Anthony DePaul Copyright  2005 by Anthony DePaul

Chapter Fifteen

He still reeked but before he ventured home to shower, he wanted to check on his business and see if Sophie and her latest boyfriend ran off with the petty cash.

Sophie was brewing coffee as he walked through the door of the office. A half dozen PC monitors greeted him. The eastern side of the office offered a fourth floor view of North Broad Street, six blocks above City Hall. He had the window glass tinted for security and protection from the afternoon sun glare. He picked the converted warehouse as his headquarters because the brownstone building was home to four Internet Service Providers and a Disaster Recovery firm so it was an Internet node and a wireless hub. The walls were solid blocks and a security guard manned the front lobby twenty four by seven. It was as secure as any site in the City. Ben and Franklin were doubly protected from intruders in the third floor pillbox of a room built behind a “Warning power room Fifty Thousand volts” sign. He’d slept on the cot from four to seven so his muscles ached as much as his temples throbbed to the beat as some internal drummer beat time in his head.

“Nice to see you are alive,” said Sophie. She offered him coffee in his favorite mug and followed him into his office.

“You look like you slept on a grate on Vine Street last night,” she said.

Dorian plopped into his chair. Despite the fact that he’d personally decorated the office with his favorite prints and selected the hand carved roll top desk and swivel chair, he’d never quite gotten comfortable with the setting. He preferred working on the street as an operative. His “in” box was full of checks that needed signing and opened but unread mail.

“Reporters from the Inquirer and Daily News were here looking for you. Some aggressive broad from Fox News called twice. Same for CNN and MSNBC. You are a celebrity so I want a raise.”

Dorian savored the hot coffee as though it was a gift from the gods. “Any woman who attracts younger lovers as well as you do and makes great coffee deserves a raise. Please get the tape recorder and close the door. Put all phones on forward.”

“This sounds serious.” she said. “I’ll make more coffee too.”

“Good idea!”

Dorian had always viewed a City more in political terms than financial terms. To him, the body politic operated the educational, administrative, police, fire, health, sanitation, legal, recreation, transportation and cultural programs by and large through an ever burgeoning budget supported by wage taxes, property taxes, Federal and State grants and assorted business and personal taxes. However, after tracking the City’s cash flow he found that all paths led to International Financial Group. The City is a treasure trove. Graft and bid setting and preferential contracts were a pittance compared to the millions that could be made in a seemingly legitimate way by managing and controlling a City’s cash. Let the petty thieves and mafiosos chase the pennies and draw public scrutiny. The real dollars could be earned by shifting funds in seemingly legal transactions. The plan was simple. Skim the skim off the top of the cash flow and do it in a way the City profited and no one would be the wiser.

All city tax funds were initially collected through local legitimate banks. Once collected, they were electronically shifted to off shore banks that paid the City interest but also collected a fee equal to ten percent of the interest earned on City funds. Each off shore bank was controlled by International Financial Group owned no doubt by the secret societies governed by the Philadelphes.

All insurance premiums for health care, property and casualty life insurance, and supplemental insurance were also transferred through International financial banks. All 401K assets, union dues, Federal grants and State grants ran through the IFG banking system. The Philadelphes had taken mulct to the highest level and with the protection of a supportive government, they could go on forever. Besides, they had many minions to do their dirty work. And who is to say that they operate only in Philly?

At Lincoln’s inaugural party, he spoke of protecting the people. Very likely, Linc suspected that someone was skimming. That is why they killed him. And with ML in charge of the investigation and Marian in charge of the prosecution and Alice neutralized, and Grace as Mayor, they’d weather the political upheaval. But if he or Estelle pushed too hard, they’d create problems. Proving all of this in court may take years of Federal investigation and a team of forensic accountants. By that time, they’d cover their tracks and create a war chest to support each society for decades. Camorra was clearly driving the plan and though the other societies may get qualms of conscience, they bought in because the stakes were too high not to play out the hand.

