The Body Mafia (11 page)

Like a sand crab, I was on my knees, digging a two-foot-deep hole violently with both hands. Packing the bloody sand inside of it, I smoothed clean sand over the area. The enormous amount of sweat that poured down my face mixed in with the blood that had splattered. My clothes were soaked in it as well. My only option was to dive into the ocean to clean myself off. The salt water would help; it would at least clean me enough so that I wouldn’t draw attention if seen getting a fresh pair of clothes out of the duffel bag in my car.

There was a large garbage can in the parking lot that had been emptied for the day and only had a few empty cans in it. I grabbed the plastic garbage bag out of it and put my soaked clothes inside before
tying it up and throwing it in the trunk with the body. Standing by the side of my car, I felt ill and had to sit on the nearby curb for a few minutes, trying to get myself together and think.

I had a dead body in the trunk of a rental car, registered in my own name. Fantastic. Then I had an idea. I drove out of the parking lot, got on Midnight Pass Road, and headed for Little Sarasota Bay.

There was a secluded pull-off area just between Turtle Beach and Casey Key with a small wooden pier. Fighting the oncoming numbness in my arms, I dragged the body from my trunk to the edge of the pier and pushed him off. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the body would be found within the next day or so, but it would be in the water long enough to wash away any evidence I hadn’t thought of, and was far enough away from Siesta Key.

After ripping the carpet out of the trunk and placing it inside the garbage bag, I pulled onto the road, then got back out to see if any tire tracks were left. The pull-off was mostly gravel, so I was in luck. Stopping at a public beach area, I threw the bag containing the carpet, clothes, towel, letter opener, and wire that apparently he had planned to strangle me with into a large Dumpster before going to a nearby car wash to spray out the inside of the trunk.

Finally finished, I got back inside my car and began to cry. It was justifiable homicide, without a doubt, but when you factor in the lengths I had taken to dispose of the body, a prison term was guaranteed. If I had called the police, the entire reason for my trip would be blown, and I would be back to square one—even worse off, since the mob would
definitely know I killed one of their own. Now, when the body was found, they would only be able to speculate and might possibly blame the other family for getting their revenge.

Again, I had an insatiable urge to feel Michael’s arms around me right now, reassuring me that all would be okay. Knowing that wouldn’t happen, I stopped at a pay phone and called for a taxicab to pick me up at a restaurant near the condo. My rental car had to remain in the parking lot. Others had to view the situation as if I were still in Siesta Key, in my condo.

Once I got there, I left the keys in the car and saw that I had some time before the cab would arrive at the restaurant down the street. I noticed a child’s sand bucket sitting by the pool entrance. Filling the bucket several times with water, I soaked the sand where the buried bloody sand was, over and over. As I felt myself relax somewhat, I went through a checklist of anything I might’ve forgotten. When I was confident everything was covered, I walked on the beach toward the restaurant.

“What’s the emergency?” Alan Keane grumbled sleepily into his phone.

“You’re not gonna believe this, sir, but she just killed Tommy Miglia.”

Alan Keane, now wide awake, sat straight up in his bed. He wanted to make sure he heard Gary Nicholas right.

“What do you mean, she killed him?”

“He was going to strangle her, so we were about ready to move in, but she got to him first. She stabbed him in the neck.” Gary Nicholas sounded out of breath and panicked.
“Right now, she’s loading him into her trunk. What should we do?”

Alan Keane thought for a moment. “Don’t do anything.”

“Sir?”

“I said, don’t do anything! Let her be. Just keep a tail and see what she does with him. If we move in now it will fuck everything up, and they’ll kill her anyway. We’ll deal with this after the fact. Understand?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.” Gary Nicholas swallowed loudly, which Alan Keane could clearly hear through the phone.

“Agent Nicholas, neither you nor Agent Sanders are to tell anyone about this, do you hear me? No one!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me in the morning with an update.”

