The Mather Triad: Series Boxed Set (Chloe Mather Thrillers)

by Lawrence Kelter

  “I guess it’s safe to say the man wasn’t well liked. When did this happen?”

  “Sometime late last night,” Cabrera reported. “His wife said that he played poker with some of his friends.”

  “Friends? A man like that doesn’t have any friends.”

  “Made men,” Cabrera said, making an adjustment in nomenclature. “Cosa Nostra guys. His wife gave all the names to the police. She said that she took an Ambien and went to bed way before the poker game broke up.”

  “So at least there are suspects.”

  “I hate to burst your bubble, Gumdrop, but they found evidence of breaking and entering. It looks like someone gained access to the roof from a nearby tree and went in through an upstairs window. They found a rope affixed to a nearby tree with a grappling hook at the end. It doesn’t mean that one of Silvestri’s card players didn’t double back and do the deed, but it suggests otherwise. They all came and left in their own cars.”

  “No one else was at home?”

  “Nope. Silvestri’s daughter slept over at a friend’s house.”

  “How convenient, everyone’s got an alibi, mobsters and family members alike.”

  “Isn’t it, though? But I guess all’s well that ends well. A big time scumbag is dead, and we didn’t have to lift a finger to accomplish it. It’s Miller time!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “I wish law enforcement was always this easy.”

  “Huh,” I huffed and sank into a nearby chair. “Motives for killing Silvestri and Linuzzi?”

  “Why look a gift horse in the mouth?” Cabrera asked as he sipped his morning coffee. “Anyway, there are too many to mention.”

  “No, there aren’t.” I stood, walked over to the bulletin board, and picked up a marker. I pulled up a mental list of the top reasons for committing a homicide and started to jot down the ones I thought applied: money, power, revenge, and mob hit. “Can you think of anything else?”

  Cabrera shrugged. “Billy Joel tickets?”

  I grimaced. “Um, probably not.” I underlined mob hit and revenge. “Could it be that someone outside the world of law enforcement fingered Silvestri and Linuzzi for Rachel Rabin’s death? Someone not quite interested in a unanimous vote from a jury of his peers?”

  Cabrera made a face. “Mather, who can you think of that has the stones to kill two high-level mobsters, and why would they give a crap about a dead Israeli girl?”

  “Yet someone did exactly that. I don’t have the answer but—”

  “It’s not our problem, Mather. Our only involvement is to aid the Israelis to get closure on the Rabin homicide. Who killed the two dick-wads is no concern of ours.”

  “Cabrera, you can’t see that these three homicides go hand in hand? I mean, come on. Besides, our job isn’t over until we connect someone to Rachel Rabin’s homicide. It looks like someone knows more than we do, a great deal more.”

  “What about that loser Soto?”

  “His car was spotted on I-95 near Georgia last night. The FBI has him under surveillance, so he might have paid for the two hits, but he wasn’t the one who slashed Linuzzi’s and Silvestri’s throats. Besides, he strikes me more as a weasel than a lion.”

  “What the hell is he doing in Georgia, anyway?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, cowboy. Wallace called me this morning with the news flash.”

  “Well then, I’ve got nothing. How about we lubricate our brain cells with a couple of Boston cream donuts?”

  “Maybe later. I want to do some digging on the computer. Say, weren’t you supposed to check up on Lorraine Franco this morning?”

  Cabrera stood and began to slip on his jacket. I could see that he had become pensive. “I called and spoke to the officer in charge. She’s fine.”

  “What? Trouble in paradise?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said firmly. “Maybe you can stop by later.”

  “Um, yeah, sure. I can do that.” Whatever. What isn’t he telling me? “Actually, with Linuzzi and Silvestri dead we can probably release her from protective custody. The way things look, she’s less at risk than any of several underworld crime figures.”

  “I guess I wasn’t thinking. I’ll talk to Wallace when I get back and get his blessing.” He checked the cash in his wallet. “Want me to bring one back for you?”

  “No, thanks. My mother made bread pudding last night. If I don’t watch it, I’m liable to blow up like an engorged tick.”

