Fade to Black

by David Rosenfelt

“There’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s a significant matter.”

  “Fine. Call me and you can bring it here, or I can stop by the hospital.”

  “It would be better if no one knew we were meeting. That would be crucial, actually.”

  This conversation just got a whole lot more interesting. “I see. Call me when you have the information, and we can arrange a meeting wherever you like.”

  He sounds relieved. “Excellent. Thank you for understanding. I’ll contact you in the morning.”

  I hang up the phone and turn to Nate. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

  Paramus Park exists in one of the densest shopping areas in the world.

  Shopping malls in the Paramus/Teaneck area of Bergen County are ubiquitous and have been in place for many years. Anyone who has driven on Route 4 or Route 17 on a Saturday knows what a mob scene it is. The collection of shopping havens attracts people from throughout North Jersey, and they even get many of the more mobile Manhattan residents as well.

  If you can’t get find something in Bergen County, it doesn’t exist.

  The Paramus Park mall is unique in a couple of ways. First of all, it is now the only fully enclosed mall in North Jersey; two others that had been enclosed have since opened up and let the air in. Second, it claims with some justification to have invented the concept of the food court. They trumpet that fact, though as inventions go, it ranks somewhere below the wheel and lightbulb.

  The food court at the Paramus Park mall occupies the entire mezzanine level, so hungry patrons can take a quick escalator up from the main shopping floor. There are no public stairs leading up there, a fact that hasn’t exactly led to a storm of protests. Patrons who are going to sample the kind of calorie-laden fast food that the court provides are not likely to insist on exercising their way up there.

  There are eleven fast-food options on the mezzanine level, ranging from American to Mexican to Asian and back. Prices are higher than at the same chains at other, freestanding locations, but people are paying for the convenience and the multiple options. Parents out to efficiently use their time for bargain shopping can bring their children up there knowing that each will find something to their satisfaction, without ever having to leave the building.

  Saturday is by far the busiest day of the week at Paramus Park for two reasons. Most people are off from work on the weekends, so they have time to spend shopping. But even more significant is the fact that Bergen County is the only county in the entire United States that is fully governed by so-called “Blue Laws.”

  Originally started in 1854, and amended somewhat in the intervening years, the laws state that almost nothing can be sold in Bergen County on Sundays. This is not just a ban on alcohol sales, as exists elsewhere … if you so much as want to buy a diaper in Bergen County on a Sunday, you’re out of luck.

  Efforts to repeal these laws have failed over the years; residents feel that the lack of shopping on Sunday gives them a better quality of life. Store owners often feel differently, especially Orthodox Jewish ones who keep their own stores closed according to their faith on Saturdays. Once Saturdays and Sundays are eliminated, there aren’t many weekend days left.

  Apparently the good people of Bergen County are literally the only people in America who have discovered the joy of shopless Sundays.

  So Saturday is the huge day each week for all the Bergen County shopping malls. Peak time is between one and three o’clock, especially in the food court, where lines stretch out from the more popular venues. Most of the common tables are filled by patrons who have gotten their orders from the counters, and are settled in to eat before going back to resume their shopping.

  It is, of course, a given that almost everyone walking around the mall is carrying at least one shopping bag to carry their purchases. Many people have multiple bags, as shoppers patronize more than one store on each trip, so as to efficiently use their time. It stands to reason that many of the food court tables being utilized will therefore have shopping bags lying next to them and under them, as people eat.

  On this particular Saturday, a lone patron named Nick Saulter sat at one of the tables, munching on a slice of pizza. He did not have a shopping bag with him, because he was not there to buy anything.

  Saulter was there to observe, and to plan, and to confirm that the food court at Paramus Park was in fact the perfect target.

  Next time he came there, he would bring a shopping bag.

  “He doesn’t want to be seen with me,” I say to Jessie.

  She smiles. “I know exactly what he means. It’s embarrassing.”

  I return the smile. “Among the things I’ve obviously forgotten is how nasty you can be.”

  I’m in Jessie’s office, and she’s fitting me for a wire to wear to record my conversation with Mitchell Galvis. Based on how he sounded yesterday, as well as this morning when we set up the meeting, it seems like it’s a conversation I might want to preserve.

  “Take your shirt off,” she says.

  “Why does sex have to be your answer to everything?”

  “You’re right. I need to cut back on that.”

  I start taking off my shirt. “On the other hand, it’s a decent answer for pretty much any question I can think of.”

  “What do you think this guy is going to say?” she asks, indicating that the banter portion of this meeting has concluded.

  “I have no idea. Could be he’s going to implicate someone, or maybe he thinks he’s James Bond and the idea of clandestine meetings with law enforcement about kidnappings is exciting.”

  She’s just about finished taping the wire to my chest. “Well, whatever it is, we’ll all hear it.”

  “This could turn out to be the most boring secret recording of all time,” I say.

  The door opens and Nate pops his very large body into the room. “Galvis is on the phone. I switched it in here.” On cue, the phone rings, and Nate points to it. “And there it is.”

  I pick up the phone, and again I’m talking to the apparently nervous Mitchell Galvis. “Can we meet this morning?” he asks. “I took off from work.”

