Home Goes The Warrior (10 page)

Lee played along, looking at the assembled group. “My name is Lee Raines. I’m a Navy lieutenant. The lady with me is Lieutenant Commander Margaret Gardiner.” Then he turned back to Jim. “I’m surprised that you are talking to us. I have to assume that you know my assignment. Do you think it somehow relates to your task force? I’m not sure that there’s any mob involvement in the shipyard case.”

Jim reseated himself and asked them to take a seat at the table. When everyone was settled, he replied to Lee’s question, “At this point, we don’t think that your problem is related to what we consider to be organized crime. The point of having you here is to hear about your encounter with Bruno in Las Vegas. Then you can go on with your case. I’m have no intention of taking over the shipyard case unless I have to. I’ve already got too much on my plate. Don’t need any more. But the reason you are here is that you’ve got some other connections that we want to hear more about. We’re interested in Bruno, not the shipyard.”

The next hour was spent going over Lee’s family history and his connections with Tony Bruno. By the time the conversation was over, the atmosphere in the room had undergone a subtle change. They were talking as a team, a group that had developed an honest trust for one another. The FBI Task Force was won over by Lee’s frank answers and real honesty. Maggie was a help also when the group questioned Lee about their Las Vegas encounters with Bruno.

The group finally decided they had learned all that Lee knew about organized crime, and they agreed with Lee that the Bruno family probably wasn’t involved in the shipyard case. At that point, Lee, Maggie, and Tom Wright got up to leave the room.

Before they were able to leave, Jim stopped them. “Since you’re here, there’s something that I thought you should know. Lee, we did an intensive investigation of the accident that killed your parents. We were hoping we could pin it on the mob. But it didn’t work. It was just an accident. The car was working perfectly. They just hit black ice and lost control. I thought you would like to know this.”

Lee was startled, but appreciative. “Thanks, Jim. I do appreciate knowing that. But since we’re on the subject, I have another question for you. How deep into the mob were my parents?”

The agent thought about that one for a minute before answering, “Your father was raised just down the street from Bruno, in South Philly. He did a little bit of work for Joe Oda when he first got out of law school. That was a long time ago. Then he married your mother, and the work seemed to taper off. When they moved to the suburbs, the work died entirely for a while. Then Bruno took over from Oda and your father did some work for Bruno. But from what we can tell, all of this work was related to Bruno’s legitimate businesses. You see, Bruno’s always maintained a series of legitimate business interests on his own. I guess they’re a way for him to put his money to work. Anyway, your dad was the lawyer for the more honest businesses. At this point, there is nothing that actually ties your family to the mob, other than social relationships. Does that answer your question?”

Lee answered in the affirmative and the three left the room.

Tom led them through endless corridors to his office. Once they arrived at his office, he began talking. He’d obviously been nervous
about the grilling Jim had given Lee and Maggie, so he opened the conversation with an apology. “Dammit, guys. I’m sorry about that. But I had no choice. When I heard about you being Bruno’s godson and the meeting you had with him, I had to tell them. Anything that close to organized crime is just plain above my pay grade.”

Lee stopped him. “Tom, quit worrying. We expected this. If it hadn’t happened, I would’ve been disappointed. In fact, that’s why Maggie came with me today. We figured that you guys would want to talk to both of us, so we came in together. It’s not a problem.”

Tom visibly relaxed. “My thanks to both of you. Have a seat. How was the trip, other than the Las Vegas stop?”

They exchanged pleasantries and talked about the trip for a few minutes. Then Tom got down to business. “Okay Lee. Can I talk frankly in front of Maggie?”

“Yeah. No secrets here.”

Tom didn’t particularly like this and he said so. “Dammit, Lee. Do you realize that this is a breach of our security? What in hell are you thinking?”

“Sorry, Tom. But we’re a package. You talk to one of us, you talk to both of us. That’s just the way it is. Period.”

Tom looked disgruntled, but decided against further argument. “All right Lee. Maggie, please don’t get any closer to this. It’s dangerous business, to say the least.”

Maggie replied, “I know, Tom. I’ll be going back to San Diego in a few days, so I’m not worried about me. But I’m really worried about Lee. I hope you guys know what you’re doing. And I hope that you have some protection in place for him.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully, “I hope so too.” He turned to Lee. “Here’s what we found out about the three killings that Bruno told you about.” He pushed a manila folder over to Lee. “You can read that later. To sum it up, two of the murders are definitely suspicious and could be related to our shipyard problem. The third, the case where a guy named Joseph Ziterowski fell into the drydock, was probably an accident, according to the shipyard police force. But they seemed a little shaky to me, so I wouldn’t rule that one out either.”

Tom nodded. “I’ll look into that one a bit on my own when I get there. Did you check to see if there are any others that could be related to our case?”

“Yes, but we didn’t turn up anything. One shipyard planner lost a son in a bizarre murder that hasn’t been solved. But it would be a real stretch to think that could be of interest to us. Other than that, there isn’t anything to tell you.”

He paused, and Maggie took up the questioning. “What are the police saying about these other two murders?”

Tom turned back to her and smiled, a grim smile that revealed some real frustration. “That’s one of the interesting things. When we started looking at the so-called mob hit, the Philadelphia police chief, a guy named Russo, wasn’t very happy that we were asking about the case. But that magically changed as soon as we said that we didn’t think the mob was involved. Then, suddenly, he was our best friend. So we decided not to tell him anything more. I just didn’t trust him. I have a feeling that he and your godfather are closer than they should be, if you know what I mean.”