  He grimaced. “Now there’s a picture. Hey, you never did tell me about the time you blew your CO for that Silver Star Medal.”

  “And with good reason.”

  “Which is?”

  “Because, I could tell you, but then I’d have to make you bleed, and I don’t think you’re man enough to handle a good beating.”

  “Ouch! Hey, come on, Mather. Humor me.”

  I flared my nostrils and exhaled through them. “Okay, but only because I know you’ll never stop asking.”

  His eyes glowed. “Really?”

  “Take a seat.”

  ~~~

  I knew that something was wrong with Bigelow the minute he called me Chloe. It only happened once, but once is all that’s needed when you’ve been trained to be suspicious. I can’t enter a room without making a study of it: the entrances, exits, windows, elevation, number of people, and how they strike me. So when Captain Robert Bigelow used my first name, my hidden antennae broke right through the skin and rose to their fullest extension.

  It took place when he pinned a medal on my chest. “Congratulations, Chloe,” he said as he shook my hand, but as he leaned in to whisper in my ear, he felt like someone who wanted to kiss me and receive one in return. He didn’t, of course, not with the brass out in full attendance. He merely whispered in my ear, “Semper Fi, Bam Bam. You did us all proud.”

  I was receiving the Silver Star Medal for gallantry in action against an enemy of the United States. I wasn’t the only one who fired a gun during the siege on Mizri Ghar, but I had taken out strategic enemies, making it possible for the tactical mission to succeed. I’d also performed triage on the medic, Sullivan, even though his wounds were not, in my opinion, life threatening.

  The Silver Star is the third highest military decoration for valor that can be awarded to any person serving in the United States Armed Forces. By my reckoning, I should’ve only received a Bronze Star if at all, but I figured that I received the silver because I was a girl, not just a girl but the first Marine Corps FET to receive one, which made me kind of special.

  I guess the Silver Star made for good PR all around. Several high-ranking officials and military correspondents attended the ceremony—executive officers I didn’t think knew my name personally congratulated me. Little did I know that I was about to become the poster child for women in the military all over the world. It wasn’t an assignment I was looking forward to, especially because I knew my role in the Marine Corps would change. I’d be off the front line, which is where I wanted to be. The military was going to make me a celebrity. They were planning to fly me to D.C. to be honored at a dinner hosted by the White House Military Office. Several other stops were being scheduled as well. If I wasn’t careful, I’d wake up to find myself in bed with groupies.

  If I wanted to be treated like a debutant, that’s what I would’ve been. I would’ve learned to balance a book on my head while I walked and cheered for Ole Miss (not that I attended Ole Miss, but you get the idea). The truth is that I only owned a handful of skirts and much rather preferred to wear jeans. My hands begin to shake if I don’t squeeze a trigger at least once every twenty-four hours. I get a total rush from marching in formation, and I just adore blowing things up.

  So my instincts were correct. Bigelow asked if he could buy me a drink after the award ceremony. I didn’t like the idea, but he was my CO, after all, and the one who had nominated me for the Silver Star. My intuition told me to beg off, but I convinced myself that I was just being paranoid.

  So I went. />
  We were both in uniform—no place fancy, just his office with a bottle of Dewars and two glasses. He didn’t pour two fingers or three. He filled our glasses halfway. “Here’s to the marines,” he toasted. “Semper Fi.”

  “Semper Fi.” I took a sip and put the glass down. “I’ll never be able to put this all away.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve seen you drink, Mather. You’ve got a hollow leg.”

  He was right, but having a hollow leg didn’t mean that I have to fill it up every time someone bought me a drink.

  “You made the marines look good today. You sent a message that enlisted men and women all over the world can respect.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re my drinking partner, Mather. There’s no sirs or captains tonight. Call me Bob.” He toasted to that also. “Where’d you learn to shoot the way you do?”

  “Boot camp.”

  He seemed surprised. “Seriously? I figured that you had logged hundreds of hours at a private range before you enlisted.”

  “Nope, just boot camp. I like shooting stuff.”

  “Well, you did a hell of a job up on that mountain. I don’t know if the mission would’ve gone as well for us if you didn’t provide cover as well as you did.”

  “Just serving my country.”

  “And now you’re a hero.”

  “I think you made me a hero, you and the brass.”

  “How do you figure?” Bigelow asked, but I could tell from the way he asked the question that his interests were self-serving.

  I took another mouthful of scotch. I may not have wanted to drink, but I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy drinking. “I picked off a few hajis and put Band-Aids on Sullivan’s boo-boos. I’m sure there are lots of male soldiers who’ve done more and didn’t receive a Silver Star for it. I guess I have you to thank for it.”

  Bigelow said, “Bullshit,” but his expression said something else. He had drunken doe eyes. I may have had a hollow leg, but it was becoming evident that Bigelow’s scotch was collecting in an entirely different reservoir. He grabbed my butt. “I like you, Chloe.”

  “I like you too, Captain, but …”

  I guess he didn’t hear my objection, because he pulled me closer and kissed me.

  “Not a good idea, Captain. Really we—”

  He grabbed a boob and ground against me. I could feel him rising to the occasion.

  “That’s enough, Captain.” I suppose he felt that I owed him something because he had suggested me for the medal—or maybe he was just a horny cheap drunk. Maybe he was both, a cheap drunk looking for a gratitude hump. “Stop!”

  “Oh, come on, Chloe, be a good marine.” He pulled my blouse apart and then began to unbuckle his belt.

  “You’re not listening,” I warned.

  He pushed me up against the wall, cradling my ass in his hands. He tried to slip his tongue into my mouth, but I turned my head. He had his full weight against me, pinning me to the wall.

