Walking around outside the trailer he discovered a new twelve foot by twelve foot metal shed behind the trailer. Beside the shed was a diesel tractor with a belly mower. Inside was a push lawn mower, a roto tiller, a chain saw, and three five gallon fuel cans; one half full of gasoline and two full of diesel fuel. After moving the deputy’s car behind the trailer he moved his Jeep there also, hoping passersby’s would not see either of them.
He still needed to satisfy his curiosity about what had happened to Joe and Joan. Apparently Sam didn’t know the cabin was heated with wood, and no one seemed to know all cooking was done in the metal building. There was no gas piped into the house. Who ever set the fire assumed every one would believe there was gas in the kitchen for cooking. Wrong. The intensity of the fire in the cabin had destroyed everything. Nothing he could identify remained. The garage was the same. Only the larger pieces of equipment and some steel hand tools could be recognized.
The training building was another matter. He remembered where the partition walls were placed and as expected saw piles of ash where they had burned and either crumbled or fell over. But in the storage room the ash was four inches deep wall to wall and all around the equipment storage lockers. With the amount of ash present additional wood must have been piled around the lockers to ensure everything was destroyed. He could make out several gun barrels from the Remington 700 rifles stored in the lockers. Over in the corner of the room, he found something else he recognized; the remains of a chainsaw and melted fuel cans sitting on the floor. After loading the building with firewood the saw had been left there instead of being returned to the garage. Joe would never have left it there; it was kept in the garage with the other tools. At the end of the building nearest to the cabin he found the remains of two one hundred pound propane bottles. Both had popped their safety valves and one had exploded during the fire. Looking over toward the cabin it was just as he remembered; no gas bottles. Now he knew why the “Guys out of Washington” had gotten there so fast. They had silenced Joe and then set the fires. The first three tough looking guys Sam mentioned were probably C.I.A. Clay knew why they were there. But why had the FBI gotten involved. What was their role in this? By then he was mad and decided to let them know someone had figured out what they had done.
He got Sam’s chainsaw and a pair of gloves, then walked to the woods and started cutting dead trees. When he felt he had enough he began putting the logs and branches inside the trailer, under the trailer, into the shed and then crammed as much as he could into the sheriffs car. Sam’s body was placed on top of the logs and branches in his bedroom and the chain saw placed next to his body. On his last trip out of the trailer he removed a six pack of beer and meat and bread from Sam’s refrigerator and put them in the Jeep.
He took the five gallon can of gasoline and set it in the bedroom. After dousing the inside of the trailer, shed and car with the ten gallons of diesel he moved the Jeep over to the lane and put on a clean shirt and pants. He had remembered this place as a tranquil spot in the forest and of times spent with good friends; now those memories were displaced with one of bloodshed and death. While taking one last look at the place he lit a torch and tossed it inside the trailer. The flames slowly spread through the limbs loaded into the kitchen and outward toward the rooms located at each end.
At the blacktop road Clay opened a beer, turned right, and drove away without looking back. He had paid cash for his room the night before, and since he had checked in late at the small dump, had not even been asked to sign in. The next morning he had gotten up early and left without speaking to anyone. Junk food bought the day before had sufficed for his breakfast and lunch. Hopefully, by the time Washington was notified people would not recall him clearly. The time was almost seven o’clock; he had spent an hour sifting through the debris and over three hours preparing Sam’s funeral pyre.
Apparently there had been some change in the way Joe’s past employer viewed his status and people had been dispatched to silence him. Clay wondered if he were somehow the catalyst for what had befallen his mentor. If so, they could also be searching for him. Surely they weren’t aware of his identity or he might already be dead. They may have just reached the point where they were concerned about Joe maintaining his silence. He had been having a severe problem living with his past. Maybe the agency just decided having him around was simply too big a risk with no benefit in his being alive. Clay couldn’t think of any loose ends which could lead anyone to him from the month he spent training with Joe. And he was certain he had not left evidence linking him to the visit he had just paid to the home site. He questioned his handling of destroying Sam’s trailer in the way he did it. By loading everything with logs and leaving the chain saw near Sam’s body he was showing them someone knew what they had done. But, damn it the bastards needed to be confronted.
Before returning the Jeep to the car lot in Knoxville he stopped at a car wash and thoroughly cleaned it inside and out. Even the engine got washed. Every surface he could have touched got rubbed down. Then he put on gloves and delivered the Jeep back to the car lot at six a.m., leaving the keys in the ignition. The owner would be opening by eight or nine and would find the keys then. Clay tried to bury the episode in the far recesses of his mind but couldn’t and relived the incident over and over during the drive home.
Chapter 25
The following October, Clay had taken the truck on a run through Michigan, Ohio and Indiana on a pre-holiday season buying trip. During the two weeks he was away he continued his practice of not calling while on the road. He didn’t want to set a precedent of reporting in during his trips away, regardless of what business he was conducting. No one needed to know where he was and he didn’t want phone company records to place him in a specific area at a specific time.
