Drink to Every Beast

Drink to Every Beast

Joel Burcat

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books, Inc.

Terra Alta, WV

Drink to Every Beast

by Joel Burcat copyright ©2019 Joel Burcat All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.HeadlineBooks.com Tel: 304-789-3001 Email: mybook@headlinebooks.com Cover photo by Delmas Lehman (190457467) Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781946664624 Library of Congress Control Number: 2019902659

P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S T AT E S O F A M E R I C A

For Gail

“He sends forth springs into the valleys; they run among the mountains. They give drink to every beast of the plain, the wild animals quench their thirst… How manifold are Your works, O Lord! In wisdom have You made them all; the earth is full of Your possessions… Let sinners cease on earth and the wicked shall be no more.”

—Psalm 104 “I propose to let in the light and clean up the mess in Harrisburg.”

—Gifford Pinchot, future Governor of Pennsylvania, 1922 “Our great sage Hillel used to say, ‘in a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.’”

—Pirkei Avot (Ethics of The Fathers), 2:5

1 2:30 p.m., Saturday Peter Mason’s canoe drifted in the muck along the southern shore of the Susquehanna River near Pittston. He dipped the paddle into the water and pulled once. The sun glinted off the water and the blond hair of Cindy Battaglia who sat on the small seat in the front of the canoe. He surveyed the tinder-dry woods on the near shore as they drifted through the water, but his eyes were drawn to Cindy’s back, her hair loosely held in a ponytail, her small butt swiveling as she paddled with him. He laid his paddle across the gunwale and allowed the canoe to drift. A flatbottomed boat, about a half-mile up the river, was their only company.

Peter wasn’t a poet or an artist. He was more interested in a well-executed headlock or a suplex. Nevertheless, he had poetry in his heart, and he instinctively knew there were normal days and there were extraordinary days, days he would remember forever. Today was an extraordinary day. The only thing out of order was the smell of rotting fish.

“I think you can stop paddling now,” Peter said softly. He sniffed the air.

The high school senior lifted her paddle out of the water and smiled as she looked over her shoulder. “Oh, I thought you were going to make me paddle all the way to Baltimore.”

“Next time,” he said. “Do you smell that?”

“Yeah, it’s awful.”

7

Peter shrugged and allowed the canoe to be carried with the current in the shallow water. The sun glinted on the surface of the river and set Cindy’s blond hair aglow. The last cicadas of the season sawed their legs in the dry brush next to the river, and small birds along the shore chirped to each other. The afternoon’s hatch of insects had begun to rise above the water and a smallmouth bass jumped fifty feet away. Then several fish jumped at once very close to them. Cindy grabbed for Peter’s hand.

Peter laughed and pointed with the paddle toward the shore and said, “Up ahead, have you ever been there?”

“Where? Here?” She looked at the dead fish floating in the water.

Cindy’s ponytail had mostly come out of the rubber band she used to hold it back, and strands of golden hair lay across her eyes. She brushed them behind her ears.

“Yeah, the tunnel. You know, the spooky mine tunnel.” Peter grinned devilishly.

“I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never actually seen it. I hear it has, like, sewer water pouring out of it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend swimming in it, but it’s kind of cool to see.”

Thirty feet or so ahead was a sign cemented into the side of the riverbank: DANGER! MINE TUNNEL STAY BACK! He dragged the paddle in the water to his left, and they drifted closer and closer to the riverbank. Peter swatted at flies as the water thickened with dead fish. Peter, an all-county high school wrestler, dug deeply into the water as he paddled backwards and slowed the canoe until it barely moved in the current. Then he maneuvered the craft very close to the bank where the tunnel water joined the river. Through the dense brush suspended several feet over the low water, Peter could see the 8

tunnel entrance, its iron bars clogged with garbage and dead leaves. Rancid and pungent water trickled out of the tunnel and splashed onto some rocks before it entered the river. Rancid dead fish, swarming with maggots, polluted the shore.

“I’ve seen the water gush out of there like a fire hose,” he said, looking at the water dribbling from the tunnel. “I guess with the drought and all, there isn’t much water in there.”

“It stinks,” said Cindy. She wrinkled her small nose and held her hand to her face.

“Yeah, it’s bad.”

“Honey, maybe we should paddle away from here?” She suggested.

Peter shrugged. “Just a couple of minutes.”

