Johnny was beside himself. How could he not have seen what Ray was up to? He worked side by side with the guy for years. He knew that an Internal Affairs investigation was coming, and he’d have to answer some really tough questions; questions for which he had no answers. He also knew that his wife, Rachel would not appreciate his own department going over every inch of their home looking for signs of a co-conspiracy. He had nothing to hide, of that he was confident, but his reputation around the department would be tarnished regardless of the outcome. That was a simple fact of life. It would be years before he’d feel that his fellow deputies and detectives weren’t staring at him. Their confidence in him would always be shaken. How could they go out on raids with him, when there was doubt about which side of the law his loyalties rested? Johnny was finding it difficult to concentrate on the case. He kept going over and over in his mind if there were signs that he missed. Why hadn’t he known what Ray was doing? Maybe he’d never know.
“Johnny, Captain wants to see you.”
“On my way.”
“Are you ready for this?” Al asked.
“I’m as ready as I’m ever gonna be. All I can say is that I didn’t see it and from what we see here, we still don’t.” He headed for Captain Frank Sterns’s office.
“Johnny, shut the door behind you, please.” Johnny did as instructed and looked around the office. It was a totally enclosed office with only one window that looked out onto Colonial Drive in Orlando. The office walls were beige and had a number of ‘I love me’ certificates hung on the walls in various places. A picture of the captain’s wife and three children was on his desk, which was clear of any paperwork except two manila folders. He could see his name on the tab of one. He expected that the other bore the name of his ex-partner, Ray Krebs.
“Johnny, I don’t know quite how to start this discussion. You’ve been with the Sheriff’s department for over eleven years. You’ve done well throughout your career. There’s nothing I can find wrong in this folder. But in a few minutes, Internal Affairs is going to walk through that door,” pointing to the door behind Johnny, “and recommend that you be removed from Vice, lose your detective status and get reassigned to traffic detail. That means you’ll be on a motorcycle covering parades, and crap like the Zellwood Corn Festival and the Winter Park Art Show. You don’t want that at this stage in your career, do you?”
“No Sir.” Johnny was staring straight at his captain, stone faced. He stood with his feet spread at shoulder width, hands folded in front of his belt. He wasn’t sure what was going to be said, but he was sure that it wasn’t going to be good.
“We need you to come clean on this, Johnny. We need you to tell us everything you know about Ray, and we also need to know what your involvement was in all this.”
The captain’s southern drawl was starting to get on Johnny’s nerves. Since he’d been in Florida for quite some time, he’d picked up a slight southern touch to his speech, but not the long, drawn out, deep southern twang of the captain’s voice. “Captain, I’m going to tell you and the IA guys this. I don’t know anything about Detective Kreb’s activities that were outside the limits of department policy or the law. I don’t know how he got away with what he apparently did for so long, and I absolutely was not involved in anything that is against department policy or the laws of any governmental body. I have thought about this until my head hurts and I come up empty.” Johnny made a small gesture with his hands as if showing the captain that there was nothing there. He refolded them and resumed his stance.
“Very well, Johnny. Hold tight here for a moment, please.” Captain Sterns punched his phone and said, “Sandy, send in Detectives Sanders and Dempsey.”
The tinny electronic sound of Sandy’s voice came back, “Yes Captain.”
Moments later, the two detectives entered the captain’s office, said hi to Johnny since they all knew each other, and stood next to the captain’s desk.
“Johnny, please sit.”
For more than two hours, Internal Affairs Detectives Sanders and Dempsey grilled Johnny with tough questions about details of many of the busts that Johnny and Ray went on together. Questions were asked about potentially missing money and drugs, and meetings outside of normal department hours. Johnny recalled most incidents and answered the questions without missing a beat. Then came a question about a traffic stop a number of years ago involving a young woman and her baby. During that accident, he became friends with a young man named Patrick McKinney. “Johnny, did you know that Pat McKinney was under investigation for drugs sales?”
