Fatal Dose

by K. J. Janssen

  Tabby, Adelle’s cat needed to be fed. It was meowing incessantly. The noise was starting to get on her nerves. Adelle rescued Tabby when the cat showed up at her door one day. Tabby was badly scratched and underfed. A trip to the vet and a month of pampering was all that the feline needed. Tabby was now her family.

  “You be patient, Tabby. I’ll feed you in a minute.”

  The cat looked at her quizzically and resumed her meowing. Adelle opened a can of food, spooned it into Tabby’s bowl and bent down to serve it. As she did, she felt faint. She grabbed for the counter top, but her hand slipped off the polished surface. The bowl went crashing to the floor and shattered into several pieces as Adelle Manning collapsed; dead before she hit the floor.

  Tabby scurried over to the broken bowl and carefully picked out her food. When she was finished, she walked past Adelle’s body and relieved herself in the litter box. Then, passing Adelle for a second time, she went to her velvet-lined bed and curled up for a long nap.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When she returned from lunch, Mark put Marcia to work on a short list of Atronen employees that he’d found on their website. The list was one year old, but was a good starting place. He wanted her to gain more experience with the software.

  The programs that Marcia was using were aimed at uncovering sensitive information that a person would be prone to lie about or leave off of an application. Within an hour she was back at his desk with a stack of reports. Three employees were singled out, and she handed those to him as she laid the stack on the desk. “These three had flagrant records. One had a prior conviction for embezzlement from his church. Another had no record of academic achievement past the eighth grade; still another was guilty of trigamy, if there is such a word.”

  “And you got these from just that short list I gave you? That’s really great. You’re doing a great job, Marcia. I hope to have a full list of their employees for you possibly as early as tomorrow. You’ll be using the same programs.”

  “I’ll be ready when you are, Agent Matthews. If that’s it, then good night. I’m meeting a few friends for drinks before heading home.”

  “You go ahead Marcia, and have a good time.”

  “Thanks!”

  After she left, he picked up the stack of reports and scanned through them. If she found three out of such a small sample, he could only imagine what they would uncover when the entire employee database was run. Having Marcia’s help was a real godsend.

  * * *

  Marco Vennuti was getting ready to leave his office. It had been a busy day. First the call from Melbourne, then the visit from two Cleveland Police detectives. While both went well, he had a lingering concern about why the FBI wasn’t actively involved. Maybe they bought the idea of Brice’s death being an accident. That would be a real plus. After all, it appears that the Cleveland Police Department is definitely leaning in that direction. As he pulled out his keys to lock his office door, the phone rang. He returned to his desk to pick it up after the mandatory third ring. He listened for a few minutes then spoke “I’ll meet you at six at the usual place. If you get there first, get a booth for us.” He opened the bottom drawer, removed a small lock box, took out his keychain and placed a thin grey key into the lock. He removed a stack of bills from the box and counted out three hundred dollars which he placed in an envelope and slid into the inside pocket of his jacket. He locked the box, returned it to the drawer and left for his appointment.

  Marco arrived at the Slip-In Saloon exactly at six. He looked around the seedy surroundings until he spotted a familiar face in a booth in the back. As he sat down, a waitress showed up with a filthy rag and wiped it over the table.

  “What can I get you guys?”

  “I’ll have a Bud Light,” said his companion.

  “Make mine a Johnny Black on the rocks.”

  They sat there in silence until the waitress returned with the drinks. Ignoring any formalities, Marco took a big sip of his drink. “Okay, what’s so important?”

  “Well, I thought you would want to know that I’ve been assigned to do background checks on Atronen Pharmaceuticals employees.”

  Marco now understood why there was no overt FBI presence in the Bennett investigation. They were working behind the scenes. “Who’s the Agent you’re reporting to?”

  “You know I won’t tell you that. Our deal is that I just tell you when something is going on involving Atronen. That’s all, no names, no files or anything else.”

