The
Unfinished Fence
1.
[overvoice]
The call comes in at
10:58 in the morning, when I’m just turning to the sports
section of The Beacon, Tutterton’s only newspaper worth
reading. The others are free, but that’s because they’re camouflaged fliers for
local merchandise hiding behind eye-catching headlines—in other words, they’re
banners of twisted murder and mayhem swallowed up by bargain pages for groceries,
clothing and lawn & garden maintenance. I don’t recognize Mrs. Vlamos’s
voice right away as I’d questioned her two years ago in regards to her
husband’s involvement in a stolen automobile parts operation that’d spread
across New York, New Jersey, Delaware and the eastern border of Pennsylvania.
She’d been exonerated, but I’d heard through the grapevine she was having
financial difficulties since her husband’s incarceration and the confiscation
of his business assets.
But no memory of any of
this is actually necessary, because Vlamos identifies herself straight away, which includes a fully-charged
description of her husband’s crime and a request to speak with me “in private.” Before I have a chance
to ask her what she has in mind, she tells me, whisper-soft as a disguised
kidnapper on the other end of the line, to meet her at Twenty-fourth and
Liberty within the hour or her life will be snuffed out like a candle in a wind
tunnel. Mrs. Vlamos, I do remember, had a funny way of putting things, but I know
without doubt, at this moment, she isn’t joking. So I toss the paper, jump into
car number 3 and floor the accelerator without the sirens but with lights
flashing. As I round the corner onto Twenty-Fourth, I search for her from afar,
dousing the lights and slowing down to fifteen miles per hour.
She’s standing at the
bus stop, perhaps for cover? But there’s no cover close by to hide her bulk
unless she decides to inhabit the office building behind her. To say Mrs.
Vlamos has girth and heft of a freight train would be no figure of speech.
Leonard Vlamos wasn’t diminutive by any stretch of mind, but in a wrestling
match, it strikes me that all his wife needed do was slap him once and sit down
on him for complete compliance. But she wasn’t this rotund two years ago. She
wasn’t diminutive any more than her husband, but back then she couldn’t’ve been
mistaken for a brick chicken house.
She gets in the squad
car immediately, takes the last drag on her cigarette, rolls down the window,
tosses the butt onto the street, rolls the window back up and through a smoky
mouth and eyes, nods her thanks or acceptance of who I am, maybe both.
“Mrs. Vlamos.”
“Detective Weir.”
[overvoice]
Slowly
my title has been changing around town, since the papers made a splash about Leonard’s
arrest and the big take-down. His role
in the chop shop operation brought big headlines: Local Bike Shop Owner Nabbed
in Auto Thief Ring. Mrs. Vlamos, of course, remembers me from the questioning,
which was the first time I’d seen her, and not since, so I was never Officer
Weir to her.
I don’t move back into
traffic, just sit next to her waiting. She fills the silence with,
“Drive.”
“First,
tell me what this is about.”
“Drive.”
[car
engine moving into light traffic]
“Okay,
now what’s this about?”
[silence]
“Don’t confuse necessity with
courtesy, Mrs. Vlamos. I’ve taken the outside lane on purpose. The next turnoff
leads back to the station.”
“No
station. Keep driving.”
[overvoice]
I
do as she requests, but not saying anything, letting the silence do its job.
Most women don’t like silence. They usually fill it with something, even if
it’s an accusation of the silence. But Mrs. Vlamos strikes me as a different
sort, so I decide to give her a little nudge.
“I
almost didn’t recognize you, you know. If you’d worn a hat instead of a
kerchief, I’d have thought you’d given up the idea of meeting me altogether.”
“The
weight’s intentional. Everything about me is intentional. You need to know that
up front. [pause] You look the same.”
“Thanks.
Well, I guess.”
“Can
I smoke?”
“If
you crack the window.”
[sound
of window rolled down, blowing smoke]
[overvoice]
And
with this, she begins to talk, well, and to smoke. The tale she tells me is one
for the thriller or espionage novels. Within the year of Leonard Vlamos’ prison
sentence, she wrote Leonard that she was not going to remain married to him any
longer—her exact words. Of course, divorce was out of the question. She had no
grounds for it—she hadn’t been beaten and Leonard hadn’t commit adultery-- and
when she sought advice from her priest about leaving her criminal-husband, she
was told it was her fault her man got himself in trouble in the first place. If
she’d been providing him with a proper home environment, he would never have
sought to better himself financially, at least not to the degree he did. Did
she provoke her husband by demanding nicer things—clothing, a new car, a better
house? Did she show him enough respect for being a simple bicycle sales and
repairman? The best hope Father Demitri Elias could give was for her to remain
married while separated and that only temporarily. Needless to say, she never
went back to church. She hasn’t left ‘for good,’ she tells me, only not going
until either a new priest comes to town or she finds another place of worship.
She doesn’t make clear
to me exactly what steps she’s taken to “no longer be married to her husband,”
but she’s started making plans, she says, plans which have taken a surge
forward when she started receiving threatening messages, sometimes by mail—in letters
torn out and pasted from magazines—and sometimes by phone—in menacing tones by
different-sounding, always disguised voices.
At first these demands
were for “all of Leonard’s things or else.” She had no idea what that even meant, and the caller gave her
no help. “Get his possessions ready. You’ll get a message telling you what to
do with them.” She had no desire to keep anything having to do with her
husband, but she couldn’t imagine how she could possibly pass everything of
Leonard’s to a contact, especially not knowing what items would even be
appropriate for the exchange. Most of what they owned was in his name, and they
had been married for over three decades. Leonard’s “things” could be anything
and everything from the dining room table to the clothes in their closet.
Then she says,
“The
messages stopped after about three months of my letter, so I figured it was
Leonard, either disguising his own voice or having inmate-chums call for him to
aggravate me and keep me in my place. As for the mail, he probably tore out
printed letters for messages from the magazines they give them to read there.
He undoubtedly was furious over my letter…”
“Excuse
me, Mrs. Vlamos, but didn’t you visit your husband?”
“Never.
I was done with him. I told him that in the letter.”
[pause]
“Go
on.”
“Well,
like I say, I thought it was Leonard just annoying me, trying to get even.
There was never a name or place for a contact in these threats, but then in the
last letter, there was a note with demands that everything belonging to Leonard
Vlamos be taken to…”
[overvoice]
She
hesitates here, falls silent, glancing out the window to the moving traffic
around us.
“To
whom, Mrs. Vlamos.”
“Let’s
get rid of the Mrs. business.
I’m Leda. Please call me that.”
“Okay,
Leda, but to whom did the caller want you to pass Leonard’s things, whatever
those might’ve been? Did you ever get a message telling you specifically what
to do?”
“Be
patient with me, Detective Weir. I haven’t told this story to anyone, and I’m
trying to get it right, tell it in the order it happened. It’s been over a year
since it started. I’m trying to remember best as I can.”
“Of
course, Mrs…Leda. Take your time.”
[overvoice]
Well,
I don’t have all the time in the world for her story, but I see right away she isn’t
to be rushed. So I pull into a parking space at Spector Park, behind a grove of
trees, so we can’t be viewed from the highway and main road leading to the
park. She seems to find this acceptable. I turn off the engine, and with some
encouragement, she continues her story.
“He
wanted me to give it to nobody, if you can believe that. Or maybe I
should say to somebody who was a nobody.”
“C’mon,
Leda. What was the message?”
“I’m
telling you. A note came in the mail with cut-out and pasted letters telling me
to leave all of Leonard’s things in a barn north of town—that’s what it said. I
have the note right here.”
[opening
of note]
[overvoice]
In letters pasted in that ransom
note style, the message read:
Take
all of Leonard’s stuff to
County Road #10,1 mi from Tutterton city limits sign north of town. County
Road #10, yellow farmhouse ¼ mile. Open barn door. Leave inside. Everything in
sealed boxes. Not there by Tuesday May 12 at 2pm, your apartment sacked, you
dead.
“Was
there a follow-up call?”
“Nothing.
Of course, I didn’t do it. It could’ve been an ambush for all I knew, and I
didn’t have any idea exactly what to put in the boxes. Anyway, I’d taken
everything of his out of the house, to the dump or wherever. I gave his clothes
to the annual church sale. He’d been gone over a year, Detective. I didn’t want
to be living around his things.”
“So
nothing happen?”
“Nothing.
I thought it was over. Leonard and his chums didn’t get what he wanted, so he
quit bothering me.
“But
about six months ago, it started up again. This time the voice on phone was
clear, and overly-polite, in that way the Mafia talks, you know? It wasn’t
anybody I recognized, but it wasn’t disguised as before. He said he wanted
Leonard’s accounts, is how he put it. All of the accounting files having to do
with Leonard’s ‘larger business.’ Of course, I knew what he meant right away.
He wasn’t talking about the bicycle shop. He wanted the automobile parts
accounts. But the police confiscated all of Leonard’s files, for both his bike shop and his auto parts
operation. All I ever had were the inventories for that anyway. You, of all
people, know this.
“Okay. Go on.”
“Well,
I couldn’t figure out what the heck this guy was talking about. These people
involved in this auto parts ring were indicted, weren’t they? They went to
jail.”
“That’s
right. All the departments in the towns and cities involved, including New York
City, worked together to bring this wide-spread operation down. But the perps
at the top, of course, escaped culpability. We had our suspicions as to who
they were, but couldn’t nail their identities or involvement, and none of those
we jailed talked, not even with promises of immunity.”
“It’s
part of the reason I don’t want anything more to do with Leonard. I know he’s
still tied to them and will continue to be after he gets out of prison.”
“Leda,
if you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you pack up and leave?”
“Good
question. Suppose it’s what all people like me wonder in hindsight. I stayed
for the same reason most of them do. My home is here, my friends—our friends before his
troubles. And my church. Leonard and I are…were Greek Orthodox. We lived the
life…well, I thought we did.
[clearing her throat, on
edge of tears]
“But that’s another
business. Point is, although I took care of the books for the bicycle business—the purchases and sales and
for the IRS—Leonard told me from the beginning that as far as the auto parts
operation went, it was connected with a home office in Jersey City which was
taking care of all their branch businesses, only one of which was his in
Tutterton. He made it sound like it was a huge company, which it turned out to
be, only an illegal one, if you can call it a company. Well, anyway, he said, I
was to give them the inventory listings with the retail prices on those sold
and their wholesale value. He gave me those at the time of their arrivals and
at the time of their sales—all that, of course, I found out later was fake,
fake as could be. But he forwarded what I prepared for him on that to the
Jersey City office, and, he said, they sent the right forms on to the IRS. I
wrote a check for our share of the taxes on our sales and signed appropriate
bank forms that he said he needed in order to follow through in Jersey City.
And that was that.”
“But
you had to’ve seen the bank balances in order to do even the part that you did,
especially for the IRS.”
“It’s
like I told you at the time you questioned me. I didn’t. I only did what he
told me to. He kept the two businesses separate, so that anything having to do
with the auto accounts were the ones he took care of, he said.”
“Accounts?
More than one account, for the auto operation, then?”
“His
and the one in Jersey City is what he said, yeah. So he could keep track of the
business he did, you know, separate from the main office, but they put
everything together.”
“Didn’t
all this raise suspicions, Leda. At least pique your interest?”
“Perhaps
it should have. But Leonard doing something that illegal and as big as it
turned out to be, especially getting involved with the sorts he did, it never
occurred to me. It made sense that he might be connected to another larger
business, selling parts he got from the salvage yards of towns nearby, like he
told me—lies that they were. The Jersey City part wasn’t so strange, because
that’s how he worked the bicycle business. He got used bikes from Roundup
Wheels in Wellington, he gave me the list of sales, and I prepared the invoices
and inventories. And he and Roundup Wheels did the rest. I did do the IRS
preparation on that, and I saw the bank balance on it, which included our own
forms, but I didn’t send it in. They did it, Leonard said, from Wellington,
because they had things to add. I don’t know how these things work exactly. It
simply never occurred to me….ah, well, it’s all after the fact now, isn’t it?”
[overvoice]
I
know the answer to all of the questions I’m feeding her, but I want to hear
what she has to say after all this time—want to know if she’s changed her tune,
especially since she’s mad at him, or if she’s humming the same old song she
sang over and over at the inquest. I’m still betting dollars to donuts she
knows more than she’s telling. I’ve always thought that, but just didn’t know
then how to prove it or even if my suspicions were justified.
“Didn’t
you ever go to his shop, see that he wasn’t selling auto parts up front like he
said he was?”
“No.
I come from Sparta, Detective. In our country, women take care of their
business and men take care of theirs. Are you married?”
“No.
But if I asked my wife to do my books for me, I’d think she’d be more involved
than you seem to’ve been.”
“Look,
if I needed to contact Leo—which I rarely did—I reached him at the telephone
booth just outside his shop, which was on a corner, if you remember. We
couldn’t afford in-house phones, only the rich and the government can. You know
this. As for why I kept an inventory of the auto parts, he told me that he was
working with another business, so I figured they naturally needed a list of
what he paid for and what he sold. So I made out the inventory on the forms he
gave me and that was that.”
“Didn’t
you take the money to the bank for his businesses?”
“No.
Here again, Leo did that. I put everything together for him, and he took it to
the bank when he went to work. I had my church work and charities outside the
house. I didn’t go to the bank. He gave me money for the market and house
goods. I got an allowance once-a-month and whatever I could save on the side
from the household budget was mine.”
“So
you really didn’t know anything about how he managed his auto heist and chop
shop business?”
“Detective,
Leonard worked with those guys. When you followed the paper trail during the
inquest, you saw I didn’t know anything about what he was doing. It’s how I got
off. You were the one who questioned me, worked with my lawyer. You saw I
didn’t know back then, so why the third degree now?”
“I’m
trying to understand why these people are threatening you, Leda.”
“Well,
I sure don’t know. I’m coming to you for protection. I want you to find these
people so I can live in peace. I don’t know what account they’re talking about.
I tell you, there are no accounts I can give them. The police have all
Leonard’s papers in their evidence room, and his money too, I might add. I’ve
no idea what you did with that—buy new equipment, more guns, what?”
