[Lady Justice 37] - Lady Justice and the Living Trust

by Robert Thornhill

  “Name it.”

  “I need you to run a plate for me.”

  “You got it.”

  Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. “The plate is registered to Dominick Ricci. I’ve got an address on Spruce Avenue. Do you need any help with this?”

  I had already decided I didn’t want to involve the police. I knew Ox would do anything to help me, but I didn’t think the Kansas City Police Department would consider the theft of baseball cards belonging to a known associate of Kansas City mafia a high priority.

  Besides, I wanted to get the guy myself. Payback for the goose egg on my noodle. This was personal.

  Returning home, I called my partner, Kevin. “You up for some skullduggery?”

  “Does Raggedy Andy have cotton balls?”

  I figured that was a yes, and twenty minutes later he was sitting in my office. The first thing he noticed was the bag of frozen peas I was pressing to the back of my head.

  “You look like crap. What happened?”

  I told him of my misadventure with the baseball cards.

  “So what are you thinking?” he asked.

  “The first order of business is to get back those cards. Then, depending on circumstances, I’ll decide what to do about Dominick.”

  We gathered a thermos of coffee and assorted snacks and headed to Spruce Avenue to surveil the residence of Dominick Ricci.

  Dominick’s car was in the driveway, so we figured he must be inside --- probably going through the purloined baseball cards.

  About four in the afternoon, he climbed into his car empty handed.

  “Good!” I said. “The cards are still in the house. Do you have your lock picks?”

  “Does Raggedy Ann have a cotton crotch?”

  “What’s your obsession with the anatomy of children’s toys?”

  “It’s not an obsession. Just an observation. You coming or not?”

  “I hope he was alone.” Kevin said as we headed to the house.

  I had my revolver ready as Kevin picked the back-door lock.

  We slipped inside and thankfully, no one else was there.

  I found the suitcase with the baseball cards on the kitchen table.

  “Looks like they’re all here.”

  “You’re gonna love what I found,” Kevin called from the bedroom.

  I joined him and discovered that Dominick had a collection of his own. My mouth dropped open when I saw cards on Red Schoendienst, Ernie Banks, and Carl Yastrzemski on top of the stack.

  “What are you doing?” Kevin asked as I began gathering up the cards.

  “Payback. Ricci took my cards. Now I’m taking his.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You don’t know anything about this guy. When he sees your cards gone, unless he’s a complete idiot, he’ll know it was you. What if he comes looking? Is it worth the chance?”

  “I have an idea that will guarantee we’ve seen the last of Mr. Ricci.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Kevin said, helping me box up the cards.

  As soon as we were in the car, I dialed Carmine Marchetti. He owed me a favor for giving him the tax returns I found in Cosmo’s basement.

  “Walt, what can I do for my favorite gumshoe?”

  “As you know, I’m handling Cosmo’s estate. I found a valuable collection of baseball cards. A fellow by the name of Dominick Ricci whacked me on the head and stole Cosmo’s cards. Any chance you’ve heard of the guy?”

  “You think just because he’s Italian that I should know him? Isn’t that racial profiling?”

  That was the second time I’d been accused of profiling. Maybe there was some truth to the accusation.

  When I didn’t answer right away, Carmine burst into laughter. “Relax, I’m just pulling your chain. Yeah, I know Dominick. He’s a creep. You want me to get Cosmo’s cards back for you?”

  “Uhhh, I actually already got them back --- plus a few more from Dominick’s collection.”

  He guffawed again. “You ripped off Dominick! I love it! What do you want from me?”

  “I thought maybe you might have a conversation with him. Maybe let him know that losing his cards was justifiable payback for stealing the cards of your old friend and whacking me in the head. The last thing I want is him showing up on my doorstep.”

  “You got it. I’ll send Vito over to show him the error of his ways. You won’t be bothered by Mr. Ricci again.”

  “Thanks, Carmine.”

  “Hey, what are friends for?”

  After I hung up, Kevin shook his head. “Unbelievable!”

  With the addition of Dominick’s cards, I sold the whole set for $3,500.

  Not too shabby for a first-time trustee.

  CHAPTER 10

  I had been so busy handling the disposal of Cosmo’s personal effects, I hadn’t taken the time to check up on his errant grandchildren.

  I remembered Mario and Lucia at the auction saying they had joined AA and GA groups at the Community Christian Church. Knowing that the church was under the leadership of my friend, Pastor Bob, an idea popped into my head. I gave him a call.

  “Heavenly Hotline. For a mere thirty pieces of silver we’ll forward your supplications to the Almighty.”

  “Pastor Bob, you’ve got to get some new material.”

  “Quite the contrary,” he replied. “Some things are timeless. What can I do for you, Walt?”

  “I need a favor. May I come over?”

  “Of course, but favors cost forty pieces of silver. Bring your wallet.”

  Everyone’s a comedian.

  Once seated in Pastor Bob’s office, I told him how I became the reluctant trustee of Cosmo Sabatini’s trust and what that involved concerning his grandchildren.