  “You don’t have to remind me about our agreement,” he said rather tersely. Taking note that several people in the booths across from them were looking in his direction, he glared back at them and they quickly averted their eyes. He regained his composure.

  “You’re right, of course. My superiors will appreciate this heads up. Here’s what I need you to do. Go ahead and complete the checks you’ve been asked to do. Just take your time doing them. You know, have problems with the computer or the software. Just slow the process down for a while; maybe even skip a few names that could be a potential problem to us. Would that be a problem?”

  “Of course it would be,” she replied excitedly. “The Agents aren’t stupid. They’ll notice if I skip stuff. I have a job to worry about. I don’t want to mess that up.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t get so excited. How about giving me a copy of any reports that uncover questionable backgrounds. After all, they do work for us.”

  “That’s not our deal. I only agreed to let you know when the Bureau is investigating Atronen. We never agreed for me to provide any other information or give you copies of anything.”

  “I know that. But we’re going to have to renegotiate. I need to have a lot more details. I’m willing to pay you a bonus for your trouble. You know that I’m just trying to protect my company from overzealous federal Bureaucrats snooping into our operations. They’re regulating us out of business.”

  “I’m not sure I want to get in any deeper. If I get caught I could go to jail. This is the FBI we’re talking about, for God’s sake, not some pencil pushing corporation.”

  Vennuti motioned to the waitress for another round. After the drinks arrived, he continued, “What if I upped the ante, to, let’s say, to a grand. A thousand dollars just for this one job. You know you can use the money.”

  Marcia hesitated before she said, “I don’t know. It’s awful risky.”

  “Why don’t you think about it and call me tomorrow with your decision. He reached into his pocket and removed the envelope. As he slid it across the table he said, “In the meantime, here’s the three hundred for today. Thanks again, Marcia. You think about my offer. A thousand dollars will pay a lot of bills. There could be a chance for a lot more later on.”

  He picked up his glass and emptied it. He tossed three tens on the table and got up. “Oh, and by the way, we had an incident at one of our warehouses over the weekend. One of our employees got himself killed in an elevator. Did you hear anything about it around the Bureau?”

  “No, I didn’t, but I’m not privy to everything that’s going on. I did read about it in the paper, though.”

  As he turned to leave, she said with a smile, “See ya.”

  Vennuti sat in his car in the Slip-In parking lot for about twenty minutes. He watched Marcia get into her car and drive away. She was expensive, but he was getting a good return on his money, actually, Melbourne’s money. Marco thought about how fortunate it was that Melbourne saw the wisdom of him having someone on the inside at the FBI; someone who knew how to keep her mouth shut. What Melbourne didn’t know, and hopefully would never find out, was that Marcia was only one of two spies at the Cleveland FBI Bureau that Marco relied on for information.

  The second person was on Vennuti’s private payroll. Long ago he realized that the less Melbourne knew about his affairs, in general, the safer it would be for him. Marco put the car into drive and exited the parking lot. He looked forward to getting home and settling down with a glass or two of eighteen-year-o
ld Glenlivet Scotch. There was a lot to think about, now that the FBI was getting more active in Atronen’s affairs.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dennis Peterson picked up his private phone on the second ring. “Yes?”

  “I told him about my new project. At first he just asked me to slow down my search of the Atronen files, but then he made me an offer of one thousand dollars to give him a copy of whatever I come up with on any of his employees with questionable backgrounds. He wants me to call him tomorrow with my decision. He also asked for the name of the agent I’m doing the work for. It sounds as if he’s getting desperate.”

  “That’s a twist I hadn’t anticipated. I’ll discuss this with Special Agent Matthews tomorrow morning. Thanks for the update, Marcia. Vennuti has no way of knowing what your daily schedule is, but just as a precaution, be careful not to discuss what you’re doing with any of your friends. Don’t leave anything on your desk. I’ll mix up your assignments so no one will know specifically who your primary agent is. If you have to deliver any files to Agent Matthew use a sealed inter-office courier pack. I’m pretty sure there is a leak somewhere, so we can’t be too careful.”