[overvoice]
Actually she isn’t too
far off. Illegally-obtained money that the police confiscate is put into the
police department’s account and purchases are made for appropriate equipment
and weapons. But, of course, I don’t tell Leda Vlamos this. I say instead,
“Thing that puzzles me
is that the people involved in that operation know the police confiscated all
the files and money and shut down both of Leonard’s businesses. I’m talking
about the guys at the top who never got caught. They’re well aware. So who’s
threatening you now and about what?”
“Beats me, but I’m
scared to go home.”
“All right. I’m getting
the picture. My question now is how do you think I can help you? Wait, Leda. If you think we can put
you under protection day and night, until we find who’s threatening you, well,
that simply isn’t going to happen. We don’t have the resources. I’m wondering
how you think the police can help you under those circumstances.”
“You’re
the police! You take a vow to serve and protect the people of this town. I’m
asking for protection. I told you what’s happening to me. They’ve threatened to
kill me if I don’t give them what they’re asking for.”
“Are you still living at
the same house you were when Leonard was arrested?”
“Where
would I go? I can’t sell the house, because it’s in Leonard’s name. He’d never give me permission to leave. I have
a job working at a nearby five and dime, but it’s barely enough for living
expenses. I’ve sold some items outta the house for extra. It’s how I’m making
it.”
“Do
you have a mortgage?”
“House’s
paid for. One of the benefits of Leonard’s inheritance when his father died. He
paid it off fair and square. Don’t look at me like that. I believed him, and it
must be so, because the authorities didn’t confiscate it like they did all his
other assets, the bike shop included. You know this, right?”
“Okay, Leda. As you told me, it’s been two
years. I’m catching up with the story again. Do you have relatives you can stay
with until you can get situated differently? It would be good if you could get
away from… ”
“You
mean get out of Tutterton?”
“It
might be easiest in the long run.”
“For
you, maybe. Everything I have and everybody I know is in this town. I moved to
The United States from Greece with my husband when we were young, Detective. We
struggled in New York City, and moved to Tutterton because we thought life and
making a living would be easier. Now, I don’t know. I shoulda talked him into moving
to Oklahoma or Texas.”
[sound
of engine starting]
“Okay,
okay. I’ll see what I can do about watching your place, but I’m telling you
now, it’ll be a drive-by now and again until I find out what this’s all about.
I’m sorry, but I can’t put a man stationed at your door day and night. It’s
like I told you.”
“I’ll
take what I can get, Detective Weir. But I’ll be calling the station off and
on, just to get it on the books that I’m left unprotected out here while I’m
being threatened.”
[overvoice]
I
continued to probe Leda’s old story with her, gleaning a few new possible lines
of inquiry. Nothing substantial came from this, so given the little I had to go
on, I pushed what I got into a mental cabinet that I shuffled through from time
to time for leads. Sometimes when I do this, a couple of files end up sparking
a clue. I wasn’t hopeful, but then one never knows.
I drove Leda back to the
bus stop upon her insistence. She doesn’t want a squad car stopping in front of
her house unless an officer is going to stay. She says she knows she’s being
watched beyond doubt. A dark sedan has been parked across the street from her
house the past few days. It followed her to the bus stop shortly before I had
showed up on the scene.
I
don’t doubt her for a minute, but I’m not certain what to do. If I take her
story to the chief, he’ll tell me what I told her. There isn’t enough
provocation at this point for continual surveillance. She can be making the
whole thing up, though for what reasons I can’t imagine, unless it’d be to buy
some time to figure out how to get the house from Leonard or some such. Who
knows? I do know the chief would suggest I check out her place since she’d
called the station, and I want to see myself if the dark sedan shows up again.
In any case, I know Chief Gilligan will also request follow up on any leads
about the caller who was threatening Leda, if for nothing else but to cover his
behind should anything unforeseen come of it.
It seems to me that
Occam’s razor is the best principle to apply in regards to this present state
of affairs. Good detectives always use the simplest solution, taking the known
facts and applying them first to what isn’t known. If I accept Leda Vlamos’
explanation of her circumstances with her husband—his attempting to keep her in
her place, even literally—the caller threatening her now knew Leonard had an
extra account somewhere, and it wasn’t the chop shop account and goods that the
police had confiscated. So if I act on that known premise, what will be the
first lead I can follow? It has to be something not found in the evidence room
storage. This leaves only three possible leads, two of which are so tenuously
tied to Leonard’s past crimes—if for no other reason than the sheer passage of
time—that I feel I really only have one—Roundup Wheels in Wellington, a town
ten miles north of Tutterton.
I turn car 3 into my
parking spot at the station and take an unmarked to the address listed as Leonard and Leda Vlamos’
house on Royal Hill Road in a small suburban area where houses are being built
as fast as supplies can reach it, which seems to be from slow to snail’s pace
while the conversion from wartime to domestic manufacturing catches up with the
market. I’d learned at the time of her interview that she and Leonard moved
from their original address on Grand Junction to their newly built home only
months before Leonard’s arrest. It’s
one of the first finished houses on these streets, many remaining only partly
constructed—they are modern, roomy but nothing close to ostentation. Leda
evidently is a gardener because the lawn and landscaping are quite extensive
and well-kept. Four recently planted trees are still young, but well-placed to
give shade at strategic places around the house when they mature. Two fruit
trees grow close to the property line at the far end of the backyard.
I
pull the unmarked into the driveway of an externally-completed house without
present construction activity but with the builder’s sign in the front yard. I
position the car so that I have a clear but somewhat covert sightline to the
Vlamos dwelling, but I get out and walk around to the back of the house. A
person sitting for any time in a car in a residential area like this is a sure
sign of either a love spooning going on or a stakeout taking place. In either
case, it solicits attention. On my way around to the back, I pull the builder’s
sign out of the ground and lean it against the side of the house.
Finding the back garage
door unlocked, I wait inside, watching from a shadowed corner through the
glass-plated door. Less than five minutes of Leda’s arrival home, a black
Chrysler pulls to the curb directly in front of her door. The man at the wheel
glances my way briefly, cracks his window and throws a cigarette to the street,
flips open a newspaper and busies himself with the leading stories. The
intimidation tactic is obvious.
Once
I see he isn’t going to get out and threaten Leda openly, I walk to the unmarked as though coming out of a garage
connected to a newly lived-in house, get into the unmarked and start the
engine. If the stalker sees me, he gives no notice, smoking away in front of
his newspaper.
I
switch to car number 3 at the station and make a hasty carry-out at the Main
Street diner, telling Charmaine I’ll see her or call her later in the day. I’m
eating my sandwich before I even to get the patrol car, the crummy part of my
lunch finding its way to my lap as I drive, smearing each French fry with ketchup
that I had Charmaine put in a small bowl that I’ll return to her when I return to
the diner. The Coke fizzes up my nose, making a stop on the shoulder of the
road so I can sneeze and blow my nose in one of the napkins from the lunch bag.
My
next stop is Roundup Wheels in Wellington, a ten mile drive north through the
country to the town about the size of Tutterton, but with growing travel
businesses lining the highway, billboards declaring its amenities from diners
to gas stations. The young man who meets me at the door of his bicycle shop
seems to have seen his first customer of the day. The place looks deserted,
though filled to overflowing with bicycles, tricycles, unicycles—cycles of
every size and description, including pairs of skater’s roller rink shoes along
a shelf on the back wall and around the show window a wide assortment of
children’s wagons and pedal cars to ride and smaller toys to push. I wonder if
Ritter Junior has kept up with his father’s illegitimate network. From what I
can make out, everything on the floor looks new, but one never knows what’s in
the back rooms or basement or what’s
concealed in the books, as I learned so well from Vlamos’s hidden assets.
I
show the young man my badge, and he almost stops walking toward me mid-step.
“I’m
Detective Weir and have a couple of questions.”
“About
what?”
“About
a crime that took place in Tutterton two years ago in which Roundup Wheels was
implicated.”
“My
father was cleared of any wrongdoing. He answered all the questions asked back
then. I don’t see what…”
“It’s
a routine matter. Are you Bobby Ritter?”
“Could
be.”
“Okay, Bobby. Something
has arisen tangential to…ah, I’ll shorten this for both of us, then. You own
the shop now that your father past last year, that right?”
“Yes.
Everybody in town read his obituary.”
“I’m
sorry for your loss, Bobby.” [pause] “Leonard Vlamos received and passed
bicycles from his business in Tutterton to your father’s here in Wellington for
a number of years. From my understanding, these bike exchanges were sometimes a
bit more lucrative than the tainted inventory specified, and although an
amiable bargain was struck with Ritter, Senior, for information, I’ve come to
get a bit more of that today, after the fact, as it were.”
“I
have nothing to tell you, I’m sure. Even if I knew what you’re talking about,
which I don’t, I wouldn’t say anything without my lawyer.”
“That’s
fine. We can take the long route around this, if you like. I’ll be back with a
search warrant in two shakes of a crooked cat’s tail, which won’t give you time
to round up all the…well, let’s just call them, questionable goods
around here, but even if you can, it’ll cost you in time, money and the
possibility of being observed doing it. People are so darned inquisitive. Now,
I think your father had the right idea. Play straight with the authorities, and
they’ll play straight with you. I’ll ask again. I am talking to Bobby Ritter,
am I not?”
“Robert.”
“Good. Now let’s begin,
Robert, with the name of the man you handed all your paperwork to for
accounting and the IRS. Nuh, nuh, before you respond, there’ll be no fluttering
on this. I get the run around, you don’t want to deal with me, believe me on
this. Now, who is it?”
“Not a man. Dad sent it
to a woman. Miss Lucatello.”
“Of course, the
secretary. I understand. Where does she work? Better yet, what’s the name of
her boss?”
“I dunno.”
“Which?”
“Neither.”
“Uh-huh. Fine. It’ll be
a call and a two hour wait at most. Oh, I forgot to tell you before, when I
first mentioned the search warrant, my dad and Judge Peterson did the
gentlemen’s club together, before my dad passed. The judge takes my calls on
short notice, even on week-ends, lad. The question before you is—can you move
the need-to-move merchandise out of your shop in a coupla hours? [short pause]
I didn’t think so. So let’s try this again. Who is Miss Lucatello’s boss?”
“I’m not real sure.”
“Give a stab at it,
anyway, Robert. As a kind of favor to me, one I’ll remember.”
“Maybe Vincent Moretti?”
“Of the Peter Moretti
family? I see. And you think this because…?”
“Uh, I just know that’s
all. [pause] Lorna told me…in passing, when we were talking business once. She
said Vinnie handles business where she works even though it’s called by another
name.”
“The business?”
“Yeah. This she only
told me because of paperwork, what I needed to know from my end.”
“Uh-huh. And the name of
the…paperwork business?”
“Thomas-Jerome
Accounting.”
“That’s two last names?
Good. You’re doing the right thing, Robert. Okay then. So it’s Vincent Moretti
who “oversees” Thomas-Jerome Accounting, the Vincent Moretti of the Peter
Moretti Shipping, International, am I on the right track here?”
“I don’t like what
you’re implying.”
“And what am I implying,
Robert?”
“That I’m hiding
something when I’m not.”
“And why would I think
that?”
“Because they’re…you
know.”
“Mafia? Is that’s what’s
got your tongue in a knot?"
“I don’t want any
trouble for Lorna.”
“Why would there be
trouble for Lorna? I told you, you’re straight with me, I’ll play straight with
you, which includes a soft touch with Lorna Lucatello.”
“And I don’t want any
trouble for my business either.”
“We’ll just have to see about that. If I
follow up on this, and you’ve not sent me on a wild…”
“I’m telling you what I
know.”
“That’s good, because
Robert I’m going to return. And I expect you to be here cooperating again when
I show up.”
[closing of a door and
footsteps]
[overvoice]
The kid was nervous as a
rowboat in a hurricane, as I would have been. Peter Moretti was the name
mentioned at the inquest, the guy at the top who was protected with four coats
of lawyers and a consigliere. And Vincent isn’t his son, nothing that close.
He’s a son of the old man’s nephew, young to be sure, but a soldier for the
family, undoubtedly learning the ropes, and probably in more ways than one.
Robert Ritter has every reason to be worried. There had not been a verifiable
connection between the Moretti’s and Roundup Wheels, but there might have been
information passed to the chief that I wasn’t party to. Isn’t a far off guess
for the leniency granted Ritter, Senior, in exchange for what the chief and commissioner
found out.
But before I see Lorna
Lucatello and start churning the Moretti stew, I decide to follow up on the two
other names Leda has given me, just to make sure I’m not leaving any thread
dangling from my sleeve. The Mafia has long fingers that grope, sometimes, in
the most unexpected places. I want to find where some of those unexpected
places are. One may lead to a rope of my own that I can use to tie around Peter
Moretti’s neck.
2.
[overvoice]
The next morning at my
desk, I study the two names I got from Leda as possible leads to who knew
Leonard and might be threatening her life— one was John Masterson, the local
manager for the distribution of Crafton “Crafty” Bread Company, where Leonard
Vlamos worked as a deliveryman when he and Leda first moved to Tutterton. Since
the company was small, Masterson delivered goods with Vlamos for the eighteen
months Leonard was employed there. This was when highways first started going
through rather than just around towns and cities. Leda filled me in on the
historical facts of the transition from freight rail to truck delivery of
goods, which helped her husband get a job. She said Masterson was a go-getter
who was always “flying under the bridge,” as she put it, to beat out the
competition. Since he and Leo—Leda’s pet name for Leonard--worked on
commission, her husband had schemed with Masterson to “hype the sales” for a
greater percentage of the profits. She didn’t say exactly how that was, but did
say that when Leo came home bragging about it one day, she put a stop to it,
though she didn’t say exactly how. At any rate, Leonard stopped quit working
for and with Masterson and went to work for Roadside Motor Repair.
I’m interested in what
kind of grudge Masterson may’ve held, and if so, why he’d act with revenge on
it after all these years. Sounds highly improbable, but as King David declared
in the Psalms, “The righteous will rejoice when he sees his vengeance; he will
bathe his feet in the blood of the wicked.” Maybe that kind of righteousness
lasts a bloody long time. And something may have happened to ignite Masterson’s
wrath again or to have kept it smoldering for years. I’ll have to see how
righteous John Masterson feels and how wicked he thinks Leonard Vlamos may have
been. After all, Leonard Vlamos knew a heck of a lot about his former partner
and their nasty little schemes which weren’t so righteous, when I put my mind
to it. But I’ve learned a long time ago, feeling righteous has little to
do with being right.
