by Owen Parr
“Joseph Petkovic, the guy who rented the car in Miami, is a private detective working for the Salinger Detective Agency. Salinger is a large agency dealing in various forms of investigation.”
“Any idea who hired them?” I asked.
“I don’t have any information on that.”
“How about on Petkovic? Anything on him?”
“Petkovic lives in New Jersey. He’s married, no children, and has worked for the agency six years. Not much else on him, I’m afraid.”
“Did you get a client list for Salinger?” Dom asked.
“Yes, I did, Father, but it’s quite extensive. There’s no way to tell which client was the one who hired them.”
“Perhaps we can have Agent Olmec look. Joey, you think he might be able to narrow it down for us?”
“He might,” I replied. “He still owes Marcy a favor, or are you guys even now?”
Marcy smiled and winked at me. “Oh no, it was a big favor. He still owes me.”
Patrick asked, “What if we paid a visit to Petkovic?”
“Even if we did, he’s not going to volunteer anything. Plus, he may not know who the client is.”
Agnes asked, “You never got to talk to Ahmad Senturk as you planned. You still think he’s behind the order to kill the pilots and Alexa Gould? Even though he must know he’s under surveillance?”
I put down my glass of Chianti. “We didn’t talk to him out of respect for Agent Olmec and his investigation. Some of these bad actors are so arrogant that they think they’re smarter than everyone else and can get away with anything. We know Senturk ordered the hit on Alexa Gould and the kidnapping of Gavi Drucker. More than likely the hit on Melnick, Silver, and Edwards too. Now, the question is whether there was a higher authority telling Senturk what to do.”
Marcy asked, “And you think there is?”
“My gut is telling me that there is a central player calling all the shots. He or she is very concerned about being uncovered. So much so that they’ve killed eight people so far.”
Patrick said, “You’re still thinking it’s the collector of these Sumerian antiquities? That person could be anywhere in the world, no? From what we know, New York is but one of the cities where this takes place. They could be in Germany and London too.”
I turned to glance at Mr. Pat. “I think our central character is based in New York. And, not an underworld type character, but a well-known person of power. I doubt that the plan was to kill anyone, but things just got out of hand after we came on the scene.”
Father Dom added, “So let’s cut to the chase. It’s likely that at least three people we know of are privy to who this central character is. Senturk, Drucker, and Feinstein. Right?”
“You’re probably right, brother. I’m sure Senturk knows, and for that reason, I think his life is in danger at this stage. As for Drucker and Feinstein, I’m not sure they know specifically who the person is.”
Dom fired back, “So, why doesn’t the FBI arrest Senturk and end this mystery?”
Marcy replied, “Father, they’re dealing with a much bigger case. Solving a murder investigation is not what they’re after. This case is about funding a terrorist organization. The war on terror is the bigger picture.”
Father Dom raised both hands. “So, like I said before, we went from working a missing person’s case to fighting the war on terror? The five of us?”
“Are you suggesting we stop our investigation, Father?” Patrick asked,
I jumped in, I didn’t want Dom answering that question. “I think he’s frustrated at our inability to get into this case fully because of the current restrictions imposed on us. Right brother?” I asked, gesturing at him. Not giving him a chance to respond, I added, “I think we can work around the FBI’s case and pursue our end of the investigation. Alexa Gould is still our client.”
Marcy grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard, signifying her appreciation. She asked, “You want me to try and get involved in this case? Maybe I can question Drucker and Feinstein.”
“Oh my gosh, I forgot. Congratulations on getting reinstated!” Agnes said.
Patrick raised his wine glass. “To Marcy!”
We took a few moments to congratulate Marcy as she recounted her firearms test. She was ready to get back to work, both physically and mentally.
“Marcy, I don’t know if the Bureau and your white-collar division want to take on this case. I don’t see a basis for it, do you?” I said.
