The Postman is Late

by Vicki Vass

  I skipped my coffee, got dressed and ran outside. I was going to put a stop to this now. I ran across the street and into the woods where the yellow bulldozers with the Chicago Premium Construction logo had begun digging up the soil. “Wait,” I said. “Can you tell me who’s in charge?” I asked the young man who was putting up the orange temporary fencing. He pointed to Chris Benetti, who was behind the bulldozers talking to Koji.

  I ran over to them. “This has to stop,” I said. “You can’t do any work here.”

  “It’s Mrs. Kustodia, right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I nodded.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I looked over at Koji, who was silent. “This retention pond. It’s going to make the flooding worse. The sewer system your company put in is connected to the storm water drains. Sewage is being dumped out into the woods. It’s going to contaminate this pond and this pond is going to flood into east Woodland View. I saw the engineer’s report.”

  “You must have read it wrong. That’s not what the report said.”

  “I read the real report.”

  Benetti was silent. He then grabbed my arm and pulled me away from listening ears. “Look, I don’t know what you think you know but this project is moving forward. It’s in motion and you best keep quiet.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” I pulled my arm out of his grasp.

  “I’m not threatening you. I’m just telling you that all the permits are in place and we’re moving forward. You have to leave. This is a construction site. It’s for your own safety,” he said, grabbing my arm again.

  Koji came up to us and pulled Benetti’s hand off my arm. He twisted it slightly. Benetti winced and walked away. “Jan, you should go now,” Koji said.

  I sighed, knowing I wasn’t going to win here. I headed toward Mayor Puccini’s office. He wasn’t in so I went to his house, which is on the east side of Center Street. His house was one of the first houses that would be hit by any flooding from the retention pond. He was in his front yard, playing with his son, Tobey. He is the same age as Danny, and they play on the same hockey team. “Mr. Mayor,” I said.

  He glanced up from his game of catch. He knelt down, kissed Tobey on the forehead and shooed him into the house. “Jan, Benetti already called me. The city signed off on the retention pond. It’s the best plan for the flood control.”

  “Mr. Mayor, did you read the report?”

  “Yes, of course, Jan, I voted for it.”

  “You need to read this.” I brought out the report that Mrs. Sabatini gave me. He sat down on his front step. I sat down next to him. He leafed through the pages.

  “Where’d you get this?”

  “Alice Sabatini. The Alderman submitted a fake report. He was on Chicago Premium Construction’s, Benetti’s payroll. Gary, the postman, found the report and was blackmailing Sabatini.”

  He put the report down and ran his hands through his gray/black hair. “Jan, how do you know all this?”

  “I found the envelope that the report came in at Gary’s house. He stuck it in the wall. It was filled with hundred dollar bills. Alice Sabatini handed me the report. I can’t say who killed the alderman and who killed Gary. But I do know that if that retention pond goes in, it’s going to fill with contaminated water and your house is going to be the first hit.”

  The mayor looked behind him. His son was sitting backwards on the couch, staring out the window, listening to us. “I’ll call an emergency council meeting. We have to talk to the city attorney and we’ll contact the Army Corps of Engineers. I’m calling Chief Krundel right now.”

  He accomplished it all in a matter of hours. I arrived at city hall for the emergency meeting. I had spent the day, walking up and down the street, asking my neighbors to attend. To stand up for our street. Of course, North Linden Jan was the first to arrive. I sat in the front row as far from her as I could. James came in and sat next to me. Then Helen and Marian, Anne Hillstrom, Pete and Monika. Last to arrive was Agent Peabody, holding Sandy’s hand. They sat down on the other side of me. He tilted his head close to mine. “Jan,” he whispered. “I verified Koji’s whereabouts at the time the postman was killed. Once I found out where he worked, I was able to check the log book for the day and found that he was at a job site in Aurora.”

  “What about Alderman Sabatini’s murder?”

  “Koji was in Indianapolis, surveying a prospective job site. We have witnesses and his credit card record for his dinner at St. Elmo’s Steakhouse and his overnight stay at the Omni. He checked out the next morning.”