He feathered clear of the confluence of the gray tunnel water where it joined the brown river water, then he back-paddled hard to stay out of the revolting effluvium.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I guess in the old days when they still did underground mining, this was where the water drained out. My dad told me my grandpa worked not far from here. Anyway, a long time ago the miners got too close to the river and the mine caved in. Millions of gallons of river water got into the tunnel, and a bunch of miners were killed. The mines were all closed, and this is all that’s left. I don’t know why it stinks so much.”

“That’s creepy…and smelly. I have a great idea, why don’t we sail away from here?” Cindy’s smile was strained and her tanned and sunburned face whitened. She stared at the fish guts floating on the water.

“This isn’t a sailboat. Anyhow, I thought we might explore the shore over there and see what’s here. I’ve never seen the water this low. We’ll stay away from the tunnel. I promise.”

Cindy’s eyes were drawn to a still patch of water close to the gray tunnel water clotted with fish, many of which had exploded in the hot sun. Their guts drifted in the muck.

“Hey, you’re with me. I’ll take care of you.”

With that, Peter, his arms and shoulders rippled with muscles from his daily two-hour-long workouts, dug his paddle into the 9

water and pulled it hard through the current. Eddies formed around his paddle. He swung the canoe upstream and paddled hard until he was away from the tunnel water and the dead fish.

They approached a shoal about fifty feet upstream from the tunnel, then got hung up on a sand bar and stopped. Peter jumped out. His sneakers sunk in the thick muck as he splashed in the shallow water. He grabbed the yellow nylon rope fixed to a ring at the bow and pulled the canoe as close to the shore as possible.

The canoe rocked back and forth and Cindy white-knuckled the gunwales. “Hey, what about me?”

Peter climbed on some rocks on shore, his shorts and sleeveless Old Hills High School Timberwolves T-shirt were soaked. Brown ooze from the river bled down his calves.

Something long and green had attached itself to his leg, hanging like flayed skin from his knee to his sneaker.

“Are you afraid of getting a little wet?” Peter gripped the rope tightly in his left hand and held out his right for Cindy.

As the canoe rocked, Cindy stood up and, with her white canvas shoes slipping on the wet hull, gingerly stepped out of the shaky boat. In an instant, she slipped and belly-flopped into the thick ooze.

Cindy struggled to her feet, her arms and legs covered with mud, her shorts and halter-top soaked through.

“Euw!” she laughed. She leaned over and splashed brown river water onto her slim, tanned legs to rinse off the muck.

Peter splashed his way to her with a big grin. “Very coordinated! Here, grab my hand.”

He helped her climb up onto the rocks, then loosely lashed the rope around a boulder. Cindy looked down at herself. “I’m soaked.”

“Well, I guess that makes two of us.”

In a single motion, Peter pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it into the canoe. He stood on the rock, wearing only his shorts, and grinned.

The flat-bottomed boat that trailed them for the last hour puttered downstream, the middle-aged couple in the cockpit looking straight ahead until it disappeared around a bend in 10

the river and the growling from its outboard engine faded. The river bank rose steeply from the water to where Peter and Cindy stood on a narrow strip of flattish bank, hidden from view. Cindy looked around and slyly smiled.

“Well, I guess I need to dry off my shirt too.”

She pulled her halter top over her head in slow motion and flipped it into the canoe, where it landed near Peter’s T-shirt.

Peter’s eyes were drawn from Cindy’s slightly sunburned face with her high cheekbones and blue eyes to her youthful breasts, tanned on top but otherwise pearl white. They stood straight out, her pale nipples pointed directly at him. They commanded his full attention.

For a long moment neither moved. Finally, Cindy held out her arms and said, “Well, what are you waiting for, stupid?”

Peter kissed her with the ferocity that only a high school senior can muster. He had no subtlety or technique—that might come with age—it was hard, intense, and wet. He tingled with anticipation as he kissed her deeply. Then he suckled her neck and nuzzled his face in her breasts. A fly buzzed his face and he opened his eyes. He cursed and swatted, then his eyes grew wide with horror. The canoe—with their shirts and cell phones—was drifting downstream.

“Oh shit! The canoe!”

Peter let go of Cindy and raced toward the water, hopping from the boulders to the sandy riverbank.

He glanced over his shoulder “We’ve got to get it before it goes too far downstream. Help me.” Cindy pressed one arm across her breasts and followed him into the water.

