by Jeff Noonan
“Thanks, Jane.” He picked up the phone. Tom Wright answered at the first ring. “Yeah? Wright here.”
“Hey, Tom. Lee Raines here. You called?”
“Hi, Lee. Yes. Just wanted to let you know what we’ve found out about the mess in South Philly. Thought you might have some insight.”
Okay. What’s happening?”
“Well, first off, there’s this guy that got shot. His name’s Rick Burley. Know anything about him?”
“Yeah, just met him once, but heard a quite a bit about him. He’s a former supply corps officer that started a business supplying obsolete parts to U.S. and foreign Navy buyers around the world. He has a big warehouse somewhere in Philly that he works out of. Lately he’s been winning contracts to supply hard-to-get parts to the shipyard. I’ve been wondering if he might be tied in with our shop planner scams, but haven’t got far enough to know for sure.”
“That computes. I’ll have my guys lock down that warehouse right away. Since he was here with these ‘Skimmers,’ I have to assume that he’s up to his ears in this thing. By the way, we’ve now identified three shop planners in this bunch of dead dudes here. It looks like your call was right on the mark with this stuff. But we aren’t out of the woods yet.”
“Why do you say that, Tom?”
“Think about it. Somebody killed these people. Who? Why? It just don’t add up. Oh, one other thing. Keep this close, ‘cause we aren’t releasing this info. The only one shot was Burley. The others were all poisoned.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“We think that they tried to use the fire to cover up the murders. But, as luck would have it, most of the explosion went up and to the side, away from where the bodies were. Did a number on the upstairs and the house next door, but left the bodies just singed a bit.”
“It sounds like we got really lucky.”
“Yeah. Do you have any other words of wisdom for me?”
Lee smiled. “Actually, yes, I do have a thought. Those two guys that you have locked up down in Quantico might be willing to talk if you hit them some facts and show them a few pictures of their barbequed friends.”
“That’s a good thought. Maybe I’ll head back down there. But they were pretty clammed up when I saw them last.”
“Yeah, but think about the sequence, Tom. I think the capture of those two caused someone, or multiple someones, to panic. They took out as many of the people who might be able to identify them as possible. Now the only loose ends might be the two that you have in custody. So their lives aren’t worth spit outside of jail. If you threaten to turn them loose and send them home, I think they’ll spill everything they know.”
“Damn, Lee. We sure got our money’s worth when we found you. Thank you! I’m heading for the airport as soon as I get some pictures and a list of names.”
“Please keep me cut in, Tom.”
“You got it. Call you as soon as I know anything more.”
Lee got up from his desk, intending to walk around the office again to stay busy. But before he could get to his door, the telephone rang again. Turning back, he picked it up just in time to hear Jane say, “Same guy again, Boss.” Then the click on the line as she signed off and Tom Wright came back on.
“Hey Lee. How would you like to join me when I interrogate those two? I could use your shipyard expertise, and besides, I think you deserve to be there. Can do?”
“Hell yes! When and where?”
“I’m gonna get some sleep tonight and then start first thing in the morning in Quantico. Can you get there all right?”
“Yeah. I’ll drive down tonight and get a motel outside the base. Tomorrow is Saturday, so no one will even miss me here.”
“All right then. I’ll see you at the front door of the Marine Corps brig on Quantico at 8 a.m. tomorrow.”
“You got it. See you then.”
As soon as the line went dead, Lee dialed Maggie’s number. He wasn’t going to screw up again by keeping her in the dark. Her happy voice and lilting laughter told him that he’d done the right thing.
The elderly man picked up the telephone on the first ring. “Yes?”
“Hello, Papa. It’s me. Just wanted to let you know that the FBI has invited Lieutenant Raines to participate in the interrogations of the two Skimmers they captured. He’s going to Quantico tomorrow morning.”
“No problem, Toma. They don’t know anything anyway. Everyone who could have caused problems has been dealt with. Let the fools think they’ve eliminated everything by getting rid of the thieves.”