Alan Keane slammed the phone down and fell back on his bed to stare up at the ceiling. He would have to call Erie, Pennsylvania, and inform him of this. It was a phone call he dreaded.

I stopped inside the pool house and put on my dark colored wig, a floppy hat, and a large sweatshirt. With my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I went out the back door that led to the beach. The cab would be at the restaurant waiting to take me back to the Sarasota airport.

The ride to the airport went quickly, and after several glances behind us, I concluded that the cab wasn’t being followed. In addition, the car ride gave me the chance to settle down somewhat.

I rented another car at the airport in the name of Michelle Faulkner and showed “Michelle’s” identification and credit cards. When a law-enforcement officer works undercover, the Bureau of Motor Vehicles
will allow them to obtain a driver’s license in that name. Of course, the paperwork is horrendous and has to be signed by the sheriff, etc.

Using the driver’s license of Michelle Faulkner, one I had used on numerous undercover operations, I’d been able to obtain credit cards in that name. I had committed a felony just by obtaining the cards, let alone charging anything to them, which I had no intention of doing.

The drive to Miami International Airport gave me a lot of time to think and put things into perspective. Feeling exhaustion like I had never felt before, I was asleep before my flight left the ground for Cleveland. Only when I felt the flight attendant gently shake my shoulder did it dawn on me the flight was already over.

More than groggy, I made my way to the rental-car desk, then made the drive to the motel I had checked into less than forty-eight hours before. A sense of déjà vu came over me as I tossed the duffel bag to the floor and fell onto the bed fully clothed with my wig still on and into a deep sleep. Like my first day in Siesta Key, I woke up almost twelve hours later, in the middle of the afternoon.

It was a dreary, cold, overcast day outside, and I wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and sleep. Unfortunately, the events of the last two days flooded my memory, and I immediately felt sick as I dragged myself to the shower to wash away my sins. Then I dressed casually, brushed out the long, dark wig and put it on, and set out to find the Filaci family.

The suitcases that I had put in the room days earlier contained not only clothing and toiletries but also a complete set of high-tech surveillance equipment
that I had purchased with my own money. Some of the items were top of the line, even better than what we had at Richland Metro. Grabbing the night-vision goggles and video recorder, a camera that could record pictures and sound from up to a thousand feet away, I started for the Filaci offices. Jimmy Garito had told me most of them worked out of their offices during business hours on weekdays. He had described Joseph Filaci at our meeting, so I recognized him immediately when he emerged from the office building an hour after I’d begun watching it.

Joseph Filaci was an extremely handsome man. Unlike Michael’s clean, pretty, model good looks, Joseph had a rugged appeal about him. In his early forties, he had the Italian dark hair and eyes, with two to three days’ worth of stubble on his face in the shape of a goatee. Wearing an expensive blue suit with a black overcoat, he looked very intimidating. He wasn’t overly tall, maybe five nine or five ten, but he was stocky.

I began filming him as soon as he left the building and continued as he walked down the street and into a local diner on the corner. I jotted the time down in the notebook I had with me and logged the time Joseph left the diner and went back to the office building.

For the next three days, I watched as Joseph Filaci went to that diner every day at the same time. On the fourth day, I decided it was time we met.

“She’s gone, sir.”

“She’s what?” Alan Keane couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“She disappeared. We—we last saw her walking toward
the pool at the condominium. When she didn’t come back around the building, Sanders went to check, and she was gone. We looked down the beach and all, but she just vanished.”

“Oh, dear God,” Alan mumbled. “Did they get her?”

“I don’t think so, sir. That’s what’s so odd about all of this. After she dumped Miglia’s body in the bay, she went back to the condo. When Sanders saw that she was gone, we saw Frank Trapini pulling into the parking lot. He’s been sitting there for hours. I think he’s waiting for Miglia, not realizing he’ll be waiting for eternity. But regardless, I don’t think they had anything to do with it. I think…” Agent Gary Nicholas paused.

“Go on. What?”

