Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit by Paul Goldman (surface ebook reader txt) 📗

quickly thanked Bob for his information and hungup the phone. I knew he was curious to know what I might haveuncovered, but I needed to keep going. I felt I was hot on a trail,and didn't want anything to derail my pursuit.

Returning to the debitcard statements, now cluttered with scribbles from my own thoughts,I doubted that Audrey had attended any wedding. Her statementreflected no hotel or dining expenses, which led me to believethose were taken care of by somebody else, someone who might havesomething to gain from her visit. Not willing to accept anypossible dead ends, I picked up the phone and began to dial the sixChicago numbers from the phone logs. I didn’t hesitate, I didn’tstutter, and I didn’t make any attempt to conceal the purpose of mycalls.

“Hello, my name is PaulGoldman and I am the husband of Audrey Munson.” I watched myreflection in my computer monitor and spoke confidently into thephone. “Your name came up on a phone log as someone she called inApril of 2007. Can you please explain to me your relationship withmy wife?” The receiver’s response proved as direct as myinquiry.

Click. They hung up.

My expression remained unchanged as I dialedthe next Chicago number. I rose from my chair and began to pace theroom. “Hello, my name is Paul Goldman and I am the husband ofAudrey Munson. Your name came up on a phone log as someone shecalled in April of 2007. Can you please explain to me yourrelationship with my wife?”

Click. They hung up. The responses continued,which did little to frustrate my determination and only furtherfueled my suspicions. By the fourth call, I was surprised toactually get a vocal response.

“I’m sorry she’s yourwife.” Click. Hung up. I was sorry too, but that didn’t impede myefforts. With another call, I received another response.

“Oh yeah, I met Audrey inFlorida, at a bar in Palm Beach. Then we met in Chicago, but we’rejust friends,” the man’s voice explained. I knew he was lying.“Can’t tell you anymore. Bye.” And another person left me with adial tone.

Like always, the last place you go providesexactly what you were looking for. Kind of.

“Hi, this is Deborah. Whatcan I help you with?” I was surprised to hear a woman’s voice onthe other end, and I was also surprised to hear that she wasperfectly willing to provide me with information that may beuseful. Again, I delivered my spiel, though this time, my tonereflected a touch of hope.

“Oh. Well, I met Audrey bychance at a restaurant,” she shared while I stopped pacing and satback down in my chair, eager and expectant. “We had lunch togetherand exchanged phone numbers.” Not wanting to lose what I consideredto be a credible lead, I pushed Deborah for more.

“Oh, really? What did shetell you was her reason for visiting Chicago?”

“She didn’t tell me,” shesaid, sounding both casual and disinterested. There was somethingfamiliar about the way she spoke, but I couldn’t put my finger onit. I wanted to know more.

“I’m not sure Iunderstand. You’re perfect strangers who share lunch and phonenumbers, and it never occurs to you to ask her why she’s even intown?” My eagerness had affected my previously stoic delivery. Iwas pressing her now, and as a result, her response was what Ishould have expected.

Click.

Slowly sitting back in my chair, I sighedknowing that I had pushed too hard. Deborah knew a lot more thanshe was letting on, and the familiar tone of her voice was nowapparent: she was a con artist, just like Audrey. I was certainthat their relationship was business and that, perhaps, Deboraheither worked with or for Audrey.

I awoke the next morning with renewed energyand focus. Believing that the phone calls to Chicago had actuallyanswered some questions, I was again determined to continue myinvestigation. I hurried down the stairs to get an early start onbreakfast for me and Johnny before getting back to work. Someoneelse, however, had already gotten an earlier start. The phonerang.

“Good morning, Paul. Ihope this isn’t too early for you.” It was Joe Munson, Audrey’sfirst husband, and I doubted he was calling to be social. I turnedon the stove top, the click of the burner signaled the gas before aflame ignited.

“Not at all,” I responded,looking for the cooking spray as I stepped over one of Johnny’serrant cars.

“Good. Listen, I got acall from Audrey late last night,” he said before pausing,measuring my reaction. I wondered if she called before or after sheserviced some john. “She told me you were calling all her friendsand telling them that she's a prostitute. Is this true, Paul?” Myfirst inclination was to laugh as I found some unexpected joy inknowing that I had ruffled Audrey’s feathers a bit. Then itoccurred to me that I had never even used the word prostitute in myrehearsed spiel, or even suggested her role as one. Audrey musthave drawn that conclusion, a conclusion that only further affirmedmy suspicions.

“No, Joe, that’s actuallynot true,” I answered honesty. “I did make some calls last night tosix people whom Audrey had called before making her trips toChicago in April and May of 2007, but at no point did I use theword “prostitute” or make any reference to prostitution,” Iexplained, cradling the phone on my shoulder as I cracked the eggsabove the frying pan, resulting in a smoldering sizzle.

“Oh, I see.” I could tellhe wasn’t sure what his role was supposed to be, or how he wantedto proceed. Saving him, I filled him in on some of the details ofmy investigation and even asked for his input. He had little togive, and despite my disappointment, I could tell he was a cautiousman. We ended the phone call with a promise to stay in touch and Isat down at my little glass top breakfast table with a plate ofeggs, a cup of coffee, and more phone records. I knew I had aboutan hour before Johnny would wake up and demand my full attentionand so I was determined to take advantage of my caffeine-fueledclarity by entering some of my findings into my computer. Thesefindings would be the first of many in what