Professional Snoop
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Etienne "Steve" Corvier (pronounced et-CHIN corv-YEA), on the other hand, was nobody’s dummy. Steve was a delivery truck driver for a dairy company. He injured his back (!!!) in 1985 when he slipped on a wet floor and hadn’t been able to work since that time It now was six years later and he remained totally disabled. Any activity caused him excruciating pain. He could not bend, lift, walk, turn, etc., etc., etc. Steve’s home was in the Evangeline Country of south Louisiana, where English is a second language to a significant number of the residents, Steve among them. People speak cajun French, regardless of whether one is black or white, in the conduct of daily affairs. The drive down from Lafayette, "the capital of French Louisiana," is on perfectly flat roads, narrow ribbons of dry ground connecting swamps, bayous and rice fields. "High ground" is the top of a levee. I am a hillbilly from the Missouri Ozarks, where we grow up with one leg longer than the other, so as to stand upright on the sides of the hills. You may get some idea from this as to why I do not particularly relish spending time in the type of country where Steve Corvier lives. The town of Manon is built around two rice mills. I was told at the parish (county) seat that Steve was thought to be working at one of the mills. It would not sit well with Steve’s insurer, my client, if that information were to be found accurate. The man who gave me the information, a deputy sheriff, also said Steve was coaching a girls’ softball team. Both these things needed to be checked out. The Boudreaux Mill had no record of an employee by the name of Etienne Corvier. I was ushered to an upstairs office at the Calcasieux Mill. Access was by means of a rickety wooden staircase. The entire building was of frame construction and appeared ready to come crashing down at any time. Some sort of machinery was working on the main floor. With each thump of the machine, the entire office -- floor, walls and ceiling -- wobbled like a cork on a fishing line. Boy, was I ever relieved to get out of that place when they told me they had no one named Corvier on their payroll! Next stop was at the office of the local weekly newspaper. I learned there that Steve’s team of girls was scheduled to play at 7:30 that evening. It was still early afternoon and there surely was no way to pass the time in Manon. I drove back to the parish seat to do some sightseeing and get a good meal. I wanted to return to Manon by 6:45, so that I could be on hand when Steve arrived at the playing field. I returned to Manon and arrived at the Kiwanis Girls’ Softball Field at precisely a quarter to seven. I parked my rental car directly behind home plate. A game was in progress. The Angels were playing the Thunderbolts. The home plate umpire had his back to me. His yellow tee shirt had the name "Steve Corvier" emblazoned across the back. If you ever have packed for an airline trip, you know how difficult it is to remember to put in everything you may need while away. Here was the perfect setup for surveillance filming and the only camera I had with me was a pocket 110, still action. Oh, well. The mark of a good investigator is to make do with that which is at hand. I removed my necktie and rolled up my shirtsleeves above the elbow so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. Everyone else there was dressed in shorts or overalls. I got out of my car and stuck the camera in my pocket; then I walked around the refreshment stand to the bleachers. The people of Manon take their girls’ softball seriously. I could tell that from the noise level and the calls made to the field. The trouble was that none of the words were in English. Imagine, if you will, that you are taking pictures of an umpire at a game in a strange town. You have a still camera, which means that you have to use it not when the players are moving about but when the ump is doing so. Imagine, further, there are between two and three hundred people milling about, jumping up and down and yelling in a language you do not understand. The guy you are photographing is one of theirs. You have no way of knowing whether they are planning your well-being or your mysterious demise. The end result of this is spelled "d-i-s-c-o-m-f-o-r-t"!
I managed to get nine shots of Monsieur Corvier in all sorts of gymnastic poses, such as bending over to sweep home plate clean, catching and throwing a ball missed by the catcher, squatting down to watch the strike zone, etc. Pretty nifty moves for a man with a bad back and disabled legs! I watched my man walk around the left field side of the backstop fence at the end of the game. He headed for the refreshment stand. I walked over to a spot along his path and took one final photograph of his carefree saunter. Then, I waited until he was near my car and called out to him. "Mr. Corvier." "Yes?" "Hi. I’m Carl Carver. I’m a representative of your disability insurance company. I got some neat pictures of your umpiring there. I’ll see you at your lawyer’s office on the day after tomorrow." Steve’s mouth literally dropped open and he began to stammer. I jumped into my car and left the town of Manon behind. By the way, the photographs turned out beautifully.
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About the Book
The jerk who had his wife committed to a mental institution, then sued for divorce on grounds of "desertion"; the woman who reported her very-much-alive husband’s death so they could get some spending money; the prison escapee who got a job as a deputy sheriff; and, the bumbling mafioso wannabe. These are some of the characters from the hilarious to the downright mercenary, encountered by the author during a career as a private investigator specializing in fighting insurance claims fraud. This book is intended for entertainment reading.
About the Author
Carver spent more than thirty years "in the trenches" as an insurance claims-fraud investigator. He worked in construction after high school, was a Navy Seabee during the Korean War era, trained as an engineer in college, and discovered that he hated engineering and loved working with people. He traded his engineering career for the much more satisfying work as a fraud fighter. Carver has worked with state and federal law enforcement, as well as several anti-fraud organizations serving the insurance industry. He has testified for the prosecution in a number of criminal trials and was lead witness for the federal government in a successful prosecution of insurance fraud in Louisiana. He was commended for his work in prosecuting a fraud ring in Kansas headed by a former insurance claims adjustor. Now retired, Carver spends his time writing and conducting genealogical research.