Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 07 - The Swamps of Bayou Teche (18 page)

Her eyes grew wide. “You do? Honest?”

“Yes.” I shrugged. “I don’t know why, but I do”

I even had an idea why Senator Frederick J. Turner
might have lied, to cover his own indiscretions by using the time-worn, but still effective political stratagem of “deny, deny, deny”

I took the stairs two at a time down to the ground
floor and walked rapidly toward the street where Jack
had parked. The drizzle had intensified. The heavy
rain splattered on the concrete and splashed in the
flowerbeds. I paused beneath the second floor esplanade before stepping onto the sidewalk, waiting for
the rain to slacken.

Maybe it’s true that God looks after fools and children. Maybe that’s why I hesitated.

For in the next second, a large red clay pot slammed
to the ground in front of me, shattering into a thousand pieces and sending dirt and multicolored flowers
in all directions.

I gaped at the smashed pot, stunned.

Suddenly the honking of a car jerked me from my
daze. I looked around and spotted Jack double-parked
in the street. Hastily, I moved several feet to my right
and then peered from under the esplanade. Everything
looked clear. I pulled back, moved to my left, and ignoring the rain, leaped from under the esplanade.
Bracing myself for an impact, I dashed across the
sidewalk for the safety of the Cadillac.

Once inside, I looked up, but as I expected, there
was no one to be seen. I decided not to mention it to
Jack. He was spooked enough as it was. The truth was,
by that time I was beginning to get a little spooked.
How did the person who dropped the flowerpot know
we were at Pirate’s Landing?

“What was that commotion? Sounded like something hitting something,” Jack asked.

“Nothing,” I replied. “Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“Find us a motel”

As we sped away, I hurriedly scribbled out my note
cards, muttering aloud as I did. Suddenly the banks in
St. Kitts and Dominica made sense. Could it be a
money-laundering scheme? Casinos, carwashes, and
laundries were perfect funnels for drug money to be
deposited at the Bagotville National Bank where one
of the partners, perhaps in this instance, John Hardy,
was also aware of the scheme. Maybe he was forced
into it as a result of his gambling debts.

Could that be what was behind all of this?

“You look excited, Tony. What’s up? What did you
find out from our girl in there?”

I looked around at Jack. “I don’t have a good handle
on it yet. Once we get to a motel, I’ll have time to
work through it. I’ll tell you then.”

With the rain, night came early-and with it a response from Eddie Dyson. I printed it out on my
portable printer. Quickly I skimmed the partial report,
learning nothing new about Hardy’s ex-wife or Fawn
Williams.

Jimmy `Blue’ Opilitto was connected with Joe Vasco
out of New Orleans, which was no surprise. Every twobit hood in Louisiana answered to Joe Vasco.

In 1990, Edgar Collins received a seven-year sentence for attempted murder and was paroled in ‘95,
and since then had been a model citizen.

Moise Deslatte appeared to be just what he was, the
owner of Deslatte Construction, a successful company
saddled with a sizeable loan from the Bagotville National Bank.

I wanted to jump up and shout when I read the findings on the import / export businesses. “Antigua Exports is registered as a business on the island of
Antigua, but no physical facility exists. Same with La
Louisianne Imports in the city of Bagotville.”

“Son-of-a-gun,” I muttered, looking around at Jack
who was engrossed in a reality show on TV.

“What?” he asked, frowning at me.

I continued reading. Eddie’s next statement told me
I was on the right track. “Son-of-a-gun,” I exclaimed
once again. “The State Bank of St. Kitts and the Dominica Republic Bank are off-shore banks and members of the Caribbean Financial Action Task Force
catering to foreign accounts. Depositors must possess
local citizenship, which can be purchased from the island administration.”

And then the next line put it all in perspective for
me, almost. “The transfers are deposited in a single
account at the St. Kitts bank in the name of Antigua
Exports. Transfers from Antigua Exports are made to
Dominica and from there to Antigua. The Antigua accounts divide into accounts for John Hardy, Marvin
Gates, and Antigua Exports” At this point I was ready
to jump up and shout, but his last line tossed the
proverbial monkey wrench into the works. “On April
26, the John Hardy accounts were transferred to a
bank in Nauru to the account of Joan Rouly.”

Joan Rouly? Who in the blazes was she? And how
did she fit into this gumbo ya-ya mix?

I grabbed my notes. I fumbled through them but I
found nothing on Joan Rouly.

Jack saw the frown on my face. “Did you find
something?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

Jack grew impatient. “Well, are you going to keep
me in suspense?”

I looked around at him. “Two things. First, it looks
like our John Hardy and Marvin Gates are mixed up in
a money-laundering scheme. I don’t know who with,
but I’d guess Jimmy “Blue” Opilitto, the hood that
owns the Louisianne Casino.”

He swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge.
“I thought Hardy was dead”

I shot him a disgusted look. “Okay, Hardy is a was
but Gates is an is.”

“Money laundering. You mean drug money? That
sort of thing?”

I nodded emphatically. “Exactly. When I prowled
through the suburban back at the salvage yard, I found
invoices and copies of wire transfers in the glove compartment. I copied the routing numbers and account
numbers from the transfers”

“So? What does that prove?”

Pausing to sort my thoughts, I explained. “First,
these wire transfers are what they call EFT’s, electronic fund transfers, to offshore banks in St. Kitts and
Dominica. When I sent my source the routing numbers, he discovered that the transfers went to a bank in St. Kitts into the account of Antigua Exports. From
there they were transferred to a bank in Dominica into
the accounts of John Hardy and Marvin Gates”

He shrugged. “So, what does that mean?”