“No sir. That was before I was in Vice. I found out that he may have been doing some things that were unlawful, and I ended our friendship. I didn’t pursue investigations because I wasn’t in Vice, and I had no evidence of any particular crime.”
“Do you know a gentleman by the name of Jason Roberts?” Detective Dempsey asked.
“I know the name, yes sir.” He looked at Captain Sterns for a moment. Then he told the IA detectives, “There is an ongoing investigation and beyond that I am not at liberty to say anything. After our investigation is complete, I will provide whatever details you wish. I cannot jeopardize the integrity of the investigation.”
Captain Sterns’ face twisted into an angry stare. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to here, Johnny? I want you to answer the question! You’re under investigation here and we want answers!”
Johnny returned his captain’s angry stare and simply stated that he could not answer the question for the reason already stated. “What evidence do you have that would cause you to investigate me for any reason? Because my partner was a crook? I’ll give you that, but what have you found or do you suspect that I’ve done that gives you cause to investigate me?”
“I can’t answer that question. It’s an ongoing investigation,” his captain shot back. He rose from his seat and leaned towards Johnny in an aggressive position. He moved around his desk and stood only inches from Johnny’s face. “But if we find anything, you’ll be out of the sheriff’s department faster than you can spit.” He placed emphasis on ‘spit’ so that a bit of spray went in Johnny’s face, which turned red with anger. It was all Johnny could do to restrain himself. He wanted to bring his fist into Captain Sterns’ jaw but held his position.
“Is that all, Captain? I have work to do.”
“You’re confined to your desk until further notice. You will not carry a firearm while under investigation.”
“Sure,” Johnny said with adequate indignation. He turned and left the office without closing the door behind him.
Chapter 44
Antonio Scalletti got off a private jet at the Orlando Business Airport, which is southeast of the main Orlando International Airport. The sun was bright and caused a glare as it reflected off the light colored concrete of the approach to the small building housing BusClas Aviation. The temperature was standing at 91 degrees and the humidity was over 80 percent. Antonio was a healthy looking 52, with dark olive skin and dark eyes. He wore a neat sport coat and slacks made of light fabric, loafers, and a white Izod golf shirt. He carried a small suitcase and a golf bag carrier. He looked like he was ready to hit the links. He was greeted by Jason Roberts and Buddy Mahaffey in a dark sedan. Buddy offered to take his bags, but Antonio declined and placed the bags in the trunk.
When they were safely in the back seat of the car, Jason described the job that Antonio was to perform. It all sounded pretty easy. Not much of a challenge.
“Where would you like this tragic event to occur?”
“We’ll let you know. I just want to return a favor.”
“I believe I can help you, my friend. Here is my account number. Let me know when you’ve completed the arrangements. You’ll know when the job is done.”
“Thank you. Now, where would you like us to take you?”
“I think I’ll stay in Lake Buena Vista. There are a couple of nice courses out there. They’re pretty challenging from what I’ve heard. I ma
y even play one of the Disney courses. I’ve always liked the Mickey Mouse-shaped sand-traps.”
* * *
The telephone call to Pat came from Phil Daniels. It was 1:40 in the afternoon. Jason Roberts wanted to meet with Pat and his brother Joe to talk about a business proposition. He felt a business arrangement with the brothers would remove any problems between them. Phil explained to Pat that Mr. Roberts understood the issues that they had with Jamie and the boys, and that he wanted to remove that stigma between them. He wanted to talk strictly about business. Pat told Phil that he would agree to the meeting on the condition that only Pat, Joe, Jason and Phil were present. Pat said he wanted the meeting to take place at Trimble Park, north of Zellwood. Pat and Joe would be there at the northern–most shelter at 9:30 PM. Phil agreed.
* * *
Trimble Park was kind of a pie shaped wedge of land that stuck out into Lake Beauclair on the north and west and Lake Carlton on the south. There was only one road into the park. The only other access was by boat or a very long swim.
