" I said looked at the ones she handed to me.
"Probably, if it is anything else, the key will be stamped."
"Well, I guess I can get started with evaluating all the historic places," I glanced up at the Sheriff, "want to come out with me on a couple of them?"
He looked from me to the Manager and back, "I'll think about that, it might be interesting."
I thanked Manager Marjorie for the key box and walked her back out to the parking lot.
"You know there are self defense classes. All kinds of techniques and training you can take." I said to her.
"I know, I'm just know that if that happened to me, I'd just panic. I went to the training they had a couple of years ago, you know, be situation aware and all. It was all I could do to finish the class."
"Then take it again the next time they offer it. You're familiar with it now, maybe it will give you more confidence."
She thought about it, "That sounds like a good idea. I'll try it."
Later I looked through the key box and sorted through and found the keys to the first seven places that were on the list.
But then it was the end of the day, and I needed to stop on my way home and get another bottle of mayonnaise.
I managed to stop, get my mayo, and picked up something from the deli that looked good for supper, and made it home without any unwanted excitement.
- end teep trong -
The Elaine Investigates index page.
[NOTE: The above story were written as adventure fiction, and is to be taken as such. While most of the geographical features of Suffolk County exist, the rest of the setting is fictional.
Thank you, Dr. Leftover, TheMediaDesk.com]
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