While in Cambridge Ohio he had done very well at several shops buying glassware and was ready to leave Friday morning. Instead of heading west, he decided to drive east to Pittsburg Pennsylvania and rent a car. From there it would only be a four hour drive to Falls Church Virginia, where Adrianna lived. He called her from a pay phone and arranged to stay with her over the weekend. Clay was pleased at the direction their long range relationship had begun to take, and used any excuse to visit her. He had made it a point to see her almost monthly.
The following Monday afternoon he was back in Ohio, heading west through prime antique buying areas. He would be returning with a full load and was extremely pleased with the stock he had purchased. Several pieces were going into his home to upgrade the already great Victorian period antiques he had accumulated. In addition to the load on his truck, another dealer was going to deliver twenty seven more pieces of furniture the following week. He had pulled off one of his best buying trips all year.
A week later he was back in Chicago. The following morning he beat Gladys to the shop and opened for her. He walked around the shop noting several pieces had sold tags attached to them, and saw several open spaces where items had been taken and not replaced. It was a good thing he had a truck full waiting to be unloaded. Thirty minutes later Gladys arrived. After making coffee, turning the thermostat up and turning on the entrance area lights, she went out to the warehouse to talk to Clay.
“Good morning boss, it looks like you had a good trip. These are great. I can call Donnie to come down and give you a hand if you want?” Donnie was Gladys’s seventeen year old nephew who had helped around the shop several times previously.
“Thanks Gladys, I could use the help. If he can bring his friend Larry, they can unload and place the whole load. I’ve got other things I should be doing.”
“I’ll call him. But first we need to talk. I’ve got a customer who’s looking for a high end bed room suite. She wants the bed, dresser, chest, wash stand and maybe an armoire; all matching, preferably in walnut, but she would settle for tiger striped oak.”
“If she’s willing to pay top dollar we can help her. There was a great set in a shop in Ohio, and if I call this morning I think I c
an get it added to a load being delivered next week.”
“Good, I think she’ll pay what ever is reasonable for a great set. Now! There’s another matter. We need to go to your office and talk in private.”
Following her announcement Gladys turned and started into the store, then turned to see if Clay was following her and waited. Clay figured whatever she wanted had to be important and took off the leather gloves and followed her. A sales clerk had arrived and was in the front of the store dusting and rearranging stock.
Inside the office and with the door closed, Gladys opened Clay’s middle desk drawer and removed two business cards. He took them from her and saw they were from agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The top card was from George A. Mangiurea, agent in charge at the Chicago office. The other belonged to Special Agent, Ronald W. Trowbridge, out of Washington D.C.
Gladys was staring at him, waiting for him to make a statement.
“Did they say why they left the cards?”
“Yes, they wanted to speak with you, and asked you to contact the man at the local office. You’re not in some sort of trouble are you? And I guess me and the other girls haven’t been involved in something illegal, have we?”
“No Gladys, none of us are breaking the law. The business is entirely legal. I pay all the taxes and licenses and do everything else the law requires. Don’t worry about it. I’ll call them first thing tomorrow morning and see what they want. I’m sure they just want information on something and think I can help; and I will if there’s something I have knowledge of. I just can’t imagine what it might be.”
“Thanks Clay. I didn’t think you could be involved in something crooked, you’re too nice a person to be involved in something bad.”
“Tell the rest of the ladies to quit worrying; none of us are going down to Stateville Prison to be on the chain gang.”
The following morning George Mangiurea took Clay’s phone call. Later the agent called back to make an appointment for Thursday morning at ten. Special Agent Trowbridge would fly in for the meeting. Mangiurea didn’t divulge any details about the meeting, just saying they needed to talk, and thanked him for cooperating. Clay was apprehensive, but couldn’t imagine a connection to his summer visit in North Carolina.
Thursday morning Clay was escorted to Mangiurea’s office by an office assistant who looked like she might have tried out for a Chicago Bears linebacker position; definitely not his type. He had decided before arriving to handle the meeting the same as his initial police interrogation. Say yes or no, and if possible not expand on any questions they asked.
There were three other people in the office, Mangiurea, Trowbridge and a clerk to take notes. Both men were in suits, dark gray for Mangiurea, navy for Trowbridge. Both wore black shoes, dark socks, black belts, white shirts and dark patterned ties. Mangiurea was shorter and heavier than Trowbridge and younger, about thirty five Clay guessed. Stocky build, with brown hair cut in a flat top, dark complexion and dark eyes. He appeared to have a pleasant personality, but looked sturdy and tough. Trowbridge on the other hand was maybe six foot three inches, and thin, probably two hundred pounds, definitely not skinny. His blonde hair was a regular cut, but short. He wasn’t movie star handsome, but average handsome if he could smile. Since Clay had arrived he had not smiled once; very serious and dead pan.
After introductions and small talk Trowbridge got down to business.
“Mr. Albrecht…do you mind if I call you Clayton?”
“Clay will be fine.”
