Castle Cay (20 page)

“That could be interesting,” said Sherm.
“There’s been some suspicion of money laundering. Solomon is more
than the son of the owner; he’s an accountant, and he’s listed as
both the President and Treasurer of the company. The Boston store
is where all the money is handled; the other stores are satellite
operations. “

“’Some suspicion’? Got anything more solid
than that? Anything we could go in on, Dixon?” asked Bob
Branson.

“Not yet, but maybe today,” said Sherm,
thoughtfully. “The people we’re meeting are highly credible, in my
opinion, and they know this guy well. I’m beginning to think that
he’s the missing piece in
two
puzzles…”

* * * * *

M
atthew Castle leaned back in his
well-worn chair behind his desk at Connor, Castle & Mann, and
regarded the two agents sitting across from him.

“I’m not at all surprised to have the FBI
questioning me about my nephew, Avram,” said Matt. “I’m only
surprised that it took this long for it to happen.”

“What, exactly, do you mean by that, Mr.
Castle?” asked Sherman Dixon.

“I mean that I think he’s a dangerous and
unscrupulous man. I’ve known him since he was born. He was a
horrible child. He beat his brother, Marc, so severely he had to be
hospitalized when they were boys. My sister, Miriam, took him to a
psychiatrist for a while. The change in Avram was astonishing. He
never did
anything
wrong after that. At least, not while
anyone was watching
.
He was solicitous, and overly polite to
Miriam…it was sickening…I thought it bordered on mockery. But my
sister drank it in like a thirsty plant.”

“Were there any more incidents between the
brothers?” asked Sherm.

“No,” said Matt. “Marc was afraid of Avram.
He stayed away from him.”

“All the charitable work Avram Solomon does,”
said Bob Branson, “how do you explain that? It doesn’t seem to
square with your description of the man.”

“It’s an act, in my opinion,” said Matt.

“Does your firm handle any legal business for
Solomon Chrysler?” asked Bob. “Are they clients?”

“Not any more. Not since Milton Solomon
retired,” said Matt. “There was only the one dealership then, here
in the city.”

“So Avram Solomon is responsible for the
expansion to two other locations,” said Bob. “He must be a good
businessman, at least.”

“Oh, he’s smart. No question about that,”
said Matt.

“Would you happen to know what law firm Mr.
Solomon switched to, Mr. Castle?” asked Bob.

“I understand they’re with Cardenas &
Shaw,” said Matt.

Bob Branson jotted that down.

“Are you personally aware of, or do you
suspect, any illegal activity related to Avram Solomon or his
business?” asked Bob.

“No,” said Matt. “As I said, it wouldn’t
surprise me, but I don’t know of any illegal activity involving
Avram.”

Sherman could tell that Bob Branson was
essentially done with questioning Matthew Castle. He wasn’t,
however.

“The island, Castle Cay. It originally
belonged to your family?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Matt. “My father left it to
Miriam, who was the oldest. She left it, in trust, to Marcus.
Against my advice, she named Avram as trustee. I suggested my
partner, Tom Connor, or myself. She thought that Avram was smart,
and he would be ‘a good conservator’.”

“What do you know about the island?” asked
Sherm.

“Nothing, really. I know a cruise line has
made an offer to buy it. I haven’t personally been there since I
was a child. Frankly, I didn’t like Milton Solomon very much. And,
as I mentioned, I didn’t like being around Avram at all. So, I had
no desire to vacation there with them.

”Miriam generally came to visit me at home.
She frequently brought Marc. My wife was fond of him and he got
along well with my kids. Miriam would never bring Avram to my
house, though. We never spoke of it, but she knew I didn’t want him
there.”

Neither agent could think of anything else to
ask Matt Castle that would be useful. Obviously, the man had strong
negative feelings about Solomon, but that didn’t help them any.

“Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Castle,”
said Sherm. “Please give us a call if you think of anything else.”
He gave him a card, and they all shook hands.

Sherman shook his head as they made their way
back to Bob’s car in the parking garage across the street.

“I hope we get more useful information from
the Soldanos, Bob,” said Sherm. “Sorry. I guess we wasted time with
Matt Castle.”

