Chapter 36
Terry walked into the DTF bullpen. "I need everything you can dig up on Harry Blackwood. And I mean everything."
Pete rolled his chair over from his desk, coffee cup in hand. "Harry or Harrison?"
"The son, Harry." Terry pulled out one of Sandra's contracts and pointed at the signature line.
"Sandra's been reviewing contracts for some of her clients, and something's not adding up.
Payment discrepancies, billing irregularities, contracts that are way more complex than they need to be for simple electrical work. "
“Okay…” Pete began, confusion knitting his brow. “Is there more? Why us? DTF?”
“She went to Lia McFarlane, the forensic accountant. There’s a suspicion of money laundering.”
Jeremy looked down at the papers. "Money laundering?"
"That's what we need to consider. If it is money laundering… for who? We have expensive designer drugs show up on the Shore and a businessman who might be laundering money."
Jeremy began pulling up databases on his computer.
“He's never been on our radar before. Blackwood Luxury Custom Homes has always been run out of their Virginia Beach office. It was only last year that they opened a small office in Baytown to help with all the new construction going on over on this side of the bay.”
"I want to know everything—finances, associates, background, social media, parking tickets. If he's running money through his father's construction business, there'll be traces."
Jeremy's fingers flew across the keyboard. "Call Bobby over here. He’s the best deputy who handles the background work.”
Terry made a quick call to Colt, who walked to their bullpen with his deputy in tow. Terry quickly filled them in on what he wanted to investigate and why. With Colt’s approval, Bobby headed back to his computer and began searching.
Jeremy said, “I have the basics. Harrison Blackwood II, known as Harry. Age twenty-nine. No driving record. Graduated from UVA seven years ago with a business degree, then went back to earn an MBA from there three years ago."
"What about criminal history?"
Jeremy pulled up arrest records. "Here we go. Drug possession charge from his junior year at UVA. Cocaine. Charges were mysteriously dropped three weeks later."
"Daddy's lawyers?" Pete suggested.
"Or Daddy's connections," Terry muttered.
"Minimal work history," Bobby added, scrolling through employment records. "Only job on record is with Blackwood's Luxury Custom Homes since graduating. He started in an entry-level position with his dad. Now, he’s listed as their vice president of financial operations. At least that’s his title.”
“That’s quite a leap in promotions,” Jeremy muttered.
“Not if Daddy wants to keep his son in the business and possibly under his thumb,” Terry commented. "What about assets?"
Jeremy pulled up vehicle registrations. "Drives a BMW M4. Also has a motorcycle… a Ducati Panigale. And he owns a luxury condo in Virginia Beach.”
Pete whistled low. "That's a lot of toys for someone with his work history."
“Trust fund baby?” Terry prodded.
Pete shook his head. “His dad is a self-made man. All their money came from their construction business, which grew by leaps and bounds when the real estate market was booming, and luxury beach homes were popping up.”
"Social media?" Terry asked.
Bobby navigated to the latest social media platforms, and Terry felt his anger spike as images filled the screen. Harry Blackwood's feed was a showcase of expensive restaurants, luxury vacations, designer clothes, and what looked like VIP access to exclusive events.
"This guy's living way above his means unless Daddy is paying him really well," Pete observed, studying a photo of Harry on a yacht in the Caribbean. "Even with a salary bump, there's no way even luxury construction work pays for this lifestyle."
Terry scrutinized the photos, noting the people in the background, the locations, and the timestamps. "Jeremy, cross-reference these locations with known drug trafficking routes."
"Already on it." Jeremy's expression grew more serious as he worked. "Some of these vacation spots are interesting choices for a young construction worker. Miami, Bahamas, several trips to Mexico."
"What else?"
Pete continued looking through his social media. "Well, this is interesting. He was in Sigma Chi at UVA."
Terry's brow furrowed. "Connection?"
"Same fraternity as Robert Whitman.”
“Not at the same school, nor at the same time,” Terry said, shaking his head.
“Maybe there’s a connection through some fraternity event,” Bobby surmised.