  “I’ll make sure that there is no trail. Good night Dennis. I love you.”

  “Good night. I love you too, Marcia, and thanks again.”

  Peterson sat back in his chair and reflected on the day that Marcia came into his office to tell him about Vennuti approaching her at the Slip-In Saloon. She occasionally frequented the bar because it was on her way home from work. Somehow Vennuti knew that Marcia worked for the Bureau. Dennis suspected that someone in his office passed along this information, but since Marco was asking about the agent she was working for, the squealer obviously had limited access. That was a plus.

  Marco’s offer at the time was three hundred dollars per tip for keeping him updated on anything the FBI was doing with regard to Atronen Pharmaceuticals. Washington gave Peterson the go-ahead to use Marcia as a counter-informer, passing along information in a controlled sting. This was becoming a more common practice, especially since 9/11, but Dennis was still uncomfortable with it.

  After Marcia graduated from college she applied to the FBI to become a Special Agent. Her scores were not high enough to qualify, but she was offered a job at the Cleveland FBI office as a Technical Support Analyst.

  Marcia was no stranger to Dennis. They’d been seeing each other for over four years. She was far from the beauty he married; his wife Joanne being a former Miss America runner-up. But what Marcia lacked in looks she more than made up for in tenderness and compassion, two areas that were very lacking in Dennis’s life. Marcia has been on an emotional rollercoaster with Dennis for some time, including several occasions when he was convinced that he needed to reconcile with Joanne for the sake of their son. The odd thing was that son Stephen had no use for his father and often had taken sick on his visitation days. The times that father and son had together became fewer. Now that Stephen was preparing to enter college, there didn’t seem to be much sense in reconciliation. Dennis finally filed for divorce and Joanne did not contest it.

  Marcia’s patience finally paid off. Now that his divorce was final, they were making secret plans to get married. As far as Dennis knew, no one had the slightest inkling of their relationship, that’s how careful they’ been and for now the way Dennis wanted to keep it. Too much was going on to muddy the waters.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Marco Vennuti signed the “Visitors Book” at the Peaceful Hollow Funeral Home. He proceeded to view Brice’s body, to bless himself and then to wait on the line of friends and family paying their respects to Brice’s parents. When his turn arrived, he introduced himself. “Good evening, I’m Marco Vennuti. I’m with Atronen Pharmaceuticals. I am so sorry for your loss.”

  At the mention of the company name, both of Brice’s parents stiffened. Fortunately for Marco, they previously discussed how they would handle the situation should someone from the company show up. Until this day, the only contact they had with the company was a phone call from Human Resources and an obscenely large basket of flowers that required two men to carry into the funeral parlor. The Bennetts were not home when Federal Express attempted to deliver a payroll check for the four thousand dollars that was due Brice.

  John and Amanda were determined to be cordial with anyone who showed up. There was nothing to gain from making a scene. Amanda’s cousin Peter Martin advised them that they could file a negligence suit against Atronen and the elevator company for the death of their son, and that they should not, under any circumstances, sign any papers. All attempts to contact them were to be referred to his office. Having previously made these decisions, they both put on polite smiles and thanked Marco for coming.

  Marco felt uncomfortable at wakes. Not so much when his stepfather Guido died, but certainly when his mother passed away three months later. He was glad that the hard part was over, and he patiently sat on a chair looking respectful for the next hour.

  Dennis called the Bennetts and explained why he and other agents could not attend the public ceremonies. He, Agents Farrell and Matthews, along with the other members of the PDS attended a private viewing. No names or explanations were given to the owner of the parlor, who was a close friend of the family and was more than willing to cooperate in any way.