Marcy replied, “No, not off the top of my head, but if you were to uncover something that could get us involved, we might. You said that both Drucker and Feinstein lied to you and Father Dom, right? Well, they can’t lie to us.”
I thought for a second. “I would like to talk to Gavi. That’s for sure, but I doubt her father is going to let me.”
Father Dom added, “I think we should go back and question Drucker and Feinstein again. I know Feinstein was hiding something from me.”
“Drucker and Feinstein are the key to finding our collector. Perhaps they don’t know him as such, but they know something.”
“I have an idea,” I began, as my cell phone rang. “Hang on a second.” I answered. “Detective A. Rod, good evening. How you doin?”
“Joey, sorry to bother you on a Sunday night, but you should know that the office and warehouses at Meso Trading went up in flames. The cause of the fire is being investigated. Ahmad Senturk was found burnt to a crisp.”
I raised my left hand and repeated what he told me out loud for everyone to hear. “Senturk is dead? His body was identified?”
Everyone around the table looked up at me in astonishment. I put the call on speaker.
“Yeah, it’s him.”
33
Monday
The bitter cold temperatures that prevailed most of February were beginning to subside. It was seven in the morning, and I was enjoying my Uber ride across the Brooklyn Bridge as the sun rose and shined its glow of warmth onto a beautiful city. Captain O’Brian’s Pub & Cigar Bar was waiting for me. I breathed in deep, smelling the faint trace of cigar smoke from the night before lingering in the air. Having been away almost a week reminded me how much I enjoyed the quiet solitude of the early mornings with my double cortadito, the newspaper, and an occasional morning cigar.
It was seven thirty when I made it in to the pub. While not a rule, I made it known to the crew that our office hours in our new squad-room investigative office did not start until nine. Brother Dom usually arrived around eight, after his morning masses at Saint Helen’s. This was our private time, and we wanted to keep it that way.
Familiar city traffic filled my ears as I was brewing my espresso. “How goes it, brother?” I turned to the front door and saw Dom’s smile.
“It’s a beautiful morning,” he replied, sounding like one of the Rascals from their 1968 movie. “I’m kind of bummed we left our clothes in Saint Thomas. I don’t have a lot of civilian clothes, and I left behind some nice polo shirts and a good pair of slacks.”
“Not to worry, brother. I gave Joseph a couple of hundred dollars to go back to our boutique hotel, pack our stuff, and ship it here to the pub. We should have it in a few days.”
“When did you do that?”
“When he dropped us off at the airport. He said he would take care of it, ‘not a problem’ when he pocketed the extra dough. How about a cortadito?”
“I’m in. Speaking of dough. What are your plans for the Drucker money? I’m hoping you’re not—”
“Thinking of keeping the money?”
“It’s a lot of money, Joey,” he replied, his eyes wide-open.
“Un sacco di soldi, sì,” I replied, smiling. “Lots of money. No worries, padre, we’re not keeping the money, at least not all of it.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Agnes mentioned that besides social security, Alexa Gould was taking care of her mother and was the only source of funds. That’s why she was starting to work full time and go to scho
ol on a part-time basis. Mr. Drucker is going to have to fund that to some degree. Then, in all honesty, I think we’re owed a finder’s fee for retrieving it. Don’t you agree?”
Dom took a sip from his espresso. “I’ll leave it up to you.”
“Good. Now, you and I are going back to speak with both Drucker and Feinstein today. Follow my lead, but understand I’m going to push hard. We need to get to the bottom of this, now that these two are the only leads we have.”
“Are we just showing up at their office?”
“I would love to do just that, but we can’t. I need to call Ruth Goldstein and advise her.”
“Remember, she’s our employer from time to time.”
“That’s also a reason to call her. We don’t want to burn that bridge, right?”
“Agreed. You think Drucker knows Senturk is dead?”
“Not unless he had something to do with it, and I don’t think either one of those fellows did.”
“On another topic, Agnes said she’ll be in a little later this morning.”
