Unpunished

by William Peter Grasso

  He reinstalled the back seat and exited the cabin, finding the fat one trying to stretch his tired legs and back. “Hey, slim,” the thin one said, “it’s a little late for you to start getting in shape, don’t you think? Now lock this thing up like we were never here.”

  The fat one flipped him an extended middle finger and quickly finished his assigned task. Then they vanished into the night.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  He had dreaded making this call all night. Now it was morning, and amidst the bustling crowds of New York City commuters at Pennsylvania Station, Joe Gelardi found himself calm and full of purpose as he dialed the number at a phone booth. Diane was safe; Meredith was shaken but unharmed by her ordeal. Mrs. Riley and her grown sons were watching over both of them. The Massachusetts State Police were involved. It was time to warn Pola.

  He waited as the dispassionate NYU operator put him on hold and took her sweet time connecting to Pola’s extension. Hurry up, dammit! They’re calling my train already. I can’t miss this one.

  Finally, a ring replaced the crackling, telephonic void, and then Pola was on the line. “It’s Joe,” he said in a rush. “Listen carefully, I don’t have much time…”

  He frowned as she interrupted. “No, Pola, I haven’t changed my mind. But you’ve got to be more careful. I believe Pilcher’s goons tried to kidnap my daughter.” He paused again as she spoke. “No,” he continued, “they got one of my students instead. She’s safe and unharmed, though.”

  He found her next comment bordering on the ridiculously obvious. Irritated and more impatient by the moment, Joe responded, “OF COURSE IT WAS MEANT AS A WARNING!”

  The station announcer’s voice boomed from the PA. It was the final call for the 8:35 to Boston.

  “Pola, I’ve got to catch my train. Look…if you’re really going to do this, protect yourself and your son…Please!”

  Pola sat alone in her office, lost in troubled thought as she turned the thin metal object in her hand over and over again. The phone call from Joe had yielded a double surprise. First, after their encounter yesterday, she had been convinced she would never hear from him again. Second, it took a lot less than she had thought to trigger Pilcher’s violent instincts.

  Joe hadn’t even let the cat out of the bag about the murder and yet that ruthless bastard came after him. Obviously, somebody was watching Joe...or that reporter…or both of them. And somebody will be watching me very soon, too. But I was daft not to consider the danger in all this to my son.

  Her resolve had not slackened, however. The metal object she caressed in her hand comforted her and gave her strength. Even if there was no hope of a rekindled friendship with Joe Gelardi, at least he still cared enough to watch out for her.

  Thank you for the warning, my old love...Was I a fool to think that horrible man who drove us apart could somehow bring us together now? It was so nice to think we could be close again, even for just a little while…But I must go ahead and do this, with or without you, Joseph. David Linker deserves justice. I owe it to him.

  With a determined smile tinged by melancholy, she gazed at the shiny metal in her hand. Raising it to her lips, she kissed it. Then she returned Joe Gelardi’s dog tag to her purse.

  She had made plans to ensure her safety; this turn of events only demanded she employ those plans sooner than she had thought. Plus, they now needed to include her son, Roddy. Better to be safe than sorry.

  The irony of those words shook her for a moment. Better to be safe than sorry…That sentiment, turned on its head in Malmö 16 years ago, is what caused all this mess in the first place, you silly girl.

  She reached into her purse and removed an address book. Finding the number for the Swedish Embassy, New York City, she dialed it. When she got the consul on the line, the conversation was in Swedish, its tone friendly but businesslike. “Bjorn,” she began, “it’s Pola. It’s time I called in those favors we discussed.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Allegra Wise never dreamed she could be this bored. Writing obits was more exciting than this, she thought, as she strolled aimlessly around the Spring Garden Show at New York Botanical Gardens. Notebook in hand, photographer in tow, she searched for something—anything—that would yield a story with a touch of uniqueness.