The other name is a
fellow mechanic, Niles Rubis, who owns a small itinerant repair shop where
Leonard assisted Rubis with small auto breakdowns and towing services on the
highways leading to and from New York City and four of its boroughs. Staten
Island was considered country back then and was isolated from lots of the
prepared food market deliveries coming into vogue, Leda had added smartly when
she informed me of Leo’s job with Rubis. Leonard was close to Niles and it was
through Rubis that her husband got into the bicycling business. When I asked
her how it happened, she gave me some personal insight into their marriage. She
said Leonard fell into that like everything else he ever did—through people he
knew. While she was isolated, a pretty much stay-at-home body with a few close
friends, Leonard was outgoing and knew lots of people, especially male
acquaintances, who he constantly ran into here and there.
‘He never gave up a
friend, maybe never lost track of anybody he ever met.’ She said this with a
fair degree of hostility. It’s why she knew he’d continue his dirty work after
he got out of prison and would continue seeing all the chums he now was making
while in stir.
About Rubis, though,
he’d worked as an auto and machine repairman during the war when cars weren’t
being manufactured again until only a couple of years ago, getting parts from
salvage yards. But when The Victory Bike came out in 1942, with the government
encouraging manufacturing companies to make these bicycles to replace domestic
automobiles in order to cut down on rubber for tires and gasoline needed for
war vehicles, Rubis talked Leo into setting up a bike shop with Leonard’s
savings. Used bikes were at a premium. No wonder kids wanted old ones, instead
of The Victory Bikes, which were stripped down to the essentials.
Leo and Niles made good
money during the war, but when cars started rolling onto the dealer’s lots
again in 1946, bike sales dropped. Rubis bailed out for half of what he
should’ve paid, but Leonard kept the bike shop going—now she understood why, of
course. It was a cover for illegal income. How much Rubis was involved in the
auto parts operation, she couldn’t say. But I know Rubis had been questioned
thoroughly without the police finding any connection between him and the
illegal parts operation. But, to me at least, it was clear that it was through
Rubis’ salvage yard parts repair business that Leonard got his chop shop idea
and passed it on to the people who were backed by the Morettis.
I decide to start with
John Masterson, then catch Niles Rubis on my way back to the station. I find Masterson out in a large
fenced-in yard filled with half-a-dozen trucks being loaded for deliveries. He
wears a leather hat and gloves with a kerchief around his neck. He’s a squat
man with a rugged, furry red beard, and when I’m closer, I see he has piercing
blue eyes. He waves the deliveryman he’s talking to aside and looks at me in a
hello-goodbye-I’m-late manner. He stands with one foot ahead of the other as
though preparing to run at the slightest provocation.
I hold out my badge and
extend my hand which he accepts ungloved and
reluctantly. Surprisingly, he leans over and examines my badge as though
it holds some secret clue to my reason for being in front of him.
“Okay. Make it snappy,
whatever it is, ‘cause I have delivery delays at this station.”
“Mr. Masterson, you
worked with Leonard Vlamos some years ago…”
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’
me. What century you living in, copper? I’ve work to do.”
“We can talk here or at
the station, up to you.”
“Now why would I come to
the station? I got nothing to say except Vlamos worked for me and left. He
stayed about a couple, three years and decided to work on trucks instead of
driving them. End of story.”
“Just a couple more
questions, and I’ll be out of your hair. You worked the New Jersey and New York
area?”
“Yeah, so we did, but
what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Maybe nothing, maybe
everything. Leonard is doing time for grand thief, you know about that?”
“Everybody who knew him
knows about that. [frustration] Why you here?”
“Okay then, I’ll ask
something a little harder. You talked to Leonard since he’s been in prison?”
“Why wou…What the hell
is your game? I got no connection with that piece-a … look, he left me in the
lurch, without so much as a day’s notice, you writing this down in your little
notebook there? I got no love for the guy, but I got no beef with him anymore,
either. I don’t know what he’s told you and don’t care. If it’s about me, it’s
a lie. You getting this? I wouldn’t walk across the street to collect the money
he owes me ‘cause he’s not worth it.”
“He owes you money?”
“Yeah, for the time he
didn’t work when he was supposed to, cost me some customers. Now, I gotta…”
“Just one more question,
Mr. Masterson. Is the company you work for still under the same management?”
[heavy sigh] “Yeah, me.”
“You own the company
now?”
[laughter] “No, ‘course
not. I’m executive manager of this district, but the company is now a
corporation. Don’t you read the signs? What kinda detective are you?”
“Unobservant kind, I
guess. So Crafty Bread is what now?”
“Crafton Bakery
Corporation. Judas Priest, there’s a billboard over the building right over
there.”
“Ah, I see. So you sell
more than just bread, that it?”
“All kinds of baked
goods and over a much larger territory.”
“So Crafty Bread was
just around the region back then, and now it’s…where?”
“Vlamos and I delivered
in this part of New Jersey on into New York City. But within a year of
Leonard’s being hired, the company had deliveries out to Long Island and into
Pennsylvania.”
“I see. So you were one
of how many managers?”
“Think there were three
in those days, one for Long Island, one for Pennsylvania and then me. New
Jersey.”
“And now?”
“I thought this was
about Leonard.”
“It is. But I had to
come all the way to Jersey City to find you. I’m looking around here and
wondering if Leonard had stayed, well, he could’ve been part of this instead of
sitting in prison.”
“Well, Leonard wouldn’t
have made it much past where he ended up, Detective. At least not in this
company, and for that matter, maybe that’s true for where he is now. Leonard
was a follower. He wouldn’t have made it to Jersey City without riding my
coattails.”
“That’s probably Leonard
in a nutshell, from what I’m hearing.”
“So why’re you here? If
this’s about what you know about Leonard already?”
“There’s a case loosely
tied to his auto-thief-and-parts operation that has piqued the chief’s
interest. He sent me out on a wild goose chase, again, it seems. You
probably know this from the paper’s, but Leonard’s role in the auto thing was
as a hub where everything was dumped on him to inventory and ship out. He
wasn’t actively involved, in a way, but you know how it is, if you’re part of
it, you’re part of it, so he took the fall with the others. After all, it was a
criminal act, helping to distribute stolen goods. Chief thought he might’ve had
more of an active role’s all, connecting to more influential people’s all.
Rubis told me pretty much what you did.”
“Yeah, well, what kinda
guy gets himself strapped to a bicycle business?”
“One that had to find
another way to make more money’s my guess.” [pause] “Well, I’ve kept you long
enough. Thanks for your time.”
[few footsteps, then
they stop]
“This is really quite
something, Mr. Masterson. How many delivery trucks are here at this station?
Dozen or more, looks like. How big is this corporation anyhow?”
“All across the
northeast into the heartland to the Mississippi River.”
“Guess there’s more than
three managers these days, huh?”
“Ten districts with a
manager for each one and assistant managers under those, but all the executive
managers have regularly scheduled meetings so the deliveries along the routes
can run smoothly and without competition between districts. The corps PR motto’s
Cooperation for Gain and Profit.”
“Interesting. All in two
years. Lord what is this country coming to?
[little laughter between
them]
“Looks like you’re
riding the wave to the top.”
“That’s the plan. Bosses
say they want Crafty products to go nationwide in three to five years.”
“My goodness. What’s
your district now, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“All of New Jersey, New
York, Delaware and Pennsylvania. I’ve three assistant managers. It’s a
different job than…well, back then with Leonard Vlamos, I can tell you.”
“Good luck with your
future plans, Mr. Masterson. Again, thanks for your time.”
[overvoice]
His attitude grew more
receptive with his pronouncements about his position in the corporation, so I got what I’d come for. I
fed him a good deal of baloney to get it, but Masterson’s district covered much
of the same territory that the auto heist operation had done. It wasn’t an
altogether watertight clue because a lot of delivery services worked many of
the same routes, but it was worth putting up in my mental file cabinet for
future reference.
But how this ties to
Leda’s threats I’m not sure, but the caller had asked for Leonard Vlamos’ files
on his “larger business.” If not the auto heist operation, then what? I didn’t
miss Masterson’s rising anger when I mentioned the possibility of his visiting
Leonard in prison. It could have been what he claimed it to be—his disdain over
Leonard’s leaving without notice, then again…it had a ring of forced vehemence
in it. I thought it interesting that I’d never seen Masterson during his
deliveries with Leonard in Tutterton, but I didn’t really remember seeing
Leonard until he got himself noticed with bicycle heists and then with
automobiles.
My visit with Niles
Rubis which I do on my way back into Tutterton from Jersey City is totally
fruitless. I’d fed Masterson the line about Rubis confirming his view of Vlamos
to see if Masterson knew him, which didn’t get me anywhere. But unlike
Masterson, Rubis is outgoing and easy to talk to. He remembered me from the
car-heist-and-fence investigations, and lets me know immediately, as he had
back then, that he and Leonard had been pals years ago, through both the
truck-and-auto repairs and bicycle businesses—the bikes being a sideline for
Rubis which, he says, he forfeited when he saw it wasn’t going to net him much
past its initial surge. His view of Leonard was one of respectability and
forthrightness when they worked together. He was thrown for a loop, he says, by
Leonard’s involvement in the stolen bike and auto heist business. When I
mention Masterson to him, Rubis states without hesitation that he doesn’t know
who he is and if Leonard ever mentioned him, he, Niles, has forgotten it
totally. He didn’t deviate an inch from the opinion he gave two years ago.
When I return to the
station, I give Leda Vlamos an update call.
“Not much to report yet,
Leda. I followed up on the two fellows’ names you gave me. Information from
them didn’t take me very far, but I’m not giving up on this. Has anything else
come to mind that might be helpful? And more importantly, have you received any
more threatening calls?”
“No calls, though the
car is parked in front of my house again this morning.”
“When did it leave
yesterday?”
“Around five o’clock.
Guess these stalkers work a nine-to-five shift like everybody else.”
“So he’s not there
during the evening and night hours?”
“Not that I’ve noticed,
and I checked when I got up during the night. He could be parked up the street,
but that’s not likely unless he intends to enter my house and doesn’t want the
car to be recognized later, after I’m found dead.”
“Okay, Leda. I get your
point. Like I say, I’m working on it. So far, I don’t have much to go on, but
that’s not to say things won’t improve. It’s a lot of legwork and telephone
calls in an investigation of this kind.”
“What kind is that?”
“One with solid threats
but no solid leads as to who it might be.” [pause] “Okay, hopefully something will show up soon. I’ll
keep you informed in any case.”
[overvoice]
Leda Vlamos hangs up
without saying another word. I hang up feeling like a louse. It’s her life at
risk, even though the threats so far have remained somewhat civil. I know that
this civility isn’t likely to continue much longer, because the longer these
jokers have to wait to get what they want, the more likely they are to be
discovered. They’ll be upping the ante shortly.
I make lengthy notes for
the day, which ties me up for over an hour, then grab my jacket on the back of
the chair and head for the diner for my supper and a glimpse of Charmaine
Hollister, one of the diner’s waitresses and the new romantic interest in my
life. I’m ravenous, as I’ve had no lunch. Walking into the diner, the smell of
frying burgers and other possibilities is overwhelming. I order the moment
Charmaine stands next to my booth, writing down what she knows I’ll be ordering
before I tell her. I slug down coffee to fill and occupy me until she brings my
order.
Once the plate is down
and I’m wolfing away, she surprises me by sliding across from me in the booth.
I look around and see the place is practically empty, the crowd long gone to
begin their post-supper activities. After we’ve exchanged our stories of the
day, I ask her,
“You know Lorna Lucatello, by any chance, from
Thomas-Jerome Accounting?”
“No, don’t think so. Oh,
wait, is she receptionist there?”
“Yes she is. How do you
know her?”
“I don’t except on
sight. Strange you should mention her because somebody came in the other day
and spoke her name which triggered a distant memory. Haven’t really seen her in
years but when I was at the diner not too long after moving to Tutterton,
somebody in a booth I was serving pointed her out with a young man in the park
across the way. I couldn’t help but notice. They were in a passionate embrace
which ended in a kiss and some hand-holding. Brief as it was, that sort of
thing just isn’t an ordinary occurrence in downtown Tutterton. I only remember
the name because the couples at the booth called her “the talk of the town,”
whatever in the world that meant. It was some distance away, so I can’t say
much about any impression I had of her, only remember the name because it
entered the conversation between the parties I was serving. They said she was
secretary-receptionist at Thomas-Jerome Accounting, biggest accountant firm in
town.”
“Mighty interesting.”
“Oh? and why’s that?”
“I just made a possible
connection with something that happened today in regards to a case.”
“Hmmm. Wanna share?”
“Love to, but it’s an
investigation and you know how that goes.”
“I’m catching on. Means
my hands’re off but your head’s full of nothing else.”
“Oh, that’s not true.
Not when you’re around.”
“Well, aren’t you nice.”
“It’s easy to say
because it’s true.”
3.
[overvoice]
The next morning, after
coffee and donuts at my desk with Nicky Marks while we catch up on our cases, my first planned stop
is with Lorna Lucatello at Thomas-Jerome Accounting. I flip open the telephone
book, locate the accounting firm’s address and number, lift the receiver and give
the operator the number. The voice that answers is young but seductively lower
by an octave than I’m expecting.
“Thomas-Jerome
Accounting. How may I help you?”
“Am I speaking to Lorna
Lucatello?”
[pause] “Yes.”
“Hello, Miss Lucatello. I’m Detective
Crandall Weir from the Tutterton Police Department. I’m calling to make an
appointment to talk with you concerning a case in which your accounting firm
may be involved. When would be a good time for us to talk?”
“Oh, I think you need to
discuss your concerns with our manager, Mr. George Adams, Detective. I’m only
the secretary and…”
“No, it’s you I’d like
to talk to, Miss Lucatello. It is Miss, is it not?”
“Well, yes, sir, but I
don’t see…”
“It’s about Robert
Ritter, Miss Lucatello, and Roundup Wheels. I’d like to see you before I bother
Mr. Adams. It’s only a routine matter, you understand? If you’d prefer meeting
me outside your office, we can arrange that.”