“I think she figured all of us out and gave us the slip—the Iacconas included.”

Alan Keane closed his eyes and sighed loudly. The ramifications of this night may prove fatal, he surmised. Knowing the phone calls he would have to make, he gave Agent Nicholas his last order.

“Find her. Now,” he said, before hanging up.

He immediately made the phone call he dreaded, and waited until morning to inform his boss in Washington of what had transpired.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” the boss said in a calm voice that frightened Alan Keane.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Do what you have to, but don’t let him find out.”

Alan sighed again. “It’s too late, sir. He’s already on his way to Cleveland.”

The day I decided to meet Joseph Filaci, I put extra time into my appearance. I wanted to look good, but not to the point where it was distracting, or
remembered. I styled the wig to where soft dark curls framed my face before cascading down my back. Before dressing in a casual black pantsuit, I put in the brown contact lenses purchased a week ago. I grabbed my tan overcoat and set out for the diner, arriving ten minutes before Joseph.

Taking a seat at the counter, I ordered a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette. As I took it out of my pocket, my hand was sweating, like the rest of me, from nerves. The dark green Pontiac parked on the street two buildings down from the diner had caught my attention days ago—including the federal agents that sat inside of it. As I strode past the car, I kept my head down and my face hidden by the large scarf and dark glasses I wore. They didn’t even glance at me.

When I heard the door to the diner swing open, I knew it was Joseph Filaci even before he sat directly to my left. In my previous surveillance, I’d noticed Joseph sat in the same seat every day. The waitress, obviously familiar with his routine and orders, had a cup of coffee waiting for him as he sat down.

“Here you are, doll.” She shoved the cup toward him.

“Thanks, Ginny. I’ll take a menu today.”

I noticed my hand shaking horribly as I stirred my own coffee and looked down at the counter.

“No BLT today, Joey? What’s the world coming to? Here ya go, handsome.” A homely woman in her thirties, she was clearly infatuated with him.

I was so overcome with nerves, I didn’t even hear him when he spoke directly to me. It took a couple of seconds to realize what he wanted.
“Ma’am? Excuse me, but can you slide the cream down my way?”

He was smiling at me, a smile that faded instantly when he saw the look of contempt on my face.

“Sure, here you are.” I slid the bowl full of creamers toward him.

“I’m sorry, but do I know you? You look awfully familiar. You come in here a lot?”

My pulse quickened, and I found myself beginning to panic. In a quick slip of grace, I managed to knock over my coffee. Jumping off the stool, I began grabbing napkins to wipe up the mess.

“Here, let me help…” He was eyeing me curiously as he started wiping the counter.

“No, that’s okay, I got it.” I tried to smile.

The only good thing about my coffee spill was that I had managed to evade his question, which he didn’t ask again. It didn’t matter; it was time for me to leave. I slid the item I had held in my hand under a napkin and pushed it toward him.

“Here you go. I think I might’ve splashed some on your suit. Sorry about that.”

Throwing a dollar down on the counter, I hurriedly walked out of the diner. My car was a block away, and I was hoping that once Joseph Filaci read my note, he wouldn’t come running after me. The note gave him enough information to tell him it would be a bad idea.

It read,

There is a green Pontiac four-door parked outside, two buildings away. In it are three FBI agents watching you. I have important information that you want
about your brother Niccolo’s murder. Meet me at the Pink Floyd exhibit in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in EXACTLY thirty minutes. What ever you do, make sure you are not being followed. It is very important that you come alone.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Joseph Filaci would show up.

It was going to take every ounce of self-control I had to present a cool demeanor. Finding the Pink Floyd exhibit in the museum wasn’t difficult; they were Michael’s favorite band, and I had a photograph of him standing right in front of it. It seemed Michael was everywhere.

My watch showed that Joseph Filaci was due to arrive in ten minutes. There weren’t many people in the museum, much to my dismay. I was hoping we could blend in somewhat, but it clearly wasn’t going to happen.