  ~~~

  Cabrera was on the edge of his seat. “So what did you do?”

  “I said, ‘Stop!’ again, but he didn’t. I kneed him in the balls and then hauled off and punched him in the face. I broke his nose in two places.” I shrugged.

  Cabrera looked as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s incredible. And you never brought him up on charges?”

  “Nope. I never brought him up on charges, and he never laid a hand on me again. I took that celebrity tour the brass was so hot about. My tour of active service ended about a month after that nice dinner I had at the White House. By the time my fifteen minutes of fame were over, the brass cancelled the FET program. I transferred back stateside and worked as an instructor at the Mountain Warfare Training Center in Bridgeport, California.”

  “So that’s it?” Cabrera asked, looking terribly disappointed.

  “Asshole! Did you really believe that I blew my executive officer? I was a woman marine,” I huffed, “not a walking mattress.”

  “Jesus,” Cabrera complained. “What a colossal waste of time. I could be up to my bicuspids in chocolate and Boston cream by now.”

  Cabrera walked from the squad room, and I returned to my desk. He might have been able to satisfy his cravings with sugar, but that wouldn’t work for me. I couldn’t solve my homicide case with baked goods. Only good old-fashioned sweat and toil would do the trick. I had learned to throw myself into my work when things got ugly, and I did so one more time, just as I had when Bigelow attempted to rape me. My throat tightened, and I could feel my eyes glaze over. I quickly glanced around to make sure that no one was watching. You see, I did punch Bigelow in the face, and I did break his nose in two places, but he was two hundred and forty-five pounds of hard-charging marine … and he just kept coming.

  Chapter 49

  Ari Rabin sat in a tub of hot water and bath salts with his eyes closed, drawing strength from the heat he absorbed from the water. His right shoulder, arm, and ribs were badly bruised, a terrible blotchy purple color. His forearm was swollen and resembled a large eggplant.

  Ben Elias walked into the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the whirlpool tub with a full bottle of Chivas Regal in one hand and two glasses in the other. The hotel suite he had taken for Ari was large and lavishly appointed, much better than Ari was accustomed to. “Am I disturbing you?” Elias asked.

  Ari shook his head before opening his eyes.

  Elias poured them each two fingers of scotch and handed Ari a glass.

  Ari’s veiny eyes looked strained. He took a deep breath, in and out, before swallowing the scotch. He handed the glass back to Elias. “Another!”

  Elias refilled it. “I’m so sorry it’s come to this.”

  “What do you do when revenge isn’t enough?” Ari sighed.