  In a remote corner of the show, she stopped at a display booth filled with stunningly beautiful flowers of all types. A display table sat front and center. Eyeing the press pass dangling from her neck, the exhibitor launched excitedly into his pitch. He was a short man, bald on top of his head, with tufts of thinning hair sticking straight out from the sides. His voice was shrill, like nails on a blackboard.

  Allegra could not help but be amused. This guy looks like one of those cartoon mad professor types…Sounds like one, too.

  “My process has revolutionized the home fertilizer industry,” he said. Drawing her attention to a large display board, he got to the heart of this revolutionary process with great enthusiasm. His presentation quickly became a rant on the evils of commercially available fertilizers. Allegra struggled to understand the apparatus he displayed before her: a pail with a large crank handle protruding from the top.

  This thing looks like a butter churn…and it churns…OH, GOD! DON’T TELL ME!

  Like a magician presenting his prized illusion, he unsealed a small, waxed carton to reveal the fetid source of his revolution in home fertilizers. He dumped the contents of the carton into his churning machine.

  As she covered her nose, Allegra was not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You make this fertilizer yourself, entirely from human feces?”

  Beaming with pride, the exhibitor crowed, “Yes! Isn’t that brilliant? Abundant and totally free! Of course, you can also add animal droppings and plant compost…” He grabbed the pail and crank device from the table, but his motion was too eager. It slipped from his hands and fell, making a loud clunk as it hit the ground. Mercifully, the contents remained inside.

  That clunk…from a pail of shit, Allegra thought. That’s the sound of my career hitting bottom.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  The train from New York City to Boston seemed to take forever, but Joe Gelardi still walked through his front door a bit after 2 p.m., just as he had figured. Diane, Meredith, and Mrs. Riley were waiting for him.

  “You’re right on time, Professor,” Mrs. Riley said as she took his coat. “The cops should be here any minute.”

  She had nearly spit when she said the word cops, for Edna Riley was not fond of the police. Got me a family full of them thieving sons of bitches, she had been known to say. Ain’t much difference between a crook and a cop…sometimes, none at all. When Detectives McGinty and Fallon, from the Massachusetts State Police, flashed their badges at the front door, she ushered them inside with a cold, sarcastic greeting: “Well, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…we’re all saved. The state boys are here.”

  It was a state police case for now. Although Meredith had been snatched in Brookline, she had been dumped 25 miles away, in a state forest in Middlesex County. She had walked almost five miles in the dark, finally stumbling across a pay phone on the outskirts of Carlisle. The one car that had passed her on that desolate road sped by the frantically waving young woman without even slowing down. The state police would be more than glad to hand the case off to the FBI if they determined it really was kidnapping and not just false imprisonment, malicious mischief, or lord-knows-what.

  They settled into the living room. Detective McGinty handed a piece of paper to Meredith. “Here’s the report filed by the Middlesex County Sheriff’s office,” McGinty said. “Is all the information correct, to the best of your knowledge?”

  Meredith studied it for a moment. “Yes, as near as I can tell. The times are all approximate, you realize.”

  McGinty snatched back the report. As the detectives continued their questioning, Joe sensed a disturbing trend: They don’t seem very interested in getting to the bottom of this. Th
ey’re trying to shift the blame to Meredith…like this is somehow all her fault…like she had caused her own abduction.

  It was Mrs. Riley, though, who quickly screamed foul. When Detective McGinty demanded a list from both girls of all the boys they were seeing, Edna Riley was fearlessly in his face, her words snarling. “I’d change that tone right now, paddy. Show these young ladies some respect. They’re good girls…smart girls…not some little tarts who go slutting themselves around. The little one here is only thirteen, for crying out loud.”

  Her outburst left Joe, Diane, and Meredith startled and speechless. Having had little experience with police in their lives, they never expected to be regarded as anything other than upright citizens. These cops were treating them like suspects, though. The upright citizens were becoming irritated and indignant.