  “Do you have the information?”

  “What? Oh, yes, of course I do.”

  I have the strong feeling that the information I asked for is, at least in Galvis’s mind, the least important part of this upcoming meeting. “Where would you like to meet?” I ask.

  “I was hoping we could go for a ride. Maybe you could pick me up, and we could go someplace, or even talk in your car.”

  “OK. Where are you?”

  “There’s a place on Route 17, the Village Diner.”

  “I know it,” I say.

  “I’ll be in the parking lot to the rear of the store. I’ll be in my car, all the way in the back by the fence. It’s a gray Fusion. When I see you, I’ll get out and come in your car.”

  “Why so secretive?” I ask.

  “I have my reasons, believe me. But you’ll understand when we meet.”

  I tell Jessie and Nate about the call when I get off, and Nate says, “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. I don’t want to scare him off.”

  “I’ll smile a lot and buy him a donut.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll follow you,” Nate says. “I don’t like this secrecy shit; you shouldn’t be alone with him. Especially with you driving. He could be armed.”

  “I agree with Nate,” Jessie says.

  “No. This guy is not a threat.”

  “That’s what you said about John Smith,” Nate says.

  “Who’s John Smith?”

  Nate shakes his head in disgust. “You forgot him, too? Guy was a wimpy librarian; we were investigating him for a possible drug buy. He pulled a gun on you, and I had to save your ass.”

  “You’re making that up,” I say.

  Nate nods. “Yeah, but it could have been true.”

  Jessie laughs. “You couldn’t come up with a better name than John Smit
h?”

  Nate shrugs. “Hey, I was under a lot of pressure.”

  “I’m leaving, but I’m going to watch for you,” I tell Nate. “If I see you come out that front door, I’m going to run you down. It’ll total the car, but it will be worth it.”

  I arrive at the Village Diner about ten minutes early, and the parking lot is still fairly crowded with what must be a late-eating breakfast crowd. I drive around toward the back, and I see Galvis sitting in the driver’s seat of his car. He sees me, as well, and gets out. He’s carrying a small briefcase.

  I pull up in front of his car, and he quickly opens the door and gets into the passenger seat.

  He seems out of breath, but he’s only walked about ten feet. “Thanks,” he says. “I made sure I wasn’t followed.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  He is aware enough to know I’m being sarcastic. “You think I’m being too careful,” he says. “But I’m not. These are dangerous people.”

  “Who is it we’re talking about?”

  “Let me start from the beginning,” he says.

  So he does.

  “You have to keep my name out of this,” Galvis says.

  That is the same request that Connor Shawn made when he told me about his scrapbook. It was the last time I saw him with his head on his shoulders. Hopefully this will work out better for Galvis.

  “I’ll do what I can,” I say. We’ve left the diner and pulled into an enormous parking lot in a mall called Paramus Park. We can sit in the car here and talk without anyone noticing us.

  He shakes his head. “No, that’s not good enough. You have to promise me you won’t tell anyone about this conversation. Otherwise take me back to my car.”

  “OK. Just between us.” Technically my promise has no meaning, since a recording of this meeting is being done, and therefore other people will learn about it without me having to tell them. Jessie and Nate are no doubt listening to us right now. But I’ll try to stick to the spirit of the agreement in any event.

  I can see him relax with relief, and he takes a folder out of the briefcase. “First of all, these are the people that Rita worked with. Some of them are still with the hospital, some not. I included whatever contact information we have for the people that left.”

  “What about people she dealt with at other places? Lewinsky said she was involved with dealing with outside companies, including drug manufacturers.”

  He nods. “Whatever I know about is in there.”

  “Great.”

  He takes a deep breath and launches into his story. “There is something else, something that until now I’ve kept to myself. I know that was wrong, but what’s done is done.”

  I don’t say anything; I think it’s best in these situations to interrupt as little as possible. When someone wants to talk, let them talk. I may have learned that at the police academy, or since, but I just don’t remember.

  “There have been some … let’s call them irregularities … in the way the hospital buys drugs.”

  He pauses, waiting for me to jump in, so I just ask what he means by “irregularities.”

  “Over time the amount we’ve been buying has increased, but the usage hasn’t. And it’s not being reflected in our inventory. I’ve seen the orders, and the payment authorizations, but when I look in the system, the numbers are different. It’s happened too many times for it to be a mistake.”

  “What kind of drugs?” I ask.

  “Mostly opioids. The kind that would have a serious street value.”

  “Who is in charge of this?”

  “You made a promise, right? My name stays out.”

  “Right.”

  “It has to be Lewinsky … my boss. He’s the only one in a position to cover this up. I don’t know who he is working with inside the hospital. He’d need help, but nobody else could do it without him.”

  “How much money is involved?”

  “I don’t know; it depends when it started, and I don’t know the answer to that. But it’s got to be at least seven figures, and that’s not taking into account the street value of the drugs. That would be through the roof; I can’t even imagine how much. You’d probably know better than me.”

  “Is this ongoing?”

  “I think so, but I can’t be sure,” he says. “But they don’t know that anyone is on to them, so I can’t see why they’d stop.”