The pieces slowly began clicking together in Terry's mind like puzzle pieces finding their place.
"So we have Harry Blackwood, running finances for a construction company with suspicious contracts, living beyond his means, with a history of a drug charge, and fraternity connections to our party organizer, who was found to be in a house with considerable drugs. "
"Sounds like more than a coincidence," Pete said.
Terry pulled out his phone and scrolled to Claire Smith's number. If Harry Blackwood was connected to the drugs found, he might have been the person Claire spied on. She was their best witness for identifying who might have supplied the drugs or organized the higher levels of the operation.
The phone rang four times before going to voicemail. "This is Claire. Leave a message."
"Claire, this is Captain Bunswick with the Eastern Shore DTF. I need to speak with you about the man you saw at the beach house before the party. It's important that you call me back as soon as possible. We may have identified who you saw, and I need you to see if you recognize him."
Terry hung up, frustration building. Claire was their key to connecting the dots between the party and what was looking more and more like a larger drug operation using Blackwood's construction business as a front.
“Do you want to pull Harry Blackwood in for questioning?” Pete asked.
“Let's gather more intelligence first. I want to know exactly what we're dealing with before we show our hand." Terry’s mind was already plotting through the investigation strategy. I’ll get a list from Sandra about any other contractors who may have had similar experiences with Blackwood contracts. Pete, I’d like you to follow up with them. "
He headed toward his office, hoping Claire would call back. He needed her to confirm whether Harry Blackwood was the person she saw talking to Robert. It still wouldn’t be proof that Harry brought drugs to Robert, but it was a connection.
By lunchtime, Terry rubbed his eyes and reached for his fourth cup of coffee, the bitter brew doing little to cut through the fog of exhaustion that had settled over him after poring over financial records.
The conference room table looked like a paper tornado had torn through it, leaving bank statements, construction contracts, charitable donation receipts, and arrest records spread across every available surface, in a system only he could decipher.
The phone on the conference table rang, interrupting his dark thoughts. Jeremy glanced at the caller ID and straightened. "It's Claire Smith."
Terry felt his pulse quicken. They'd been waiting for her to return his call since she could be the key to connecting Harry Blackwood directly to the party drugs.
"Claire, thanks for calling back," Terry said, putting the phone on speaker. "We need you to come in and look at some photographs. Can you make it this afternoon?"
"I guess so." Claire's voice carried the wariness of someone who'd spent too much time with lawyers lately. "Do I need my attorney?"
"That’s your right. We want to show you a few photographs to see if you can identify the person you saw talking with Robert," Terry interjected.
A pause stretched across the line, then finally, Claire's voice came back quieter than before. "The guy in the expensive suit?"
Terry and Jeremy exchanged glances. "That's exactly who we need you to identify."
"Okay. It’s a three-hour drive. I’ll get there as soon as I can."
Hours later, Terry appreciated Claire’s prompt arrival.
She sat in the DTF interview room, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Terry spread six photographs across the table, making sure Harry Blackwood's picture was positioned randomly among five other men of similar age and build.
"Take your time. Look carefully at each face. "
Claire studied the photos with the intensity of someone taking a final exam. Her gaze hovered over different images, her brow furrowed in concentration. After nearly a minute, she tapped Harry Blackwood's photograph.
"That's him. That's the guy I saw talking to Robert in the back room."
Terry felt satisfaction surge through his chest, but kept his expression neutral. "You're certain?"
"Absolutely. This might sound strange, but my undergrad roommate and best friend was an art student. I remember she always searched for faces and body types to draw, and she loved finding unusual features. While art was never my thing, it was fun to see what Pamela was talking about.”
“Okay. Can you elaborate?”
“This man has a lean body type… tall, sort of a runner’s build.
But his face doesn’t look… well, like someone who would appeal to me.
His chin is narrow and slightly… um… back?
I know it's sometimes called a weak chin. On a male, it’s not a particularly attractive feature to me.
” She shrugged, and a tinge of pink stained her cheeks.