“Oh, my. [long pause] Do
I have to come to the station?”
“Not at all. We can have
coffee at the diner if you like or any place you choose. The park? Though it’s
still a bit chilly for that.”
“The Main Street Diner
will be fine. I need to take an hour for lunch anyway. Will you be wearing your
uniform?”
“No, Miss Lucatello.
Detectives wear plain clothes…suits.”
“How will I know you?”
“I’ll leave a message
with the cashier. Just ask for me.”
“I usually lunch at
eleven thirty. Is that all right?”
“Perfectly fine. I’ll
see you then.”
[overvoice]
When Lorna Lucatello
walks into the diner, I know it’s her instantly. She’s knockdown gorgeous, an auburn
beauty with expensively chosen dress and stylish hair do. She wears sunglasses that frame her face
as though designed especially for her. After taking off her glasses, she places
them in the pocket of her coat and hangs it on the hook by the entranceway.
When she turns to look around the diner, I stand and motion for her to come to
the booth I’ve chosen by the window. If it isn’t Lorna Lucatello, I don’t mind
the whole diner seeing me with whoever this is, even for a few minutes.
She walks with the confidence
of a feline cat getting ready to play with a mouse. When she gets to where I
sit, I notice her well-detailed make-up and almond-shaped, greenish-brown eyes.
I think instantly of Ava Gardner. She stands before me, extends her red-nail
fingered hand. After I shake it, she slides into the opposite side of the
booth. She has a self-assurance I totally missed on the telephone. Perhaps
she’s had time to prepare.
“Detective Weir. Please
call me Lorna.”
“Thank you for meeting
with me upon such short notice.”
“Of course. Are you
lunching as well?”
“Well…yes, I can do
that…while we talk. That way I can put the whole check on the department’s
tab.” [he laughs lightly]
[overvoice]
I laugh casually, and
she smiles politely, as Charmaine Hollister walks up to our booth. Raising an
eyebrow almost imperceptibly to me, Charmaine scoots menus across the surface
of the table, first to Lorna and then to me. She chatters off the specials for
lunch as her pencil is poised on the check pad. She looks at me for guidance with
a huge smile. When I give her a smile and a shrug, Lorna’s face buried in the
menu, she tells us she will return after we’ve had time to pursue our menus. I
can’t tell if Charmaine remembers her for that distant long-ago
observance-in-passing or not.
Lorna looks up with the
assertiveness of a woman who’s used to getting the most attention in the room,
any room, and getting her way.
She tells me she will
have the clam chowder without the oyster crackers and a melted cheese on white,
knowing full-well I’ll order for the both of us.
When Charmaine returns
to our booth, I know I have to give her a clue as to who this woman is and my
association with her, so I say,
“Miss Lucatello will
have the chowder without crackers and melted cheese on white. I’ll have my
usual.”
[overvoice]
Clearly, Charmaine gets
it, smiling knowingly and asks what each of us would like to drink. Lorna looks
at me as she orders water without ice. I ordered a coffee with loads of cream
and sugar. Charmaine collects the menus while not taking her eyes off of mine,
turns and leaves. So this is what it feels like to be truly caught in the
middle. Then Lorna says, after I light her cigarette,
“So what’s this about?
You said a routine matter, but it sounded a bit more mysterious than that, with
meeting out of the office and…”
“Vincent Moretti.”
[overvoice]
I decide to come at her
forcefully and by surprise, in other words, blitzkrieg. And I get the reaction I’m hoping for. Her hand trembles so suddenly, she almost
drops her cigarette. I scoot the ashtray toward her. After placing her
cigarette in the notch in the rim and blowing smoke to the side, she says,
leaning on crisscrossed arms on the table,
“Yes. What about him?”
“You know him then?”
“You know I do or you
wouldn’t have tried to catch me so off-guard.”
“Fair ‘nough. What can you tell me about him
in relation to the firm?”
“He’s…he’s our
supervisor.”
“The underboss. Or more
accurately, he’s the underboss’s underboss.”
[mild irritation] “Our supervisor, Detective. He comes
regularly to check our work as any supervisor would.”
“Uh-huh. How regularly.”
“Usually monthly but
occasionally at special times when an account needs scrutiny for tax purposes
or upon a client’s request.”
“Okay. When was the last
time the Roundup Wheels account got close scrutiny?”
[Long pause]
“Miss Lucatello, we can
parlay infinitely, but I wouldn’t advise it. Roundup Wheels is one of your
accounts. They were involved in an operation in which they were questioned,
though not indicted, in regards to illegal business transactions two years ago.
We have reason to suspect that not all the evidence was obtainable at the time
of their clearance of culpability. You’ve had recent and direct contact with
the owner of Roundup Wheels. I want to know what you know in regards to any
change in information about their account.”
“You need to speak with
Mr. Adams about anything this important to the firm. I told you, I’m only the
secretary.”
“You’ve had contact with
Robert Ritter about his accounting with the firm. He sends you paperwork
concerning his inventories which you then prepare for the IRS, is that right?”
“Yes, but it’s strictly
a business transaction, totally legal in every respect.”
“How well do you know
Robert?”
[another pause] “I know
him through business association…”
“He seems to suggest
something a bit more than that, Miss Lucatello. He’s protective of you.”
“Why should he be…?
Detective Weir, I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but, okay, Robert Ritter
and I have had a couple of lunches together, much as you and I are having now,
and I’ve talked to him casually on the phone, as I’ve done with you as well.
He’s a nice young man with whom Thomas-Jerome has a long-standing business
account, beginning with his father.”
“What is your
relationship with him outside of these cordial business interactions?”
“That’s none of your
concern. But if you must know, there is none.”
“I have witnesses to the
contrary and, as I told you, Robert seems to think otherwise.”
“I can’t help what Mr.
Ritter thinks, Detective. And I know you’re baiting me with the notion of
witnesses. My meetings with Robert Ritter have been public and congenial, not
private and amatory.”
“In the strictest terms
of the definition, that may be so, but kissing and intimate gazing passes the
broadest meaning of “congenial”
and the narrowest of “amatory,” I’m guessing. Such intimacies were hardly
disguised, taking place, as they did, under the acorns and near the mimosas,
right over there.”
[overvoice]
I point toward the
swings that children are using in the park at this very moment and the benches
near the flaming mimosas which are showing tiny round buds swaying in the
chilly breeze, ready to burst open at the first signs of the springtime sun.
Not able to resist, Lorna Lucatello
glances toward the bushes and watches the children swing back and forth for
several minutes. Clearing my voice, I say,
“You are a beautiful
woman, Miss Lucatello. Robert
Ritter has to be smitten. But the first question entering my mind is—what in
heaven’s name would a woman like you be doing with a boy like Ritter, Junior?
Yes, yes, nice as he is, he’s way outta his depth, which he knows I’m sure, but
wants to carry what he can as far as he can. What vulnerable young man
wouldn’t? [brief pause] You’re
Vincent’s girl, aren’t you?”
[overvoice]
In a flash, turning to
me, her eyes are as big and dark as new moons, and the real Lorna Lucatello, biting her lower lip,
begins sliding out of the booth, when I say,
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,
stay as you are. You really don’t want to make a spectacle of yourself, and it
will happen, believe me, when I begin my very loud protestations because of
your altogether false but nasty accusations. There now, that’s better. And
don’t even think about getting up shortly and heading for the ladies’ room.
I’ll follow, protesting the whole way, I promise you.”
“You are a monstrous
person.”
“I’ve been called worse,
believe me, and from women of all shades of beauty.”
“Ooooh, I despise you so
for this.”
“For a while, perhaps, but
in the long run, you will find I can be very helpful. Now let’s try this
again.”
[overvoice]
Charmaine approaches our
booth, sets our plates down in front of us with a good deal of grace and care.
She can’t help but spot Lorna Lucatello’s
change in demeanor and attitude. She asks casually if we need anything else
while she fills Miss Lucatello’s
water glass and replenishes my coffee. I shake my head with a smile, and she
reads me like a book. Charmaine’s one smart cookie. It’s what I love the most
about her. Well, if I need her assistance, she says, looking only at me, all I
have to do is ask. She winks ever so slightly as she turns and walks toward
other customers in the booth next to ours. I know she’s listening. I knife and
fork my thick-gravied, open-faced roast beef sandwich, but not before I squeeze
a couple rows of mustard across its surface. When I look up, Lorna Lucatello is near tears.
“Look, I…I wanted to get
out of a delicate situation as respectfully as possible. Robert was…he was
affected more than I thought he would be by the simplest gestures of kindness
and understanding from me. He was still grieving over his father’s death and
fearful of the responsibility suddenly thrust upon him with the business, which
had just undergone great scrutiny by the police. His mother wasn’t—still
isn’t—well, and he needed a friend. He misread my extensions, is all. When we
were in the park that da—a day, by the
way, some time ago—I was attempting to set him down as gently as possible.”
“Uh-huh, by encouraging
him to…”
“It wasn’t as it must
have appeared, Detective. Robert was in pursuit, it’s true, and under the
circumstances, I didn’t feel I could very well push him away. I was trying to
discourage him in as kind a manner as I could at the time. After he kissed me,
I told him that I was…”
“Attached to somebody
else?”
“Why do you do that?”
“What is that?”
“Misconstrue what I’m
going to say. I was not going to say that at all. I told him that I wasn’t
attracted to him in the same way he seemed to be attracted to me, but that this
didn’t mean he wasn’t suitable, only that he had to express his feelings with
somebody else.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Detective, what you’re
doing won’t work with me. No, before you say, “and what’s that?” let me answer
it for you. What isn’t working are your innuendos, little prompts and prodders
that hint at my hiding something. If
Robert Ritter is protective of me, it’s of his doing. He knows he’s been told
directly the truth about the whole affair.”
“Ah.”
“No. That was poorly
stated. I’m not staying here another minute. There’s no point. You want me to
admit to something that didn’t happen, and I simply won’t encourage your
insinuations any longer.”
“Okay, I’ll stop
insinuating. I think the firm you work for is a money laundering outfit, and you’re over your head with
Vincent Moretti. He wants to find out how much Robert Ritter knows about what
happened with his father and what’s connected to that, and he’s using you to
get it. I’m not sure how Moretti’s convinced you to do his bidding, but…Ah, Miss Lucatello, you haven’t even touched your
lunch.”
“I won’t starve, and I
will feel so much better being out of your presence.”
[overvoice]
She leaves with a swish
of her dress’s skirt but not before stopping at the cashier’s station to pay
her part of the check. I’m impressed. Clever girl. She glances my way once,
undoubtedly to see if I’m going to pursue her with those protestations I threatened
her with earlier. I don’t follow her, because I want to stay behind and
ruminate over what I’ve gleaned from her reaction to my pronouncements, while I
eat her chowder, now quite chilly, and soggy melted cheese sandwich since my
own lunch has been devoured some time before.
So Lorna Lucatello seduced Robert Ritter
only so far as she needed to in order to get from him what she was required to
know. The puzzle for me is what Vincent Moretti has sent her to find out from
young Ritter. The startled look on her face when I guessed her connection to
Vincent was enough to tell me that her putting the squeeze on Robert was an
assignment only she could do without incurring Ritter’s resistance as I had
done and Vincent was bound to do. Ritter, Senior, had engaged in dirty
bicycling trades, but something big enough to free him from immunity had
transpired with Chief Gilligan. What had it been? Could Papa Ritter have
inadvertently seen something while at Leonard’s shop that he used for clemency
when times got nasty? Did he see Leonard’s chop shop operation either by
mistake or by Leonard’s own misjudgment, asking the older man if he wanted a
take for providing cover or for some kind of engagement in it? Made sense. It
hasn’t escaped me that old man Ritter’s business may’ve been covering for some
laundering for the Morettis as well, finding hidden refuge in numbers at
Thomas-Jerome Accounting.
A
sketchy scenario is coming together, but the largest piece’s left missing. Even
if Ritter Junior knew what his dad found out, unless he’s actively engaged in
some way with the mob now, his knowing doesn’t go anywhere, because the threat
of telling, of remaining silent, is no longer necessary. The chop shop is dead.
At least it is in Tutterton. Continual monitoring since the incident shows no
signs of any reactivation of that illegal business, so Lorna Lucatello is plying boy Ritter for
something beyond what had transpired earlier, and it involves either drugs or
laundering or both. I was sure of it. It’s what the Mafia does best. But
whatever it is, one thing is certain, Robert Ritter gave Lucatello the answer she needed, and it was
something that no longer puts him in danger, because he’s been dropped in no
uncertain terms, and he hasn’t been harmed. It’s been long enough now so that
whatever might’ve targeted Ritter earlier is no longer a bother to the
Morettis. It’s time to pay Ritter another visit.
[janging
of a bell, opening and closing of a door]
“Oh,
it’s you.”
“So
‘tis. Just had lunch with Lorna Lucatello,
and she tells me that despite your brief affair…”
“She
didn’t say that. You’re lying.”
“I
meant your brief engagement…oh, there I go again. These words have broader
meanings, Robert. What I mean to say is that she told me despite your brief and
close friendship, you have not corresponded much of late, except for
business transactions.”
“That’s
all it ever was. I told you that.”
“Oh,
I think it was a bit more than that, at least for you. You two were seen in an
intimate embrace in the park, well, it was some time ago, but you did have a
brief intimacy, wouldn’t that be fair to say? You were seen, Robert. So
this must be true.”
“I
assure you, feelings were not as they appeared.”
“Okay.
I know now she asked you some questions during this time of closeness you had with
her. She suggested these inquiries were of a non-substantial nature, but I
rather doubt this. Your shop has had some problems in the past, with a related
case pending, as I told you, that may suggest some present ties, however
inadvertent, unintended. So now’s the time, Robert, to let me know if there are
still any old dangling connections that you need to untie before they get too
entangled to do so.”
“I
haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about.”
“Looks
like we’re back to peg one then, Robert. Simply tell me what Lorna Lucatello was asking you during
your little whatever it was, and if you’re innocent of any wrongdoing, I’m
outta here. Whether you believe me or not, I can help you should these Mafia
guys start giving you trouble over something you truly can’t give them. I can
provide protection in ways that might surprise you. For example, I can offer
surveillance and can even hide you if necessary. I don’t think it’ll come to
that, especially if I find out enough to get ahead of their game on this. I
already know a lot, I mean a lot, about the whole chop shop operation and who
was involved, how and even why. It’s as I told you before, you level with me,
I’ll level with you. I’ll watch your back, Robert. That I can promise you.”
