The Big Scam (28 page)

Parisi's cell phone rang. It was DeMiglia. “Mike, have you heard anything from the Lag? Is that typing I hear?”

“My wife's typing a letter. Let me go in a different room.” Parisi jumped up and signaled the others to stop by pulling his hand across his throat. “Manny's called me a couple of times. They got some ape watching him. He has to ask to go take a whiz in the woods so he can call. Says they got all this equipment up there. He laughed, said it must be costing the Feds a ton.”

“What about our guy?”

“He's managed to get himself put in charge. Pretty much running the whole show. Their boss had to leave and come back to the city on some emergency, so I guess he'll be able to keep running things, pushing them in the direction we want.”

“Anything about the box?”

“Well, I can't be sure, because if it comes up on one of those charts, Egan can't just dig it up and call us.”

“If he finds anything, he's not digging up without us, right?”

“That's what he said.”

“I don't give a fuck how much he says no, when he comes back, I want to meet with him. I've got to find out face to face if he's jerking us around.”

“What could he gain by doing that?”

“You know, sometimes it's like you're trying to prove that you're a moron. You know what I'd do if I was him and found out where the box was?” Parisi didn't answer. “What, did I hurt your feelings?”

“What would you do if you were him?”

“That's better,” DeMiglia said sarcastically. “First, I'd tell the FBI, Okay, no bodies, let's go home. Then I'd call you up, because probably he got the impression—I don't know from where—that you're easy, and tell you, Sorry, didn't find the box. This treasure must all be some kind of bullshit. Then in a couple of days, I'd take a nice drive up to the Catskills with a shovel and keep all fifty million dollars for myself. Call me paranoid, but that's got to be going through his mind. Or did you forget that the reason we were able to flip him is because he's a fucking thief.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“That's because you're not really one of us.”

 

It was almost two hours past the library's closing time when Parisi and his men finished. Ida was organizing the printouts alphabetically into two large stacks. “Tommy, get those over to John-John right away and tell him what to say when he calls that woman agent. Then drive him to wherever she wants to meet. Just don't let anyone see you.”

As the men filed out, the librarian busied herself trying not to look frightened. Parisi went up to her. “Thanks for your understanding.” He took out four one-hundred-dollar bills and pushed them across the counter. “You know, for the late charges.”

 

The three agents drove back to Bensonhurst, and, using the playground as a starting point, went off in different directions. They started knocking on doors, showing Adelina Lopez's photo and asking if anyone had seen her. They continued until almost midnight, when knocking on doors no longer brought cooperative responses, especially when it was Nick Vanko's face at the door. A monster had taken another child, and then this man knocked on their door, wanting them to open up. Sure he had a badge, but maybe the killer did too; he was getting the girls to go with him somehow. This man looked the way monsters looked. That's why they became monsters?

Finally Vanko radioed the others. “Let's call it a night. We'll meet at that coffee shop in the morning.”

Vanko sat in the darkness of his apartment unable to sleep. He was still thinking about the people he had tried to interview but had failed to enlist their help. Snow and Kenyon, on the other hand, had received almost unanimous support.

He imagined looking at himself through their peepholes and tried to understand what they saw. He dialed Sheila's cell phone. The anonymity of the telephone was always a welcome alternative.

“Hello.”

“It's me,” he said, his voice unintentionally low. “Can you talk?”

“Hold on one minute.” He heard a chair scrape across the floor and a door open. “I'm in an interview, but I need a break anyway. Did you do any good?”

“As far as we went, nothing. Anything going on there?”

“Oh yeah, we're partying. Wall-to-wall pedophiles and rapists. Just talking to these guys makes you feel like you've been sexually assaulted.”

“I certainly don't want to keep you from that. I just wanted to call and let you know how miserably we failed. I'll see you in the morning?”

“I'll be there. And, Nick, thanks again.”

“For?”

“Hanging in. I know at times I don't make it easy.”

“No one ever promised me being a martyr would be easy.”