Tom nodded again, and Maggie smiled. Tom went on, “We looked into the dead guy’s background and his work. Nothing stood out. His name was Bernard Shapiro. He was a South Philly native and one of the guys who work in the advance planning of ship overhauls, in the funds management area. I think they call them type desk managers. Is that right, Lee?”

“Yeah. The type desk managers are people who work on the funding end of overhauls for specific types of ships. They follow a ship overhaul project from the assignment of the overhaul to a shipyard through to the final closeout of the project when the work is finished. They’re the money managers for the shipyard.”

Tom went on, “Anyway, we haven’t found anything yet that ties Shapiro’s death back to our shipyard case. But Shapiro had asked for a meeting with the shipyard commander. They tell me that it’s unheard of for a lower-level civil servant to make a request like that. The meeting had been scheduled to happen on the day after the guy turned up dead in South Philly. Apparently this Shapiro was known to be pretty
dedicated to his job. He’d never even raised a union beef before, yet all the sudden he wanted to meet with the top guy in the shipyard. It only computes one way. I think your buddy Bruno got this one right. I think this guy was trying to blow the whistle on something he’d learned when he asked to meet with the shipyard commander. I think he was killed to shut him up.”

“The other dead guy, the one that got his throat slit over in Jersey, is not as interesting so far. His name was George Carter. The Camden police are convinced that a hooker killed him. They think they know who she is, but they don’t have enough evidence to make an arrest yet. They could be right, but I don’t think so. Me? I think the Camden police are probably wrong, but I don’t have any evidence of that yet.”

Lee was shuffling through the papers in the manila folder that Tom had given him. In a moment he looked up. “If I’m reading this right, this George Carter, the guy that died in Camden, was a GS-9 who worked in the shipyard supply organization. Is that right?”

“Yeah. He was responsible for the procurement of some of the machinery repair parts the shipyard uses in their overhauls. Just a low-level worker.

Lee was leafing thoughtfully through the manila folder, obviously trying to absorb all of this news. “This Ziterowski, the drydock guy, where did he work?”

Tom answered uncertainly, “Gosh, I don’t remember. The base police were so adamant about him just being an accident that I didn’t look any further on that one. Do you think it could be more than an accident?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to look into it. There’s just too many coincidences here.” He continued leafing through the folder. “Ah, here it is. The guy was a job planner who specialized in electronics repair work. Wow, these deaths are spread around. An electronic planner, a money manager, and a machinery procurement specialist. If they’re connected, I think this scam, whatever it is, covers the entire ship overhaul process. It’s not limited to just the guided missile overhauls that you were suspecting when we talked before.”

Tom thought about this for a long time before he replied. “I guess that makes sense, if they’re all connected. But that’s a big leap with
some big assumptions, Lee. It’s premature to think that the facts support this kind of a conclusion.”

“I know. But we have to start somewhere, and I honestly believe that the escalating overhaul costs will prove to be bigger than just the missile systems and the high-ticket repairs. I think the problem is across everything that the shipyard does. If these guys’ deaths are all tied to the problem, that proves my theory, in my mind at least.”

“I know that it’ll take a lot to prove what I’m saying. But at least I’ve got some ideas now on where to start. My first step will be to look into the drydock death. Then I’m going to follow up, discreetly, on the supply guy and why he wanted to see the shipyard commander.”

Tom was silent again for a few moments. “I’m not totally following your thought process here. But you’re the shipyard expert, not me. I hope you’re heading in the right direction, but I’m just not smart enough on shipyards to know. Now, on another subject, the shipyard commander’s name is Warren Jones. He’s a Navy captain and, from what I’ve seen, a good one. We’ve told him about you and the job we have you working on. He’ll support you. He and your BUPERS detailer are the only people outside this building who know about your connection to us.”

Lee nodded. “That’s good. Having him in on this will make it a bit easier for me to move around in the yard. I may need cover stories from time to time. It’s not normal for Navy guys to be showing up in all these civilian work areas.”

The three talked for another hour about the shipyard and its problem. Then Tom escorted them out a side door to a parking garage, from which they eased back into the midday Washington, D.C. sidewalk traffic. Soon they were just two more tourists, walking the streets and taking pictures. That night they stayed in a quaint Georgetown hotel.

CHAPTER SEVEN - THE CABALS

t the same time Lee and Maggie were meeting with Tom Wright in Washington, D.C., another group had assembled in South Philadelphia, not far from the shipyard. They were meeting in an unremarkable little row home that only stood out from its neighbors because of its very expensive hardwood front door. In this neighborhood, the quality of the front door spoke volumes as to the relative wealth of the row home’s owner. Other than the doors, the homes were virtually identical three-story row homes with small front porches uniformly scrubbed to an almost painful level of cleanliness. The immaculate porch steps were all surrounded by small flowering shrubs.

But the interior of this particular row home had been extensively renovated to convert it into a club-house and business headquarters. Just past the front door were the stairs that led to the second-floor bar and private club. Another door, just to the left of the stairs, opened into a large room created by combining the original living and dining rooms. Partitions divided this area into two small offices and a large conference room. On the far side of the office/conference room was a door leading to the kitchen.

The owners of the row home were meeting in the conference area. The group, who called themselves the Skimmers, were discussing the financial status of their projects. The group’s leader, a well-dressed, middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard, was holding the floor.

“In summary, our projects this past quarter have continued their prior levels of profitability. This quarter, we’ve deposited $2,735,000 in our bank in Switzerland. Since this is the end of our fiscal year, the board has again decided to issue checks to each of us in the amount of $50,000. Once again, this amount is, as we all agreed, just a draw on our individual shares of the total. As always, the money will be broken into a group of smaller checks so that they don’t come to the notice of the banks or anyone investigating us. Are there any questions?”