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

by Lawrence Kelter

  “Who else used to go there?”

  “Oh God.” I could see her pressing her memory again. “Oh gee, Chloe, I can’t remember.” She shrugged. “It’s not coming to me anymore.”

  “Well, when it does …” I handed her one of my memo pads and a pen. “You know what to do.”

  Chapter 37

  Town Hall was poorly lit and smelled of cheap disinfectant. The marble floors had seen far better days. They were dirty and gray from decades of grit being tracked into the building. A security guard sat at her station, resting her chin on an open hand. She yawned and asked me for ID before directing me to the office of the deputy supervisor.

  I expected Glen Sofrido to be dull and lackluster like everything else in the building, but he wasn’t, far from it. He greeted me with enthusiasm and showed me to a conference room. He looked to be in his forties and wore a sharp suit. His eyes jumped immediately to my sling. “How’d you hurt your arm?”

  “Job-related boo-boo. It’s getting better.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do for a living?”

  I was hoping he’d ask. He seemed like the happy-to-be-of-service type, but I’d found that most government agency types were much more apt to be helpful after finding out that they were dealing with a bureau agent. Cabrera sometimes said that the I in FBI stood for intimidation. I reached into my jacket pocket hoping that my colleague was right, and handed Sofrido my business card.

  “FBI?” He seemed surprised and then looked at me with direct focus. “Are you here in an official capacity?”

  “No. I’m here as a private citizen.”

  I could see him blowing a mental sigh of relief. “Well, thanks for coming in to see me, Ms. Mather. I understand you have questions about the situation at Francisco Desicero Park?”

  “So to speak.”

  He pulled a packet of documents from his portfolio and readied them to hand across the table to me. The supervisor’s office had no doubt been buried beneath an avalanche of shit since the debacle had been announced in the press and had likely prepared documentation showing that they were addressing the toxic dumping situation to allay people’s concerns. “I suppose you’re a Brentwood resident. Do you live near the park?”

  “Well, no, not exactly.”

  “Nearby, then?” he said in a friendly but presumptuous tone.

  “No. Not nearby either.”

  “Where then?” he asked, his curiosity evident.

  “Huntington, actually.”

  “So you don’t live in the Town of Islip at all?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “All right, you’ve got me on this one.” He was still smiling. He actually seemed amused. “How can I help you?”

  “I need your personnel records from 1970 through 2000.”

  His eyes widened and he shook his head in disbelief. “What? Why?”

  “There doesn’t have to be a what or a why, Mr. Sofrido. They’re public records. I’m a Suffolk County resident and I’m entitled to see them.”

  “Okay. Well, that’s …” His four fingers popped up one at a time as he counted the decades. “That’s forty years of records. Is there anything specific I can help you find?”

  “Anyone who controlled the dumping of town waste: names, titles, work history, and years on the job.” It was a daunting assignment and I knew he’d be taken aback by the request. Nonetheless I needed what I needed. I whipped out the cold-as-ice FBI deadpan stare to let him know that I was completely serious.

  “Wow. I’ve never had anyone make a request like that—it’ll take some time.”

  “I don’t have some time, Deputy Supervisor Sofrido. I need the information now.”

  He mulled over the request. “I honestly don’t even know where those old records are kept.”

  “I do,” an unexpected voice announced. An elderly man in a short-sleeve shirt stood by the doorway beaming an engaging smile. He was wearing dress slacks that were pulled up way too high. A striped golf shirt was tucked into them, perfectly completing his Steve Urkel ensemble. “I can tell you everything you want to know,” he insisted. “I’m older than dirt.”

  Chapter 38

  “Well, hello. Who are you?” I asked.

  The old fella sauntered up to the conference table and sat down next to Sofrido, looking like he had nothing better to do, and extended his hand. “I’m Harvey, and who are you, pretty lady?”

