Dead Canaries Don't Sing (35 page)

“Go on,” I prompted, hanging on to every word.

“One day, a few of these people approached Tommee. They made him an offer. They told him they would set him up in business with more clients than he ever dreamed of. All they asked in return was one small favor.”

“Which was?” My mouth was so dry I could barely get the question out.

“In addition to providing public relations services, which he loved and was truly good at, he was to act as a middle man. A central point. His role would be to collect money from people and organizations who needed things, then pass that money along to people and organizations who could provide the things they needed. Maybe money can’t buy happiness, but it can sure buy a lot of other useful things.”

“What kinds of things?”

“All kinds. For example, a generous contribution to the highway department can get the road in front of your restaurant or your condominium complex repaved—or plowed first thing in the morning after a big snowstorm. Regular payments to your friendly police department can ensure that your place of business gets special protection. A few dollars to the health department can make a few code violations go unnoticed. Even not-for-profits stand to benefit, since the government provides funding to various organizations but there’s only so much grant money to go around. It’s up to government officials to decide who gets it. That holds for private contractors, too. Say a construction company is hoping to get the contract on a new government building. There’s a lot of competition out there. Enter, Tommee Frack.”

“Payoffs,” I said breathlessly.

“Personally, I like the term ‘favor broker,’ ” Wade replied. “Say a land developer wanted to build a strip mall in an area that wasn’t zoned for retail space. In that case, what he needed was a zoning change, even if it was the kind of thing the rest of the community would hate. Tommee would take the developer’s monthly payment for public relations services and . . . shall we say, pass it along to the zoning board. Voila! The zoning change would be made, and everyone involved would be happy. For the people on the zoning board, it meant a new Jacuzzi or a second Mercedes. For the developer, the money he paid out was nothing compared to what he’d make on his investment.

“And no one would ever be the wiser. Not only was paying a public relations firm a legitimate business expense; it was even tax deductible. Of course, the members of the community might not be thrilled, but they weren’t part of the loop. Worrying about them didn’t serve either the government or the developer.”

“Pomonok Properties.” I practically exhaled the words. “They were one of the companies sending monthly checks to Tommee Frack & Associates, even though The Babcock Group was their real public relations firm. That’s why Joe DeFeo and Tommee were such good pals, posing for pictures with all those political bigwigs. But why did Pomonok Properties drop Babcock as its PR firm? According to George, they officially became a client of Tommee’s a few weeks ago.”

“Pomonok had a major project in the works, the biggest they’ve ever undertaken,” Wade told me. “DeFeo’s had his eye on Atherton Farm for a long time. It’s a prime piece of real estate, forty-plus acres in one of Long Island’s most desirable areas. DeFeo had his heart set on building a tremendous complex of luxury town houses there. He hadn’t gotten the Athertons to agree, but he’d barely gotten started working on them. Joey is fond of saying he’s never met anybody who wouldn’t sell if the offer got high enough. As for the town’s zoning board, Tommee was sure he’d be able to take care of that end of things, even though the neighbors and the local civic associations were bound to fight the idea tooth and nail. In the end, the government’s decision always prevails.

“There was no question that DeFeo would get his way. That was why Frack & Associates existed in the first place, to make sure that the right palms got greased. But for the sake of appearances, it was crucial that Pomonok align themselves with Tommee. Tommee and Joey needed a foolproof reason to be working together. Making Pomonok Properties Tommee’s client was ideal.”

“I understand that the people who set Tommee up in the first place wanted him gone, once he let on that he was going to spill the beans. But why do you suppose his body was left at Atherton Farm?”

“As a warning, no doubt.”

“To the Athertons? In their mind, there was never any link between Pomonok’s interest in their property and the body that turned up in their woods.”

“No, but I can assure you that there were plenty of others who made the connection instantly. Don’t forget; this was a system that had been firmly in place for years. One that worked well for a lot of people, most of them heavy hitters. They were all one big happy family, and they had no intention of changing the status quo. They had to leave Tommee’s body somewhere, and the fact that Pomonok Properties was interested in Atherton Farm was pretty well known. So why not really drive home the message to anybody else who might be considering getting in their way?”

I nodded. It all made perfect sense. Chillingly perfect sense. And I now understood the significance of the canary. I’d been correct when I’d pointed out to Nick that canaries were the symbol of “singing.” Tommee had been on the verge of singing, all right, and his voice would have been heard loud and clear.

“How did the money move out of Tommee’s organization and into the hands of the people granting these ‘favors’?” I asked.

“Political contributions, mainly, but of course there’s nothing like cold hard cash. I’m sure there was a small army of ‘soldiers’ who made sure all the transactions proceeded smoothly.”

“And how did Tommee get paid?”

“He got a piece of everything that came in. Not only from the ‘givers,’ like Pomonok Properties, but also from the ‘takers,’ including the cops and the government. They all made regular payments to Tommee Frack & Associates. The people who set him up took care of the rest. Even Tommee’s accountant didn’t know what was going on after the money was deposited. Besides, he wasn’t close enough to the day-to-day workings of the firm to know what went on. It was all done under the guise of complete legitimacy.”

I took a deep breath. “And who were they? Who set Tommee up in business?”

“You didn’t hear it here, right?”

I nodded.

“It went straight to the top. Gene Guilford, when he was county executive. A county legislator or two. The commissioner of highways. A guy from the health department who was pretty high up. Even Daniel Sharpe, the police commissioner.”

“Sharpe,” I breathed. “That explains why the police have been dragging their feet with this. The order had to have come from very high up.”

“There were people at the town level, as well,” Wade went on, “including some members of the local zoning board. A pretty nice mix, overall. Something for everyone.”

“Who else knew?”