Sophie handed him the microphone. “This is Dorian Wilde talking on January Twenty First, 2005. In the event of my death, this tape is to be made public by my attorney, Joseph Kelly who will send it to the US Attorney and the Editor in Chief of Philadelphia Inquirer. Last night, I ran an independent search of all of the City of Philadelphia’s revenue transactions totaling over one billion dollars. My search engine traced all of the cash. Initially the cash is collected by local banks. But an automatic wire transfer floats the cash to offshore banks in the Cayman Islands and Bermuda. After thirty days, the cash is automatically rewired to the local banks. The foreign banks are owned by a group call International Financial Group, co-owned by three secret Societies. They are the Scottish Knights, the Maccabees and La Camorra. The three societies are governed by a select fourth Society called the Philadelphes. The societies collect interest and fees on all of the money. My estimate is that they take in thirty to fifty million a year. The perpetrators of this skim are Nate Stern, ML McLain, Grace Lord, Marian Hallberg and her husband Joseph Goodway. The use of proceeds is unclear. They framed Estelle Miles for the murder of Lincoln Miles to protect their business. They may kill me as well and make it look like a random murder.”

Dorian clicked off the recorder.

“Now what?” asked Sophie.

Dorian was on his third cup of Maxwell House. “Make three copies and store them in our safety deposit box. Please go to the corner outside and call Alice on the payphone and ask her to call up to her PC the case file records on the death of Jerry Stern.”

Sophie frowned like a mother warning a child about the dangers of hanging with bad companions. “Whoa, Boss! Is she allowed to do that?”

Dorian was tired but resisted ordering her to do it. “Kelly filed a request for the files this morning. She will need to review the records. The request will be denied but she will have a cover for looking at the files.”

Sophie shook her head in admiration. “You are positive Alice is safe?”

Dorian’s patience was evaporating. “Sure. If I hack the files, then any blame is on me. I’m going home to rinse off the sweat and scum on my body. I’ll call you later.”

“What about the reporters?” she asked.

Dorian patted her cheek She meant well but he did not like mothering. “You just got a hundred a week raise. Earn it. Tell them I went to Atlantic City. I’ll slip out the back way.”

Sophie followed him to the door. “What about the unopened mail and the bills?”

Dorian turned in the doorway. She still looked like a worried mother. “Open the mail and pay the bills. You’re the real boss. And don’t worry so much. Wrinkles scare away younger men. Later!”

Sophie waved the bills at him. “Mazel tov!”
Alice received Sophie’s call just as she left the meeting with Grace Lord and Marian. She closed her office door and turned on the clock radio to shield her conversation from the outer office busy bodies.

“Dorian is on to something,” said Sophie. “He wants you to pull up the case records for Jerry Stern’s murder under the pretext that you are getting up to speed so you can address Kelly’s request.”

Alice twisted a strand of her hair, a habit she developed whenever she felt uncomfortable. “ML will get word of any attempt I make. I will have to act quickly. Tell him to do his research ASAP.”

“Are you in any danger?”

Alice twisted the strand tighter. Lying did not come easily to her. “Of course not! I am one of the boys! They also have pictures of me getting screwed by some ape they hired to ruin my credibility.”

“They’re real bastards,” said Sophie.

Alice appreciated the sentiment but work had to be done. “Hold on for a minute.”

Alice sat at her desk and worked the keyboard. She passed the security barrier. The case reports complete with forensic notes and investigating officer notes of ML McLain appeared so she stored the files to her hard drive. “The files are available. Dorian knows the password. I will work the file too.”

“Don’t get caught speeding,” said Sophie.

Alice shuddered fearful that ML would receive notification of the file opening within minutes.

“Don’t sweat it. I‘ll be in touch through Kelly, even if I get disbarred.”

“Oh don’t say that. God what a mess!”

“I’ve got to go!”

The incident report read that Jerry had been shot while withdrawing cash at an ATM located at third and Pine Streets in Society Hill. An unidentified caller dialed 911 to report the shooting and stated that a black male with a hooded sweatshirt fled the scene. ML was off duty but conveniently in the immediate are and responded. ML spotted the killer running down an alley on Lombard Street. He chased the boy and ordered him to halt. The boy raced on so ML pursued him. The boy stopped and aimed a gun at ML who fired and killed the boy instantly. The CSI team found Jerry’s ATM card in the boy’s pocket. The twenty two-caliber gun they recovered from his hand matched the ballistic evidence taken from Jerry’s body. Case closed.

Alice reread the file looking for an abnormality but everything seemed to be by the book. The fingerprints on the gun matched the boy’s prints. She checked the ATM card. There were no fingerprints. How did the boy manage to steal the card and put it in his pocket without getting his fingerprints on it?

A second point registered. There was no gun shot residue test on the perp.Why?

Plus ML had no corroborating witness. Dorian would not miss the implications of a frame up. But why would anyone kill Jerry Stern? Estelle and Jerry were close friends at Penn and afterwards. They were lovers for a short time until Nate and his wife stepped in and short-circuited the mixed religion romance. Maybe Estelle knew more than she’d told the police?