  “I didn’t know Cosmo Jr., but from what I’ve seen so far, old Cosmo was a stand-up guy --- except, of course, for his association with the mafia. It’s amazing that all three of his grandchildren turned out to be so worthless. Now, I have the unenviable task of keeping an eye on them for six months.”

  Pastor Bob smiled. “Maybe you should do what they did back in the biblical days.”

  “And what would that be?”

  He picked up his Bible. “The twenty-first chapter of Deuteronomy. ‘If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother, and, though they discipline him, will not listen to them, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his city at the gate of the place where he lives, and they shall say to the elders of his city, ‘This our son is stubborn and rebellious; he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton and a drunkard.’ Then all the men of the city shall stone him to death with stones. So you shall purge the evil from your midst, and all Israel shall hear, and fear.’”

  “That’s a bit harsh,” I replied. “I have another idea.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Mario attends a Gamblers Anonymous meeting here on Monday nights, and Lucia attends an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting on Tuesday nights. I’d like to install a video camera in your meeting room. That way I can make sure they’re attending like they’re supposed to.”

  He thought for a moment. “Sorry Walt. I’d like to help, but I can’t let you do that. Like the name implies, those meetings are supposed to be anonymous. A video recording of the attendees would violate the very foundation on which those organizations were founded.”

  I hadn’t really thought this through. I felt like an idiot. “You’re absolutely right. It would be a violation of every attendees’ privacy. I’m sorry. I’ll have to think of another way to keep track of them.”

  “I may be able to help with that,” he replied, smiling. “I’m here every evening. Send me a photo of the errant children and I’ll let you know if they show up.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course, but as I said earlier, it will cost you forty pieces of silver.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m not kiddi
ng,” he replied. “I’ll expect you to stuff forty bucks in the poor box on your way out.”

  Properly chastised, I deposited the forty bucks in the poor box. Then, for good measure, I threw in another twenty. The money would be coming out of the grandkid’s inheritance. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

  CHAPTER 11

  With everything out of the house, Maggie was eager to get the property listed for sale.

  Maria was hired to give the interior one last cleaning from top to bottom. She called her grounds crew to cut the grass and trim the shrubs.

  The last item on her check-off list was to call John, the home inspector, and Jeff, the Bugman.

  Maggie is one of the very few real estate agents who are proactive enough to have these critical inspections done prior to listing a property.

  Every house, especially older ones, have items that will show up on an inspection report. In a typical real estate transaction, the buyer pays for the inspection after a contract is executed, but before closing. It is an undisputed fact that a large percentage of sales that fall through are due to items that are revealed by an inspection report. By uncovering these items up front and making the necessary repairs, the chances of a sale falling through are significantly diminished. I could never understand why other agents could never grasp this concept.

  At nine in the morning John and Jeff arrived at the old mansion on Benton Boulevard.

  Jeff the Bugman would take maybe thirty minutes to check the house for termites, but John would need the entire day to inspect the plumbing, wiring, roof, and all the working systems in the house.

  Knowing I would be there for the duration, I brought a good book, a thermos of coffee, and some munchies. While I was goofing off, Maggie would be filling out the paperwork for the listing which I would sign as successor trustee.

  About an hour into his inspection, John tapped on the car window.

  “I found something strange I think you should see.”

  We followed him up the driveway to the side of the house. He pointed to an iron grill that had been partially buried by the asphalt driveway.

  “When these old homes were constructed,” he said, “many of them were heated by coal furnaces. What you see there is the door to the coal chute. Trucks would pull up to the chute and shovel coal into a room in the basement especially constructed to hold the coal.”

  “What’s so unusual about that?” I asked.

  “Come with me to the basement and I’ll show you.”

  Once in the basement, he pointed to a protrusion in the basement wall. “That’s where the coal room should be, but there’s no door. The room has been sealed off.”

  I was starting to get a bad feeling. “Why would someone do that?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m just letting you know what I found.”

  I looked at Maggie. “What do you think?”

  She took a deep breath. “I think we have to know what’s in that room. The last thing I want is a new buyer discovering some horrible secret in his basement.”

  I turned to John. “Do you have any tools in your van?”

  “Be right back,” he said.

  A few minutes later, he returned with a claw hammer, a crowbar, and a sledge hammer.

  Fifteen minutes later, we had removed the sheetrock that had concealed the door to the old coal bin.

  Cautiously, I opened the door and spotted the opening to the coal chute in the upper corner.

  Then, to my dismay, I saw laying on the floor, the reason the old room had been walled off --- a human skeleton.

  “Holy crap!” John muttered, looking over my shoulder.

  Maggie gripped my arm. “Walt, that’s horrible! What should we do?”

  I thought for a moment. “We’ll have to call the police, of course, but before we do, I have one other call I have to make. John, can you go ahead and finish your inspection?”

  “Uhhh --- sure --- I guess.”

  I figured that in all his years of home inspecting, this was his first dead body.

  “Maggie, finish your paperwork before the cops arrive. I imagine we’ll be tied up quite a while.”

  As soon as the two were gone, I called Carmine Marchetti.

  “Walt Williams again! If you keep this up, I may have to put you on my payroll. What now?”

