The Mather Triad: Series Boxed Set (Chloe Mather Thrillers)

by Lawrence Kelter

Joker rolled Maltisse’s body in a blanket and grunted as he threw the cocoon-like load over his shoulder.

  Carolyn shuddered when she heard the thud of Carlo’s body hit the trunk liner.

  Joker reappeared at the door, carrying gift boxes from Neiman Marcus of West Palm Beach. “You’re a lucky woman, Mrs. Abate.” He dropped the boxes onto the bed next to her in the exact spot where she had just laid atop Carlo Maltisse.

  She stared at the boxes, confused and befuddled. A card was tucked beneath the ribbon of the smallest box. It read: “This is how a lady should dress.”

  Joker left and shut the fractured door behind him.

  Carolyn took the clothing out of the boxes and laid them out upon the bed. Abate had purchased a pink Chanel suit and black pumps with a modest Queen Anne heel. The pink suit was trimmed in black, and the generously cut skirt was well past the knee in length.

  Carolyn Abate examined her new ensemble, handling the clothing dispassionately. She took a long, hot shower before getting dressed. She pulled her hair straight back into a ponytail and dressed without putting on makeup.

  Her phone rang. Abate was on the line. “It’s too bad that your friend missed his flight back to New York. Heh. Heh. Heh. I could’ve gotten him a discounted fare for bereavement.” The line went dead in her hand.

  Abate’s ominous laughter echoed in her head. She was still in tears when she left the room, ready to begin a life of celibacy.

  Chapter 33

  The girl standing behind the fitness club juice bar was giving away free shots of some god-awful green grass elixir. I did my best not to make eye contact with her as I walked toward the exit, but she was persistent and pretty much pounced on me before I could make good my escape. Is it too late to pull my Glock? I’d just finished my weight training. My shoulders, abs, and back were killing me, and all I wanted to do was head off to work without getting hassled by some gaga overzealous nutritionist.

  “Would you like to try a Radiation Detox Smoothie?” she offered with unbridled exuberance.

  God, don’t you just hate people who are so up first thing in the morning? “No.” I tried to be polite, but the snarly inflection in my voice left little room for interpretation.

  “It’s got lots of great stuff in it.”

  “Like what?” Oops, you blew it, Mather. You let her get her foot in the door. Dope!

  “For starters, there’s hemp milk.”

  “Hemp milk? Can you really get milk out of hemp?”

  “Uh-huh.” It was a very enthusiastic uh-huh accompanied by rapid nodding and wide Muppet eyes (you know, like Elmo’s).

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but isn’t that the stuff they use to make rope?”

  “Uh, maybe. I guess.” She looked at me as if I had just come off a flying saucer from the planet Weirdo. “Hemp milk is, like, the best thing you can put into your body.”

  I doubt it. Actually, I know better. “And it kills radiation? Wow. That really is some incredible stuff.”

  “Well, the hemp milk by itself doesn’t kill radiation, but when you blend it with the other stuff like pectin, it binds radioactive material so that it can be removed from the body.”

  “Removed?”

  “Eliminated.”

  “So if I drink this stuff, I can poop out my radiation?”

  Another head-rattling. “Uh-huh.”

  “There’s only one problem. I haven’t been exposed to radiation.”

  “How do you know? Practically everyone’s been exposed to radiation—cell phones, radar towers, microwaves.”

  “Yikes! When you put it like that …” Of course, it would’ve been cool if I had absorbed sufficient gamma radiation to turn into the Incredible Hulk and pound her into the ground.

  “Do you eat fish?” she asked, unrelenting.

  “Nope. Not anymore. Not since the radiation leak at Fukushima. You know if the Japanese aren’t careful, they’re actually going to start turning innocent little salamanders into city-crushing Godzillas.”

  At this point spunky little Ms. Spirulina looked like she had a migraine. “Really? You mean to tell me you don’t eat an occasional tuna fish sandwich?”

  “No way! I mean I used to, but not anymore. It’s filled with mercury. Will this shake help me poop out my mercury as well?”