“No, we didn’t,” said Bob Branson. “We found
out that Solomon has a mob lawyer…John Cardenas.”

* * * * *

I
t was dark when the two agents
arrived in Salem, Massachusetts…a city made famous by witchcraft
and magic. Sherm was looking forward to meeting the Soldanos. Bob
was hoping for a magical break in the investigation.

Pete Soldano answered the door.

“Hi. Sherman Dixon,” said Sherm, showing Pete
his identification. “This is Special Agent Robert Branson from the
Boston field office.”

Bob held out his identification, also.

“Hi,” said Pete. “C’mon in.”

Joan was nervously waiting in the living
room. She stood as Pete introduced her to the agents.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Please, sit
down. Can I get you something to drink? You know, a coke? Or some
water?”

“Some water would be good, thanks,” said
Sherm.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, and left to
get the water.

Pete Soldano couldn’t help staring at Sherm
Dixon. He’d had no idea that the man was black, or so tall. He’d
actually had to duck as he came through the front door!

For his part, Sherm had pictured Pete and
Joan Soldano correctly, except for their deep tans. He thought they
looked like they lived year-round in Miami.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought another
agent along, Pete. Bob has an interest in Avram Solomon, apart from
Marcus Solomon’s death,” said Sherm.

“No,” said Pete. “We made our decision to
help…whatever you need to do.”

Joan returned with four glasses of water on a
tray, set the tray on the coffee table and sat next to Pete on the
sofa.

“So, where do we start?” asked Pete, looking
at the two men.

“I understand that you’ve worked for Solomon
Chrysler for twenty years,” said Sherm. “That’s a long time. It
tells me that you’re a loyal employee, Pete. And yet, I know from
Joe Garrett and Julie O’Hara that things have changed a lot over
the years that have caused you to distrust Avram Solomon, or have
some misgivings about him. Why don’t you begin by telling us what
has changed, what has bothered you?”

“Well, I guess I was just a lot happier
working for Milton Solomon. Joan worked there, too, in those days,”
said Pete, looking at her and giving her hand a squeeze. “Milton
had respect for people. And he didn’t micro-manage, you know? When
he put someone in a position of authority, they were in charge of
that department.

“At first, when Avram came to work there, he
just handled the payroll department, where Joan worked. But after
Milton’s wife died, he gradually turned over more and more
responsibility to Avram. Eventually, he called a meetin’ and told
us that he was retirin’, and that Avram was the new President of
the company. Of course, by then, we were expectin’ it.

“I wasn’t thrilled about it, but the good
news was that the company was expandin’ to Lynn, so I applied for
the GM position. I got the job and that worked out good for us,
because Joan had gotten into a fight with Avram over some payroll
issues and really hated workin’ for him. So, anyway, she was able
to leave and be at home for the kids. That’s when we moved here to
Salem.”

“What were the ‘payroll issues’ that upset
you, Joan?” asked Sherm.

“Nothing important, you know, or illegal,”
said Joan. “Some paychecks bounced, and I thought there should be
some reserve money in the payroll account, you know, so it wouldn’t
happen again? It was just a small thing. I suggested it to Avram
and he was very nasty about it. He said that ‘it was none of my
business’, you know, that I was just ‘supposed to type the checks’,
or something to that effect. It was very embarrassing and
unnecessary. I was glad we were moving here. It was an excuse to
leave, you know?”

“So, is the payroll for all the stores done
at the Boston location?” asked Bob.

“Yes,” said Pete. “That and everything else.
Except for individual car deals and financin’, everything has to go
through Boston and be approved by Avram.”

“But, he must be a good businessman. Isn’t
there a third dealership now, in Waltham?” asked Bob.

“Yes. That’s what really got me wonderin’,”
said Pete, shaking his head. “He’s
not
a good businessman.
He makes terrible decisions. Even after all this time, he still
doesn’t know his ass from his elbow about the damn car
business!

“My store could be making a lot more money
than it does, but I’ve got my hands tied. The Boston lot, and the
store, too, is small. Too small to generate a lot of money…and it
takes a lot of money to expand! So, how’s he doin’ it? Listen,
Miriam Castle came from money…but not Milt. And, from what I heard,
she didn’t love Milt. I heard she left her money to Marc. So where
is Avram gettin’ the money to expand the business and live like he
does? I just don’t get it, you know?”