  The next day the funeral service started at St. John’s Catholic Church and culminated at Peaceful Hollow Cemetery adjacent to the funeral home. There was a crowd of about forty people at the graveside some of Brice’s boyhood friends, a few neighbors and family that traveled from Pennsylvania and Kentucky.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Marco slammed the phone down, having just received a disturbing message from his contact in the Cleveland Police Department. The Bennetts’ attorney was planning to file a “wrongful death” suit against Atronen and the Mortonson Elevator Company. He dialed his boss immediately. Melbourne answered the call on the second ring.

  Vennuti announced, “I just heard that the Bennetts are planning to file a suit against us and the elevator manufacturer for the wrongful death of their son. I was afraid this would happen. This isn’t good.”

  “You’re right. I don’t like the sound of this at all. We don’t need any unnecessary probing around your operations or any litigation that exposes us. Let me think for a minute.” The phone went silent. Finally he said, “I think the best thing to do is to make the whole problem go away. This is your mess. I’ll leave it up to you as to how it gets done. The less I know the better. Just make sure it’s a clean job. It has to look like an accident. Get it done in the next twenty-four hours. Understand?”

  “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. They won’t be a bother to us any more, I can promise you that.”

  Marco made a few phone calls and sat back in his chair. He smiled as he updated his mental scorecard: Vennuti ‘5’, FBI ‘0’. This is so one-sided. I wonder why they keep showing up to play. He smiled, took another sip of his scotch and settled down to watch a ball game.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mark picked up a paper at the stand down the street from the building. As he walked back, he glanced at the front page of the Cleveland Plain Dealer. The story popped out at him:

  BEREA COUPLE KILLED IN HOME GAS EXPLOSION

  John and Amanda Bennett, longtime residents of 36 Rock River Road in Berea, died from a gas furnace explosion in their home. The fire took firemen over four hours to control. The house burned to the ground despite the valiant efforts of two fire companies.

  The Bennetts lived at that address for thirty-two years. Their two sons Brice and Peter grew up there. Peter Bennett died in Afghanistan last year and their son Brice died a week ago in a tragic elevator accident.

  Police ruled the cause of the fire as accidental. While the explosion and fire completely gutted the house, damage to nearby homes was minimal. Neighbors were visibly shaken by the multiple tragedies.

  Mark’s first reaction to the headline was one of utter shock and
disbelief. He felt a knot in his stomach. He hurried to Peterson’s office. A copy of the paper was open on Dennis’s desk. He looked up at Mark with pained eyes. With a quivery voice, he asked, “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

  “I don’t have the answer, Dennis. The Bennetts were great Americans. Even after what happened to their sons, they were still willing to accept it as a price they would have to pay in the defense of our liberties. This was no accident. They were killed to silence them.” Mark shook his head as if that would make the pain easier to bear; it didn’t. “We both know who’s behind this. This has Vennuti written all over it. Doesn’t he realize this will make us even more resolute about stopping him? How could he be so brazen? The man has to be a psychopath.”

  Dennis seemed not to be listening. Mark suspected that he was mulling over the death count that resulted from undercover assignments a count that, when added to Susan Harrigan, now totaled four during his watch. Dennis looked at Mark with expressionless eyes, finally speaking, “Of course you’re right, Mark, but what more can we do? Justice has tied our hands on this. Apparently there is too much at stake to make any preemptive moves against Vennuti. I swear that if he ran somebody down with his car, they would probably look the other way rather than upset their precious investigations.” Resentment echoed in his words. “He murdered that entire family in cold blood and I have to bide my time as he continues to get away with murder. Somebody high up already leaned on Chief Jacobsen. He’s been advised not to release any details regarding the Bennetts. The same goes for the Fire Marshall’s office. They were too quick to determine the cause as accidental. What are we supposed to do, just sit idly by with our thumbs up our asses as their investigations move along at a snail’s pace? I’m getting to hate this job, Mark. I never thought I’d say that. It was so much easier in the old days. We were a Bureau that took action. All this pussy-footing around sucks. I have to laugh at those do-gooders who say we’re always trampling on people’s civil liberties. If they only knew the restraints we have to work under, they’d sing a different tune.”