[overvoice]
I
see what I’m saying is working its magic. I watch his face carefully and know
the moment I have him. He looks up with determination in his eyes and says,
“She wanted to know if I
knew anything about the places that were hot spots in the automobile heists and
what kind of delivery routes were used to get the parts to Leonard Vlamos’
basement operation and those used to distribute them, ship them out of the
country even. She was very clever how she asked me, but it didn’t take long for
her to get to her point. I saw pretty quick what she was doing. She’d say thing
like, ‘I don’t understand why they chose Tutterton for their distribution. I
mean, it’s nowhereville, for certain. I’d think it was hard to get the
automobiles in and out of a tiny place like this without being detected.” She’d
come at me like that, like she was trying to figure out how in the world the
whole thing worked so I’d inform her about how it did—you know, like I knew. I
mean, Detective, she’s a smart lady, I mean, real smart, especially about
books and all kinds of business things. There’s no way after a while I couldn’t
see she was trying to get to how much I knew about the operation.”
“So what did you tell
her?”
“Well, I wanted to know
as much about why she was trying to find out from me what she was, as the kind
of information she wanted. But since she wanted to know so bad, I tried to
string her along. I was taken with her like crazy at first, but when she got
close and kissed me, I don’t know, I really didn’t trust it. It’s how she did it.
There was calculation in it. She was syrupy sweet for one thing, and it wasn’t
her nature. She’s too smart and sassy when she wants to be. It’s what I liked
about her on the phone, well, and then when we met, because along with it,
she’s so pretty and sexy.”
“Okay, Robert, I get it.
But what she wanted from you is the real business here.”
“Yeah, I know. [pause] I used my head. I told
her I hadn’t a clue about any of what she was asking, which I didn’t, don’t, anyway not most of it. I
couldn’t figure out why she wanted to know stuff about the operation that’d
been dead since Leonard and his buddies went to prison, so I asked. She said it
was follow-through. She wouldn’t say more than that. It’s when I started
backing off, Detective. Lorna Lucatello
knows a lot more than she lets on, and personally, I think this has put her in
a horrible position. I’m afraid for her, really I am, but I don’t want to be
involved with the people around her any more than I have to, not since she
started asking so many questions I didn’t know the answers to.”
“The
Mafia, you mean?”
“Yeah,
those guys. They’re not the kinda people who listen to whether you’re telling
the truth or not. They’re interested in whether they think what you’re
telling them sounds like the truth.” [pause] Detective Weir, from her
questions, I got the idea that the people at the top, those that didn’t get
caught, were asking her to come around and find out how much I know because
they’re worried about anybody out here who might help the police trace anything
back to them.”
“That’s
a good deduction, Robert. So what do you think she was fishing for exactly?”
“I
think it was about what I might have picked up from dad, and I do know
something about that, but I didn’t tell her, at least, I wasn’t so far gone on
her that I couldn’t keep my head on that one.”
“And
what from your dad do you know, Robert?”
“He
saw something he wasn’t supposed to. He told me before he died, because, he
said, I was going to take over the business, become the man of the family, take
care of Mother and all. In some way, I got the feeling he wanted me to know in
case…well, in case something came up just like this—you know, like with
Lorna—is what I think.”
[sighs]“What
did he see?”
“The
distribution basement of Leonard Vlamos’ whole operation. And once he saw
it—how big it was and the kinda items there—and that Leonard knew he’d seen it,
Vlamos offered dad a cut, but Dad turned it down. It was a risk he said he was
willing to take, saying no. He was very worried about that, but Leonard got
caught before it came to anything, and dad used what he saw and what Leonard
told him to get himself out of a jam with the stolen bicycle racket he got
himself into, which, by the way, he was ashamed of. He did it for Mother, her
medical bills. He was a decent man who lost his way, he told me. And he said,
he was telling me this as an admonishment. You gotta know this by now, sir.”
“Yes,
well, I didn’t know its precise nature, but like you say, this is old, old
information.”
“I
know. I kept asking Lorna what she wanted from me. I didn’t have anything more
than the police about all this. She finally gave up.”
“I
see. Can you remember anything out of the ordinary that she asked, anything at
all that didn’t fit into the questions about the chop shop business?”
“No. I’ve thought and thought about
it. She asked about the hot spots, you know, where the automobiles were taken
and hidden away for dismantlement, and then the distribution and shipping
routes, that’s about it, which I don’t know anything about at all, and I don’t
think Dad did either, because when he was telling me what he knew, I think he
wouldn’t told me.”
“Well,
okay then, Robert. You have been very helpful, even though it may not seem so.
These things have a way of working their way out, but it takes time. I’ll keep
in touch, and if anything, anything at all snags your attention, give me a
call, okay?”
“Yes,
sir, I will. And thank you.”
“No,
Robert. I thank you.”
[footsteps]
“Oh,
sir.”
[footsteps
stop]
“Yes
Robert?”
“I
just remembered. She asked me if I knew a John Masterson. I haven’t any idea
who that is and told her so.”
[footsteps
back to Robert]
“When
did she ask you this?”
“Right
toward the end, the end of when…when I was seeing her—if you can even call it
that. It was after I’d told her what I knew about the chop shop operation,
about Vlamos’ distribution basement, stuff she already knew.”
“And
you’re sure you don’t know who he is?”
“I’ve
never heard of him, sir.”
“Thank
you, Robert. If you remember anything else like this, please let me know.”
“Who
is he, sir? Is he one of them…you know, Mafia guys.?”
“Nobody
you need to know. Don’t give it another thought. I got this one, okay?”
“If
you say so.”
“Under
wraps, you understand?”
“Yes,
sir. But I’d like to add this, Detective. Before, the last visit, when you
threatened me with exposure of illegitimate goods in my shop, and I didn’t deny
it, I didn’t because I don’t need the notice from the police and from the
courts. I’ve worked so hard to get this shop in the black financially since our
troubles. I’ve done it for Dad and for his love for my Mother. I’m an honest
businessman. If you ever want to search anywhere on these premises, that’s
fine, you can do that with a warrant, because I look out for myself proper now,
but I’m not dishonest. You’ll have to forgive me for not trusting. Lorna Lucatello just about did me in in
that department.”
“I’m
hearing you, Robert. From now on, as I told you before, I will respect you to
the degree you do me, okay?”
“Yes,
sir.”
[overvoice]
When
I’m back at the station, I think about calling Lorna Lucatello and putting the squeeze on her,
but I receive a call from the Jersey City police department before I have a
chance. After Lieutenant Serge Koslofsky introduces himself, he informs me that John Masterson
has been found dead in one of his delivery yards only a couple of hours ago—his
wallet still in his pocket. That’s how they knew who he was. He has been beaten
to death with a crowbar, left on the scene but undoubtedly by a gloved hand,
and his throat slit from ear to ear, the knife gone. The most telling feature
of the murder, however, is that the fingers of both of his hands have been
severed from the knuckles and are missing. The injuries are so massive that
only his teeth will be able to make his identity positively known for the
coroner’s report. Fingers missing is the traditional signal of a miscreant’s
taking something the mob considers their property.
I
ask the Lieutenant why he decided to make the call to me before the papers
broke the news. I hadn’t known anybody in Jersey City was aware of my having
questioned John Masterson. He says that Masterson was being watched by the JCPD
since the Leonard Vlamos conviction, because Masterson had worked with Vlamos
and Vlamos had been connected to low-level mobsters. Since one of the hot spots
for auto theft had been Jersey City, my chief and his had begun trading
information on the activities of those who were involved and suspected in the
chop shop operation in the hopes of a lead to the top. Since Masterson was
being monitored, they knew I’d questioned him recently, so Tutterton’s Chief
Gilligan had kept Jersey City’s Chief Lanahan informed of that fact, before I’d
even arrived to speak with Masterson. I take note that I need to watch my
maverick behavior more carefully since it seems Gilligan is following me closer
than I thought he was. I naturally wonder who his watchman might be in our
department. Nicky Marks comes to mind, but I’d lay bets he’s my solid-as-a-rock
partner. Whoever it is, I’ll be on the lookout for him from now on.
After
I hang up, I call Leda Vlamos and inform her of the Masterson killing. I figure
she’ll see it in The Beacon tomorrow morning, but I want her
informed in case she receives some call either from Leonard, one of his
connections or the people who’ve been threatening her with calls and
conspicuous stake outs. Before consulting with Chief Gilligan—I doubt now he’ll
argue with me on this—I promise her that a patrol car will be on surveillance
at her home within the hour and will continue to be there around the clock. If
the black sedan continues to show up, I reassure her, the driver will be
approached by a patrolman. She tells me she is relieved, but there is a
detachment in her tone that surprises me. When I inquire if she’s all right,
she gives me a thumb up, and I decide to leave it at that, with a note to check
in with her early tomorrow.
Glancing
at the clock, I see that I only have time for a quick shower and change of
clothes before I picked up Charmaine for dinner and a possible movie.
[tinkling piano music in
the background, and restaurant sounds, people talking etc.]
“This
is lovely, Crandall. Thank you.”
“The
drive to Jersey City was worth it, don’t you think? It’s my pleasure,
Charmaine. Please order anything you’d like.”
“No
fish and chips? Corn beef and hash?”
“Outta luck, ‘fraid. The bass looks
good or maybe the filet mignon? How brave do you want to be? They have some
French items on the other side of the menu, escargot for starters and
beef…well, I don’t know French well enough to say, so we’ll have to resort to
pointing if those are our choices.”
“Have
you ever had snails?”
“’Fraid
not. I’m a diner kinda guy, as you well know. And I don’t venture far from my
usual even there. I’ll be ordering from the American side of the menu, the
t-bone, rare.”
“With
the mashed potatoes, gravy and carrots and peas, am I right?”
“’Fraid
so.” [laughter]
“The
bass does sound good and a baked potato with the works and the green beans.
I’ll make up for the predictable fare with a fancy dessert.”
[overvoice]
After
the waitress takes our order, I ask Charmaine about her day and she asks me
about mine. Then I say,
“I
have only one question from my work today, if that’s okay.”
“Only
one? Can you hold to that?”
“I’ll
hold it to the limit, promise.”
“Okay,
if that promise means we don’t spend the evening solving a mystery.”
“Understood.
Did Leonard Vlamos ever come to the diner with anybody else?”
“Like
his wife?”
“Well,
yes, but that would surprise me. I was thinking more along the lines of a
business associate.”
“Somebody
from out of town who I wouldn’t know?”
“Yes,
exactly.”
“His
wife never accompanied him. Except for the photograph in the paper, I haven’t
seen her, and the photograph was so grainy, I doubt that I could identify her
in real life from it. The few times Leonard Vlamos came to the diner, he was
never with a woman. When he did show up, he was usually with some fellows that
I took to be drivers from the hats they wore and their uniforms. Truckers. You
know, delivery guys. One I remember in particular, because when Leonard stopped
delivering Crafty Bread products at the diner—I think around when he started his
bike shop—this fellow took over. In fact, he delivered to us until about…oh,
I’d say, a year ago.”
“Can
you describe him?”
“Sure.
I remember him especially because he was unusual looking, kinda a big-little
man, if that makes sense, with a red beard and hair. Beards are unusual, not
many men wear them. The clean-shaven look is all the rage, with a close cut,
unless you’re ivy league and, well, there’s that swooping pompadour thing
coming in now with the young kids. I’m surprised the bread company allowed this
guy to wear a beard though, since he delivered edible goods, you know. Anyway,
he had the most beautiful, clear blue eyes. He had a way of looking right at
you and not looking away.”
“Well,
I can understand that. [pause, her light laughter and thanks] This’s very
helpful, Charmaine. Thanks a lot. I’d like for you to do me a favor. When The
Beacon comes out tomorrow morning, take a look at a picture of a man I
think you’ll recognize as him in there. I’m not sure it will show up on The
Beacon’s front page, but there’s bound to be an article about him
somewhere, especially since he made deliveries here in town. You know, he did
that with Leonard prior to your coming to Tutterton, I think, or just around
when you first got here. When was that?”
“Seven years ago. I
thought you knew that.”
“I did, I did, it just
slipped my mind. Listen, if I don’t make it to lunch tomorrow, give me a call
at the station and let me know if he’s the fellow you’re talking about, will
you? I’m sure it is, but I’d like positive confirmation. Do you remember
anything you might have overheard or simply heard while serving them?”
“Oh,
I doubt it, since it was some time ago. Like I say, he stopped delivering about
the same time that Leonard went to prison, when I stop and think about it. I
doubt I’ll remember anything, but if seeing his picture jogs some memory, I’ll
let you know, of course. Did this guy meet a questionable end or get arrested
too? Is that why he might show up in the paper?”
“No question about it,
Charmaine. His end was final to an astonishing degree. But enough about
business. I see our dinners are coming. [in a snooty, exaggerated poorly
executed French accent] Let’s finish off this bottle and maybe another and then
go to the movies reeking of a splendid imported white Bordeaux.”
[laughter to fade]
[overvoice]
I’m astonished by what
Charmaine’s told me. So if Vlamos was in the diner with Masterson so close to
Leonard’s arrest, what would they’ve been doing at a time when Masterson had
told me he was off Leonard like a dirty shirt? If Leda was right—and there had
been no proof of this during Leonard’s inquest—Leonard and Masterson had a scheme of hyping the sales to
get a higher percentage of the profits at Crafty Bread until Leda pulled
Leonard out of that nasty set-up. Undoubtedly at their diner visit, these two
were up to no good, but they didn’t seem to mind being seen together. At the
time of Leonard’s arrest, Masterson had been questioned extensively and so had
Rubis, and both had come up smelling like Chanel No. 5. Masterson had been
questioned by the Jersey City police while Rubis had been queried in Tutterton.
And although it was a concerted effort with dispositions, transcripts and
reports being exchanged, I never trusted the coordinated arrangement for
interdepartmental investigations, especial ones that could become this unwieldy
and have territorial loyalties almost always playing a part in the information
exchange. I made a quick mental note to dig through the files and take a look
again at the JCPD report of the Masterson questioning.