  Ben frowned but remained silent.

  Ari sipped the second glass of scotch. “I thought that killing Linuzzi and Silvestri would heal this wound, but it hasn’t. It’s torn it apart. Why? Why, Ben? Why doesn’t the pain stop? I could kill a hundred men, and it still wouldn’t bring my sister back. How do I make this ache go away?”

  “Time will heal your wound, my friend, but there will always be a scar. You’d be less than human if you were able to think about your Rachel’s murder and not feel your guts being torn out.” Elias took a belt of scotch. “I know that I couldn’t, and I don’t. I bleed every time a casualty report comes across my desk.”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “How do you make the pain go away? You don’t. You acknowledge it and draw strength from it. You use it and make it your ally. Every time you win a battle, you do it in memory of your parents.” Elias drained his glass. “And now in memory of your sister. God doesn’t give us answers, Ari. He gives us alternatives. Which path you decide to travel … that’s up to you.”

  After he had bathed and dressed, Ari found Elias sitting on the sofa. The demarcation line on the bottle of scotch indicated that Ben had been drinking liberally. “My friend, I see you’re thirsty.”

  “You’re one to talk; I see you brought your empty glass with you,” Elias commented as he handed Ari the bottle. He glanced at him with an overwrought expression on his face.

  “Want to talk about it?” Ari asked as he took a seat on the sofa.

  “It’s been a tough few days—your sister’s death and the jet going down in the water … deceiving a noble FBI agent, extracting information from her so that I could feed it to you, and pretending that I had no idea about what was going on. I guess I’m getting old. I’m physically and mentally exhausted.”

  “I’m grateful. You helped me to take care of things quickly. Once you told me about Linuzzi …”

  “That FBI agent, Mather. I hate myself for the way I misled her. She was genuinely concerned and wanted nothing more than to obtain justice for Rachel.” Elias became pensive. “I’ve become such an old fraud. Do you know that I was intentionally listening to Andrea Bocelli when she came to see me at the embassy? I had
the song repeating endlessly so that she’d have to hear it when she walked in. I was all prepared for her with glassy eyes and a sad face. I told her that I was mourning over your sister’s loss when all I wanted was for her to let down her guard and tell me everything she knew. As you said, once I had Linuzzi’s name … It would’ve taken years for the Americans to convict him. Meanwhile how many other women would lose their self-respect and their lives to that animal, Silvestri?”

  “My part was simple,” Ari said. “What can I say, my friend? We do what needs to be done. Linuzzi cried like a child. He told me every detail of the rape and murder.” He shook his head sadly. “Death was too good for them.”

  “Are you getting any pushback from your boss?” Elias asked with concern.

  “Tasker? No, none at all. He’s so preoccupied with his own operation that I’m sure he’s completely unaware that my sister was murdered.”

  “Shaul’s no dummy, Ari. I don’t think he misses very much. It would be hard for me to believe that he doesn’t suspect your involvement in the deaths of these two thugs. He may be preoccupied, but he’s not blind.”

  “Even so. He can’t prove it. No one can, and to be truthful, I really don’t care. Those animals, those filthy animals raped and killed my sister and …” It took every ounce of Ari’s reserve not to break down and cry. It took several moments before he could go on. “The way I killed Silvestri and Linuzzi will leave little doubt in the minds of the police that they were both mob-style hits.”

  “And I will take the secret to my grave.” Elias’ mood and his facial expression were diametrically discrepant. He grinned. “It’s so ironic, you know; there we were in the cockpit together, Tasker and I, two Israeli intelligence officers trying to bring the airplane in for a safe landing … facing death, and neither of us knew why the other was aboard that plane. I was on my way to assist you in avenging Rachel, and him …” He turned to Ari. “Are you liquored up enough to share a little shop talk with an old friend? Why did Tasker send you here?”

  Ari and Elias had known each other for many years. They were family long before they were countrymen. Although they had the same common goal, the protection and survival of the State of Israel, they worked for two separate agencies. Elias worked for Unit 8200, an intelligence gathering and collection agency, and Ari for Aman, the Israeli equivalent of Britain’s MI6.