 

The next morning, the three men sat drinking coffee, waiting for Sheila to show up. Snow asked, “Did you call Phoenicia last night, Nick?”

“Yes, they should be getting started right about now.”

“So nothing yesterday?”

“Not so far.”

“When are you going to have to get back up there?”

“I figure I've got the rest of the day before I have to worry about it.”

“Does that mean we're through here after today?” Kenyon said.

“I hope so.”

The news came on and everyone in the restaurant stopped eating to listen. “Today the police are calling for volunteers to search abandoned buildings and go door to door with photos of Adelina Lopez, who has been missing since yesterday morning. They have asked that anyone wishing to volunteer come to the gymnasium at the Saint Michael's school by nine a.m.”

Sheila came in. “Sorry I'm late.” She ordered coffee to go.

“You have to get back that soon?” Vanko asked.

“Actually, I've gone AWOL. They wanted me to sit on the phones all day, taking tips. I think it's the task force supervisor's doing. Some bull about having a female the callers can relate to. But at two o'clock this morning, I got a call from this kid. He says, ‘I've got something for you from Manny.' We meet in the school parking lot, and he gives me printouts with the names of all the families within a half mile of the Castillo crime scene.”

“I'm impressed,” Vanko said.

“Me, too. And it gave me a better idea than answering the phone all day. If you guys are game.”

Vanko said, “You say that like we've got a choice.”

HOWARD SNOW PULLED THE FBI VAN TO THE CURB
outside Saint Michael's school. In the back, Sheila was working her way through the Bensonhurst printouts. When she flipped over the last page, she said, “No one I recognize.” She handed the stack to Vanko. “Okay, here's what I've got in mind. Some serial killers, given the opportunity, will involve themselves in the investigation if they can do it without being too obvious. For one thing, they get a firsthand report of what's going on. They can find out if the investigation is getting closer to them, or if they need to do anything different to avoid detection. Also it can give them an insight into what to avoid the next time they grab someone. It's also a power thing. Here he is, sitting right among us, and we can't catch him. And who knows, maybe he's even scouting his next victim. A lot of young people come out to help when something like this happens. He could introduce himself to one of them without being that noticeable, and when he wants to get the next one into his car, she'll recognize him and since he was helping, he's got to be one of the good guys.”

Kenyon shook his head. “It's a little frightening that you understand this kind of individual so well.”

“It helps to be equally disturbed, something I've worked at very hard.”

“So we're here because you think this guy's going to show up as a volunteer,” Snow said.

“It's a possibility. How likely, I don't know. But I'd rather be doing this than looking for a body. The downside is, if he does show up here, the girl may already be dead.”

“How do you figure that?” Kenyon asked.

“If she's not dead, she needs watching, unless he's got a soundproof, escapeproof hiding place.”

“Just tell us what you need,” Vanko said.

“While the volunteers are checking in, we're going to mingle and look for anyone who doesn't quite fit in. We know he's a male, not too old or too young. He's intelligent, probably neat in his appearance. He'll come alone and probably won't know anyone else. And of course, if you can observe him during the search, he won't be working very hard at it because he already knows where she is. He'll be more occupied watching the searchers, maybe pumping them for information. If he does show up, it's because he's getting a little bored and wants to ramp up the thrill factor. That could be in our favor, because what would be more thrilling than being out with the police looking for the girl he has alive back at his home. He's the only one in the world who knows where she is and can decide whether she lives or dies. And when.”

“If we spot someone who doesn't look right, what then?” Snow asked.

“I'll leave my laptop here. It has everybody's name that has come up in this investigation. I have a feeling this guy could be in there. If not there, maybe it'll be in the Bensonhurst names. So the first thing we have to do if we see someone suspicious is get his name and call it back to the van. Someone will have to stay here and radio in indices and criminal checks and coordinate the whole thing.”

Vanko said, “Sounds like the perfect place for me.”