4.
[overvoice]
The following morning, I
receive a visit from Officer Patrick Daly who’d been watching Leda Vlamos’
house. He said his night duty had remained very quiet until around three o’clock
in the morning, when he noted a small light in the garage. He went to
investigate but found nothing untoward, thinking the light might have been a
reflection from the street lamp down the street on the garage windows. The car
was in the garage, the house dark except for a small night light in the kitchen
which he’d been informed about by Mrs. Vlamos during his initial interview with
her. But as he was getting ready to pass the stakeout to Officer Daniel Gryka
in the morning, she came out and informed them that she was leaving for the day
and wouldn’t be back until very late. Daly’d passed that information on to the
chief who determined that since Leda was to be out for the day, Gryka would
work at the station and Daly would pick up his night watch at the regular time,
midnight. But when he, Daly, had gone to the house for surveillance, the car
wasn’t there, and she didn’t answer her door. He’d sent in a routine report
after his inspection of the house and garage at three a.m., but when she still
hadn’t returned at the end of his shift, he felt he must let me know.
I thank Daly, telling
him to hold all surveillance, only doing two hour drivebys, until we locate
where Leda is. I inform the chief who tells me to activate an APB and follow
protocol, which is to stay vigilant for forty-eight hours before beginning a
formal search. I call her immediately without any luck, and when she doesn’t
answer her phone off and on through the morning, I determine to check out the
Vlamos residence myself.
After an early lunch,
during which Charmaine confirms the picture in the paper to be John Masterson
who was in the diner with Leonard Vlamos when she saw them together, I drive
out to Royal Hills Road to check out the house. The black stakeout sedan isn’t
anywhere in sight, and her car is still gone. When I knock on her door, there’s
no answer. I attempt to look in the windows, but Leda has seen to it that no
peeping tom, mob-affiliated or otherwise, is going to get a look at her
whereabouts inside. I check all doors and windows which are firmly locked. I’m
becoming deeply concerned as her stalkers may’ve made contact with her when
she’s been out without her patrol. I kick myself for not having her monitored
outside her home, but the chances of her being attacked while shopping or with
her friends during cards and coffee seemed slim to nil, and she’s told me that
she never saw or heard anybody tailing her while she’s been out and about. Back
at the station, I put an APB out on her and her automobile, as the chief
instructed, and wait for reports to come in.
At 4: 30 in the
afternoon, Officer Daly gives me a call from his unit.
“Officer Weir, we’ve located her automobile.
A farmer north of Tutterton opened his barn to find it sitting inside and used
his party line to contact station’s emergency. It took him awhile, but he
followed-through and for that we’re
lucky. It’s located a mile north…”
“…of the city limit sign
on County Road number 10.”
“How did you know?”
“It’s a long story,
Officer. Tell the search unit to stay put until I arrive. Is there any
indication of foul play?”
“The passenger window
was open so we had easy access to the interior. All we’ve found on first
go-through is the open glove box and its contents spilled out all over the
passenger seat and floor. It looks like whoever was in the passenger seat had
been sitting and stepping on the papers strewn about. Detective Marks thinks
whoever forced her to drive here or drove himself, went through the glove
compartment in search of a gun or anything that could be used as a weapon
before they started driving, to make sure there wasn’t any problem should she
get control of the situation somehow. Everything else appears above suspicion.”
[overvoice]
We sign off, and I siren
and flash my way to the barn located where the note indicated in the letter
Leda received eighteen months ago about the exchange of Leonard’s personal
goods. Once on site, after a thorough search through the car inside and out—the
farmer and his wife standing off to the side taking in one of the most exciting
episodes of their lives—a tow truck from, of all places, Roadside Motor
Repairs takes Leda’s vehicle to the
police impoundment yard. I thank the Almighty that Niles Rubis isn’t the
driver. The last thing I want is anybody close to the Vlamoses, past or
present, pushing information through their grapevines.
____________
[overvoice]
Back at the station,
Nicky Marks and I spend some time going over the evidence concerning Leda’s
disappearance without coming up with a scenario that fits what we know. Marks
then leaves to end his day, and I’m on my way out the door when the telephone
rings on my desk, and I almost decide to not answer it. I’m dead tired and need
a reprieve from the Vlamos case, but glancing at the clock, I note it’s 8:07
and a call coming in this late, almost certainly indicates urgency.
When I pick up, a raspy, feather-whisper voice
is at the other end,
“Officer Weir?”
“Yes.”
“Leonard Vlamos here.
Come visit me now or my life’s not worth a plug nickel.”
[overvoice]
Before I can respond, he
hangs up. I stand staring at the phone. I can’t help but recall a similar
declaration from his wife less than a week ago. Just when I think things
can’t get worse, they have.
____________
[overvoice]
The next morning, early,
even before Rose Marie, the chief’s secretary, arrives, I leave notification
with our dispatcher, Sami Joyce, where I’m headed and instructions to forward
the message on to Rose Marie when she arrives at her desk who should forward it
on to Chief Gilligan. In this message I have described Leonard Vlamos’
desperate call and requested the chief contact the warden to allow Leonard to
talk freely with me without time constraint, siting Vlamos’ willingness to
cooperate in a pending case. I say all this without actually using the word
‘informant’ which may not be the healthiest term to have passed around in a
prison through secretaries and guards.
I drive car 3 toward
Manhattan, crossing the George Washington Bridge, then taking the Third Avenue
Bridge into the Bronx and on to ferry point to Rikers. The entire trip from
Tutterton to the prison is a couple of hours unless the ferry carries less than
normal crowds, and today I’m lucky. A bus carries me to Leonard Vlamos’ unit and
after my assigned guard unlocks and relocks three doors, I sit in a large
conference room with four guards, one standing against each wall. Prisoners sit
and talk to family or what I take to be lawyers. Leonard is brought to my table
in handcuffs which are unlocked when he sits down opposite me. He has on a
green shirt with stenciled numbers running across the left side—actually, over
his heart—and matching trousers without pockets or belt. His haircut is almost
stylish, clipped close to the ears but enough on top to comb. He’s lost weight
and looks like he’s gained some muscle tone. His shoes are black, highly
buffed, with ties. He sits down across from me on his bolted-to-the-floor
chair, nervous as a cat. He glances furtively my way, then his eyes dart off to
the side toward the guard and back on me again. His whisper is barely audible.
“I didn’t know if you’d
show up.”
“I left word.”
“Well, that don’t mean
nothin’ ‘round here.”
“My word is my bond.”
“Bond. I like that.
Nobody posted me any when I needed it, keeping me in jail and then parading me
in and outta court before you could say scat. But that’s back then. It’s now
I’m worried about.”
[overvoice]
I notice immediately the
difference in articulation, tone and style, between Leonard and Leda Vlamos. Leda
sounds downright educated by comparison. Perhaps that’s the actual
difference—Leda’s friends at church and in charities have encouraged her
reading and learning, while Leonard’s associates, especially in prison, have
lead him in a streetwise direction.
“You have to speak up,
Mr. Vlamos. I can hardly hear you.”
“Okay, okay. I’m in
trouble, Weir, deep trouble and I got no way outta it, in here like I am.
Vinnie’s gonna do me like Masterson, I’m telling ya, and soon it’ll be too, I
can guarantee, in the shower, or at night in my cell, he’s got all kinda ways,
him and his henchmen.”
“What’s the trouble? And
I’m Detective Weir, Mr.
Vlamos.”
“Fine, I can do dat. But
you gotta help me, cause he’s got me cornered, you understand what I’m sayin’?
I gave him some of what he came for but kept what I could. He’s comin’ back,
now that he did Masterson, and if I don’t give him the rest, just hang me on a
hook, ‘cause I’m dead meat.”
“You’re talking about
Vincent Moretti?”
“Who else?”
“What does he want?
What’d you tell him to keep him at bay?”
“I wrote Leda, but she
don’t answer, nothing. And she’s the one that can help. I tried calling her but
no answer there either. I’m on good behavior, that’s why the green outfit, so I
can use the phone twice a week. But Vinnie don’t get what he wants, she’s in
trouble with me, you gettin’ what I’m sayin’ now?”
“What did Masterson have
to do with this trouble you’re in?”
“Vinnie beat Masterson
to get his, and now, Vinnie’s comin’ back to get mine. It’s all gonna be in
what Masterson told him. In my case, it’s not drugs, but Masterson don’t know
that, see? [pause] I put mine in an account so they couldn’t get to it, but
Masterson, well, he kept pushing the bread routes and now he’s dead for it. I
told him. I kept telling him that ‘nough was ‘nough, but he wouldn’t listen.
They tore his trucks apart, I’m tellin’ ya, and if they did, they found heroin,
in the walls, you understand? They
hammered it outta him, what they got. I seen the papers. They let me read in
here.”
“So you have a hidden
stash too, that what you’re telling me?”
“No. Not drugs. I got
all-a-mine in an account, like I told ya.”
“Money, then.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“So you earned it
through drugs, and put the profits in a hidden account. And you’re telling me
this because?”
“Well naturally, I don’t
wanna lose it. It’s why I tried to get ahold of Leda. But at this point, it’s
no good to me dead. I want you to get to ‘em before they do me and maybe Leda
too, because she’s part of it, without knowing, you hear what I’m sayin’?”
“And how’s that, Mr.
Vlamos?”
“When I quit with
Masterson, I took ever’thing I’d made my share along the way—I had it hid good in the basement—and I added
some from the chop shop revenues, and put it all into an account in Manhattan’s
Merchants and Traders Bank, like I keep sayin’, but in order that the mob guys
wouldn’t know it’s mine—should
they ever pursue me, as they’re doin’ now—I put it in Leda’s maiden name.”
“But surely they know
your wife’s name, Mr. Vlamos.”
“No, they don’t, didn’t,
naw. They’d never guess that. Their women aren’t into their doings. They know
‘Leda’ maybe—Greeks got enough of Ledas—but not Bella which is so lucky,
because it sounds Italian and not Greek, you see?”
“I’m not following here,
Mr. Vlamos. That all sounds very crafty—I pause here to see if the pun
soaks in, and it doesn’t, so I go on—except how can you get to your money if
it’s in your wife’s maiden name without yours attached to it? Is she in on it?
And how did you get the account established without her help?”
“Oh no, she don’t know
nothin’. She did so many forms with the accounting, and I just had her fill out
and sign stuff all the time—her signature is good for that, in both her names,
I seen to it, as my accountant, she’s certified—and so I slipped the filled-out
bank forms to her, this I done while holding ‘em see, sayin’ I’s in a hurry
with these particular ones, hiding her name so she couldn’t see…”
“Wait a minute. She
signed her maiden name? Why would she do that?”
“Because I tell her to.”
“Didn’t she wonder?”
“On this, she said, why,
and I told her there’re times when banks and the government and such want the
real signatures backing up the married ones. I got her birth certificate for
stuff too. I can do that as her husband, you know. She don’t know nothin’ about
IRS, bank accounts and all that, how it’s done, not exactly. She just knows
about the forms, and not even that very good. She just does what I ask her to,
me givin’ her the reasons why that she believes. So anyhow, I intended to have
her sign the same way later to get to the money out, but when the chop shop
operation folded, and I got in here, I couldn’t do that, see? The money’s
sitting in there unclaimed, and she don’t know even.”
“Uh-huh. Which you
intended all along. To use her toward your own selfish end.”
“Well, she’s not so bad
off. She got a place to live, got enough to live on. I needed insurance with
what I’s doing. After I get outta here, where am I goin’, nowhere’s where. I
wasn’t gonna leave her in the lurch. Before the divorce thing, I’s gonna have
her come with me, and we was gonna find another place. But that’s all gone down
the drain now. I just wanna keep myself, and her too if possible, from getting
killed.”
“So how much money are
we talking about?”
“Seventy-three thousand
and four hundred-sixty-five.”
“That’s a lot of
unclaimed money.”
“It’s killin’ me.”
“Uh-huh. My sympathies
for your loss, Mr. Vlamos.” [pause] “So
what about all those phony phone calls to try and get your wife to cough up
what you left behind?”
“I’s mad, that’s all.”
“So who did you get to
do your dirty pick-up-in-the-barn work for you?”
“She told you about
that? [pause] I knew this guy in here who got out and was willing to pay back a
favor. Some luck, him coming from the same place that we did, huh? He lived in
Wellington, worked on this farm in Tutterton. Don’t matter, she didn’t do it
anyway. It wouldn’t a got me nothin’ but satisfaction. The stuff could sit in
the barn and rot or he could sell it, I told Harvey. [pause] She dropped me
like a hot potato. What was I supposed to do, in here, festerin’ away? I needed
her help, and she was taking off, leaving me behind. She filed for divorce, you
know dat? On some flimsy criminal charge or something for wayward husbands. I
don’t think she can do it, but she’s gonna try, she says.”
“What I know is that your wife is in much the
same pickle that you are right now, Mr. Vlamos. We’ve had to put her under
continual surveillance. She’s received threatening phone calls, and she’s had
stake outs in front of the house for days now. What did you give Vinnie to get
him off your butt and onto hers?"
[long pause] “I gave him
Masterson to get him off me. John uses his bread routes for them, handing over
the drugs at distribution points along his deliveries, but he cuts it, the
heroin, and stashes the purer stuff he skims off the top, hidin’ it inside his
truck’s walls and then delivers to points on his own—he’s got operations all
the way to the Mississippi for the mob, but also for himself.”
“Doesn’t the mob check
on the purity of their heroin and their delivery people for just this reason?”
“Sure. It’s the point I was making with him.
You do what he’s doin’ with little amounts over time, they might not get it,
especially if you cut it after they’ve done an inspection, you know? But it’s like
the auto heist thing, he went too big, too fast, and we got caught. They were
gonna get him sooner rather than later, I just figured I’d use it while I
could, puttin’ them onto him. Buying me some time. But it’s run out.”
“I’m overcome, Mr.
Vlamos. So I’m your last resort.”
“S’about it, yeah.”
“And you sicced them on
your wife as well.”