Toma chuckled briefly at that. “How about Marita? Is everything well there?”
“Yes. I saw her off at the airport. She’s flying home, with one stop on the way to change planes. She should be starting across the Atlantic Ocean now, and she should be home by this time tomorrow. She’ll be very welcome there. She’s carrying with her a nice gift for the homeland. The thieves were very generous.” The old man sounded almost melancholy as he spoke of the homeland.
“I’ll miss her, Papa. But she’ll have a good life now.”
“Yes. A life of freedom from capitalistic restrictions. How I envy her.”
Papa was getting on his soapbox again. It was time to get off the line. “Okay, Papa. Gotta run. I’ll see you soon.”
“Be good, my son. Please say hello to Shura for me.” The secure phone line went dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY - PRISON INTEROGATIONS
ee was on the road by five o’clock that evening. He soon found himself caught in rush hour traffic on I-95. The drive, which normally took about three hours, stretched out to over five hours before he pulled into a motel outside Quantico. He took a quick shower and then slept the deep sleep of an exhausted man.
The next morning found him standing at the door of the brig fifteen minutes ahead of time. Tom pulled in behind him, and soon the two were talking to the officer in charge of the brig. They made arrangements to have the two prisoners moved to separate interview rooms where they couldn’t communicate with one another. Then Tom and Lee moved into one of the rooms, the room where the former supply department employee, Roger Barkowski, was now seated.
Tom took the lead with a cheery greeting. “Good Morning, Roger. How are you? Did they get that nose of yours fixed up okay?”
The man had a surly expression on his face as he took in the two men facing him. He didn’t bother to respond to Tom’s questions. “What the hell is he doing here?” This was asked with a nod at Lee.
Lee answered him. “Just thought I’d have a little talk with you myself. After all, we haven’t seen each other for a while.” Like Tom, his attitude was cheerful.
The prisoner wasn’t buying any of this. Looking at Tom, he ignored Lee completely. “I told you that I don’t have anything to say. Nothing has changed. I want to go back to my cell now.”
Tom smiled at him. “Actually, a lot has changed, and I’m sure you will be interested in having a conversation now.”
“Oh, bullshit.” The prisoner looked disgusted.
Tom opened the folder he was carrying and took out a large picture. It was a picture of the Skimmers’ rowhouse, taken yesterday from across the street. It showed the destruction that had taken place. “This is your old clubhouse, Roger. The picture was taken yesterday afternoon.”
The prisoner stared at the picture for a moment, then sat back. “Some kind of a trick. What kinda crap is this? I never saw that place before.”
“No? Well, how about these guys?” Tom pulled out another big, glossy, picture, this one showing several bodies lying on a floor. In the forefront was Rick Burley, badly burned but recognizable.
The reaction to this picture was immediate and obvious. The man stared and then turned absolutely white. His hands started to shake. “What kinda trick is this? Who are these people?
Lee spoke up for the first time. “This isn’t a trick, Roger. Someone killed Rick and eight others at the Skimmers’ club house night before last. Then they set the place on fir
e to hide what they’d done.” He sat down across the table from the prisoner and continued, “Someone decided that everyone had to die, Roger. Probably because you got caught. Maybe you’re next on their list. I dunno. But it looks like your friends are thinned out a bit, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do, Roger. Think about it. Who’s left out of the Skimmer group? Rick is dead, seven other men are dead, one woman is dead. You two are in jail. The crowd is getting smaller, my friend. There’s a lot fewer people to split the money with, aren’t there?” This last was a shot in the dark, but it hit home with the prisoner.
“You said one woman?” The prisoner was doing some math in his head. “Do you know who she was? How big was she?”
Tom came in at this point. “We haven’t got a name yet, but she was a tiny person. Maybe five feet tall.”
The prisoner slumped in his chair. “That would be Beth Slocum. She didn’t deserve this.” Tears were actually running down his cheeks.
