John Mason

Let’s pick back up on the evening of January 16, 2004. My sister and I return to Benton and try to call Mother to be sure she’s ok. Her phone was busy for 45 minutes.

The next morning, I head back to Little Rock, determined to persuade Mother to return to Fayetteville with me for a few days before the next court hearing on January 21. I also had some work to do.

First, I requested her checkbooks. She handed them over, one by one, as long as I promised to copy the registers and give them back. A notable exception was the checkbook for the Bank of America checking account that was overdrawn and frozen. Failure to obtain that one would turn out to be a catastrophic error.

The next thing on my agenda was to find out who she spoke with for 45 minutes the night before. At first she said, “it was a wrong number”. I pressed on. “Well, it was a telemarketer, but I told him I couldn’t talk to him.” Me: “you talked to someone for 45 minutes.” Her: “Oh well, Mary Ann called, and then Malcolm called too.” Me: “their numbers weren’t on your caller-id.”

Changing my approach, I began to question her about the ATM withdrawals in Toronto. Relieved that I had changed my line of questioning, she responded haltingly and reluctantly: “ It’s for an investment: I’m an investor in a $120 million dollar fund that generates income for widows and orphans.” She had sent an ATM card to the fund’s “manager” so he could make withdrawals to invest on her behalf! I won’t bore you with all the details of the bizarre conversation that ensued, but it was this person she had spoken with for 45 minutes the night before. She had told him about the court order and asked him to mail her ATM card back to her. He had cautioned her that it was very, very important that she not reveal his name or details about his investment opportunities to anyone. I persevered, and she finally revealed his name, “John Mason.”