“I don’t know anything
about that, no, serious. I knew they’d get onto me after Masterson, unless they
saw my telling ‘em about him as a favor, and I could convince ‘em I wasn’t
doing what he was, but I don’t know nothing about their riding her. She’s my
insurance, the one who can help me out with the account. Why would I give her
over to them? Besides, she’s my wife. That means something.”
“Yeah, I see that, to
use as you see fit.”
“Well, you can see it as
you want. Me and Leda had this agreement about my work— that it was me doing
the shop stuff and her doing the paperwork—and it was okay until I got caught.”
“Did you tell anybody
else about the account? Or what Leda’s maiden name was?”
“Nobody. Her name
especially after I opened the account, absolutely nobody. [pause] Masterson
didn’t even know about my account though he knew about my taking my share after
sale deliveries. And it don’t take no Einstein. He has to put his money
somewhere too, you know, but where mine’s at and how I done it, he’s got no
idea.”
“Masterson was angry
when I talked to him, about you leaving him to go work for Rubis, especially
without notice.”
“Ah, that was an act of
his, to throw you off, so you wouldn’t see we was connected still, you know,
when he got cleared and I was busted. He didn’t want you to know we still had
contact because of the chop shop. Him loading for deliveries, you know?”
“But wasn’t he concerned
I’d find out about you two at the diner together and see he was lying to me?”
“You know about the
diner meeting, huh? Well, he was desperate toward the last. He was over his
head with the mob, them getting’ closer and closer with their suspicions. He
wanted me to hide his drugs in my basement with the parts—in the walls, until
it eased up for him—but I wouldn’t do it.”
“Wasn’t it taking a
chance being seen together, in case one of you got caught? And by somebody who
knew Leda if nothing else. You were supposed to stay clear of this guy.”
“Sure, I told him that,
but he called it ‘normalizing,’ you know, acting normal, like hiding right
under ever’body’s noses.”
“So he picked up auto
parts in this normalizing way?”
“Yeah, well, kinda. He’d come on Saturday’s a
lot for those, in unmarked trucks and
work uniforms that the mob guys got him for that, fixing it so it looked
like he was just a guy delivering stuff to my business. He’d hide his beard
behind high collars and kerchiefs. I never could get him to shave it off, crazy
bastard. Anyway, he’d take quite a bit of stock when he came so he didn’t have
ta come so often. He never picked up stuff on the sly-like, always out in the
open.”
“So he supplied to point
men along his bread routes, you say, both drugs and auto parts?”
“Yeah, with both, once
the auto heist thing got started. This was a mob-run outfit all ‘round, except
for my bike shop, and I got into that during the war, and then after Rubis was
gone, it was mainly for cover. But how Masterson kept ever’thing straight, I’ll
never know. He had boxes of bread products, auto parts and drugs all in his
trucks together, looking alike, far as I could tell. And he never got ‘em mixed
up that I ever heard. How he did it with his truckers, you’ll have to ask him,
‘cause I dunno.”
“So what do you want me to do for you, Mr.
Vlamos? I appreciate the heads-up, but I don’t know quite what I can do to help
you in here.”
“I want you to get to my
bank account before…”
“Leda’s account.”
“Okay, the account in
Leda’s name, if you wanna say it like that. I want you to be there if they try
to come for it.”
“Surely you know I can’t
put constant surveillance on the bank, Mr. Vlamos.”
“But you can let the
bank manager, or whoever needs to know, that somebody other than my wife might
try to get the money—I’m talking with fake papers, the mob boys are good at
that…”
“Well, sounds to me like
you had your own version of that one, Mr. Vlamos.”
“Okay, I got that
comin’, maybe, but these guys’re experts. So if they should try, the bank
shouldn’t give them the money without my wife being with them, in person, and
even then, you should be called before the money is handed over to her.”
[pause] “Leda might come by herself, with them hanging in the wings, forcing
her, if they found out I had an account like from Masterson when they
threatened to pound him to death, which they done anyway, see what I mean?”
“Mr. Vlamos, you messed
with these boys for years, so how do you think they knew about Leda before they
killed Masterson?”
“I think he done what I
did, Detective. John worked with these guys for years too, even before me. At
first, I think they listened to him, gave him some slack. He’s head honcho
delivery guy for them, knows the routes over a huge territory, well-established
and getting bigger. He had a big hand in gettin’ all those routes goin’. And I
think when they asked about me, after I got caught, he gave them what he knew
in pieces—I had an extra account somewhere, he told ‘em, you see? From skimming
their auto parts business, he said. He didn’t know where but since Leda did my
paperwork, maybe they could get it from her. You know, it’s always smart to
accuse the other guy ‘bout what you’re doing yourself, especially if they think
you’re onna them.
“So they took what he
told ‘em, and with what you’re telling me now, I think they thought they’d
scare Leda into telling them without killing her. They don’t want no attention
drawn to themselves, not any more than necessary. The less killin’ the better
for the time bein’, I’d think, or the police’re gonna start looking again,
harder this time, at the auto heist operation that could lead to the drug
routes, you gettin’ this?”
“Sure. But why did they
think she wouldn’t go to the police for protection?”
“The way these guys think,
they thought she was part of it with me, probably. Or maybe that’s what
Masterson told ‘em he thought. So if they tried shaking her up a little bit,
without any real harmful action, she might give up the information, thinkin’
she’d save herself.”
“I’m having a hard time
thinking they wouldn’t believe she’d run when they started putting the pressure
on.”
“Thing is, it takes a
little bit to figure it all out, you know? It’s why Masterson got away with it
as long as he did. But if they’re watchin’ Leda, any sign of her runnin’,
they’re onto her. ‘Cause they’re watchin’ her, you’re sayin.’’ They got ways
none of us even thought of.”
“But if they’re so afraid of being traced to
the top, why kill Masterson?”
“Maybe they got no
choice, ‘cause of what he done, with all those personal connections of his down
his routes.”
“Okay, but they can’t
kill all the point guys.”
“No, but killing
Masterson like they done, well, it sends a big message, don’t it? I’d go quiet
as a mouse and back into my hole, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, that makes sense.
Well, it’s too late today for me to stop at M&T Bank and talk to the
manager, but with Chief Gilligan’s inside network at NYPD, especially after the
auto heist, I’m sure we can get most of the bank monitoring done over the telephone
sometime tomorrow or the next day. It’s the best I can do.”
“It can’t be soon
‘nough. Visiting hours here go until lockdown at night, that’s eight. But I can
refuse visitors which I’ll do unless it’s you or Leda—though there’s small
chance a-that with her now.”
“One thing more,
Leonard. Leda isn’t your insurance anymore, because she’s missing. Her car was
found in the barn where you left instructions for the exchange of your goods.
Now, you tell me why I shouldn’t suspect that you were behind this through your
farmer buddy-boy or some such arrangement to get to her, have her listen to
you?”
“Oh. No, no!
Leda’s missing? If
Harvey done anything for the mob with her, I’ll kill him when I’m out, I swear.
If he helped hurt Leda, there’s no end to what I’ll do to ‘im.”
“You suspect your
farm-working buddy helping the mob? This guy got a last name?”
“Don’t know it. We don’t do that in here,
Detective. He’s Harvey to me.”
“I can find out from the
farmer, then.”
“It’s doubtful it’ll
mean anything now, Detective. Harvey probably’s not his real name anyhow, and
if he’s behind this, he’s long gone. You’ll spend a lotta time trying to find
him for nothing.’ He’s delivered Leda to the people who’re behind it, and he’s
run like a rabbit. And ‘fore you ask, I haven’t a clue where he’d go. He owed
me a favor, paid it, and that was that. But if he done Leda bad, I’ll find and
fix him. I will.”
[overvoice]
As I get ready to leave,
I tell Leonard Vlamos I’ll talk to the warden and see if he can be put in
solitary for a while, until we get closer to the killer of Masterson and those
having threatened, and now taken, Leda. I add that it’s going to take time, and
it’s whether he wants to sweat it out in solitary or take his chances with the
shower and his cell at night. He says he doesn’t think he can take the enclosed
space of solitary, not even as scared as he is, so there’s no point in me
seeing the warden. Sometimes that caused more trouble, he says, than if one
takes on the risks from bribed inmates, because the guards, once informed about
giving special attention to an inmate, resent it and take it out on the
prisoners they’re guarding. They see it, he tells me, as inmates telling them
what to do. He makes me promise not to suggest solitary to the warden, even if
things turn against him.
We say our good-byes,
and I take his hand when he offers it. A guard steps forward quickly, but when
we both show him our empty palms, he nods and walks over casually to put
Leonard Vlamos in handcuffs and lead him toward the door.
I go to the warden
despite Leonard’s protests and tell him that under no circumstances should
Vincent Moretti be given an opportunity to see Leonard Vlamos, that Vlamos is
helping us with an unsolved murder case, and he needs protection, but that he’s
specifically requested not to be placed in solitary as he’s claustrophobic. The
warden is gracious and very cooperative. He tells me the problem won’t be
Moretti per se, but that connections on the inside are difficult to monitor
given the guard to prisoners ratio. Prisoners can be bought and sold for a pack
of cigarette, chewing gum or a chocolate bar, and that he can restrict visitors
to Vlamos upon his request, but other than this, Vlamos’ protection, without
confinement, is a crap shoot. Warden Packston, of course, doesn’t mention that
the same can be said of some of his guards.
I use the warden’s phone
to call Chief Gilligan, but Rose Marie informs me that the chief is out of his
office for the day, so the bank monitoring will have to wait until his return.
When I inquire when that will be, she hedges but tells me that she can get any
message to the chief upon urgent request. I tell her I’ll give it thought and
get back to her. It’s a long ride back to the Tutterton, especially since my
radio’s on the blink, and my monotone is upsetting even to my ears.
5.
[overvoice]
The next morning, my
phone is ringing as I walk into the precinct at 9:07. I rush to my desk and
grab the receiver, identifying myself in a gasp. I hear Leonard Vlamos’ grave
voice on the line.
“Weir, I’m a goner unless you save me. I got
a box from a guard late last night, an undercover deal. It had two thumbs and
eight fingers in it. I flushed ‘em down the toilet, ‘cause they can’t be found
on me, but the message’s clear. They’re comin’ the same as with Masterson if you don’t get to the bank
before they do.”
The line goes dead.
I glance toward the
chief’s office, the door is closed and the blind still down, but Rose Marie is
at her desk. I hold up my hand and she waves me over.
“Chief’s still not in,
if that’s your question.”
“When’s do you expect
him?”
“He returns Monday
morning, Detective. He’s been at a three-day district meeting in Jersey City,
and he returns to Tutterton on the week-end. He’s asked to not be disturbed,
but if your needs are urgent, I can give him a call or arrange him to call
you.”
“No, no. Will he be
checking in with you today?”
“Always does, to get his
messages. I can give him yours if you like.”
“Okay, that’ll do. Tell
him to call me at his earliest convenience. It’s a matter concerning Leonard Vlamos.”
“That’s V-l-a-m-o-s?”
“Yes.”
“Consider
it done. Anything else?”
“No,
and thanks, Rose Marie.”
“Sure
thing.”
[overvoice]
I
sit at my desk for several minutes before thumbing through my address book
until I find the right number. I lift the phone again and dial Warden Richard
Packston’s number on Rikers Island. [dialing] It takes several tries before his
secretary answers my call. When I ask for the warden, she says he will be out
until Monday morning, and then goes through the same routine that Rose Marie
had given me concerning Chief Gilligan. She does add that the assistant warden
is available, and I hang on the line a second or two before deciding against
going through the entire story with an unknown go-between concerning Leonard’s
case, who may cover himself by putting Leonard in solitary despite his
protests. It isn’t the worst possible solution, but I made Leonard a promise. I
leave a message to have the warden call the first opportunity he has, as the
call is specific and urgent. There are some days when the stars are simply not
aligned in my favor, or in this case Leonard Vlamos’s.
Since
the chief hasn’t had a chance to contact the manager of M&T, I sit and stew
over my alternatives. For me to contact the manager will mean a prolonged
discussion about the whole Vlamos ordeal, a discussion the chief could master
in less than half the time, given his authority and connections. And I’m not
certain that any of the managers are in their offices on a Saturday. I decide
to wait and see if the chief calls me. If not, I’ll simply have to go through
the complicated request and its attendant story with the manager as soon as I
can make contact.
I
clean up old files—the chief’s the only one around here with a secretary—and
order supplies, do the paperwork on the Leda Vlamos surveillance to date, the
recent conversation with Leonard Vlamos in prison and his two calls on the
phone, plus the inspection of Leda’s automobile in the barn and its towing to
the impound yard. By the time I get these typed up and to Rose Marie’s desk,
the clock is inching toward six o’clock.
I
regret it, but for Leonard Vlamos it’s a lost day, as neither the chief nor the
warden get back to me before my shift ends. I leave word with our dispatcher,
Sami Joyce, that I will be available on my home telephone line over the
week-end should I receive any calls. I’m hoping for a better day on Monday as I
head for the east side of town to pick Charmaine up for our usual Saturday
night dinner at the Harbor Grill. I don’t glance at myself in the hallway
mirror. I don’t want to know what Charmaine is going to be looking at for the
next four hours.
____________
[overvoice]
Early Monday morning,
after coffee and donuts, I glance toward Rose Marie sitting at her desk in
front of the chief’s still-darkened office. But as I search through my
appointment book for the agenda for the day, the telephone rings and when I
pick up the receiver, before I have a chance to identify myself, a clipped,
near-military command comes over the line, “In my office, please, ASAP.” I look
up to see the chief’s office suddenly ablaze with the blinds somewhat opened to
allow him visibility of his precinct in action but enough privacy for him to
remain invisible to the people he’s observing. As I pass Rose Marie, she gives
me a flicker of a smile, looking down quickly to busy herself with paperwork.
Chief Gilligan is behind
his desk, leaning on his elbows, his face resting on his fingers folded in
front of his face. When he sees me, he unfolds them and motions me to close the
door. As I turn toward him again, he waves me to sit down, his face
inscrutable. Clearing his throat, he says, while opening a file, looking down
at it as though reading,
“When
you saw Leonard Vlamos the other day…”
“Counting
this morning, three days ago, sir.”
“Yes,
I see that here. How did he seem to you?”
“I’m
not sure I understand?”
“In
what frame of mind would you say he was?”