  You’ve got to love older gents; they’re old enough to get away with being forward but still young enough to enjoy a younger woman’s company. That’s all right. I’ll bite. I dropped the deadpan expression and summoned up an appreciative smile. “Well, hello there, Harvey. It’s so nice of you to come to my rescue. So you believe you can put your hands on all those records?”

  “In two seconds,” he boasted and pointed to his head. “They’re all right here, along with the grocery list, and the Gettysburg Address.”

  “Wow!” I exclaimed with a huge grin. “You must have some memory. What’s your secret?”

  “Eight hours sleep and a shot of Slivovitz every night before going to bed.”

  “I might try that—I can’t remember what I had for breakfast. That’s all there is to it?”

  “There’s no secret, really … Stanley Longinus, the gonif, he supervised all the town dumping for as long as I can remember.”

  I had an inquisitive lilt in my voice as I asked, “What’s a gonif?”

  Sofrido seemed curious as well and was staring at Harvey, waiting for him to define the word.

  “Thief,” he explained. “The man was as crooked as the day is—”

  Sofrido put his hand on Harvey’s bare arm. “Harvey,” he said in a reprimanding manner. “You shouldn’t—”

  Harvey was a feisty one. He shook Sofrido’s hand off his arm. “Come on, Glen, are you kidding? The man was a bandit. I have his routine down pat. Someone would come into his office for a favor and Stan would say, ‘Let me see what I can do about helping you.’ Then he’d open his desk drawer in an obvious manner and leave the room. If there was money in the drawer when the meeting was over, the favor was granted, and if not …” He shrugged. “You get the picture.”

  “Harvey,” Sofrido repeated this time as a warning, “you shouldn’t talk out of school.”

  “I’ve been out of school almost fifty years,” he quipped. “Every word I’ve uttered my entire adult life has been out of school.”

  I smirked at Harvey’s moxie.

  He seemed pleased that he had made me smile. “So, miss, you see … someone needed a favor—Longinus did them a favor. He took deposits later at night than the Bank of New York.”

  Glen had begun to sweat. He rose from his chair. “I think I’ll excuse myself,” he said and left the room in a hurry.

  “What a worrier,” Harvey said with a dismissive wave directed at where Glen had been sitting. Kids today, they’ve got no balls.” He leaned across the table, pushed his sleeve up towards his shoulder, and pumped his bicep a couple of times. “I fought in the Golden Gloves when I was a young man.” He motioned at his muscle. “Give it a squeeze. It’s still as hard as a rock. The young pisher thinks I’m afraid. I’m not afraid. What are they going to do, fire me? It costs me two thousand dollars a month to live. I’ve got money for the next thirty years, much longer than the good Lord is going to let me hang around. Can I take you out for a drink, sweetheart? You seem like a tough cookie, but it doesn’t look like you could push me away with just one gimpy arm.”

  Hysterical! Oh my God, am I allowed to laugh? I was fighting the urge so hard my stomach muscles began to ache. “Um, not right now. I really came here for information.”

  “And I gave it to you. I used to call him Look-the-other-way-Longinus.”

  “So reading between the lines, what you’re telling me is that a refuse company could dump anything they wanted anywhere they wanted.”

  “Honey, you don’t have to read between any lines. The answers are as clear as
the wrinkles on my forehead. He took payoffs and bribes seven days a week. You should see the truck he drives, an Escalade with the big shiny rims like the gangsters drive over in Wyandanch. That’s not a car for a mature man. Who does he think he is?”

  “So where do I find him?”

  “Look in the phone book under the heading of Skimming and Embezzling Wholesale. He’s got a picture there, I’m sure.”

  I chuckled. “No seriously.”

  He waved his hand dismissively, which was his go-to gesture. It appeared that he had grown tired of me. “Ah, you’re no fun, and I’m not getting any younger. He’s got a place over in Farmingville where the land is cheap. You go look for him, and I’ll go look for Yolanda, the new clerical girl with the healthy cleavage. She doesn’t wear an engagement ring and her English is terrible. I think we were made for each other.”