  “I knew that Koji couldn’t kill anyone,” I said.

  “We picked Koji up a few hours ago for questioning. He’s at our Rolling Meadows office right now.”

  The mayor called the meeting to order. There was much discussion about the false report and the city attorney said he would file an injunction the next day to stop work on the retention pond.

  North Linden Jan spoke up anyway. “What about the $10 million? What about the grants? How are we going to solve the flooding?”

  “Mrs. Culver, the Army Corp of Engineers will be coming out next week to review the situation. We also need to tear up the streets to fix the sewers.”

  A collective moan rose from the crowd. “Not again,” North Linden Jan said.

  “We need to do this to fix the problem,” the mayor said. “It’s the only way.”

  The meeting adjourned. I walked out with Agent Peabody. “There’s a task force that’s investigating the Benettis. They’ve been in touch with the New Orleans FBI team. We’ll find out who killed Sabatini and the postman.”

  I stopped him. “His name was Gary.” I walked away from Agent Peabody to James’ car. He was sitting there, waiting to drive me home. I stuck my head in the window and said, “James, I’m really angry. I need to think. I’m going to walk home.”

  “Take an umbrella,” he said, handing me his silver handled walking stick umbrella.

  “James, you are a peach.” I took the umbrella and watched him drive off. I began my journey down Woodland View Road. I’m glad I grabbed the umbrella, it looked like rain. It was almost ten o’clock. In all the excitement, I forgot to eat dinner. My stomach growled. I was tired and most of all I was angry. Angry about everything that’s happening in my neighborhood but mostly angry at myself. I zipped up my neighborhood watch windbreaker. For the first time since I put it on at Christmas, I got the joke. Maybe I’m not the watch of the neighborhood like I believe. Maybe all the neighbors are laughing at me. A 75-year-old woman taking on city hall, chasing down bad guys. Had I been foolish this whole time? Was I just a foolish old woman?

  As I turned the corner on Spring Oaks onto South Linden, I saw Amaya dressed in the white kimono with the purple lotus blossom standing in the front garden, silently watching.

  The poor dear I thought. Her husband being held by the FBI. She was lost without him. I stood silent watching as she disappeared through the evergreens. I followed her, standing in the shadows. She picked up her rake, floating over the sand, orchestrating designs with the delicate rake like a maestro’s baton directing a beautiful symphony. My heart broke for her.

  I was not alone. I saw a pair of red beady eyes, peeking out through the tall weeds next door. The little sneak thief walked out from the grass onto the Zen garden on his way to poach a delicious koi. Amaya stopped, her back to the raccoon. She stood silent. She held the rake up to the sky. She swept around and hit the raccoon with the rake. I could hear its skull crack; its body went limp as it flew through the air like a furry Frisbee into the darkness of the woods. Amaya grabbed her shoulder, a trail of blood soaked through the white kimono.

  I caught my breath and stood still, not wanting to be seen. I slipped behind the shed. Amaya walked over toward the shed stepping silently. As she unlocked the door, the motion detector floodlight lit up the backyard and the shed. I watched as she stepped inside. I peeked through the gaps between the planks and saw her carefully place the rake on
a peg on the wall next to the other rakes and brooms, different sizes and different shapes. Each one I thought a paintbrush for her garden. Each one carefully methodically placed in its proper spot. I continued to hold my breath. As she was closing the door, I inched over to another gap, a little to my right. Hanging on the other wall, each one carefully methodically placed in its proper spot was a collection of shoes, different sizes and different shapes. On the last peg hung Alderman Sabatini’s feet. I stifled a scream.

  Amaya stopped, looked around and reached back in, grabbing her rake before turning toward me. I ran for the woods. Lightning struck. The rain started. At first a downpour and then a torrential rain, crashing down sideways. The wind forced the trees to their sides. The small branches whipping against me. My Keds slid as the forest floor became slippery. I fell to my knees. Just as the rake came down towards my head, I lifted James’ umbrella, stopping the impact and breaking the umbrella in two. I reached behind me and grabbed her ankle, pulling her down with a thud onto her back. I pulled myself up and ran deeper into the woods.