“He
was anxious, nervous, worried about possible reprisals for actions he’d taken
before and during the automobile-heist-and-parts-distribution operation, sir.
And he called me yesterday in great distress. That’s when I attempted to reach
you through your secretary.”
“Yes.
When you saw him, did he ask you for protection?”
“He
did. It’s in my report, sir, the one I left with Rose Marie on Friday. I told
Mr. Vlamos that I could see the warden on his behalf and attempt to give him
what protection could be offered. He refused solitary. I saw Warden Packston
before leaving, sir, to inform him of Vlamos’ importance to us concerning an
unsolved murder case and to ask for as much protection as he could provide. He
informed me that this would be very limited unless Mr. Vlamos went to solitary.”
“Yes,
I’ve seen that in your report as well.”
“When
he called me yesterday in great distress, he gave me no chance to respond. Has
something happen to him, sir.”
“Yes.
He has committed suicide, it would appear, with his shirt, during the night in his
cell…”
“Who found him, sir? And
at what time?”
“The guard who made the
rounds at midnight. The time of death has not been determined precisely, but
I’m sure Warden Packston will inform me as soon as he is told. It had to have
occurred sometime during the hour before he was discovered. It appears that
Vlamos used the top bunker bed post for his self-strangulation, while his
roommate was gone, taken to the infirmary shortly before eleven p.m. The guard
on the floor said nobody came or left Vlamos’ cell at any time, except the
roommate and the guard who escorted him to the infirmary.”
“Suicide’s impossible for
me to believe, Chief Gilligan. Mr. Vlamos was extremely concerned about his
life which he showed every sign of wanting to save. In fact, it’s why he called
me—for protection for himself and his wife. I even talked to Warden Packston
about Vincent Moret…”
“Yes,
yes. That too is in the report. But there’s no evidence of foul play. Warden
Packston will go through all the required procedures about this, of course, but
Vlamos’ roommate stated to him the next morning—the fellow was vomiting the
entire night in the infirmary—that the last thing Vlamos said to him was, ‘I
might as well off myself now, ‘cause I’m dead meat if Weir doesn’t come through
with the bank stake-out.’ What did he mean by that?”
“The
bank stake-out was his way of saying he wanted us to monitor his hidden account
at Manhattan M&T as he requested of me during the visit. I was going to
explain all this in person as soon as you returned from you meeting in Jersey
City, sir. I did make notes as to his requests and my explanation of them, I
think it’s on page three of….”
“Well,
despite getting in late Saturday night, I did read your report, and I received
your message from Rose Marie concerning Leonard Vlamos and his hidden
Manhattan’s M&T bank account. No, confound it, I’ll restate that. Rose
Marie—bless her for what she does despite how it might be viewed by some others
around here—she read me your report on the telephone, given my permission.
Realizing the urgency in it—yes, she looked at it when you left it with her—she
determined its contents together with your tone and manner when you left it
with her on Saturday, required a call to my home. She left a message with my
wife to have me call her upon my arrival which I did—I was in transit during
the day on Saturday. She received my call very late at her home, but she had
taken your reports with her so we were able to get on this the minute I arrived
back in Tutterton. Unfortunately, I couldn’t call the appropriate people at
M&T until this morning, which I did from my home phone as soon as the
executive director arrived in his office. He was instantly cooperative, but it
takes time for all this to be routed and looked into. I was getting ready to
give him a follow-up call when his assistant called me, actually just before I
called you into my office. The whole thing’s moot now, of course, not just
because of Leonard Vlamos’ suicide, but the assistant informed me that the
account has been closed.”
“Closed?
Who got to it, sir? How? Did somebody impersonate Leda Vlamos or did she do
it?”
[light-hearted
sigh] “Well, it seems Mrs. Vlamos, aka Leda Bella, came in and closed the
account on Friday. She wanted the money immediately, but, of course, it took
the day to do it, I mean, you can’t get that kinda cash that fast anywhere
except at a Las Vegas casino, for heaven’s sakes. So as the manager was taking
down everything I was telling him this morning, unbeknown to him, Mrs. Vlamos
had already come in, cleared out the account, and taken off with the goods.”
“I
don’t understand. How did she sneak that much cash past the executive director
without his knowing about it?”
“Well,
first of all, though seventy-five thousand dollars sounds like a huge sum of
money, this bank processes millions monthly. And the executive director can’t
possibly be alerted of all these transactions, so the handling of the smaller
ones are through the various managers, Detective. We aren’t talking about
Tutterton’s two banks here, one of which is so small it’s hardly worth
mentioning. You hide seventy-five thousand in New York City, in a bank where
business concerns are on the levels of Wall Street, where your amount isn’t
likely to be noticed, or you hide it out of the country if you have the
resources to get to it as needed. In this case, it was Manhattan M&T which
is one of the big movers of moneys in the country.”
[sighs] “I didn’t do so
well with this whole auto fencing operation, sir. It seems to me that the
people who’re really manipulating the strings on this are literally getting
away with murder, and it’s been an oversight here, a getting too late there. I
just dunno. It’s one of those times when it seems like I took two steps back
for each one I took forward.”
“Oh,
now, don’t be so hard on yourself, Detective. It’s the nature of the business
we’re in. I don’t tell you this often enough, but you’re the finest detective
I’ve got in this department. No, I mean that, and I appreciate the efforts you
make on each case that you work. This was a humdinger, as the old-timers say.”
“Thank
you, sir. But I’m having a hard time accepting Vincent Moretti’s likely involvement
with impunity, at the very least, in Masterson’s murder.”
“I know. Gotta let some
of them go as they stand, though, Detective. I’m not saying I think these are
abandoned cases by any means. Over the years, I’ve seen very difficult cases
brought to justice through patience and perseverance. Steady investigative work
can play off. But this one and John Masterson’s are both out of our
jurisdiction now in any case.”
[overvoice]
On
the way to my desk, I reflected on the Chief’s words. It wasn’t often the hard-boiled
man at the top gave us ditch-diggers words of encouragement, but I also noted
that though he’s told me I was his finest detective, there are only two of us,
and one of us is still wet behind the ears. Some days, like today, it feels
like that’s me.
____________
Almost two weeks later
to the day, a thick brown special delivery letter falls on my desk at 9:16
a.m., the courier indicating with his finger where I’m to sign, this before he
turns and leaves my desk, and is out the door on the run. I stare at the return
address: L. B. Vlamos, 10th Straco,
#32, Durango City, Durango, MEXICO. The hand is barely legible, but I
make out the name well enough and have to grin, even if it edges on a grimace.
Leda Bella Vlamos. Guess the divorce she was longing for was dashed to the
ground to make way for her new title of ‘widow’. She can use her maiden name
anytime she chooses now, and it would be interesting to know if she ended up
the beneficiary of Leonard’s full estate. It isn’t likely it could be anybody
else since they have no children. If she was the beneficiary, with the house
money and other property unknown to me, plus her heist account from M&T,
she can pay for lawyers to do just about anything for her, so she’ll never have
to show her face in this town again, which will be so much healthier for her if
she doesn’t.
I
open the letter and leaned back to stare at the message it contains. There is
no date. I read,
Dear Detective Weir,
By
the time you receive this letter, I will no longer be in Durango or in Mexico.
The post wouldn’t let me send it without a return address, so I gave where I
was. At any rate, there’s no forwarding address and nobody knows my present
location except two friends who are with me. I left Tutterton in a rush after
contacting an old friend from early New York City days, when Leonard and I
first came to the States. I went to stay with her and her husband and found out
he sometimes hid money in an account under his wife’s maiden name. Since they
both were in on it, this worked out easily and well for them, the slow-moving
gears of the IRS and other agencies not catching up with them until they were
gone with the goods. But that’s another story with no time or space for here.
I began to wonder if Leo
could have done with me what they did, as I was so uncurious about the
paperwork I did for him. When he went to jail, he requested that his personal
items be sent to him. It’s why he was so upset when I told him I no longer
wanted to be married and help him anymore as his wife. I had gone through his papers,
burning or getting rid of most of them that the police left behind, but, even
before the police started their raid, I’d hidden his wallet and a few of his
personal papers, including a copy of my birth certificate, of all things! Then
when I got ready to leave for good, I went through his wallet once again, and
under a flap in the money section, I found the account and routing numbers to
Manhattan M&T Bank. So the rest is history.
The curious guy you are,
you must be wondering how I got to where I am from my car left in the barn. I’m
telling you this so you can put part of the search-and-find you’re doing to
rest. I had the address of the barn from Leonard’s note, you know, so I figured
if I left my sedan there with the glove-box mess, you would detect yourself
right into some kind of story that fit. I sat on the papers and squirmed around
to make it look like I may have been sitting in the passenger seat while
somebody else (my kidnapper?) was driving. My friend’s husband is an amateur
pilot, a buff of old planes. He picked me up on a road near the one with the
barn in a delivery truck (of a friend of a friend’s,) and we went out to this
private runway where he stores one of his planes—another barn, another
story—and the delivery truck was left for his friend to return for him. He
airlifted us to Jersey City where another friend of his put his plane in
storage in his hanger, and where his wife, my friend from years ago, picked us
up—she had her and her husband’s luggage fully packed, and we drove in their
car to an airport in…well, let me just say where any APB, should there be one,
wasn’t likely to be noted. From there, it was a seat by the window where I
watched my past world float by down below.
I’m having the grandest
time of my life, Detective. I’ve always wanted to travel, see the world, so I’m
painting the towns red everywhere I go. When Leonard gets out, he may try to
find me, with or without those goons trying to steal his fence money. I doubt
that he’ll stick with his search, not even with the help of his friends. He’s
too impatient. He’ll get all entangled in another scheme to earn money fast and
get caught again. And I’m becoming pretty smart about how to operate in this
world without him. Who would have guessed that I would fence the fence? It’s
not a totally accurate definition but close enough for my satisfaction—I’m now
the mover of his fenced assets, if you get my meaning.
You are a good man,
Detective Weir. I appreciate all you did to try and help me. Oh, by the way,
you remember when I told you that the weight I’d gained was intentional? It was
all fake, a great pillow device from a theater shop in NYC. I’m hardly
ravishing, but I’m certainly a sight more appealing then when you last saw me.
I’m surprised you didn’t notice that my head was pretty small for that bulky
body, but men aren’t known for looking at a size of a woman’s head, are they?
Especially when they have so much more to look at elsewhere.
The very best to you,
always,
Leda Bella, without the
Vlamos.
I found the letter
almost endearing except for the irony of the last phrase.
____________
When I lift the ringing
phone on my desk, I hear Benny Garfield’s voice on the other end of the line.
Benny’s never called me at the precinct, but before I have a chance to be
concerned about his welfare or that of his mother, he sputters in a long
recitation as though delivering lines from a play, lines he’s afraid he’ll
forget before getting to the end of his speech,
“Hallo, Detective Weir.
Benny Garfield here inviting you to join me at the Main Street Diner if you
aren’t otherwise occupied. I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from
Charmaine who promised me you wouldn’t mind.”
[big laugh] “Well, hallo
yourself, Mr. Garfield. I’m delighted you asked for my number. In fact, you
should memorize it and use it whenever you need to reach me for any and all occasions, but especially for
those like this one. I was just getting ready for lunch and our eating together
would be a special pleasure.”
“That would be swell,
sir. Just so as to be clear, I can pay for my own this time, which is going
dutch, as they say. It’s what I can afford now, but I see other possibilities
in the future.”
“I think I should take
on this check today, Benny, since you made the effort to call me at the
station. That’s a first, lad, and you need to be rewarded.”
“I wouldn’t a done but
it’s raining out there, and I didn’t want to wait for you outside and get
soaked. Regardless, I insist on Dutch seeings how I got a bonus on my route
this week, but I’m hanging on to the most of it for Ma’s birthday comin’ up on
Sunday.”
“A bonus? You’ll have to
tell me about this. Where shall I meet you?”
“Oh, I’m at the diner
already, saving our usual spot which was lucky to be empty. I think it’s got
our name on it.”
“Like a church pew, you
think?”
“I don’t know any church
pew with names, but maybe folks around here are
getting the idea we aren’t to be trifled with.”
“Be there in a shake, or
maybe I should say a malted.”
[laughter, and phone
hang up]
[noise of the diner]
“Hallo, Benny. Thanks
again for saving our booth.”
“I took the liberty to
tell Charmaine to make it the usual with separate checks. I
insist, sir. Next time, I might even spring for our desserts.”
“Tell me about this
bonus you’ve garnered for yourself.”
“Because of a new
promotion they’re doing at the paper—it’s route boy of the month, and I got the first month. It comes
with a fiver and a baseball cap with The Beacon Newsboy on it.”
“So why aren’t you
wearing it.”
“Aw, it’s like crowing,
you know? Besides it goes a little against my team’s sponsor, the Tutterton bank, which when I
wear a cap, it’s that one, like all the other guys on the team. Our coach
thinks that’ll remind people to come out to the ballpark and support us and
all.”
“Makes sense.”
[overvoice] [sounds of
footsteps and plates down on the table]
Charmaine puts our
plates in front of us and gives Benny a wink. She says,
“I see you did your
magic.”
“Aw, he’s comin’ anyhow,
but maybe my call hasten his arrival.”
[laughter from all]
[pouring of water]
“He tell you about his
bonus?”
“He did indeed. And I
feel it’s cause for celebration, but he’s playing the man of the hour and wants
to pay his own way.”
“Well, I think that’s
just fine, but it’ll have to wait for another time. I’ve already figured the
check and put the money in the till. Your lunches are on me, boys.”
“What a lovely gesture,
Charmaine. I can accept this as long as I buy the popcorn at Benny’s next
game.”
“Deal! Gotta go, place
is buzzing today. See ya later.”
“I’m here to tell ya,
you got the pick of the bunch with Charmaine Hollister, Detective. She’s something else. I wouldn’t
put off tomorrow what should be done today, sir.”
“Where in the world do
you get all your little aphorisms, Benny. I know, I know, from the comics and
those radio shows you listen to all the time. Still, how did you get to be such
a wise old man at such a remarkably young age?”
“I try to practice what
I preach, sir.”
“So you read the Bible
as well as the comics, that it?”
“When Ma insists on it, and as little as
possible, just enough to get by.”
[Weir’s laughter to fade]
____________