At 7:30 PM, Joe and Pat drove around the area leading to Trimble Park. They found nothing suspicious but continued to drive the back roads for a time before leaving the area completely. They drove around Lake Beuaclair several times before heading back towards the park entrance. They talked about Mike, asking each other how such a horrible thing could have happened. Joe told Pat a few Marine horror stories, about young men who were barely out of high school. They’d joined the service to get an education, a job and some career experience. They entered boot camp at Paris Island as cocky, smart-assed little kids. They left after thirteen weeks of intense training on how to show respect for your drill sergeant, your parents, your country, and your God. They left as men with a mission. Protect this great country with your heart, body, and soul. They left as killing machines, but only killing if necessary. They were taught that this country was free, but that freedom came at a cost. It was paid for in blood, the blood of their fellow Marines and other servicemen and women. Mike’s death was horrible, but not because death was horrible. It was because the circumstances behind his death were horrible. It was one of the reasons that Pat and Joe had joined the service in the first place. They had a debt to pay. They didn’t want to repay that debt rotting in a prison, so they’d signed up for six year hitches each. It also gave them the training and discipline that they needed to carry out the plan, the plan that appeared to be executing on its own. They talked awhile about who could be doing this, and again they got nowhere. They now knew for certain that it wasn’t Mike. “God rest his soul,” Joe said.
They came back an hour later after driving US Route 441 to Leeesburg to speculate what business arrangement Jason Roberts might have in mind. They agreed that it didn’t matter, they weren’t interested.
At 9:20 PM, they returned to the park in northern Orange County, almost on the Lake County line. They made their way to the northern-most shelter and found that a black sedan was already parked at the shelter. Their headlights were pointed right at the sedan, but they couldn’t see anyone in the car or at the shelter. Pat stopped the car a good distance from the sedan and put the gear shifter in park. They stayed in the car for a few minutes and looked in all directions for anyone. All they saw were the silhouettes of palmetto bushes next to the car. The park looked eerie in the dark. The tall trees created a large canopy, blocking out the stars from view. The Spanish moss hung in long streamers from the tree branches adding a spooky aura to the park. There was no one else in sight. No other vehicles could be seen on any roads that passed in the vicinity of the park.
“I don’t like this at all. Should we get out or wait?” Pat asked his brother who was better trained in tactical situations.
“My gut says to stay put for a few minutes. Let’s see if these guys show their faces. Just keep looking around. I’ll take a look through the night glasses and see if anyone’s out there. Shut off the car and kill the lights.”
Pat did as instructed and Joe fired up the night scope. He scanned the car and could see two heads in the front seat. No other people were visible in the car. They didn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out so Joe continued to scan the area around the shelter and the trees beyond. He thought he saw another body in the distance, but he couldn’t be sure. He continued to scan the horizon then came back to the spot where he thought he saw something. There was no movement and no clear image. The green image in the glasses looked almost like that of an early, primitive video game. But this was no game they were playing. Caution was a matter of life and death.
“There are two guys in the car. I thought that I saw another guy in the trees about fifty yards to the front left of the car at maybe 11:00 o’clock. You won’t be able to see anything without night vision, so don’t bother trying. It’s almost 9:30, so things should happen within the next few minutes. Are we ready?”
Pat reached to his side and felt the Glock 9mm and the modified AR15. It was adjusted to go to a full automatic, just like an M16. It held forty rounds. Joe checked his 9mm and TEK 9. They both hoped that they would not have to use any weapons, but this was a messy business.
The doors to the sedan opened. The interior lights were set to stay off, so the brothers couldn’t see the faces of the men that emerged from the sedan. They also opened their doors and stepped out. All car doors closed at about the same time. Tension was high and all four stood still for a few seconds.
