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The Control Freak and the Confidential Informant

We met Dave Catchem at our office at 11 am on a Monday morning. Our offices take up the entire second floor of a boat dealership. Dave was exactly on time.

Nikki the Doberman took to him quickly and brought him her "tug of war" toy. Dave forced a smile and followed us into our conference room. Apparently he was in no mood to have his shoulder dislocated.

Susan took notes. Dave was about 55 years old and had a full head of thick gray hair. His golf shirt stretched over bulging muscles and a lean physique. His grim demeanor reminded me of the head of an FBI field office that we knew. He sat down and spread out an iPad and at least half a dozen file folders. He had been referred to us by a well respected attorney from a huge law firm in downtown Sarasota.

The payments for our fees would come through the law firm as the matter involved his adult son and Dave did not want to be attached to the case by the defense. According to our perimeter cameras, Dave had pulled up to our building in a Porsche, but at the risk of sounding unimpressed, a lot of people in Sarasota drive a Porsche.

Early on, Dave let it drop that he had built many of the new subdivisions east of I-75. He managed to mention his waterfront mansion on 300 feet of the Manatee river. He assured us that our

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rates would not be any financial burden whatsoever. We were really beginning to warm up to the guy! Ten years prior, Dave's son had married a young lady named Wendy who became Dave's daughter-in-law. Without specifically using the term “low rent,” Dave indicated to us that Wendy did not seem to have a promising future at the time. Dave's son was being groomed to take over the family property development business.  Wendy took a class here and there and occasionally sought employment.

With Dave’s wife of 32 years, all four resided somewhat happily in the 12.000 square foot mansion by the Manatee river. I asked Dave if he ever considered adding on an addition to give them some elbow room. It was the first time we saw him smile. Four years before we met in our office, Wendy gave birth to an adorable red-headed baby girl they named Ella. Dave and his wife were elated. Their only son (and only offspring) had fathered their first grandchild. In a county where everybody has a real estate license and multiple grandchildren, Susan and I weren't floored at the news.

One year ago, Dave's son and Wendy got divorced. She claimed living at the mansion was stifling. Before they married, Wendy had lived with four large female friends in a tiny house in a transitioning neighborhood. But they were 30 miles away from the mansion and she dearly missed seeing them every day. She claimed her father-in law Dave was too controlling. (No kidding...the guy who complete took over our conference room in ten minutes and nearly put our dog up for sale was too controlling?)

Dave offered Wendy a small new house near the mansion for one dollar a month. She turned him down.

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Control freak - now YOU say control freak WHO!?!

"But I....but..."

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If there were any other husband/wife issues as the reason for the divorce, we were thankful to Dave for sparing us the details.

But there were plenty of other details in the offing over the next two hours as folder after folder relinquished their contents. Computer files appeared on Dave's iPad screen in a numbing blur. Our new client was nothing if not thorough. And it was all about one subject.

Six months ago, Ella's doting grandmother was giving her a bath. She noticed circular bruises at the top of her granddaughter's thighs. For a three and a half-year-old, Ella could speak clearly and succinctly. She spoke words that no grandparent ever wants to hear. She said "Carl did that when we were playing."

Wendy had moved back into the tiny house with her girlfriends. The attached garage had been converted recently and Wendy had her own room with a cot for Ella along one wall. Each of the large girlfriends had an offspring or two. One of these children was an eight-year-old boy named Carl.

One does not have to use much imagination to envision the steps a wealthy man can take to have a situation like this investigated. Multiple doctors, police detectives, and social workers were enlisted. Carl, for his part, admitted nothing and refused to speak to anyone. Child psychologists failed to get either child to elaborate on the allegations.

A contentious court battle ensued as Dave's son attempted to wrest Ella from Wendy's custody. But to my client's chagrin, the judge ruled against any change in parenting time.

Our agency was entrusted with three assignments. The first was to monitor Wendy's whereabouts anytime she had Ella with her. The court had at least ruled that Wendy was no longer allowed to take Ella to the overcrowded tiny house under any circumstances. Overnights with Ella were only allowed at the home of Wendy's parents at the far end of Bradenton.