  His housekeeper was a bit wiser about how the wheels turned in the minds of law enforcement officers and did not mind saying so. Joe fully expected the cops to slap handcuffs on Mrs. Riley and drag her to their car. Instead, McGinty and Fallon were locked in a fierce stare-down with Edna Riley, a battle of wills which the cops were fast losing. They could see in her eyes a woman who would not be bluffed.

  Desperate to restore calm and reason, Joe addressed the detectives. “Gentlemen, perhaps we can get back to what exactly happened last night?” He breathed a sigh of relief as the detectives backed down and continued their questioning with a softer, more conciliatory tone. Mrs. Riley relaxed in her chair, savoring her victory.

  “That’s all they said, Detective,” Meredith replied to McGinty’s next question. “Tell your father he’d better stop talking to reporters.”

  Scribbling in his notebook, Detective McGinty did not look up as he asked, “Does your father have any enemies who might want to silence him?”

  “He’s a reporter!” Meredith said, rapidly losing her patience. “Of course he has enemies! But he certainly wouldn’t need to be talking to other reporters about them. He would just write it himself. You can see the logic in that, can’t you, Detective?”

  A bit flustered, McGinty continued, “And you never saw their faces?”

  “I told you…I was blindfolded. But I could peek out the bottom a little. I did notice one thing.”

  “What’s that, miss?”

  “When they turned the light on, the two in the back with me were wearing white socks, like you’d wear with sneakers. But they had on dress shoes.”

  Detective Fallon was wearing white socks. His partner pretended not to notice. Everyone else in the room did.

  “You mean sweat socks, like teenaged boys would wear?” McGinty asks.

  Meredith could not help but stare at Fallon’s socks as she replied, “No, Detective. These weren’t boys. These were men. Four of them, I’m pretty sure.”

  Joe had become impatient, too. “Detectives, isn’t it obvious that the target of the kidnappers was my daughter?”

  The detectives frowned. McGinty shook his head, saying, “No, Doctor Gelardi, nothing here is obvious at all. There’s no ransom demand…and they let her go real quick. Can’t make much of a kidnapping charge out of that.”

  “Only because they grabbed the wrong girl, Detective,” Joe said.

  McGinty did not miss a beat, asking, “By the way, Doctor…you haven’t been talking to any reporters, have you?”

  “Actually, yes. I have.”

  “About what, Doctor?”

  “I was asked by CBS News to relate some of my war experiences.”

  Joe noticed that both detectives had stopped taking notes. The looks on their faces could only be described as skeptical.

  “That doesn’t seem to be much of a motive for abduction and terroristic threats, does it?” Detective Fallon asked.

  Diane enthusiastically raised her hand as if she knew the answer to a question in class. “I know the license plate started with a P. I saw it through the window,” she said, pointing to the living room’s bay window.

  The detectives exchanged amused glances. “Miss, I’m afraid that’s not much help,” Fallon said. “We could turn up a thousand dark-colored sedans with a plate like that. Could have even been an out-of-state plate.” Both detectives closed their notebooks.

  Fallon turned from the crestfallen Diane to Meredith. “Perhaps, Miss Salinger, you should go home to California for a while. Take some time off to put this ordeal behind you.”

  Meredith jumped from her chair like she had just received an electric shock. She began to berate the detectives. “NO! I’m not leaving school! I’m perfectly all right, and I’ve already discussed this with my parents. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a girl to get into MIT in the first place?”

  From the dull looks on their faces, the detectives obviously did not know or care. Rising to leave, McGinty said, “Unless there’s something else any of you want to add…”

  He was interrupted by Mrs. Riley’s guffaw. She turned to the professor and the girls and said, “Save your breath. They ain’t interested in doing anything. I could tell the second they walked in the door.”

  McGinty handed his business card to Joe. In the authoritative voice all cops must master, the voice that subverted grammar and turned any question into a command, the detective said, “Doctor, could we have a word? In private?”

  Joe led McGinty and Fallon to the front yard. Standing on the walkway, McGinty said to his partner, “Start the car. I’ll be right with you.”