At that precise moment, my prayers were answered. Walking in my direction was a large tour group, followed by Joseph Filaci. I could feel my heart rate quicken. I knew meeting with him was a huge risk. I’d heard the tapes, including their plan to kill Michael, but something in my gut told me that it was the Iacconas who were responsible. God help me if I was wrong.

“Tommy’s dead, Sal.”

“What!” He wasn’t sure he’d heard Frank right.

“They fished his body out of the bay this morning. I don’t
know the particulars, but they already had him identified and on the news.”

Frank was nervous, an emotion he wasn’t accustomed to. He had dreaded making the phone call to Sal and spent over an hour rehearsing how he was going to break the news. He screwed up, letting Tommy go alone to take care of the woman, and he knew there were no more second chances as far as Sal was concerned. The quiet response on the other end of the phone made his nervousness worse, and he saw his hand was beginning to tremble.

“How did this happen, Frankie?” Sal’s voice was dreadfully calm.

“He wanted to go alone, Sal. He said he could take care of her with no problem. When he didn’t show up, I went and sat in front of her condo, but there was no sign of him anywhere. I spent all night looking for him until I saw the news…”

“And her?”

“I don’t know. After a coupla hours, I broke into her condo to see if maybe Tommy had already done her, but she wasn’t there. Her car, clothes, cell phone, and stuff is still inside, so she either was out late, or Tommy got her first.”

Another long moment of silence.

“I think it’s safe to assume that Leo and Joseph just got their revenge for Niccolo, eh Frank?”

“I thought that too, but how in the hell did they know we were here? Or her? Last we heard from our source, the Filacis weren’t even onto her.”

“That’s right.” Sal paused and had a frightening thought. “Maybe it was her.”

“Who?”

“Gallagher. Maybe she killed Tommy. Maybe she was onto you two fuckups long before you arrived. And maybe…she planned this trip to set us up.”

Now it was Frank’s turn to be silent. Sal might have been right. She must’ve caught on the day she made eye contact with them in the street. Sal obviously read his mind.

“She saw you on the street that day, didn’t she, Frankie? Where are they on the murder investigation?”

“I don’t think they have a clue, Sal. Whoever is responsible covered their tracks real well. The cops haven’t even connected Tommy to Siesta Key yet, and I don’t think they will either.”

“Stay there a few more days and see if she turns up. If she doesn’t, get your fucking ass back here.”

“Sure, Sal.”

I braced myself as the tour group passed by. Joseph Filaci stopped approximately two feet away from me, a hardened look on his face.

“Here I am. Now, do you want to tell me who the hell you are and how you know so much about my brother?” He spoke low, but strong.

“I’m Michelle Faulkner.” My head bowed, I avoided eye contact. “That’s all you need to know about me. I don’t have proof right now, but I believe Salvatore Iaccona killed your brother, or at least one of his employees did. Have you ever heard of Frank Trapini?”

“Of course.”

“I think he was the one personally sent to kill Niccolo.” My eyes locked on his.

“How do you know that, and why do you care? You’re going to have to give me a little more information about yourself before I continue this conversation. I can’t help but get the feeling I know you from somewhere.”

I turned away from him and faced the exhibit, my thoughts in turmoil. I couldn’t come out and tell him I had a recording where Frank Trapini and Salvatore Iaccona confessed to Niccolo’s murder. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Mr. Filaci, all I can tell you right now is that Salvatore Iaccona is responsible for the death of someone close to me. Jimmy Garito told me you might be able to help,” I whispered, and turned to face him, forcing tears to my eyes. I needed to appear delicate.

“You know Jimmy?” His face softened.

“Yes.”

He began to look around. “Let’s get out of here. There’s a ware house at the corner of Chester Avenue and—”

“The FBI is watching it. We can’t go there,” I interrupted.

“How’d you know that?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Two blocks from here is a small bookstore.” I ignored his question. “There’s some tables and chairs in the back. We should be able to sit and talk without worry.”

