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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.