Her stare hung on him a moment longer than necessary, and he knew she had read something in his response that he had not intended to reveal. But the truth was he was relieved not to have to go out among strangers again.

“And what if we do find someone that's listed?” Kenyon said.

“Then we'll have to take a look at his residence,” Vanko said.

“Since this is all based on assumptions, I'm guessing we're not going to slow ourselves down with anything as cumbersome as a search warrant?” Kenyon asked.

“We can always claim exigent circumstances afterward,” Vanko confirmed. “But participation is strictly voluntary.”

Kenyon smiled. “No, it's fine. If we can get the girl, I don't imagine anyone's going to be worrying too much about the letter of the law.”

Taking handheld radios, Sheila, Kenyon, and Snow got out and walked toward the school entrance.

 

At the Phoenicia search site, T. H. Crowe got out of the van and went over to Garrett Egan. “The office is on the radio. They want to talk to whoever's in charge.”

Egan picked up the mike. “Garrett Egan.”

“This is Assistant Director Beck Logan. Where's Vanko?”

“He's not here right now.”

“I didn't ask where he
wasn't.”

“He had to go back to the city.”

“Where in the city?”

“I'm not sure. There was some type of emergency.”

“And he left you in charge?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Aren't you under investigation by OPR right now?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And you've been put in charge of spending seventy-eight thousand dollars a day. Perfect,” Logan said. “I want everything stopped up there until I get some answers.”

“Sir, this was cleared with the SAC.”

“The SAC is standing right in front of me and says he had no idea of the cost.”

“With all due respect, if we're successful, sir, this will be a landmark case.”

“Save the marketing for the tourists, Egan. Shut it down.
Now.”

 

The phone rang and Tommy Ida put down his newspaper. “Hello.”

“Tommy, it's Manny. Is Mike around?”

“Yeah, hold on, he's out front. Where you at?”

“We're headed back to the city. There's a problem.”

After a minute, Parisi picked up the phone. “What's the matter, Manny?”

“We got shut down.”

“What do you mean, shut down?”

“Hold on.”

Egan came on the line. “Parisi?”

“Yeah.”

“The assistant director shut us down. I guess the SAC, who my supervisor cleared this whole operation with, never told the ADIC about it. Somehow he found out, and when they told him how much it was costing, he went nuts. He called in the SAC, who denied knowing the cost. So now everybody wants to talk to my supervisor. The assistant director called
me
on the radio. I tried to tell him about the graveyard and all the bull that went with it, but he said he wasn't authorizing anything until he talked to Vanko.”

“So why doesn't he talk to him?”

“He's disappeared, and no one knows where he is.”

“What, he just disappeared?”

“He went back to the city with three agents. Some emergency that no one seems to know anything about.”

“Did he go with that female agent?”

“Yeah, how'd you know?”

“Never mind.”

“Anyway, they've tried to get ahold of him, but evidently he's got his phone turned off and nobody knows what scrambling code his radio's set on. But even if they find him, it doesn't mean the ADIC is going to okay this.”

All of a sudden Parisi felt the disappointment that he had previously dismissed in his men. He hadn't realized how close they were to finding the Dutchman's treasure and how important it had become to him. Millions. Money without responsibility and effort. Best of all, it was his ticket out of the life. “Who's with you and Manny?”

“Nobody. When we were ordered out of there, I volunteered to drive him back.”

“What about all that seismic stuff?”

“They just shut it down. They're not leaving until their boss tells them, and he isn't going to do anything until my supervisor gets this squared away with the ADIC.”

Parisi, recalling DeMiglia's suspicions of Egan, spoke with a forced casualness. “Before you shut down, were you making any progress?”

“Not that I know of, but to be on the safe side, I took all the charts with me. The geeks running the equipment didn't particularly like it, but I told them they would help convince the ADIC. I haven't had a chance to take a good look at them yet.”

“I'd like to see them.” Good, Parisi thought, this was an opportunity for Egan to meet with DeMiglia and sort everything out. Knowing the agent would not agree to meet the underboss, he would just have to surprise him.