Alice needed time to think and a way to ensure Dorian got the message. A hard rap on her door preceded the entrance of ML McLain. She clicked the file closed.

“Hello Commissioner. What can I do for you?”

ML rested his back against the closed door. His shoulders bulged under his topcoat. His black fedora, tilted to one side hid part of his face but not the anger in his frown. “Yer been poking into a closed case. Tell me why and no lies please.”

Alice stared down killers for a living but ML scared her to her toes. “My Boss informed me that Joe Kelly requested the case files for his defense of Estelle Miles. I am not familiar with the case so I called up the files to get prepared. Now if that answer is not satisfactory, please call Marian or Grace. But the next time you barge in here unannounced, I’ll have you removed. Got that?”

ML turned a chair around and sat in it with his arms hanging over the top of the chair. “Yer a saucy little strumpet. Do not get cute with me girlie. If I find ye’ve passed on one tidbit of information in those files to yer friend Dorian, I’ll put you behind bars. So play along with the program like a good lass.”

Alice held her breath before leaning across the desk. “Go fuck yourself,” she whispered.

ML reddened from ear to ear. “I’ve warned ye. I am a man of my word as all will tell ye.”

He suddenly yanked her arm and pulled her across the desk. “Not one word, Dearie. Not one or I’ll make a poof out of Wilde and a convict out of ye.”

“Let me go!” she said.

He twisted her wrist until she thought he’d broken it and then flung her away. “Ye’ve mad me mad. I dislike losing me temper. It’s bad for my blood pressure. I’ll be going but rest assured I will have me eye on ye and Mister Wilde.”

ML spread a huge hand over her face. “I’ll crush you like a walnut,” he said.

Alice cringed as his fingers tightened her jaw in a vise. He let go. He smiled and started to leave. “Oh, one more thing. Ye make a fine movie star. Me boys watched your debut. Grand job! Ye enjoyed a good poke, didn’t you! I can show you a thing or two that’ll make ye moan for more.”

The feel of his fingers pressed into her face lingered like a bad after taste. He let go and squeezed her breasts hard. “I like a hard bodied woman. I’ll be seeing you lassie. Lassie! We’ll do it like Lassie gets it, if you are so inclined.” He squeezed her once more and left laughing.

But his last words seared a cold anger into her. He’d belittle her forever and no one could make him stop. She’d live in perpetual embarrassment. The impulse to cry passed, shoved aside by a distinct urge to avenge her self. Killing him would be a relief and justifiable homicide in god’s eyes.

She called up the file from the PC. The lyrics from an old Bob Dylan song ran through her mind.

“When you ain’t got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose.”

She saved the file to a floppy disk. “We’ll see who has the last laugh.”

She called Joe Kelly on his cell.

“Kelly here!”

“Mister Kelly, this is Alice Rowe. I need to talk to you and your client. How about meeting me in her home in one hour?”

“What is the reason for such urgency? Are you dropping the charges?”

“I will see you in one hour.”

“Sure. But this better not be a waste of our time.”

She fingered the disk and slid it into her pocket. “It won’t be a waste, I assure you.”

“See you in an hour,” he said.

She reached inside her laptop and checked that her gun was loaded. It felt light but comfortable. She envisioned her target and mentally fired a bullet into his smiling head. No man was ever going to abuse her again and laugh about it.
Alice wanted to talk to Estelle about more than the case. As first time middle-aged pregnant women, they shared a common problem. As she pulled up to Estelle’s home, Kelly stood on the front steps kibitzing with a male and a female policeman. A handful of reporters hovered on the sidewalk.

“Here comes the ADA,” one shouted.

Alice held up her head and walked briskly passed them as they barked questions.

“Why did she do it?” asked one.

“Will this white woman walk?” asked another.

“Why did Dorian Wilde pay her bail? What does he know?”

Alice paused until they all stopped yapping. “No comment!” she shouted.

She nodded to Kelly and said loudly, “Are you trying to get sympathy for your client from the Press?”

Kelly nodded, “Of course not. I was actually waiting for you. Shall we?” he asked as the door opened.

She stopped at the entrance. “I am glad you removed those two thugs from guard duty. It is improper for witnesses to guard a suspect. See to it that these replacements stay neutral and act as professionals. That is okay with you, isn’t it Mister Kelly?”

Kelly offered his best choirboy smile. “Indeed!”

Estelle greeted her with a cold handshake and a moue. “I hear you called for a meeting,” said Estelle.