  Chapter 39

  Doris Glowmus checked her teeth in the bathroom mirror and then walked into the bedroom for her shoes. Her husband, Jack, was reading the newspaper and the room was rather dark. “How can you see with no light?” she asked and reached for the light switch.

  “I’m fine,” he said authoritatively. “Don’t turn on the lights.”

  She marched over to the windows. “Then let me pull the blinds. You’ll ruin your eyes and then what? You’ll need a guide dog that’ll make all over the house? You know I’m allergic.”

  “Oy, this woman,” he huffed with defeat evident in his voice. “Okay, pull the blinds. I don’t have the strength to argue with you.”

  “Uh,” she gasped. “My God, Jack, there’s a tsunami in our backyard.”

  “What?” He jumped out of his chair, dropping the newspaper on the floor. “What the hell are you talking about? A tsunami? Where?”

  Her mouth was wide open as she pointed out the window to their backyard.

  “That’s not a tsunami. A tsunami is a giant tidal wave. That’s a sinkhole.”

  “But it’s huge. Isn’t a huge hole sometimes called a tsunami?”

  “No! Never has been or will be.”

  The hole was approximately ten feet in diameter. From where she stood she could not see the bottom. It was just beyond her property line in front of the swale that bordered the golf course. “Someone could get killed if they fell in there.”

  “Gosh. I wonder what happened. I’ll call the president of the homeowners’ association. What’s that jerk’s phone number?”

  “But you’re not supposed to call him. Don’t you remember the last community meeting? You’re supposed to call Fairlawn, the property management company.”

  “Please. I’m not wasting my time trying to track down that rude guttersnipe. She doesn’t return phone calls. No. Where’s Morty’s number? I’ll give him an earful. It’s not bad enough our siding is full of holes from the shitty golfers shanking their drives, now we have giant trenches in our backyard? What’s next, bison, cattle … maybe a yeti will show up on the golf course. No. No more. This has got to stop.”

  Chapter 40

  Stan Longinus looked at me as if I were a bug and he was deciding whether or not to step on me. He wore a bowling shirt, cargo shorts, and sneakers without socks. He had thick hair and a ruddy complexion as well as an impressive pair of bulldog jowls. “Who did you say you were?” he asked as he scratched his bulbous red nose.

  There was a line I really hadn’t intended to cross, but I knew instinctively that I wasn’t going to get anywhere with a savage like this guy unless I did. I yanked out my bureau credentials and gave him a quick flash with my thumb covering my last name. Tying myself to my father was not the way to lead into this particular interview.

  “FBI?” he said with relief in his voice. “I thought you were with the DEC or one of those crazy environmental groups. So what do you want?” he asked impatiently.

  I had already stood outside his front door for a good thirty seconds. “Got a minute. We need to talk.” He gave me his unwelcome face, and while he was silent I stepped forward, making him yield the way into his house. “Anyone home?” I asked.

  “Is that what you wanted to know, who I live with?” He closed the door and led me into the living room, which looked neater than I expected it to. “Sit, I suppose. If my wife comes home, she’s going to think I ordered an escort,” he said with seemingly legitimate concern. I guess he’d pulled that stunt once before and had gotten his fingers caught in the proverbial cookie jar. Two love seats faced each other across a lacquer coffee table. He sat down, filling one of them completely. Sitting in the opposite love seat was the only choice that remained. “I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told the DEC and the Town of Islip. I have no idea how that crap got dumped in the park. I haven’t worked for the town in almost ten years. What makes you think I would something about what just happened?”

  “What can you tell me about Beacon Hill Partners?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “What’s the problem with them?”

  “Are you familiar with that company, Stan?”

  “Yeah, sure. It was a big waste management company that used to dump in the town’s landfills.”

  “But not in the park?”

  “No. Who dumps construction debris in the park?”

  “Not now. Years ago, when it was just a landfill, before the park was built.”