“Is she still attending your morning mass?” I asked, smiling.
“She still attends every morning with her boyfriend. They seem to be in love.”
“Are they sleeping together?” I asked with a chuckle.
“How would I know that, Joey?”
“Don’t you hear their confessions?”
“It wouldn’t be any of your business if I did.”
“Just kidding bro, just kidding. But really, you can tell me.”
Dom pushed back on his espresso cup, a little annoyed. “Why don’t you call Goldstein so we can get going?”
I came around from the back of the bar, still savoring my double espresso. “Let’s go to our office. I’ll call her from there.”
Walking into our office slash squad room, I dialed Ruth Goldstein. “Ruth, we need to meet with Drucker and Feinstein today.”
“Joey, what now? They are not going to like this.”
“This whole thing is bigger than I even thought. I can go myself, but I feel like you need to be there. Trust me, it’s for their benefit that we all meet.”
“Very well. I’ll call and set it up.”
About ten minutes later, she called confirming that the two partners would meet at eleven in the morning at their office, but only for a few minutes.
At nine, both Agnes and Patrick arrived at the office, and I gave them the news. We were anxious to see if we could get a clue or a lead that could unravel this mystery. Everyone that knew something was dead, one after the other. Frankly, I wasn’t sure how much we could get from Drucker and Feinstein. But sometimes the smallest clue could open an investigation, and that was what I was hoping for.
As Dom and I were getting ready to take a car service to 1375 Broadway, my cell phone rang. “Hey Special Agent, how’s it going on day one?”
Marcy replied, “I love it. Feeling good and ready to get back to work. Listen, Agent Olmec called me.”
“Oh, what about?”
“He wanted to make us aware about the fire at Meso Trading and that Ahmad Senturk died in the fire. I told him we found out from your detective friend late last night.”
“Does he have any other information?”
“It was arson. The fire started in Senturk’s office and quickly spread to the rest of the warehouse. It seems Senturk was tied to his office chair. The accelerant was found under him. They don’t know if he was dead before the fire or if the he was burnt alive. COD hasn’t been determined.”
I wanted to say “poor man,” but I felt no pity for this guy. “If he was tied down, they probably questioned him, even tortured him, before setting the place on fire. The place was under surveillance. Didn’t they see anyone go in and out?”
“Olmec wouldn’t give me any more information. He said the local police were investigating.” She paused. “Joey, please be careful. These people, whoever they are, aren’t playing games.”
“I know, I know. We’re on our way to meet with Drucker and Feinstein.”
“Do you guys have to do this?” Her voice was borderline pleading with me. “I mean, your case is over, and it has been over for a while. You’ve already solved Alexa’s murder. The FBI is involved, together with DHS and DOJ, and then there’s the Miami police. What more can you and Father Dom do?”
Marcy knew I don’t let go easily—or ever, for that matter. I was determined to see this through. But, she did have a point. Our resources were very limited, and we had very little to go on. “Listen, all we’re going to do is talk to the partners and see what develops. If we get nothing else to move forward on this, we’ll have to end our part,” I said.
“Let me ask you this: do you think the partners are in danger?”
“I’ve thought about it. It depends on how much they know, right? If they simply stumbled into something and don’t know the person behind it, then no, not really. However, if they know the identity of the person calling the shots, then they might be.”
“What do you think?”
“At this point, I think they don’t know. Let me rephrase that, I think they don’t know they know. That’s what I’m hoping for. We might be able to uncover the truth by asking questions.”
“And that, Joey, is what I’m afraid of. If you and Father Dom uncover the identity of the killer, that puts both of you in harm’s way. These people aren’t leaving any clues behind. They’re ruthless killers.”
I wanted to change the conversation. Marcy was getting worked up again over this. “How’s Victoria doing? Tell her I said hello.”
She ignored my question. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I did, my love. Dom and I will be very careful. More than likely, we’ll be done with this today,” I said, trying to soothe her concerns.