He looked at me oddly before walking away. I waited ten more minutes, then followed. Walking to the bookstore, I used my convenience-store prepaid cellular phone to check the messages on my regular cell, which was still in Florida. The phone I was currently using couldn’t be traced.

As I suspected, there were numerous calls from Naomi and Coop regarding my resignation. They were worried and wanted to know why I quit. There were three messages from Justin Brown, too. There had been another murder, and he urgently wanted my
help. I called him back, knowing I wouldn’t have to answer the intimate questions that Naomi and Coop would ask. He answered on the first ring.

“Justin, its CeeCee.”

“CeeCee! How are you? You know everyone here is all worried about you. Hang on a minute, I’ll grab Coop and…”

“No! Don’t do that, Justin, please. I don’t have much time. I was just calling about the other murder.” I tried not to sound panicked.

“Huh? Well, okay then. Um, let me look here…” The sound of papers shuffling came over the phone. “Yesterday morning we had another one. This time it was both kidneys, and the liver.”

Happening to walk by the Cleveland Browns stadium, I could barely hear him as the score of the current football game was being announced. Quickly, I stepped inside a nearby tobacco shop.

“You said both kidneys and liver?”

“Yup.”

“Any leads?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I found out where all that money in Troy Cross’s account came from. All I know is, it was some type of stock, but I can’t determine how to find out for sure.”

“Ask him.”

“What?”

“Ask him, Justin. Bring him in, and ask him directly if he had stock in LifeTech Industries. If he doesn’t want to answer, threaten to put him on the polygraph. He’ll talk. But you might be surprised. He’ll probably just come out and tell you. Remember, he denied knowing anything at all about LifeTech during the first interview, so if he comes out and
admits it, you’ll at least have an obstruction charge to hold over his head and threaten him with.”

“I feel pretty stupid for not doing that in the first place.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it’s easy to make things more complicated in the detective business. I’m assuming no leads on the recent murder?”

“Not a one.”

“Stay on Troy Cross and hammer down on him about the two doctors, if he knows them and such.”

“All right, I’ll keep in touch, CeeCee. How’s Florida? I’m jealous, the weather up here sucks, and they’re calling for more snow.”

“It’s wonderful. I’m basking in the sun daily,” I lied. “Listen, Justin, I have to go, but do stay in touch.”

I hung up before he’d have a chance to put Naomi or Coop on the phone. Not to mention, Joseph was waiting for me at the bookstore. As I walked to the front door, I briefly checked around for any suspicious cars or people. Seeing none, I went in and headed straight for the back of the old, smoky bookstore where Joseph Filaci sat and waited patiently. He stood up as I sat down. He was undeniably a well-mannered mobster.

“I took the liberty of getting you a cup of coffee, with cream, which I already added so you didn’t need to risk spilling it again.” He smiled.

“Thank you. Do you mind?” I shook my pack of cigarettes at him.

“Absolutely not. Light up.”

I lit a cigarette and took a long sip of the hot coffee before taking a deep breath, not knowing where to
begin. As I reached into my purse to put my lighter back, I pushed the record button on my hidden tape recorder.

“Mr. Filaci…”

“Call me Joseph.”

“All right then, Joseph. Honestly, I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

A strange look came across his face. He stood up and grabbed my purse off of the chair. I was frozen, unable to act. Pulling out the tape recorder, he slammed it on the table, breaking it. The few people perusing the bookstore looked our way. My gun was in my purse—not that I thought he would kill me in front of three other people. Nonetheless, I was terrified. Even more shocking, he sat calmly back down in his chair before he took a sip of his coffee.

“How about we begin this conversation with the truth? Do you agree, Mrs. Hagerman? Oh, that’s right. You go by the name Gallagher.”

He set his cup down and locked his eyes on mine. My mind was in pure chaos in an attempt to establish my next move. Out of my element, I determined the best thing I could do was comply with Joseph’s request. I was going to tell him everything.