Peter waded in about ten feet behind the canoe. The water deepened. He dove in and swam as hard as he could. He passed the tunnel. The putrid odor made him gag. Dead fish brushed his lips, grazed his chest, and disintegrated against his hands. Slime streaked his flesh. He held his head above the noxious gray water pouring from the shaft, Cindy just a few feet behind him.

Peter reached the canoe about twenty feet from the shore.

Cindy screamed as he grabbed the gunwale. “Peter! My eyes are burning. There’s something on my face; it’s on fire!” Cindy rubbed her eyes and face.

11

Peter released the canoe and reached for Cindy. She flailed in the water, her skin a sickening crimson. Then he started burning, too.

His arms were bright red; blisters sprouted on his hands.

“What the hell?” Peter yelled as he coughed and retched.

Cindy bobbed helplessly, no longer swimming. “Peter!” she wailed, her face streaked with tears, blood, and filth. Already gasping for breath, she coughed and allowed the venom into her mouth. Gobs of mucus and bile poured from her lips and nose.

Peter reached for her arm and she screamed at his touch.

Cindy screamed. Then her scream became a howl. Then her howl became a shriek. She stopped screaming only when her voice gave out.

12

2 4:30 p.m., Saturday Charlie Zelinsky, an inspector with the Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection, parked his white DEP Jeep at an overlook almost a thousand feet away from the river.

The parking area was crowded with police cars and ambulances.

A gaggle of onlookers stood next to a guardrail looking out over the river. The first ambulance was already loaded and pulling away, its siren blasting the calm of the riverside.

A kid, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, was on a stretcher next to the second ambulance, covered to his neck with a thin sheet. Zelinsky noticed the boy had burns on his face and hands as if he had a terrible sunburn. With a reddened hand, the boy lifted his oxygen mask and spat on the ground. The EMTs were loading him into the ambulance; Zelinsky held up his hand and looked down at the boy. “What happened?”

“We were canoeing,” whispered Peter hoarsely. “We wanted to see the tunnel—the old mine tunnel—and were hanging out on the river bank and the canoe started to drift back into the river. Cindy and I jumped into the water to get the canoe and this happened” he said, holding up a red hand. “How’s Cindy?”

“Don’t know.”

The EMTs motioned Zelinsky back and finished placing Peter into the ambulance. As the driver closed the door, Zelinsky put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“So, what’s going on?”

13

“Well, he’s tachycardic, his BP is 160 over 90. About the same as the girl. Both the kid and the girl have good burns all over them, but nothing horrible. I think they maybe had a good shot of chlorine…something in the tunnel, but maybe it’s just an awful case of sunburn. We’re going to take them to Grace and they’ll probably be observed for a while and released.”

“What about the burns?”

“Maybe from the chlorine, maybe the sun. Who knows? They were both out on the water for hours wearing bathing suits and, well, the girl had her top off, so that might explain the sunburn on her…” he cupped a hand on his chest. “Look, I’ve got to go.”

Zelinsky watched the ambulance drive off, its lights flashing and siren blaring.

As the ambulance pulled onto the main road, a blue Prius entered the parking lot. Parking next to Zelinsky’s Jeep, a young man in jeans, a blue short-sleeved work shirt, and running shoes, jumped out and waved.

“I got here as soon as I could.” Mike Jacobs extended his hand to the balding, middle-aged man. Mike had an average build for a twenty-seven-year-old lawyer; his one remarkable feature was his deep-set brown eyes and longish brown hair. A rolling softball bumped his foot. He picked it up and tossed it to a young girl with a glove standing next to the yellow tape line.

“That’s okay. I’m glad you were nearby,” replied Zelinsky.

“I thought it would be a good idea to have a DEP lawyer here when I did my first inspection since this seems like a different kind of spill.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I was close by visiting my Mom. My plate’s pretty full and whoever handles this case will be up to Prince,” he said referring to Macalister Prince, the Chief Counsel.

“Well, you’re here now and I want to be sure we go by the numbers on this spill.”

“How do you know it was a spill?” asked Mike.

“I’m guessing. Accidental spill, maybe a leaking storage tank. Can’t rule out intentional dumping. You just missed seeing those kids. The boy had pretty bad burns and was spitting up 14

phlegm. With all the shit in the mine tunnel, though, you never know.”