  That was the wrong question to ask. It prompted the return of wide-eyed violent head shaking and a resounding, “Yes!”

  “Oh well, then shit, I’d better have some.” I took the Dixie cup out of her hand, prepped for tasting by wrinkling my nose, and chugged an ounce of the green sludge. “You know, that’s really not all that bad, and I can actually feel the radiation fleeing from every pore. I’m going to count the minutes until I take my first radiation-dumping BM.” Gee, I wonder if the toilet will glow. “All right. I’ll take one to go.” She reacted as if she was a realtor and I’d just put down a binder on a ten-million-dollar estate in Beverly Hills. It was pretty early in the morning, and I suppose I might’ve been the first person to succumb to her persistent good-willed persuasion. How lucky can a girl get?

  I was sucking hemp, kelp, kale, and God knows what else through a straw as I walked through the parking lot to my car when my phone buzzed. It was Lorraine Franco. As I answered the phone, I wondered whether she’d spent the night with Cabrera and was now in need of an emergency psychiatric intervention. She sounded absolutely frantic. “Lorraine, slow down. Take a deep breath, and start from the beginning.” I gave her a moment to absorb my instructions but could still hear her gasping on the end of the line. “Easy now. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I don’t know why people don’t listen when you give them good advice. She still sounded hysterical as she spoke. “He’s dead! He’s dead!”

  I gagged for a second. I think a large chunk of hemp got stuck in the back of my throat. “Okay, who’s dead, and where are you?”

  “I’m at the office, and the guy’s dead, what’s-his-name? The guy in the leather jacket … Linuzzi. He’s been stabbed.”

  No shit! “Is anyone else there with you?”

  “N-no. I don’t think so.”

  “Are you in any danger?”

  “I don’t know. I think I’m okay.”

  “Did you touch the body?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Don’t go anywhere near it. In fact, go wait outside. I’ll have a unit there in five minutes. Identify yourself when the police get to you, and tell them that I’m on the way.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m coming, Lorraine. Breathe some fresh air, and try to stay calm.”

  I took another sip of my detoxifying brew. It was no longer frosty cold, and the hemp milk now smelled like sweaty feet. I tossed it into the nearest trash container before getting into my SUV. “What a waste. Why didn’t I buy a cronut to wash it down?”

  Chapter 34

  Two police cruisers were parked in front of Transglobal when I pulled up. Lorraine was standing outside, pacing back and forth like a nervous hen. I hustled over and spoke to her before going inside. “Lorraine, are you all right?”

  Lorraine nodded, not like the hemp-selling nutritionist but in a barely convincing manner.

  It was only about eight o’clock, and I wondered why she had arrived at work so early. “Do you always get in this early?”

  “Never.”

  “So why today?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I figured—”

  “That you’d get an early start? You must be very conscientious.”

  She opened her bag. “Christ, I’m out of cigarettes. You wouldn’t happen to have—”

  “A cigarette?” Are you kidding? I just detoxified. “I don’t smoke. So do you want to tell me what kept you up all night?”

  Lorraine stared off into space and sighed an exasperated sigh. “He threatened me.”

  “Who? Soto or Linuzzi?”

  “Linuzzi. I stopped at Starbucks right after I left your office yesterday. He followed me inside and scared the
shit out of me. He wanted to know everything I told you.”

  “And you said?”

  “Nothing. I told him that you asked me about Rachel, what kind of person she was, and stuff like that. I didn’t tell him that I picked him out from a mug shot. I wanted to let you know, but—”

  “You were too frightened?”

  She nodded but still looked very troubled. “I didn’t kill him.”

  She gave me a moment of pause. Oh, I get it. She’s here early. She has motive. She must think that she’s a suspect. “I think that’s a pretty safe bet, Lorraine. You didn’t see anyone that looked suspicious, did you?”

  “No.”

  “All right. I’m going inside. I think it’s best if you wait for me out here.” I quickly looked around. “If you want to grab breakfast at the place across the street, that’s okay too. Just don’t leave until I speak with you again. The police will want to take your statement.”