In the distance, Antonio Scalletti raised his silenced M16A2 and took aim at Pat’s head. The night vision scope provided a clear, close-up picture of his target with a set of crosshairs that was directly on Pat’s nose. He raised the barrel of his weapon slightly so that he was aiming for the top of Pat’s forehead. He steadied his arm against the tree where he stood, took a deep breath and . . .
Radar pulled lightly on the trigger of his silenced Heckler and Koch Mp-5n. He felt the slight recoil as three rounds were released. The flash was visible to all four men at the cars, though the sound of air rustling the leaves of the trees drowned out any sound made by the weapon.
Antonio Scalletti felt the impact for only an instant. The bullets entered his left temple in a tight pattern, but exited the right side of his head in a gaping hole left by the projectiles as they turned his brain matter to mush. He died instantly.
Pat and Joe dove back towards the doors of their car. Pat scraped his already scabbed knees on the parking lot pavement as he did, tearing a fresh layer of tissue from his kneecap. They jumped in and Pat started the car, slammed it into reverse, and swung the car towards the park entrance. The two guys in the other car did the same.
In the other car, Phil Daniels and Buddy Mahaffey started to follow Pat and Joe towards the park entrance. Radar took a bead on the car’s right front tire and shot it out. As the car slowed and lost control, he shot out the right back tire, causing the car to bog down in the sand on the side of the road just past the shelter. Phil and Buddy opened the car doors and dove behind it for cover. They didn’t hear a single shot. All they saw were muzzle flashes. But they knew that this guy, whoever he was, knew how to shoot. They stayed behind the car for a long time before they even dared to look up to see if their assailant was still out there. After half an hour of waiting, they started the two mile trek to US 441 and another several miles south to the Texaco station and a pay phone. The call to Mr. Roberts was not going to be pleasant, but they were too scared to care. He was safe in his house. They were out here exposed to some psychopathic killer, walking down an isolated road in rural Orange County.
* * *
Al Porecwzski and his partner were running into nothing but dead ends. The rental car used in the Farley killing had been rented to a hooker. The hooker swore that she was paid a thousand bucks to rent the car by a guy she never saw. She and a john rented the car using fake ID. She made a thousand bucks. The john got laid for free. The other dead end was the rented house across from Danny Vallero. Again, rented by a known hooker, again she made a handsome sum for a few ho
urs work. Never saw the guy. But there were fewer dead ends than there were dead bodies. There were even fewer clues. The case was going nowhere. Then in walks Johnny Poleirmo with a smiling face. “Guess what guys. I’m chained to my desk.” The forced smile twisted into a red, angry set of gritted teeth. Johnny brushed his hand across his desk and knocked a stack of files to the floor. The entire room of deputies, clerks, and ‘clients’ looked his way.
Al said, “Johnny, are you getting paid?” Johnny nodded. “Then don’t sweat it. Take your paycheck, wait till this blows over and enjoy the fact that you don’t have a boat load of stress twisting your gut. It’ll pass man.”
“You’re right, it will.” Johnny leaned down to pick up the files, because no one was going to do it for him. A few of the files were mixed up in his file toss. He picked up two forms from different cases and looked at both. Jason Roberts was the subject of one. Danny Vallero was the other. Johnny paused to think for a minute. What is the relationship here? Did all these guys work for Roberts? Just then his desk phone rang. “Johnny Poleirmo.”
The voice at the other end said, “Have I got a deal for you.”
“I’m listening.”
When Johnny hung up the phone, he was smiling, and this smile wasn’t forced.
* * *
It was nearly 1:00 AM when Phil Daniels and Buddy Mahaffey reported to Jason Roberts what had happened. They’d taken the body of Antonio Scalletti to Lake Beauclair and dumped it in a marshy spot on the lake’s edge. They had no desire to be caught trying to recover a dead body and bring it back to get a proper burial. They figured that the alligators would drag the body into the lake and take care of the evidence. That was proper enough for a man of his caliber. They tossed his gun about 30 feet into the lake.
A Lifetime of Vengeance Page 29