  I couldn’t hear anything but the thunder and the rain and my heart. I reached the opening of the construction site and fell into the orange barrier fence. I tangled up into it. Falling to the ground, I couldn’t free my ankle. Lightning struck illuminating Amaya standing over me, rake held high over her head. I reached inside my windbreaker pocket and felt Gino’s fountain pen. I grabbed it and plunged it into her foot. She fell and slid down the mud of the hill into the open pit. I crawled over and peered over the edge. She landed on a rock, her neck was broken.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I woke up in a hospital bed, restrained by wires. There was a beeping sound from the machine to the right of me. The Physician’s Assistant walked in, smiling. Her name was Martha, and her scrub shirt read Alexian Brothers. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Your neighbor James found you crawling into his backyard. You were in shock, and you twisted your ankle,” she said, taking my wrist to check my pulse. She entered the results in the computer which was on the stand by the door. “The doctor will be in to see you.” She stepped out of the room.

  “I'm fine. I want to get up.” I sat up in the bed.

  Agent Peabody walked into my room through the sliding glass doors. “Jan, how about you let the doctor decide that?” He walked over, put a hand on my shoulder. I could tell he wanted to hug me but held himself back. He pulled up a chair and sat next to me. “Koji has agreed to testify against the Benettis. He’s kept quiet all these years to protect his wife. Chris Benetti knew that Amaya committed the murders in New Orleans. He said he would keep Amaya’s secret as long as Koji kept his. I sent the New Orleans FBI DNA samples of all the shoes in the shed, and they matched the victims in New Orleans.”

  “What about Gary?”

  “We found traces of sand on Gary’s shoes that matched Amaya’s Zen Garden. According to Koji, all the victims stepped on the sand of her garden, desecrating her sister’s memory. After the murder of her sister, Amaya went insane,” Agent Peabody said.

  “Why keep all the shoes?”

  “To Amaya, the Zen garden is her sister; the sand on the bottom of the shoes is part of her sister’s spirit. That’s why she kept the shoes. Koji told us she killed the postman because he walked on the sand that day on his way to dump the mail in the abandoned house. The night the Alderman was killed, he was drunk and walking around the neighborhood. He walked onto her garden. She chased him down to his house. He got one shot off that hit her shoulder and then she killed him. She took his feet because he was barefoot when he walked on the sand.”

  The doctor walked in wearing a white lab coat. “Jan, before I go I want you to have this,” Agent Peabody said, handing me a white card with the FBI shield logo on it. “It’s what we call a get out of jail free card. ”

  I took the card. I didn’t want to tell him I already have a few.

  “Deputy Director Claypool has assigned me to the Chicago office permanently,” he said. “Anytime you need help call that number. No questions asked, and I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you.” I pulled Sherman down, put my arm around him and kissed his cheek. He blushed. He started walking away and came back. He knelt down and whispered in my ear, “Did you really know JFK?”

  I smiled.

  He smiled back and walked off.

  Danny ran into the room, followed by Meg, Valerie and Bill. Neighbors made their way into the room after them, crowding it and me. I glanced around at all the concerned faces. Seeing them made me realize why I loved my neighborhood and why I keep watch. I couldn’t wait to get back to Linden Avenue.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  After years as a reporter, Vicki Vass turned in her reporter’s notebook to chronicle the not-quite-true events of her real-life Chicago suburban neighborhood. This gave her the inspiration for the Neighborhood Watch series, and the first book in the series, The Postman is Late.

  Vicki Vass has written more than 1,400 articles for the Chicago Tribune, as well as Women’s World, The Daily Herald and Home & Away.

  She lives outside Chicago with her writer, musician husband Brian, their 20-year-old son Tony, kittens Pixel and Terra, Australian shepherd Bandit and seven koi.

  Learn more at vickivass.com or follow her on facebook at facebook.com/vickivassauthor.