  “Okay.” She nodded, and we left it at that.

  Chapter 35

  I yanked on blue gloves as I entered the building. The body was in plain sight as soon as I walked in. Two cops stood near the corpse. Both were talking on their radios. I had my credentials in view as I approached and then hung them from my belt. I announced myself as I approached. “Special Agent Mather, FBI. This is part of an ongoing investigation. Don’t worry. I won’t disturb the crime scene. I just want to take a quick look.” That seemed to satisfy patrolman A and patrolman B, and I was permitted access with just a subtle reminder not to contaminate the crime scene.

  I got as close as I could without compromising things for the crime scene unit. Not that I could get very close because there was blood everywhere. From where I stood, I could see that the victim’s throat had been slashed, which pretty much explained the blood-everywhere scenario. Forget those crime and slasher movies; when one of the major arteries leading to the brain is cut, blood doesn’t drizzle down the neck, it spurts out like a fountain. Linuzzi was positively swimming in blood. Well, not so much swimming as doing the dead man’s float. He was on his side. His hands and ankles had been bound with a torn telephone cord execution style. At the periphery of the blood line and partially obscured by it, was a pronounced scorch mark, which didn’t mean a hell of a lot to me. Not being omnipotent, the crime scene boys would have to put their heads together and figure that one out on their own.

  I was looking for other clues when Cabrera walked in. “How did I know I’d find you here?” He took one quick peek at the body and turned back to me. “A gang-style execution.”

  I smirked and then got serious. “This guy has to be tied up in Rachel Rabin’s homicide. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts.”

  “That’s Linuzzi, right?”

  “AKA the Collector, lieutenant for Anthony ‘Dead Eyes’ Silvestri.”

  “Dead Eyes, huh? Why does every mobster have a nickname? Benny the Braciole, Tony the Twerp, Vito the Vongole.”

  He made me laugh. “Vito the clam? Is that the best you can come up with?”

  “I wonder if they make these names up on their own or if they pick them out of some kind of a mobster catalogue. Hey, how about Sammy the Scungilli?”

  I buried my face in my hand. “That’s terrible, and what’s more, I may never eat seafood again.” Between the radiation and the mercury I’m completely screwed anyway. “Okay, let’s get serious. What’s his business with Transglobal?”

  Cabrera shrugged. “Women cut into fish bait, and gangsters rubbing elbows with a slimeball freight forwarder. Sounds like the fun is just beginning.”

  “I guess we’d better find Soto.”

  It was no longer a small party. Several crime scene investigators and police officers were coming through the door. They took priority, so Cabrera and I stepped out of the way. I was close enough to Soto’s office to take a peek inside.

  Surprise of all surprises, his office had been cleaned out.

  Chapter 36

  Malaina Silvestri was like her mother, pure and refined, and seemingly shared none of her father’s traits. The wisdom of genetic selection had chosen intelligence over cruelty, beauty and poise over ugliness and vulgarity. Anthony Silvestri had merely served as the catalyst of conception. It was almost as if none of his genetic material had been passed along to the new and innocent life. In a manner of speaking, Malaina’s birth was practically an immaculate conception.

  She was seated at her dressing table, laughing and talking as her mother ran a comb through her hair.

  Nikki Silvestri saw nothing in her child that even slightly reminded her of her husband and by extension their loveless marriage. She had long ago convinced herself that Malaina was Anthony Silvestri’s daughter in name only.

  Malaina took her mother’s hand in her own to stop her from brushing, knowing that she’d never tire. “I’m kind of late, Mom. I really have to go.”

  Nikki put down the brush. “Give your mother a hug before you leave.”

  Malaina stood and gave her mother a tight squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’m really late.”