“It makes me sound picky, but in this case, I can assure you I noticed it that afternoon and would recognize him.”
Jeremy leaned forward slightly. "Did you hear any of their conversation?"
"I’m sorry, but no. I was only there for maybe thirty seconds before I was afraid of being caught eavesdropping. I didn’t hear any specific words, but their tone was businesslike. Not just friendly."
"What else did you perceive about their tone?" Terry asked.
Claire shrugged. "I don't know, but it felt serious. Tense. And this guy”—she tapped Harry's photo again—"he had this nervous energy about him, like he was in a hurry to get whatever it was finished."
Terry gathered the photographs, his mind already working through the implications. They now had a witness placing Harry Blackwood at a house where high-grade drugs were found hours later. Combined with the financial evidence, they were building a case.
"Claire, I need to ask you something else," Terry said, his voice gentle but serious. "Have you been contacted by anyone since the party? Anyone asking you not to talk to the police or trying to find out what you told us?"
Her eyes widened slightly. "No, why? Should I be worried?"
"Just being cautious. If anyone does contact you, call us immediately." Terry handed her his business card. "And Claire? Thank you for coming in. I know this isn't easy, and it’s a long trip back. Will you be okay traveling?” He knew he’d hate for his daughter to spend six hours on the road.
“I have a cousin who lives in Williamsburg. I’ll just drive that far and spend the night with her.”
After Claire left, Terry, Pete, and Jeremy returned to the bullpen, where the financial evidence was spread across the table.
"You want us to bring Harry Blackwood in for questioning?" Pete asked.
“No… I don’t want to tip him off yet. We’ll talk to Robert first, but only after we dig into him a little more.” Terry's jaw tightened as he thought about the scope of what they were uncovering. "And we do it fast, before they realize how close we are to bringing them in."
He leaned back in his desk chair, the satisfaction of Claire's positive identification still coursing through his veins.
Harry Blackwood at the house wasn't just a coincidence…
it was the thread that could unravel the entire operation.
But they needed more than one witness placing him there.
They needed Robert Whitman to start talking.
"Jeremy," Terry called across the bullpen. "We want Robert back here. Tell his lawyer we have more questions."
Jeremy looked up from his computer, eyebrows raised. "Think he'll come willingly?"
"His lawyer will make sure he does. They don't want this escalating." Terry's jaw tightened. "I’m going to contact Virginia Beach DTF. I want to know what they're seeing in terms of drug money movement through the Chesapeake area."
Thirty minutes later, Terry hung up the phone with a grim expression after talking to his counterpart with the VBDTF, Captain Morrison. Looking over at Jeremy and Pete, he said, "Virginia Beach says we're looking at the tip of the iceberg."
"How big an iceberg?"
"Captain Morrison over there estimates cartels are moving twenty to thirty million in drug money through the Hampton Roads area every quarter." Terry consulted his notes, his voice growing more serious with each detail. "But here's the thing… they're not just selling to street junkies anymore."
Pete’s brows lifted. "Let me guess… upscale clientele."
"Exactly. College kids, young professionals, people with disposable income who want high-quality product and can afford to pay premium prices." Terry leaned forward, his expression intense. "But more importantly, people with legitimate businesses who can help launder the profits."
"Like luxury home construction companies."
"Morrison says it's the perfect setup. Cartels supply high-end drugs to wealthy distributors, who then use their legitimate businesses to wash the money clean. Everyone wins. Cartels get their money laundered, distributors get rich, and the whole operation looks respectable from the outside."
Terry stood and walked to the whiteboard, adding new connections to their growing web of evidence. Harry Blackwood's name now sat at the center, connected to Robert Whitman, the party, Chesapeake Bay area drug busts, and inflated building contracts where a lot of money could be paid in cash.
"So Harry Blackwood isn't just Harrison's son learning the family business," Pete said, the picture becoming clearer. "He's a drug distributor using Daddy's construction company to launder cartel money."
"And when college kids like Robert Whitman throw parties that attract police attention, it threatens the entire operation," Terry added. “We need to move carefully, but fast.”