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Our second assignment was to delve deep into the past of anyone Wendy came into or had been in contact with. Criminal histories were a priority, but even traffic infractions and divorce records were to be examined. If Wendy had a new beau and he had any brush with the law for any reason - the dreaded ones being anything of a sexual nature, something involving a child, or even an allegation from a former spouse, Dave needed to be informed.

Dave was more detail oriented than a restoration artist entrusted with the Mona Lisa, and wanted as many ex-spouses of Wendy's associates as possible interviewed regarding any scuttlebutt at all. It would be time consuming, but Dave made it clear that he did not care how many hours it took.

Our third assignment was to keep track of Wendy even when she did not have her daughter. Wendy had recently acquired full time employment with a big company that laid underground cable of all types. Our research indicated that a full third of the male employees had criminal records! We determined what type of vehicle each of them drove along with the plate numbers in case they showed up in the driveway of the tiny house on a regular basis.

Keeping track of Wendy's whereabouts was not going to be one frantic chase after another due to a fortuitous break early on. Dave's son had not yet signed over the title to Wendy's car! The divorce judgment did not address ownership, and as the owner Dave's son was entitled to know where his car was. And as his employees, if we knew...we were obligated to tell him.

I put a GPS tracker on his car the first night ten minutes after the last light went out at the tiny house.

We stock an impressive array of trackers. One of Dave's worst fears was that Wendy, tired of battling his son in court, would simply take Ella and move out of Florida. The tracker I selected was small and it's advanced batteries gave it an unusually long reporting life. When we had it set at ten minute reporting intervals, I watched one of these

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particular units travel up I-75 to Michigan and still report to me for months afterwards. 

Following Wendy for the first two months of the case was, for us, routine. She went to work four or five days a week, and never passed a Burger King without getting something to eat. She was consistently late picking up Ella at the agreed upon times and could have used a driver safety refresher course. But overall, Wendy was attentive to Ella and mindful of her needs.

Frequent drive-bys at the tiny house did not reveal any of the male overnight guests that we were supposed to document. Given the amount of pizza and other takeout foods her fleshy roommates ate, we were surprised that Wendy herself was only fifteen or twenty pounds overweight.

We wired up Wendy's car for voice activated sound recording. I know what you must be thinking...a recording is only usable in a Florida courtroom if both parties are aware of being recorded. But then I would point out that a recent Florida statute makes an exception if child abuse is suspected. In addition, we only wanted to find out if Wendy was attempting to brainwash or coach Ella, like "That boy was just playing a game with you, tell the doctor that when you see him today."

But extensive recordings did not reveal any brainwashing at all. In fact, Wendy was consistently using techniques to interact with Ella that she had learned from a court-mandated counselor. Wendy talked on her cellphone a lot, which partially explained some of the terrible decisions she made in traffic. But when she wasn't on her phone, she seemed determined to speak with Ella as more of a contemporary than a child.

On occasion, Wendy did skirt the Judge's ruling a little. About every fourth time Wendy had Ella, her lack of planning necessitated a stop at the forbidden tiny house. Laundry, toys, or beach items went from car trunk to house or vice versa. But never Ella. Wendy always parked in the street in front of the house. She would roll down all of

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her car windows. And then one of her housemates would lumber across the front yard and squeeze herself into the back seat with Ella while Wendy went about her business. It was close, but technically not an outright violation as far as our other agents or I could determine, and Dave's attorney agreed. 

Just as we settled into an observe, document, and report surveillance routine, Wendy decided to take it a step further and flaunt the court order by staying one night with Ella at the tiny house. We diligently reported this to Dave, who had his attorney notify the presiding Judge. The Judge, after a short hearing, issued an order admonishing Wendy for violating the order and warning her of possible consequences. But nothing more.

And then the entire situation changed into something worse. Wendy notified the court and Dave's son that she was moving out of the tiny house. In Sarasota, $1500 rents you a passable house in a good neighborhood. Wendy was on a budget. She found a place for $650 a month. It wasn't passable and it was in a significantly seedier neighborhood than the one she was leaving.