  McGinty fixed a stern gaze on Joe. “You know, Doctor, all your people here got some friggin’ attitude. That housekeeper, especially. I’m gonna let it slide…this time.”

  Joe felt his indignation rising once again, but he said nothing. I’m not going to let this incompetent asshole goad me.

  Suddenly, a look came over Detective McGinty that caught Joe completely by surprise. It was a smug, superior smile—with a scolding turn of the head and a raised eyebrow that meant I’ve got you all figured out, chum…I know your secrets.

  “You know, Doctor…if you really care about your little girl…you should think about keeping a real low profile for a while. Maybe running your mouth to reporters ain’t such a hot idea, is it?”

  McGinty turned and strolled to the waiting car, calling casually over his shoulder, “You enjoy what’s left of this fine day, now.”

  The chill that coursed through Joe Gelardi’s body had nothing to do with the cool temperature. His knees nearly buckled. He scanned up and down the street lined with still-bare trees but sensed nothing out of the ordinary. There was nothing but boisterous children coming home from school, zigzagging down the street on bicycles, laundry flapping gently on backyard clotheslines in the steady breeze, the faint, tinkling discord of a neighbor practicing on an out-of-tune piano.

  Somebody is watching me…watching my every move. How else would they know?

  The state policemen’s car was well down the street before it snapped back into Joe’s perception. This is paranoid, I know…It’s too far away to read, but I could swear that license plate starts with a P…

  No…I must be going crazy.

  He did not remember going back into the house, but suddenly he was in the hallway, face to face with Edna Riley. She put a calming hand on his shoulder and led him to the living room and his easy chair.

  “Where are the girls, Mrs. Riley?” he asked.

  “They’re in Diane’s room. You and me have to have a little talk, Professor. Ain’t none of my business what shenanigans you’ve got going on, but we need to protect Diane.”

  “Meredith, too,” Joe adds.

  “Come on, Professor…they weren’t looking for Meredith. That was a mistake. She’ll be okay. But God-knows-who is looking to hurt you. Worry about Diane now.”

  “Protect? But…how?”

  “Not with them useless cops, that’s for damn sure. But my two youngest, Sean and Patrick…they’re both laid-off right now. They’ve got plenty of time to play bodyguard…and they’d be glad to help you out.”

 
Mrs. Riley gave Joe a reassuring pinch on the cheek. “You can take care of whatever crap you’re in without having to worry about her. Now, I’ve got to start cooking dinner. Go upstairs and tell your daughter everything’s going to be okay. She’s worried sick about you.”

  McGinty and Fallon walked into Boston Police Headquarters and headed to a detectives’ squad room upstairs. They went straight to a desk in the back of the room; the detective seated there had his back to them.

  After checking that no one else was in earshot, McGinty said to the seated detective, “Looks like the good professor got the message, wrong girl or not.”

  He swiveled his chair to face them, the slightest of smiles on his weathered face. It was the same face of the man Meredith Salinger might have seen driving the car that night—if she had not been blindfolded. It was the same face Allegra Wise might have noticed following her—if she had had the time to notice. It was the face of the Hard-Boiled Man.

  His smile faded quickly. He nodded and uttered just one word: “Good.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Fred O’Hara had hoped for better weather. If he got off the ground in the next 30 minutes, though, he could beat the storm front that was threatening to make this flight from Pittsburgh to Teterboro, New Jersey, a dangerous proposition. He took the weather reports from the operations office counter and stashed them in his flight bag.

  This was his home airfield. His airplane was parked outside, visible through the large window. Fred had already finished her preflight inspection. All she needed now was some fuel.

  From his desk behind the counter, the flight dispatcher asked, “You want to file your usual, Mr. O’Hara? IFR at 8000 feet?”

  “Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

  The dispatcher glanced at the weather map pinned to the wall and asked, “Is 80 gallons going to be enough?”

  “Hell, yeah. I’m just going to Teterboro.”