  “Why are you coming forward now? And why to me?” I ask.

  “Because of Rita, and the fact that you seem to have reopened her case. I know I should have thought of it earlier, but I never connected the possibility of Rita’s disappearing to the situation at the hospital. It just seemed like her boyfriend was guilty, and that was that.”

  The words are coming easier to him as he’s getting more into the revelations. “Was she in a position to have been working with Lewinsky to get these drugs illegally?”

  “I guess so, but I knew Rita, and I don’t believe it. She was a good, honest person. I was thinking maybe she discovered what was going on, and they silenced her. They could have killed her to prevent her from talking. Maybe that’s crazy … I hope it is … but…”

  “Who’s ‘they,’ Mitchell?”

  “What?”

  “You said ‘they’ could have killed her. Who are ‘they’?”

  He looks around, as if trying to confirm that we’re alone, even though we obviously are. “My name goes nowhere. Promise me again.”

  “We’ve been through this twice, Mitchell.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll deny everything, and I’ll never testify. You need to make the promise again.”

  “I won’t reveal your name. Now who are the people that could have killed Rita Carlisle?”

  He takes a deep breath. “I overheard a phone conversation that Lewinsky was having; he didn’t know I could hear it. He sounded like he was afraid of something, like he was doing damage control. I heard him say, ‘It will be fine; I can handle it. Please tell him that.’”

  “Do you know who he was referring to?”

  Galvis nods, pauses for a moment, and then says, “Lewinsky said, ‘Tell Mr. Silva not to worry.’”

  “For now, let’s keep this within this room.”

  The room I’m talking about is Jessie’s office. She and Nate heard my conversation with Galvis through the wire as it was happening, and were as stunned by it as I was. I’ve come straight back to talk to them about it.

  “If we don’t tell the captain, he’ll have our asses,” Nate says. Then, to Jessie, “I’m talking about Doug’s and my asses, of course.”

  “Thanks, Nate; that’s a relief,” she says. “Why within this room?” Jessie asks me. “Because of your promise to Galvis? Because, technically, if one of us tells the captain, or if we just play him the tape, you’re in the clear.”

  “That bothers me some, but that’s not really it. I just think we should wait until we have it nailed down more.”

  “We’ve got testimony about a felony conspiracy at the hospital, we have a potential perp for Carlisle, we’ve got a motive, and we’ve got Silva connected. All wrapped up in one taped conversation. What more do we need?”

  I nod. “We do have all that, but in the eyes of a prosecutor, we have nothing. We have no proof of the drug thefts at the hospital; in fact, Galvis said Lewinsky has covered those tracks. We have no proof that Rita Carlisle was either part of the conspiracy or knew about it. We don’t even know for sure it was going on back then. And we have no way to tie Silva in, at least not in a manner that would be admissible. All we have is one witness, who, by the way, has sworn he’ll deny all of it and never testify.”

  “He’s on tape,” Jessie says.

  “It’s not enough. No prosecutor in his right mind would take this anywhere near a courtroom.”

  “We could probably get a warrant to examine the hospital books based on Galvis’s statements,” Nate says.

  “Without using his name?” Jessie asks.

  I nod. “Probably
. I would just have to swear that he’s a reliable guy who is absolutely in a position to know what he’s talking about. But it likely wouldn’t get us anywhere, since Galvis has already said that the books have been cooked to look normal. And if we made that move, we’d tip off where we’re heading with this.”

  “We might have to do that anyway,” Nate says.

  “Not a good move. We want to do more than nail a hospital administrator for drug crimes and fraud. We want to get Silva on kidnapping and murder. And we need to convince a prosecutor to get near doing that.”

  “Absolutely,” Nate says. “But nobody’s talking about going to a prosecutor right now. This is about telling the captain.”

  “I know,” I say. “I just think we should wait until we have a little more.”

  “You’re worried he’ll sabotage it? That he won’t want to blow up the Nicholson conviction?”

  “I don’t think so, but it’s possible. Maybe even subconsciously. Let’s just give this some air, okay? Just a couple of days. There’s also another angle we’re not considering.”

  “What’s that?” Jessie asks.

  Nate answers the question for her. “Shawn.”

  I nod. “Exactly. Let’s assume everything Galvis said was accurate, and let’s further assume that Rita was killed because of the drug thefts. Maybe she was part of it and wanted to stop, or even confess. Or more likely she found out about it and they killed her to shut her up. You with me?”

  Nate nods, and picks up the scenario. “And we can assume that Shawn knew all that, so if he wanted us to reopen Carlisle, then he wanted Silva to get nailed for it.”

  “Right,” I say. “For all we know he might have slipped us more evidence if he had lived. So Silva makes sense for having killed Rita, but the bigger question is, why was Shawn trying to bring Silva down?”

  “Maybe he was doing it for Tartaro,” Jessie says.

  “Maybe, but why? What would Tartaro, sitting in Vegas, gain from Silva going down? And why go about it this way? If he wanted Silva out of the way so bad, why not hire somebody like Shawn to put a bullet in his head? Why would he rely on us? Unless I’m forgetting even more than I think I am, our record of going after people like Silva is not exactly filled with lightning-fast successes.”