  The last thing I wanted was to be on his payroll, but I wanted even less to be on his bad list.

  “We’re at Cosmo’s place doing a whole house inspection. The inspector found a hidden room in the basement. When we opened it up, we found a skeleton. We’ll have to call the police, but ---.”

  “But before you do, you wanted to give me a head’s up. Am I right?”

  “I thought you’d want to know.”

  “I appreciate that, Walt. You’re a stand-up guy. Go ahead and call the cops. I had nothing to do with the dead guy. Alessandro Sabatini, Cosmo’s old man, was tight with the mob back in the day. He associated with guys like Paolo DiGiovanni and James Balestrere. That body could have been there since the prohibition years. Thanks for the tip. Let me know if they figure out who got whacked.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “I will.”

  My next call was to Detective Derek Blaylock. Twenty minutes later, he arrived with his forensics team.

  “I just don’t get it,” he said, staring at the skeleton. “You’re supposed to be retired, and you’ve been involved in more murder cases than when you were a cop. What in heaven’s name are you doing in Cosmo Sabatini’s basement?”

  After I told him the story of my reluctant involvement in Cosmo’s trust, he just shook his head. “Unbelievable!”

  “Please let me know if and when you identify this guy.”

  Three days later, Blaylock called.

  “The guy in your basement is Leroy Donnegon. During the prohibition years, he had a number of stills in the Kentucky hills. He worked for a Kansas City mobster, Frank DeMayo, who was known as the ‘bootleg king.’ It’s possible that the two had a falling out. Donnegan disappeared in 1925. DeMayo and Alessandro Sabatini were tight, so it’s not a stretch to figure DeMayo whacked Donnegan and hid his body in Sabatini’s basement. Unfortunately, now that Cosmo is gone, there’s no one alive who can confirm the story one way or the other. Case closed.”

  When I told Maggie, I figured she would be upset that her latest listing had a sordid past. Quite the contrary. Since no one was around to pose a danger, she decided to use the discovery as a marketing tool for a historic property.

  She had the only listing in the MLS with photos of a skeleton.

  CHAPTER 12

  Once the dead body was taken care of, I figured it was time to check up on the living ones.

  I gave Pastor Bob a call. He verified that both Mario and Lucia had attended their respective meetings. That was certainly good news, but the meetings were only a small part of their obligations. Mario couldn’t gamble and Lucia couldn’t drink. It was my duty as Cosmo’s successor trustee to make sure those things weren’t happening.

  I decided to check up on Mario first.

  He was employed as a used car salesman at Andy’s Autos. Andy’s advertising slogan was, “No credit? No problem! We finance anyone!”

  It was a familiar game. The high-risk buyers were charged an outrageous interest rate. Andy would, of course, hold onto the title, and hope to get as many payments as possible before the buyer defaulted. Once in default, Andy would send hooligans to repossess the car, then sell it to another sucker. While despicable, it was totally legal.

  Close to closing time, I parked across the street from Andy’s Autos. I figured I’d follow Mario and see if he might swing by one of the three riverboat casinos in Kansas City. That would be a pretty flagrant violation of his conditions, but Mario didn’t strike me as being the sharpest tack on the board.

  A precisely five-thirty, Mario walked out of the showroom. I followed him to his little bungalow on Brooklyn Avenue. No casinos. No stops. Just straight home. I parked
a few houses away with a good view of his front porch.

  About seven o’clock, a late model sedan pulled up in front of his house. The woman who stepped out of the car was dressed in a black leather skirt that barely hid her butt cheeks. Her blouse, tied at her midriff, was straining to contain her ample bosom. It was highly unlikely that the lady was going door to door soliciting orders for Girl Scout cookies.

  I snapped a back-side photo of her at Mario’s door.

  Mario opened the door, and I ducked as he looked up and down the street. Seeing no one, he stepped aside for the woman to enter.

  So Mario had a taste for the ladies. There was nothing in Cosmo’s trust prohibiting lust, so good for him if that was his thing.

  I figured she would be inside for at least an hour. I was surprised when she exited ten minutes later. Either Mario was a hasty lover, or something else was going on. I snapped another photo as she came down the steps.

  My next stop was at Kevin’s apartment. I wanted to speak to his wife, Veronica.

  Before becoming Mrs. McBride, Veronica was a high-priced escort. They met when Kevin was dying of kidney failure. He wanted one last fling, and Veronica was hired to fulfill his dying wish. But he didn’t die, and the two hit it off. I knew Veronica still kept in touch with some of her friends from her previous life.

  Kevin was surprised to see me at his door so late in the evening.

  “Hey, partner. What’s up? New case?”

  “No, same old one. Cosmo’s trust. I need to speak to your wife.”

  Veronica overheard the conversation. “What can I do for you, Walt?”

  I pulled out my cell phone and showed her the photo of the hooker.

  “Do you know this woman?”

  She studied it for a moment. “I do. That’s Angie. She works for Dreamland Escorts.”

  “Any idea what she charges?”

  “Angie won’t walk out the door for less than a thousand.”