TracyLynnS
Member
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2012
- Messages
- 508
- Reaction score
- 20
IMO, the female in the distinctive skirt doesn't really seemed to be dressed well for February in Canada. (and for a getaway on foot) The weather archives said it was around 30F with slight wind gusts that day.
Anyway... I've been reading a book published in 1999, Your Secrets Are My Business by Keven McKeown. He's some kind of investigator and the book is supposed to teach you to be security conscious. Lots of exaggeration going on in his tales, imo, but I did run across this odd event that made me think of Lindsay's case and why the killers might be seeking a young and possibly inexperienced real estate agent to show them houses in the million dollar range.
Quoting pages 115 and 116:
He was taking a shower.
She was pacing back and forth in the hall, waiting for the mailman.
It could have been a slice of life from any married couple's daily routine. They'd certainly set it up to look that way.
The house in the Hollywood hills, the BMW in the driveway, the vase of yellow roses sitting on the kitchen counter - all the details smacked of a normal suburban existence.
It was all a sham.
The flowers (visible to anyone opening the front door) were there for show only.
The BMW had been rented using a forged driver's license and a stolen credit card.
And it wasn't even their house.
Posing as a married couple (they were, in fact, brother and sister), the man and woman had a local real estate agent show them the house earlier in the week. While the sister and the agent talked about how wonderful it would be to remodel the kitchen the right way, the brother was unlatching a window in one of the downstairs bathrooms.
They returned two days later to receive the Priority Mail package they'd arranged to be delivered to their "new" address. There was absolutely nothing tying them to the house. They'd given the real estate agent a false name as well.
Doris and John planned to take delivery of their package, lock the door (and the bathroom window), and walk out of the house without anyone knowing they were ever there. Let the various realtors showing the house wonder who left the flowers.
They were in for a rude awakening.
In the wooded hills surrounding the house, half a dozen postal inspectors (as well as a dozen other federal and local law enforcement officers) were waiting, ready to arrest Doris and John Poole on charges of forgery, conspiracy, and mail fraud as soon as they took possession of that package.
The government had been trying for three years to pin Doris and John down to an address. They'd been trying for even longer to tie them to the profits generated by one of the most imaginative real estate scams I've ever heard of. Doris and John, using publicly available records, were able to provide banks with enough information on certain properties to secure loans against them. These loans were for a lot of money.
They ran this scam up and down the west coast. Over the years, the only concrete trail Doris and John had left was the bank accounts they'd set up to help establish their bonafides - accounts they maintained for such a short period of time (a few months) that by the time they could be found and monitored, they'd stopped using them.
Anyway... I've been reading a book published in 1999, Your Secrets Are My Business by Keven McKeown. He's some kind of investigator and the book is supposed to teach you to be security conscious. Lots of exaggeration going on in his tales, imo, but I did run across this odd event that made me think of Lindsay's case and why the killers might be seeking a young and possibly inexperienced real estate agent to show them houses in the million dollar range.
Quoting pages 115 and 116:
He was taking a shower.
She was pacing back and forth in the hall, waiting for the mailman.
It could have been a slice of life from any married couple's daily routine. They'd certainly set it up to look that way.
The house in the Hollywood hills, the BMW in the driveway, the vase of yellow roses sitting on the kitchen counter - all the details smacked of a normal suburban existence.
It was all a sham.
The flowers (visible to anyone opening the front door) were there for show only.
The BMW had been rented using a forged driver's license and a stolen credit card.
And it wasn't even their house.
Posing as a married couple (they were, in fact, brother and sister), the man and woman had a local real estate agent show them the house earlier in the week. While the sister and the agent talked about how wonderful it would be to remodel the kitchen the right way, the brother was unlatching a window in one of the downstairs bathrooms.
They returned two days later to receive the Priority Mail package they'd arranged to be delivered to their "new" address. There was absolutely nothing tying them to the house. They'd given the real estate agent a false name as well.
Doris and John planned to take delivery of their package, lock the door (and the bathroom window), and walk out of the house without anyone knowing they were ever there. Let the various realtors showing the house wonder who left the flowers.
They were in for a rude awakening.
In the wooded hills surrounding the house, half a dozen postal inspectors (as well as a dozen other federal and local law enforcement officers) were waiting, ready to arrest Doris and John Poole on charges of forgery, conspiracy, and mail fraud as soon as they took possession of that package.
The government had been trying for three years to pin Doris and John down to an address. They'd been trying for even longer to tie them to the profits generated by one of the most imaginative real estate scams I've ever heard of. Doris and John, using publicly available records, were able to provide banks with enough information on certain properties to secure loans against them. These loans were for a lot of money.
They ran this scam up and down the west coast. Over the years, the only concrete trail Doris and John had left was the bank accounts they'd set up to help establish their bonafides - accounts they maintained for such a short period of time (a few months) that by the time they could be found and monitored, they'd stopped using them.
