noises for a couple of minutes until Phil came
back. “Hang on while I check one more thing.”
After another two or three minutes,
he said, “My friend, you just got snookered. That number is registered to a
yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Hardly what I’d call a big black SUV.”
“Maybe the plate was stolen from
the VW,” I said.
“I called the owner. She’s a
retired schoolteacher who confirmed the plate is still on her Volkswagen.”
Chapter 10
When I told Jill what Phil had found, she just shook her
head. I walked over to where she stood beside the printer. It whirred away,
spitting out a succession of sheets from her data search on Louie Aregis.
“I still think Fingers O’Malley saw
something,” I said.
“He sure as heck saw that fifty dollars
on your desk.”
Okay, so I took a gamble and it
appeared that I lost. I’d deal with Mr. O’Malley later. I pointed at the paper
tray. “Find some interesting stuff?”
“You be the judge.”
She handed me the first page.
Aregis was born in 1969 in Orlando, Florida, where his father was employed at
the developing project that would become known as Disney World. He grew up in
the Orlando area. After graduating from Florida State University in Tallahassee with a degree in finance, he took a position with a brokerage firm there and
married his college sweetheart, a Pensacola girl. Three years later, the family
moved to Florida’s westernmost city where Louie went to work for Coastal
Capital Ventures, the firm owned by his wife’s father. Aregis took over the
business four years ago after his father-in-law’s death.
“Looks like he married well,” I
said.
“Reminds me of the way they talked
about Nashville in my younger days,” Jill said. “It was called ‘The Son-in-Law
Town.’ Young Vanderbilt graduates married the daughters of wealthy businessmen,
then moved up to cushy jobs.”
A St. Louis native, I knew little
about Nashville prior to moving here. My only connection had been a tour of
duty at the former Sewart Air Force Base in Smyrna, just south of the city.
That was my first OSI assignment, which provided me the opportunity to meet
Jill, a college student in the aviation program at nearby Middle Tennessee State.
When she spread the sheets from the
data search across her desk, she pulled out one and handed it to me. “This is
something you might want to dig into a little more deeply.”
It included a reference to a Tallahassee newspaper story from Aregis’ college days. Nineteen at the time, he was
involved in a shooting incident at his fraternity house at Florida State. According to the story, he shot a fraternity brother in the arm with a .38
caliber revolver. There were conflicting accounts from witnesses about an
argument, but both he and the victim described it as an accident. Aregis said
they were horsing around with the gun when it discharged. He told police he had
found the weapon in a clump of bushes behind the house. A later story said
authorities traced the revolver to a Miami man who had reported it stolen a few
years earlier. The university disciplined both boys and no charges were filed.
I skimmed through the other pages
Jill had printed but saw nothing that jumped out at me. I decided to save it
for later.
“Let’s split up the other two NBA
investors and do searches on them,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll take the easy one. Everybody
knows Howard Hays. See what you can dig up on Fred Ricketts.”
“I thought the senior investigator
got first choice,” I said.
“If the senior investigator wants
something besides leftovers for dinner, he’d better get busy on Mr. Ricketts.”
I should have known better. In a
battle of wits, I always got the nit. I turned to my computer and fired up a
database search. I soon learned that Ricketts was owner of Physicians and
Surgeons Software, Inc., better known as P&S Software. Originally from Indianapolis, he had been in upper management with one of Nashville’s major
back. “Hang on while I check one more thing.”
After another two or three minutes,
he said, “My friend, you just got snookered. That number is registered to a
yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Hardly what I’d call a big black SUV.”
“Maybe the plate was stolen from
the VW,” I said.
“I called the owner. She’s a
retired schoolteacher who confirmed the plate is still on her Volkswagen.”
Chapter 10
When I told Jill what Phil had found, she just shook her
head. I walked over to where she stood beside the printer. It whirred away,
spitting out a succession of sheets from her data search on Louie Aregis.
“I still think Fingers O’Malley saw
something,” I said.
“He sure as heck saw that fifty dollars
on your desk.”
Okay, so I took a gamble and it
appeared that I lost. I’d deal with Mr. O’Malley later. I pointed at the paper
tray. “Find some interesting stuff?”
“You be the judge.”
She handed me the first page.
Aregis was born in 1969 in Orlando, Florida, where his father was employed at
the developing project that would become known as Disney World. He grew up in
the Orlando area. After graduating from Florida State University in Tallahassee with a degree in finance, he took a position with a brokerage firm there and
married his college sweetheart, a Pensacola girl. Three years later, the family
moved to Florida’s westernmost city where Louie went to work for Coastal
Capital Ventures, the firm owned by his wife’s father. Aregis took over the
business four years ago after his father-in-law’s death.
“Looks like he married well,” I
said.
“Reminds me of the way they talked
about Nashville in my younger days,” Jill said. “It was called ‘The Son-in-Law
Town.’ Young Vanderbilt graduates married the daughters of wealthy businessmen,
then moved up to cushy jobs.”
A St. Louis native, I knew little
about Nashville prior to moving here. My only connection had been a tour of
duty at the former Sewart Air Force Base in Smyrna, just south of the city.
That was my first OSI assignment, which provided me the opportunity to meet
Jill, a college student in the aviation program at nearby Middle Tennessee State.
When she spread the sheets from the
data search across her desk, she pulled out one and handed it to me. “This is
something you might want to dig into a little more deeply.”
It included a reference to a Tallahassee newspaper story from Aregis’ college days. Nineteen at the time, he was
involved in a shooting incident at his fraternity house at Florida State. According to the story, he shot a fraternity brother in the arm with a .38
caliber revolver. There were conflicting accounts from witnesses about an
argument, but both he and the victim described it as an accident. Aregis said
they were horsing around with the gun when it discharged. He told police he had
found the weapon in a clump of bushes behind the house. A later story said
authorities traced the revolver to a Miami man who had reported it stolen a few
years earlier. The university disciplined both boys and no charges were filed.
I skimmed through the other pages
Jill had printed but saw nothing that jumped out at me. I decided to save it
for later.
“Let’s split up the other two NBA
investors and do searches on them,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll take the easy one. Everybody
knows Howard Hays. See what you can dig up on Fred Ricketts.”
“I thought the senior investigator
got first choice,” I said.
“If the senior investigator wants
something besides leftovers for dinner, he’d better get busy on Mr. Ricketts.”
I should have known better. In a
battle of wits, I always got the nit. I turned to my computer and fired up a
database search. I soon learned that Ricketts was owner of Physicians and
Surgeons Software, Inc., better known as P&S Software. Originally from Indianapolis, he had been in upper management with one of Nashville’s major
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