Sherm looked at Bob Branson. Bob was
quiet…thinking. No one said anything for a minute or two.

“Why didn’t they expand the Boston car lot?”
asked Bob. “There’s a defunct gas station next door. Why didn’t
Avram buy it?”

“Exactly!
They already own it!
See
what I mean?” said Pete. “I would have done that, years ago. We’ve
got more room than we need out in Waltham and not enough room in
Boston. It doesn’t make sense!”

The four talked a little more, Sherm and Bob
thanked the Soldanos, and they took their leave, heading back to
Boston.

“Sharp guy, that Pete,” said Sherman.

“Yep,” agreed Bob. “Solomon’s moves may not
make much sense for his car business, but they make plenty of sense
for his drug business.”

Sherman nodded.

Bob pulled out his cell phone and punched in
a number.

“Jack? Are you and Mike watching Solomon
Chrysler?”

“Good. Oh, yeah? He’s there?”

Bob nodded and glanced at Sherm.

“I want you guys to circle the block. That
way you can keep an eye on Solomon and see when he leaves. But,
listen, I want you pay particular attention to the closed gas
station on the corner. See if there’s an entrance on the other
street. See if anyone goes in or out of there.

“Don’t slow down; don’t stop. Just keep
circling. Do it until midnight. Good. See you in the morning.”

He flipped the phone shut.

* * * * *

W
hat the hell are they
doing now?

Avram saw the blue Camry coming up the street
for the third time, slowly. At least, he thought it was them. It
was dark out, and hard to see through the lowered mini-blinds on
his office window.

Yesterday they mostly just sat there.
Who
the fuck are they? Not cops. Silvio’s men? Feds?

He got up casually from his chair, papers in
hand, and slipped out the partially opened door to the corridor. He
saw the security guard across the hall in the glass-enclosed
business office looking at a newspaper, and nodded to him, smiling.
He went down the hall, opened the men’s room door, and shut it
without going in. He dashed into the service department and out a
small door to the right rear of the building, propping it open with
a bunched floor mat.

He darted across the narrow lot, ducking
below the cars, to where he could see through the vinyl slats in
the chain-link fence. The Camry was coming around.

Oh, fuck. Not now!

She was coming out of the gas station,
locking the door behind her with her big, metallic purse over her
shoulder. She hopped into the dark car waiting for her at the curb,
and it pulled away. The blue Camry was right behind it.

Fuck. FUCK.

Avram quickly retraced his path back into the
dealership, and slipped into the restroom. He flushed the toilet
twice, then turned on the faucet in the sink. Shutting the door
behind him, he went back to his office. The security guard was
still reading the paper.

Avram sat at his desk, trying to think it
through.
Could they be Silvio’s guys?
Boston cops,
undercover?

He grabbed the Mont Blanc pen and turned it
obsessively in his hand, while he glanced out the window through
the partially open mini-blinds. He couldn’t see a damn thing; it
was black beyond the window, nothing visible but headlights. He
decided to leave, since he was done with his weekly task of
adjusting the books.

He picked up his briefcase and left the
office, switching off the lights and locking the door. He waved at
the security guard.

“Good night, Ralph.”

“Good night, Mr. Solomon.”

Avram unlocked the Jaguar and tossed his
briefcase onto the passenger seat. He was just about to get in when
the blue Camry passed by…again.

They didn’t follow the drugs! They couldn’t
have missed that pick-up.

He got into the car in time to see the Camry
turn right at the red light, passing the old, darkened gas station
again. He pulled up to the lights and watched the blue car slowly
continue on. When the light turned green, he crossed the
intersection and headed for his townhouse. He kept his eyes on his
rear view mirror, but no one followed him.

They’re feds. It’s me they’re watching. Time
for Plan B...

* * * * *

A
vram was organized. All the important
records were at his townhouse in one place: the den. He sat in his
desk chair and fed them into the cross-cut shredder, a few at a
time. He’d planned carefully for this, for years. The Feds would
try to charge him,
in absentia,
with money laundering.