Alice had not expected attitude. “May I sit so we can talk rationally?”

Estelle waved her on to the sofa. The morning newspaper littered the coffee table. The headline read in bold, “Was there another woman?”

“How are you holding up?” asked Alice.

Estelle swept the newspapers to the floor. “With trash like this in my face every waking moment and those idiots camped on my sidewalk even though I am under house arrest, how do you think I’m holding up? I’d scream but the bastards would misquote me.”

Alice laid her laptop on the table. “Sorry!”

Alice handed Kelly the floppy disk, pointed to his laptop and mouthed “Dorian Now.”

Kelly gave her the OK sign. “Dorian debugged the house. He found six bugs in two triangular patterns just like the one he used to use except they were very easy to spot, at least for him. We are clear to talk freely.”

Alice felt relieved but still wary. “I hope you are right. I have an offer. I can get you a plea. Man one. Eight and a half to twenty five. Plead extreme emotional distress. We’ll make it go away. This offer is from the Mayor so it is as good as it gets. Given the amount of hard evidence amassed against your client, I suggest that she take the deal and avoid the rigors and stress of a trial.”

Kelly whistled. “It sounds like your Mayor has a problem.”

“Don’t mistake kindness for weakness. The Mayor is sympathetic to Estelle’s condition. She also needs the City to come to closure. Take the deal.”

Kelly inserted the floppy and read the file as they talked. He shook his head from side to side. “We’ll get back to you.”

Alice put away the laptop. “You have twenty-four hours.”

“Fair enough,” said Kelly waving the diskette.

Alice leaned close Kelly. “May I have a word with Estelle in private? You have my word that I am only going to talk to her about a very private matter.”

“Your word is fine. I’ll go make coffee,” said Kelly.

Alice always liked the Miles home. The Tudor design and well-kept grounds modeled her ancestral home in Main Line Villanova. The shady, tree lined street cast an aura of suburban civility and safety. The décor of the home matched the outward sense of style and respectability, especially the antique furniture and colonial lamps. The stone fireplace centered the room. A hand carved American eagle spread its wings across the stony wall over the mantle piece. The woven throw rugs and hard wood floors accented the sense that this was a home of quality and grace. Now it was a murder scene.

“I am so glad we can chat as one woman to another,” said Alice.

Estelle reached in the drawer of the coffee table, extracted a pack of Marlboro lights and lit up. “Please forgive the cigarettes. I’ve got to do something to calm my nerves. And don’t lecture about the baby and second hand smoke. If I don’t stay calm, I’ll miscarriage. What do you want to talk about?”

Alice edged away from the smoke. “I am having trouble deciding whether to keep the child, abort or have it and put it up for adoption. Dorian wants the baby but I am so fearful that the child will be short changed with two workaholic parents that we may be doing it a disservice by trying to create a family especially in the midst of all of the chaos going on around us. I guess I’m just freaking confused.”

Estelle puffed on the cigarette, careful to blow smoke away from Alice. “Who wouldn’t be confused? Two days ago, we both had fairly comfortable lives except for the usual dysfunction involved with a love relationship. Now my husband is dead and the world thinks I am Lady Macbeth. You’ve got your own dilemma. We’re Penn graduates. We’re supposed to be smarter than the average bear in the woods. I feel used, dumb and vulnerable. We may as well be peasant girls living in the Middle Ages.”

Alice sighed and shook her head slowly. “I feel the same way. God, how can I think about having a child?”

Estelle slouched into the sofa. She rested her head inside the arm. “Lincoln and I wanted a child. We tried everything. When you told me you were pregnant and did not want to keep the baby, I was going to ask you to let me adopt the baby. I was jealous and thought you were selfish. Now I don’t know what to think. I feel betrayed. Now I feel Lincoln has been cheated. Someone robbed him from being a father. It may be a rotten world but maybe my child can change things like Lincoln wanted to change the world. That’s why they killed him. He wanted to make Philly a great city again.”

Alice held her head in her hands as though it weighed a ton. “You’ve got more guts than me. I’ll sort it out.though I guess I don’t have your faith in God, man, Dorian or me.”

Kelly called out from the kitchen. “The coffee is ready. Is it safe to return?”

Alice roused herself. She flung the laptop over her shoulder. The gun barrel rested on her shoulder blade. There are ways to make the world safer. She’d do what she had to do.

“Come in. I am just leaving. I have a job to do.”

She bent and kissed Estelle’s forehead. “God bless the child,” she said and left.