Lee pounced. “You asked how big she was. Was there more than one woman in the group?”
“Yeah. Rick’s whore of a bookkeeper. I never trusted her. She probably killed all of them. And she knows where the money is.”
“What is her name, Roger?”
“Marie. Never knew her last name.”
“How much money is there for her to grab, if that’s her game?”
“Somewhere between seventy-five and a hundred million dollars. It’s all in overseas bank accounts that her and Rick managed for us.”
Tom and Lee exchanged shocked looks at the number. Tom took up the questioning. “How many of you were there?”
“An even dozen. Ten men and the two women.” He proceeded to list the names of the group. Tom and Lee both scribbled furiously.
When he finished with the names, the prisoner asked, “How did they die?”
“Most of them were poisoned. Rick was shot twice. Once in the balls and once in the head. Maybe this ‘Marie’ didn’t like him so much, eh?”
“I think she hated him. I saw her glaring at him more than once. He treated her like a slut. But he treated all women like that. He was strange that way.” The prisoner was openly sobbing now. The death of his friends had taken all the fight out of him.
“What can you tell us about Marie?”
“Not much. She never talked to us except to give us financial reports at our meetings. She’d never come upstairs for drinks with the rest of us. I got the impression that she worked for Rick in his other business, but I’m not even sure of that. She reported to Rick and never got to know any of us except for at the meetings.”
“Can you describe her?”
“I guess so. She’s about five foot eight, big-boned, but not fat. Kinda horse-faced. Good rack on her. Nice butt. Dirty blonde hair.”
“If I get a sketch artist, do you think you can describe her to him?”
“I’ll try.”
Lee took over again as Tom paused to write something on his pad. “Roger, you guys were using the shop planner route to order materials that were never delivered, right?”
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
“About twelve years. We did a little before the DLG modernization program started, just for mad money. Then Rick found out about us and got us organized. When the first ship hit the modernization program, we hit it hard and established a precedent that the P&E people used to update their estimates for the whole program. Then we just skimmed about the same amount off the top of every ship that came into the program. Nobody figured it out.” Now the tears had dried, and he was talking proudly about the Skimmers’ accomplishments.
“Until now.”
The prisoner nodded and looked at Lee. “Thanks, Fuckhead.”
Lee grinned. “You’re welcome, Roger.”
Tom broke in then. “Roger what about the defense auditor guys who were supposed to be inspecting Rick’s operation? Why didn’t they find anything?
“One of them, the DCAA inspector, was with us. There were others that Rick paid off. I don’t know any details there. If you can find the bitch, she would know. It was all in her financial reports to us.”
“All right, Roger, what can you tell us about the death of Joe Ziterowski?”
“Well, I guess it won’t hurt anything to tell all of it now, will it? Joe wasn’t a part of the group. But he started sniffing around and figured out some of it. So Rick clobbered him over the head and him and George Carter threw him into the drydock.”
“Then what happened to George Carter?”
“George was a Skimmer. But after Ziterowski, he started falling apart, having nightmares and drinking too much. Finally he made an appointment with the shipyard commander. When we heard that, Rick held an emergency meeting. After the meeting, Rick and Marie went to visit with George. The next thing I heard, George had been killed by a hooker over in Camden. I’ve had my suspicions, but nobody asked any questions about it.”
“What about Bernie Shapiro, the type desk manager?”
“That one baffled all of us. It wasn’t a Skimmer thing. Bernie was a good guy. I knew him a bit from back when we both worked in the electronics shop, before I got promoted to supply and he got to be a P&E guy. He was a hard worker, and he was sharp as hell. But the Skimmers didn’t kill him. We had no reason to.”
Okay, Roger. We’ll get back to you if we need anything more.”
“Just one favor. I don’t want any visitors, and I want to be by myself in here. I don’t know what that bitch might do if she could get someone after me in this place.”
“You got it.”