  “You’re kidding, right, like I’ve got a crystal ball or something. I signed off on bona fide waste being transferred to the town landfills and the incineration plant. That’s it. Is it possible someone dumped some crap where they weren’t supposed to so they could avoid the town fees … yeah, I suppose it’s possible. I’m not all-knowing, lady. Shit happens everywhere.”

  “So does willful blindness.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It’s when you intentionally put yourself in a position where you would be unaware of facts that would render you liable.”

  “Looking the other way?”

  “Correct? So did you, Stan? Did you look the other way?”

  “Never! I wouldn’t risk my career for a few bucks.”

  “Would you risk it for a lot of money? You’ve got a mighty fancy ride parked out there in the driveway.”

  Veins began to pulse on his forehead. He stood up and it looked as if he was ready to show me the door. “I know you think I’m a simpleminded retired civil servant, but I’m smart enough to know when I’m being called a crook. I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Okay, I’ll go, but this is far from over.” I walked up to him and looked him in the eye. “They just found Benzino’s body. Maybe yours will be next.”

  He shuddered. “Wha-wha-wha-wha-what?”

  “Just yesterday—he was found in his home with his throat slit ear to ear. Faciamano and Otho are in the morgue as well.” I walked to the door. “So do you want to tell me again about how smart you are, or would you prefer to stay alive?”

  Chapter 41

  “Morty, it’s for you,” his wife hollered.

  “It’s that pain in the ass Jack Glowmus,” he said, peering at the caller ID. “Don’t answer it. He’ll leave a message.”

  “Why don’t you just answer it? He’ll only keep calling.”

  “Helen, he’ll leave a message,” he insisted. “He doesn’t need emergency surgery—he’ll just have to wait for me to call him back.”

  The phone stopped ringing. “See, I told you. Play back the message. I’ll bet he’s complaining about stray cats again. Maybe he wants me to patrol the community with a bag of catnip and a net.” A moment passed. “I said play back the message.”

  “There is no message,” she hollered.

  “What?” The sound of screeching tires sent him into a panic. “Uh-oh.” He peered through the venetian blinds and saw Jack’s silver Cadillac in his driveway. “Jesus Christ. He’s here, Helen. Pretend we’re not home.”

  “Who’s here, Morty?”

  “Glowmus, Jack Glowmus. Don’t make a sound. Ma
ybe he’ll—” He cringed when he heard his front door opening.

  “Oh, hello, Jack. Nice to see you.”

  “You too, Helen, is Morty home?” Jack Glowmus pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and clenched it between his teeth.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked cautiously.

  “No. Can I come in?”

  I don’t want to see this guy. Can hide in the bathroom? Morty wondered, but Jack was in the room and standing in front of him before he could get out of his Barcalounger. “Jack? This is a surprise.”

  “Hello to you too.” Jack dropped onto the sofa. “What’s the matter, you too important to answer the phone?”

  “I was on another call,” Morty explained. “How can I help you?”

  “There’s a big problem, Morty. I’ve got a hole in my backyard big enough to sink the Nimitz.”

  Morty grimaced. “Another one?”

  Surprised, Jack asked, “You mean this isn’t the only one?”

  “This makes the third. We think the heavy rain triggered it, but we need to hire an engineer and it requires a majority vote of the board.”

  “So what are we waiting for?”

  “Two of the snowbirds haven’t come back yet, and Len Cooperman is in Siberia researching his family tree. There’s only Nelson and me, and that’s not enough for a quorum. For the time being I’ll have the maintenance man surround the sinkhole with cones and tape. Moe Glickman is supposed to fly back from Boca tomorrow. That’ll give us a majority and we’ll be able to take care of it.”

  “You mean that crater is going to stay there until he gets back?”

  “Yup.”

  “Gee, this is awful, Morty. How are you supposed to fix something like this?”

  Morty rolled his eyes. “If I knew, Jack, I wouldn’t have to hire an engineer.”