“You don’t understand,” I said quietly.

“The only thing I understand is that the detective wife of a dead FBI agent is secretly meeting with me to gather evidence against my family. You are on dangerous ground here, Ms. Gallagher. You see, I couldn’t remember where I had seen you, but then it hit me. Jimmy Garito lives in Mansfield. You know as well as I do that we keep tabs on law enforcement, just like you do on us. I’ve seen your picture several
times, when you were on the news—minus the black wig and dark contact lenses. Frankly, you look much better as a blonde.”

“Please, listen to me. If you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll never contact you again.”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. His nod was the only form of communication that enabled me to continue.

“I’m not a detective anymore. I resigned over a week ago. I’m here on my own personal business. Not for the feds, not for local law enforcement, only for me. Please believe me.” I breathed deeply. “Before I go on, there’s an important question I have to ask you, and you can choose whether to answer it or not.”

“Go on,” he said without hesitation.

“Mr. Filaci, did you or your family kill my husband?” Now the tears that filled my eyes were genuine.

His body relaxed as he leaned forward. As if this day could get any more shocking, he gently took my hand before he spoke, looking directly in my eyes.

“No, we didn’t. The persons responsible for killing your husband were none other than Salvatore Iaccona and his family.”

“But you planned to, didn’t you?” I pulled my hand away, tears flowing down my cheeks. “I heard you! I heard you, your father, and Vincent Vicari planning to kill him!” My voice rose.

He looked shocked. “How do you know that? You heard? How?”

I shook my head furiously. “It’s not important how, but why? Why would you do that?”

He sighed. “It’s true, my father wanted your husband
dead. But believe me when I tell you, I didn’t agree and even talked him out of it later on.”

Remembering the recording of Joseph telling his father it was a bad idea to kill Michael made me believe him. Surprisingly, I felt better. Hearing it come directly from Joseph Filaci seemed to put me at ease.

“Can you tell me what happened?” I wiped my eyes with a tissue.

“I’m not sure what all you know, but most of this is mere speculation. We think that the Iacconas are into something very profitable, something my brother wanted a piece of. When they shut him out, we think your husband brought him on board with the FBI, as an informant, to bring down Sal’s business. Obviously, Sal found out and took care of Niccolo before he could pass along any information.” He took a sip of coffee. “You need to understand my father. Niccolo was his golden child, and when he died, my father wanted to take it out on everybody, including your husband.”

“Do you know what the business is?”

“No, but we’ve been trying to find out. I’ll tell you straight that if I get solid proof that Sal killed my brother, there will be hell to pay.”

“I have a tape recording, where Frank Trapini and Salvatore confess to killing your brother. The business they are involved in is called LifeTech Industries, and I’m not positive what it’s about, but it’s a medical company here in Cleveland.” Ignoring the look of shock on his face, I continued. “I’ve been watching you for the last four days and wanted to meet with you to make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes. The deal is this: you help me gather evidence and bring down Salvatore Iaccona and his entire family, and I will give you every file the FBI has on your family. Not to mention the revenge you are so desperately looking for,” I said defiantly.

He slid his chair back. “Look, this is a lot to take in. I’m gonna need some time—”

“I need an answer now. Yes or no.”

His eyes scoured the walls lined with books. Then he looked down at the floor and finally back at me.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Fine. And Joseph? Call me CeeCee.”

The call that came in for Alan Keane was urgent.“Well?” Alan asked breathlessly.

“We haven’t found her yet, but we got a hell of a good lead,” Agent Nicholas said calmly.

Alan’s heart sank. “I was hoping you were calling to tell me you found her. Is she dead?”

“I don’t think so. We checked all of the cab companies and found that one picked up a thirtysomething, dark-haired female at an oyster bar up the road from the condo the night we lost her. He drove her to Sarasota International and dropped her off at the rental-car place. From there, she rented a car, which was turned in at Miami International.”