“Only a select group, those at the very top. People like Joe DeFeo, who were the presidents and CEOs of the companies that were involved. In the case of the cops, it was probably only Sharpe and maybe a few guys close to him. Everybody knew Sharpe handed out special favors, but most people didn’t have a clue about how the whole thing worked. Same with the elected officials and the other people in government. The feeling about who needed to know was the fewer, the better.”

“Then how come you know all this?”

“All of Tommee’s employees knew. We might not have known the details, but we could see that something strange was going on. Don’t you think the account executives noticed that there was a tremendous list of clients that the company supposedly represented, yet none of us ever worked on those accounts?”

“So Brad O’Reilly knew.”

“I guarantee it.” Wade smirked. “Like I said: Mini-Me. But I knew even more than the rest. One day, I was working late, and nobody was left at the office except Tommee and me. We started talking about how successful he’d been in such an incredibly short time. I kept asking questions, trying to piece the whole thing together, and eventually the whole story came out. It was funny, but Tommee seemed relieved to have somebody to talk to about what had been going on for so long. When you come right down to it, he was really a very lonely man. He needed somebody to spill his guts to. I was it.”

“But you didn’t stick around.”

“Nope. As soon as I found out what was going on, I got the hell out of Tommee Frack & Associates. I didn’t want any part of it. I ran as fast and as far as I could.” He opened his arms. “Dream Catcher was born.”

“What about George Babcock? Did you know Tommee left his business to him? He said in his will that he’d had a change of heart.”

“Good for George. He deserves it.”

“But how will he run the business, now that he’s inherited all of Tommee’s clients? Will he play the same role Tommee did?”

“I suspect that the clients who choose to stay with George will simply continue getting whatever legitimate public relations services they got with Tommee. Those that weren’t interested in PR in the first place will leave, of course.”

“Unless the people who set Tommee up extend the same offer to George.”

Wade smiled sourly. “Or to someone else, if George doesn’t have the stomach for it. But there’s another possibility: that the truth about what’s been going on comes out. In that case, the payoff system that’s been in place for years will come to an end.”

I just sat there in the hand chair, my brain spinning as I tried to comprehend the magnitude of what I’d just learned. Wade’s “story” certainly made all the pieces fit together. It explained the monumental success of Tommee Frack & Associates, as well as the fact that Tommee was at the heart of nearly everything that went on in the local business and political arenas. It also explained all the big movers and shakers who’d showed up at his funeral, the fat checks that kept coming in after his murder, so many that even Tommee’s accountant was astounded, and the huge number of “clients” that didn’t jibe with the small number of account executives Tommee had hired to service them.

Then there was the fact that right from the start, Tommee Frack had such an impressive list of clients. And according to Jonathan Havemeyer, that list had expanded almost immediately, growing like a monster in a science fiction movie.

It had been so easy for Tommee. He really had made a deal with the devil.

But at some point, even he had seen that getting everything he wanted—money, success, women, and above all, status—wasn’t enough. Somewhere along the line, he’d begun finding it difficult to face himself in the mirror every morning. And he decided he wanted out.

That change of heart very likely cost him his life.

“This wasn’t printed in the papers,” I told Wade, “but when Tommee’s body was found in the woods, a canary was buried nearby.”

A look of shock crossed his face. “How do you know?”

“I was there, remember? I’m the one who found it next to Tommee’s body. Actually, my dog did.”

“So Tommee was about to sing.”

I nodded. “It looks as if that was a recent development. From what I can tell, he changed his mind right before he was murdered. His fiancée, Barbara, knew all about it. In fact, she was so upset that Tommee was turning state’s evidence that she told one of her friends she was going to kill him.”

“If that was true,” Wade said thoughtfully, “if he really was going public with this, his fiancée wouldn’t have been the only one who’d be upset. Some very important people had a great deal to lose. Tommee managed to make a lot of friends, but if he decided to blow the lid off this, he would have made just as many enemies.”

“So there were a lot of people who would have wanted him dead.”

“Precisely. As I told you before, Dr. Popper, the best advice I can give you is to let this thing go. Not only are you treading on dangerous ground; the chances of you figuring out who’s responsible for Tommee’s murder are very slim.”

Wade’s caution only frustrated me further. Instead of getting closer to learning who had wanted Tommee Frack dead, it turned out there were too many to count.

And I’d put myself right in the middle of it. The image of the canary feather, a warning planted on the windshield of my car, floated into my mind. My stomach wrenched as the full impact of what everyone had been trying to tell me finally hit me: that getting involved in Tommee Frack’s murder could have been the biggest mistake of my life.

Another thought struck me. “Why didn’t you tell me this the last time I was here?”

“Before, I thought it would be dangerous for you to know. But at this point, you’re in too deep. I figure it’s more dangerous for you
not
to know.”

“If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t work.”

“It’s supposed to make you be more careful. Don’t assume anything, and don’t trust anybody. There are a lot of barracudas out there.”

I didn’t doubt that for a second.

As I turned into my driveway, the names of all the people who were likely to have wanted Tommee Frack dead buzzed around inside my head like mosquitoes. The half-dozen highly visible, highly connected individuals who’d set him up in business in the first place. Every single person who’d been involved in the ongoing game of give-and-take since it started.

Then there was my original list of suspects. George Babcock, of course, but also the women in Tommee’s life.

It was almost too overwhelming to contemplate.

But I forgot all about Tommee as I neared the end of the driveway and was confronted with the pulsing red light of an ambulance.

“Oh, my God!” I cried, fighting off the sick feeling that instantly came over me.

I pulled over just in time to see a paramedic slam the back door of the vehicle shut.

“What happened to Betty?” I demanded, jumping out of my car.

“Who are you?”

“Her friend. I live right over there.”

“She was attacked. Looks like somebody broke into her house.”

“Is she all right?”