  Nikki watched with watery eyes as her daughter disappeared, taking her mother’s life force with her. She sat on Malaina’s bed for a moment, sighed, and closed her eyes so that she might retain her daughter’s image a moment longer.

  ~~~

  Malaina was excited as she walked through the house to the garage. She was on her way to meet her closest and dearest friend, who was getting married. She was as happy for her as she would be for herself. Close friends were few and far between. Her father made it difficult for her to maintain relationships of any nature.

  Her Mercedes coupe emerged from the shadows of the garage. Malaina checked the time. “Shit, I’m half an hour late.” The Mercedes’ exhaust rumbled with a throaty sound as she fed it gas and quickly backed down the driveway.

  She was a hundred feet from the road when she hit the remote, which operated the estate security gates. The mechanism operated slowly, and she liked playing a game of chicken with the slow-to-open gates, timing her exit so that the car just barely squeezed through the opening.

  The Mercedes was racing toward the road. With thirty feet to go, she was still shy a foot on either side of the car but refused to let up. Come on. Come on. She refused to come off the gas. “God, this is going to be close.” There was almost never traffic on Piping Rock Road, and she was not worried about barreling into another car. The Mercedes squeezed through with barely an inch of clearance on either side. Whoo-hoo! There was no traffic approaching from behind her. She flipped the gearshift into drive and had just turned her head forward when the crunch of crumpling metal reached her ears. Her heart rate jumped even before she realized what had happened. By the time her eyes made contact, a cyclist was airborne and coming toward the windshield. She slammed on the brakes, and the Mercedes lurched, tossing the cyclist up and over it. Her head spun around just in time to see the cyclist bouncing off the trunk lid. As she stepped from the car, the first thing she saw was the mangled frame of a touring bicycle. Ten feet behind it lay the man she had hit. He was lying motionlessly on the road.

  Chapter 37

  Malaina stared at the man lying unconscious on her couch. Two of the estate caretakers had picked him up and carried him into the house. A damp washcloth was draped over his forehead. His arms and legs were scraped, and his knees skinned.

  Silvestri paced back and forth, eyeing the unwanted intruder unhappily.

  Nikki came out of the kitchen, carrying a phone. She focused on her husband. “Tony, the ambulance is on its way.”

  The incident had put Dead Eyes in a foul mood. He had no regard for the life of the man lying injured on his couch but was disturbed by the attention the incident might bring. News 12, the local TV station, monitored the Long Island police frequencies and would certainly cross-reference the address with his name. He was sure that reporters were on their way to his house at that very moment. He’d spent years trying to insulate his daughter from his life and reputation. In fifte
en minutes she would be thrown horribly and inextricably into the center of it. The reporters would have a field day with the mishap. “Shit!” he grumbled. He wanted to make the stranger disappear and would have done exactly that had his wife and daughter not stood ten feet away, watching like hawks.

  Malaina had never been in an accident before and was beside herself with grief. She was pacing and biting her nails.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything,” Silvestri told her.

  “Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry.” Malaina began to sob.

  All the while, her father wished he could make it all go away. If only he could have had it his way. It would all be so simple. All he had to do was pick up the phone and make a call.

  Nikki went to the laundry room and returned. She uncapped a bottle of ammonia and poured some on a rag. Waving it beneath the nose of the injured man, he began to stir.

  He moaned.

  “Hey, you all right?” Silvestri boomed, defying the injured man to say “no.”

  He blinked a few times and seemed slow to regain consciousness. He examined Silvestri’s face in silence and noted the man’s menacing appearance. “What happened?” he asked innocently.

  Malaina stepped in front of her father.

  The injured man turned his head and focused on Malaina to wash away Silvestri’s unpleasant expression. “Is my bike all right?” he asked.

  “I hit you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” Malaina needed to confess. “Are you all right?”

  He adjusted his position on the couch and emitted a painful wail. “I don’t know.”

  Silvestri was short on patience. He put his hands under the injured man’s arms, enabling him to rise. “Try to stand up,” he insisted.

  He stood and hobbled a few steps.

  That was enough for Silvestri. “Hey, Nik, cancel that ambulance,” he ordered.

  Nikki scowled at her husband. “Anthony, what are you doing? The man was in an accident, for Christ’s sake. He needs to go to the hospital.”