“Alright, Clay. We have files on a man linked to criminal activity here in Chicago, Mr. Anthony Giliano. In those files we keep running across the name Clayton Albrecht. You seem to be pretty close to the Giliano family.” Trowbridge hesitated, waiting for an answer. Clay shrugged and acknowledged, but didn’t answer. “May I ask what your relationship is with Tony Giliano?”
“Tony’s son, Jimmy, was my best friend. Jimmy died five years ago, and since then Tony Giliano and his wife Anna have been like a second set of parents to me. I care a great deal for both of them.”
“I’m going to be frank Clay, there is no evidence linking you to any criminal activity. But, since you spend time with the Gilianos and among their gang members, you have probably heard or seen information we would find very helpful to our investigation of organized crime here in Chicago.”
Clay remained passive and relaxed, but replied, “No, I don’t believe I have any inside information.”
“Please let us be the judge. If you‘ll recount events you’ve heard or seen while in the company of Giliano we can decide if it is of any value.”
“I personally don’t believe Tony is engaged in criminal activity. I have never seen any evidence of such behavior, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Can’t. Now, are we finished?”
“No we’re not finished. You were at the Giliano family home for a period of several weeks in July and August of 1972, were you not?”
Clay reflected for several seconds, “Yes, I was there.”
“Just prior to your staying there several gang members working for Tony Giliano were killed or wounded and he was shot and hospitalized. Later, people we think were involved in those shootings were assassinated, fourteen in one bloody ambush alone. Someone was hired by Giliano to kill those people and I think you may have information about a person or group of people. We want your cooperation to apprehend the people involved in those murders.”
“I know what you’re referring to from reading the newspaper, but I don’t have any information about it, and I don’t think Tony was involved. He was doped up and hospitalized for, what three or four weeks?”
“We’re not implying he was part of the attack, but someone acted in his interest and we want to know about him or them.”
Clay shrugged and shook his head, “Sorry, but I don’t know anything about what you're asking.”
“People at the hospital have testified you appeared to be instrumental in making arrangements to move Giliano to a secret location; you appeared to be in charge. What else might you have had a hand in, or have been privy to?”
“Tony’s wife asked me to assist her with making arrangements after Tony was injured. She obviously had a lot on her mind, so yes, I guess you could say I took on the responsibility for his move. But I don't think it's illegal to help friends.”
“Clay, I’d like your opinion as to why Giliano and his gang members were shot, if you don’t believe they’re criminals.”
“I don’t have any idea. But, I would guess he was attacked because of some of the businesses he owns. It could be the savings and loan, or the title and trust company, or maybe the body shop. I figured a disgruntled customer getting revenge.”
Trowbridge continued for another fifteen minutes, with Mangiurea cutting in twice to reaffirm what was being requested. Finally, seeing they were getting nowhere, Clay was dismissed.
“God damn it George, he knows who killed those people, I can feel it. He’s too calm about it and isn’t put off by all those murders. I won’t be surprised if we learn he played some part in setting it up. He’s been around the Gilianos so long he accepts what they do. Keep digging on his background and keep an eye on him and his business. If there’s something dirty on this guy I want to know about it. Start visiting his friends and relatives, but be careful not to hang any accusations on him or we’ll be on the bad end of a harassment lawsuit. Say just enough so he learns we’re asking questions and checking his background. Shake up the people around him, and maybe we can shake him up.”
Clay waited until Saturday to alert Tony about his visit with the FBI.
“Well, I can’t say I’m real surprised. Apparently people at the hospital pointed you out. Sorry you got tagged.” Tony said after Clay filled him in.
“I don’t think they know anything else or they’d be hammering me harder. They still don’t have any leads but my name has been noticed, so they’ll watc
h me for a while.”
“Yeah, I think they just saw an opportunity to get somebody near me to tell them something they can use. Anything to give them a lead they can build a case on. But if they’re watching you close from now on you’ll have to be real careful when you go on a job.”
“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ll need to cover my tracks to and from, as well as do the jobs. It’ll make my work more difficult but I think it can be done.”
“So what else is going on with you? Found a new girl friend yet?” Tony rose to refill their drinks.
“I did meet a girl two weeks ago, she’s O.K.; a good lay. I’ll tell you more when you sit down, so you don’t spill the drinks.”
“Oh, oh. I don’t think I like the sound of this. What the hell are you up to now?”
“My new girl, Peggy, is a member of the Cook County Little Theater Group. So I’m going to join too. Quit grinning, I’m not going to be a queer dancer or actor. Peggy told me they get plenty of people who think they can act, dance and sing, but there’s a shortage of help in the wardrobe and make up departments. I’ve signed up to assist in make up and I’ll fill in with wardrobe when I’m not doing make up. This might be useful in my work.”
“I’ll be damned. Only you would think of those kinds of details.”
“And there’s something else I’ve been thinking of. See what you think of this. I want to raise my fee to a minimum of $50,000 per hit and more to stage accidental deaths. It should cut me down to one or two jobs a year, which will be enough with the fed's watching me.”
Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy Page 29