Tom and Lee picked up their gear and signaled the Marine guard to come in. As they prepared to leave, a thought hit Lee, and he turned back. “Roger, did any of the Skimmers drive a Mercedes?”
“Hell, no. Rick would’ve killed us if we had been that obvious in our spending.”
Tom and Lee then went to the next room and had a virtually identical conversation with the other prisoner. Before the run-in with Lee, he’d been a machinery shop planner. His name was Don Morrison.
Both prisoners jumped to the same conclusion, that Marie had killed everyone in order to get her hands on the money. Interestingly enough, neither of them knew anything about her other than her first name and the fact that she was the Skimmers’ bookkeeper. Both of them had the same story about the three killings.
When they left the prisoners, Tom made a call to arrange for a sketch artist to meet them in the afternoon. Then they headed for the base Officers’ club to eat lunch and compare notes.
As they discussed the case, they realized that there were still some major unanswered questions still. Who was Marie? Where was she? Who owned the mysterious Mercedes? Who killed Bernie Shapiro and shot at Lee? Why?
They agreed that there was something they still weren’t seeing. Somehow, somewhere, there was an element to this puzzle that even the working-level Skimmers didn’t appear to know about. But what was it?
They spent the afternoon with the sketch artist and the two prisoners. The sketch that emerged from the prisoners’ collaborative effort showed a strong, rather raw-boned, woman’s face.
Lee studied the finished sketch for several minutes. “Somehow she looks very familiar. But I just can’t figure out why.”
“Did you know her from the shipyard, or maybe see her there somewhere.?
“I just don’t know. I’ll keep thinking on it. By the way, I just had another thought.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Why don’t you put a watch on the Philly and nearby airports? If I had access to a hundred million dollars, I wouldn’t be waiting around town for you to find me.”
“Dammit! You’re absolutely right. I’ll get people to the airports.” Tom thought for a moment, then headed for the phone at the Marine guard’s station. “In fact, I’ll do you one better. I’ll put Interpol on her. Those guys said the money is in Switzerland, so she m
ay be headed for Europe to get her hands on it.”
“Sounds good.”
“Got it. I’ll call right now and get the wheels in motion before it’s too late. Then I’ll go over to headquarters and coordinate the search from there. See you soon.”
Lee listened as Tom made the call, and then he saw Tom off. After carefully placing copies of the sketch in his briefcase, he pointed his car in the direction of Philadelphia. They’d made progress, but there were still too many unanswered questions.
This wasn’t over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - SCOTLAND YARD, CYANIDE, AND A MYSTERY
he next morning, Lee slept in until almost ten o’clock. When he finally woke, he couldn’t believe the time. He never slept like this. But, on reflection, he realized that he did feel better than any time since the assault over in Mustin Field. I guess I must have needed it. He dragged himself out of the little BOQ cot, showered, and dressed. He’d planned to do some exploring around the home he was buying out in Delaware County one of these days. Since this was a quiet Sunday, that sounded like a plan for the day. He stopped for breakfast and then headed for Wallingford.
The Scotland Yard detectives were virtually indistinguishable from the masses of businessmen who milled about in Heathrow Airport. But, instead of briefcases, they carried sketches of a woman’s face. This case had a very high priority, so there were more than thirty of them working the airport. None of them knew the details of this particular crime except that the woman was charged with mass murder, so they were working the case as top priority.
Marita Novikov was killing time in a little bar close to the Swiss Air counter. She was thoroughly relaxed, enjoying her drink while she awaited the call to board her flight to Geneva. She smiled, thinking about the reaction Papa would have when he found out that she hadn’t arrived in Moscow as planned.
Marita had thrown away the London-to-Moscow tickets when she arrived in Heathrow. Then she had gone in the ladies room and, using her little cosmetic scissors, shredded her American passport, as well as everything that identified her as an American citizen. When the documents were thoroughly shredded, she flushed them down the commode. Then she’d purchased the Geneva tickets, using a Swiss passport.