“Okay, Joey. Call me the moment you’re done with them. Please be careful. I love you.”
“I love you too, Marcy. I’ll see you later.”
34
Ruth Goldstein was waiting for us at the entrance to Drucker and Feinstein. She wanted to know more before we even went upstairs to meet with the partners.
“What is it you want to do here, Joey? Aaron Drucker is very upset that you’re still involved. My concern is that since I brought you into this relationship, he’s going to take it out on all of us.”
“Look Ruth, we understand your concern, and we’re happy that Gavi is back home safe and sound, but a lot has happened in one week. More than anyone expected, trust me. I asked you here as a courtesy, because you did get us involved. At the same time, I don’t want these guys incriminating themselves in what’s happened without some sort of representation.”
“What in the world are you talking about? Incriminating themselves with what?” Her voice was half an octave higher. She was perturbed.
“Let’s just go up and meet with them. We’ll lay it all out for everyone.”
We took the elevator to the eleventh floor and entered the reception area. Ruth and I approached the reception counter, where a young lady sat answering phones. The young lady motioned to Ruth to wait one moment as she dealt with a caller. I looked around the counter and noticed a business card sitting there with a logo of a shield, like a police shield, but the letters inside the shield simply read SDA. I didn’t have time to read anything else on the card before the young lady spoke.
After Ruth mentioned that the partners were waiting for us, the receptionist made a call, and within seconds, another young lady ushered us into a fancy conference room. Aaron Drucker sat there with the same pit-bull face I saw him display in our original discussion a week ago in his wine cellar. Sid Feinstein was sitting next to Drucker. Dom wasn’t kidding when he described him as a very large man. Dom said he looked like a pear, and I couldn’t help but smile.
Reaching over the table, I introduced myself to Feinstein. He rumbled out of his chair, stood, pulled up his pants, and shook my hand. I then extended my hand to Drucker, who remained seated, grudgingly shaking my hand.
Without even asking us to sit or offering us water or coffee Drucker asked, “What is it that you want? We don’t have a lot of time.”
I replied, “Yes sir, thank you for seeing us with such short notice. I trust Mrs. Drucker and Gavi are doing fine.”
Drucker mumbled, “They’re both fine. Let’s get on with this.”
I noticed that Father Dom wanted to exchange pleasantries, but I decided to cut him short, in fear that Drucker would bite his head off. So, instead of beating around the bush, I went straight ahead. “Are either of you aware that Ahmad Senturk was murdered yesterday?”
The first responses were non-verbal. Feinstein, sitting to my right, closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Drucker glanced quickly at his partner, moved forward, and asked, “What are you talking about?”
I wanted to continue the shock treatment, so I didn’t mince any words. “Your client, Mr. Senturk, owner of Meso Trading, was found burned to death tied to his chair in his office, the entire warehouse burnt to the ground. Were either of you aware of this?”
Drucker gasped. “My God, did you say murdered?”
Ruth Goldstein was looking at me, as if to tell me to be very cautious with any accusations. But, she remained silent.
I replied, “Ever since Gavi was kidnapped, last week—”
“I never said Gavi was kidnapped, as a matter of fact—"
Now it was my turn to interrupt. “Mr. Drucker, we’re aware that you paid two million dollars to a bank in Grand Cayman as ransom for Gavi’s release.” I paused.
Ruth, who sat to the left of Drucker, reached over and put her hand on his right arm just before he said anything. She asked me, “How did you get this information?”
Feinstein moved forward in his chair to look at Ruth and swallowed hard, his small face turned the color of snow waiting for my answer.
I made eye contact with Drucker and Feinstein. “I’ll tell you more about the money in a minute.” I piled on for effect. “Besides Senturk being murdered, three employees of MarAir, Gavi’s boyfriend, and three policemen from Saint Thomas have also been murdered.”