I held up my hand. “Hold on. Let me get it straight
in my head. “All right, one other aspect. There was
also an invoice from La Louisanne Import/Export here
in Bagotville billing the Antigua Import/Export on the
Island of Antigua for eighty-six thousand dollars”

He shrugged. “What’s the big deal? Just two companies doing business.”

“Bogus companies. That’s the difference.”

“I don’t understand.”

“All right, here’s how it worksjust theory right
now, but with a few more answers, it could be fact.
First, Jimmy “Blue” Opilitto owns the casino outside
of Maida as well as carwashes and laundries all up
and down the Bayou Teche Scenic Byway. Let’s assume they all make deposits in the Bagotville National Bank. Now, the legitimate deposits are inflated
with drug money. Then funds are transferred from the
local bank to banks in St. Kitts. From there the funds
go to Dominica in the name on Antigua Exports, and
then on to Antigua in the name of Antigua Exports.
Follow me so far?”

He nodded. “Yeah. So far.”

“The funds transferred to an Antigua Export company are used to pay La Louisianne Import/Export an
invoice worth eighty-six thousand dollars”

Jack stared at me blankly.

“That’s the process. Drug money is deposited in a
bank, funds are transferred to accounts offshore, then
another transfer is made to a dummy company, a shell
company, which pays another shell company in the U.S.
When the drug money returns, it is deposited in the
bank here under the name of La Louisianne Import/Export. Now, the money is clean. It’s been laundered”

A frown knit his forehead. “Where do Hardy and
Gates come in? Didn’t you say money went into their
accounts too?”

“They’re skimming.”

He studied me a moment. “But don’t the banks have
to report suspicious deposits? It took almost an act of
Congress when I deposited fifty thousand dollars in
the bank”

“Yeah, but you did it in cash. These are all paper.
From what I’ve heard, there are over half a million
wire transfers, EFT’s, a day. How do you scrutinize
that many? And second, what if someone in the bank
is part of the scheme? See what I mean?”

His eyes lit with understanding. “Yeah, yeah. You
think Hardy was the one at the bank that let the wire
transfers go out.”

I nodded. “Hardy and Gates.”

Jack arched an eyebrow. “And they were involved
with this guy at the casino.”

“Jimmy Blue.”

“Yeah.”

An unsettling thought struck me. What about Laura
Palmo, Hardy’s personal secretary? After all, she
could have been the one to actually make the transfer
upon instructions from Hardy. Was she aware of the
details? Or was she simply following orders?

Jack broke into my thoughts. “You said two things.
What’s the other?”

Shaking my head, I replied, “This is really confusing. Funds from the John Hardy account in Dominica
have been wired to a bank in Nauru to the account of
Joan Rouly.”

“Joan Rouly? Who is she?”

I couldn’t resist grinning at the irony of my theory.
“I never heard of her, but it looks to me that whoever
she might be, she’s skimming from Hardy, who is
skimming from Jimmy Blue.” I scratched my head
and stared at the paper in my hand. “Maybe I should
ask Laura Palmo. She knows everyone in town”

Outside a crack of lightning split the air. Seconds
later, Jack’s stomach growled. He grunted. “Well, I
don’t mean to change the subject, but I’m starving.
You ready to go eat?”

I looked around at him. I’d forgotten all about dinner. “I’m not that hungry. Why don’t you bring me
something-a hamburger, Subway, whatever. I’ve got
a little more work I want to do”

I must have been living right, for just as Jack closed
the door behind him, my cell phone rang. It was
Charley Benoit from the hunting lodge. “Boudreaux?”

“Yeah.”

“This be Charley Benoit. You say if me, I find
something, I should tell you.”

My pulse sped up. “You bet, Mr. Benoit. What do
you have?”

“Me, I gets my telephone bill. I see on it that Hardy
fellow, he made a call to Bagotville at noon, den one
to Maida at five o’clock that afternoon and den another one to Bagotville at three o’clock that morning.
Me, I don’t know if you wants them or not, so I call”

By now, my heart was pounding its way into the
heart attack range. “You bet I want them” I scribbled
the numbers and thanked him.

After he hung up, I called the first number, the call
Hardy made at noon. I received the voice menu from
the Bagotville bank. That must have been the call
Hardy made to inform his secretary he and his client
were taking a jaunt to the Bahamas. The second one,
at five, there was no answer.

I dialed the 3 A.M. number.

Despite the pounding of the rain, I recognized the
familiar voice that answered. Laura Palmo! I thought
fast. I couldn’t hang up. She probably had caller I.D.
“Hey, it’s me … Tony. Sorry to disturb you. I meant
to punch in another number.” It was a puny lie, but I
hoped she took it.

“No problem.” She laughed. “I’m flattered that you
were thinking about me.”

“I am. And about our dance Thursday night.”

After we hung up, I remembered that when I had
spoken with her the day before, she claimed Hardy
had called her on the twenty-fifth and again on the
twenty-seventh. She mentioned nothing about the 3
A.M. call on the twenty-sixth. I shook my head. How
could anyone forget being awakened in the middle of
the night … unless they wanted to forget?

At that moment, another epiphany hit me. That first
day she told me Hardy had completely outfitted himself with hunting gear, including a pair of brand new
waterproof boots. I shuffled through my note cards to
be sure I was right. There it was. New boots.