“Sure. That would be good because I'd like to get a look at that map of yours. I've been out there tromping around enough, maybe I can make some sense out of it now.”

“Eight o'clock tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Have Manny give you directions to the After Hours in Bensonhurst. Use the side entrance and come upstairs to the office.”

“Don't forget the map.”

“I've got the map. Just make sure you bring those charts.”

“Sounds like we're back to not trusting each other.”

“Let me give you my take on that—
fifty million dollars.”

 

Dusk was settling over the city. Word had circulated through the small groups that they were to finish their searches and make note of whatever abandoned building they were in so they could start there the next day. Sheila had been shadowing a man for almost an hour. A couple hundred volunteers had shown up, and she had wandered among them, eliminating possible suspects as quickly as she could. This guy was the first one all day who had met the profile she had provided to the others. He was compulsively neat and slender, even a little on the emaciated side. His clothing, while inexpensive, was a bit too formal. And there was a stiffness, a sterility to him that did not fit the personality of a volunteer. He wore hiking boots, and when Sheila saw that they'd been spit-shined, she decided to concentrate on him.

Their group was working with one of the three NYPD tracking dogs assigned to the search. The handler had been given an article of Adelina Lopez's clothing. Sheila's suspect was staying close to the officer, asking questions. The rest of the time, he tried not to be noticed as he listened to their conversations. She wondered if she was trying too hard to convince herself that she had found a candidate. Maybe this was just someone who was genuinely trying to help. They were about to finish for the day, so she decided it was time to resolve it one way or the other. She moved close to him. “Long day, huh?”

He looked her up and down. “Yes” was his single-syllable answer.

She held out her hand. “Sheila Burkhart.”

The man looked at her impolitely, but then surrendered. “Alex Tolenka.” It was pronounced with an eastern European formality, no more removed than one generation.

To give the impression she had taken the hint, Sheila wandered away and turned as if heading back toward the school. When out of earshot, and with no detectable urgency, she dug out her cell phone.

Vanko had already taken three calls from Howard Snow, each offering what he thought was a good suspect, each “really” fitting the profile. None of them was in the laptop's file. Kenyon had called once, and the name he provided wasn't listed either. When Vanko heard Sheila's voice, he sensed some urgency. “Have you got something?”

“I've got a possible. Al-ex To-len-ka.” She pronounced each of the syllables distinctly. “Right now, we're heading back.”

While he searched the name, she told him what she had seen. “Sounds good…but he's not in the file.”

“How about the names from Manny?”

“Hold on.” After a minute, he said, “Jesus, Sheila, there's a Tolenka family. The property owner is listed as Anya Tolenka.”

She started to tremble. For the first time she understood just how much she had given up. She had forgone sleep, food, and the reassurance of social convention until only the case existed. They said she had let the case consume her, but it was all about to pay off. She glanced back to make certain Tolenka was still in sight. “That has to be a relative. We're just starting back. Manny predicted that he wouldn't live where he left the body. Can you run him through DMV and see if he has a different address?”

“Sure. Do you need some help keeping an eye on him?”

“I don't think so. It looks like he's staying with the group.”

“Good. The people at the church are having a potluck dinner for the volunteers. He wouldn't miss an opportunity like that.”

“I'll be there as fast as I can.”

“As soon as you get close, call. You can hand him off to Brad, and he can watch him inside the school.”

Vanko radioed Snow and Kenyon to get back to the van. By the time they got there, he had obtained an address for Alex Tolenka in Queens. Vanko filled them in. “Brad, you've got to stay on him. Sheila, Howard, and I will head over to his residence. Let us know if it looks like he's heading home. I don't know how much time we'll need, but with any luck he won't leave before we're done.”

“And if he does?”

“You'll have to find a way to slow him down.”

 

Vanko pulled the van up in front of Tolenka's house. Sheila said, “I guess the laugh's on me.”