A beefy state trooper guarded the path to the river. Zelinsky introduced himself and handed the sergeant his card. “Sarge, what happened here?”

“The kids were canoeing. The boy said the canoe got away from them and they were swimming after it. When they hit the water coming out of the mine tunnel, they were burned from head to toe. The girl,” he shook his head, “she must be pretty, anyway, she looks like she’s been burned alive. How could something like this happen?”

Mike shrugged. “How were they discovered?” he asked.

“They were hollering for help and a family was up here at the overlook looking down onto the river and heard them. At first, they didn’t realize anyone was calling for help and just thought some kids were fooling around in the water. The dad over there,” he pointed to a man standing talking to other troopers, “went down the trail and found the two kids on the river bank. They were bad off. There’s no cell reception along the river, so he scrambled back up here and called us.”

“We’re going to head down there and see if I can start figuring out what’s coming out of that tunnel,” Zelinsky said.

“Well, be careful.”

Zelinsky and Mike walked back to the Jeep. Zelinsky pulled out a pair of white, protective Tyvek coveralls which he handed to Mike.

“You’re what? Five-ten or so?” Zelinsky asked.

“Give or take,” Mike replied.

“Tighten the Velcro to get a good seal around your ankles.

Okay?”

Then the older man pulled out a second pair for himself and put on a hard-hat with a cover that draped behind his back. He grabbed a pair of large protective goggles and stuck them into a pocket in his coveralls. Finally, he placed two large glass sample containers into a backpack along with a test kit and a pair of long rubber gloves.

“Look, Mike, I don’t have full protective gear for you, so when I take my samples, I want you to stand back.”

15

Mike nodded as he pulled the suit onto his slim frame and tightened the Velcro closures.

Just as they were preparing to head down the path to the river bank, someone called to them from the other side of the parking lot.

“Charlie, Chuck, Chucky! Wait up.”

The DEP men looked through the crowd and saw a stocky, bearded man, in his late thirties waving at them as he called out.

His head was shaved bald. He wore shorts, a black Star Wars T-shirt, baseball cap, and leather sandals. Zelinsky and Mike looked at each other and Mike shook his head.

“Tom, I’m a little busy right now,” Zelinsky responded.

Tom Flynn had worked with Zelinsky for several years until he got drummed out of DEP for passing confidential information to an environmental NGO in Harrisburg when he was angry at the Secretary’s decision not to prosecute a company. While it was a little dangerous for Zelinsky and Mike to be seen with Flynn, the inspectors all respected him and cut him a lot more slack than they ought to have done, as they never doubted for a moment on whose side he was.

Flynn jogged toward them, but the police sergeant blocked his path. “Hey, I’m with Chuck,” Flynn protested, shrugging the trooper’s grip off his shoulder.

“Unfortunately, Sarge, he is.” Zelinsky shook his head.

Flynn ducked under the police tape and the hefty man swaggered onward. “Come on, I want to see this toxic discharge coming from the tunnel,” Flynn said, shaking Zelinsky’s hand.

Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Hiya, Mikey.”

“No way,” said Zelinsky. “This is an official DEP investigation and last I checked, you were no longer with the Department.”

Flynn turned to Mike. “How about a little professional courtesy?” He said, holding his hands apart, palms up.

“Look, Tom, not only is this a DEP investigation, but it’s also a crime scene, for now anyway,” said Mike.

“Besides, I have to be careful about the chain of custody of the samples I take and if you’re with me that might interfere,” Zelinsky added.

16

“Hey, hold on, who taught you about chain of custody?” asked Flynn.

“Well, that was years ago when you were with the Department,” Zelinsky replied.

“Chuck, if you don’t let me go down with you now, then I’ll just go down later, after everyone’s left. Wouldn’t you rather I went down with you now so you can keep an eye on me?” asked Flynn.

“How do I know you’re not going to come back later?”

“You don’t. Look, I promise I’ll stay out of your way. I want a look at the site before it gets dark.”

Zelinsky looked at Mike and shook his head. “Well, if it’s okay with my attorney.”

Flynn looked at him and feigned a sad face. “C’mon, Mikey, for old time’s sake. I think you owe me for something anyway.

Please?”

Zelinsky and Flynn looked at Mike. “Christ, I have a feeling I’m going to regret this, but… let’s go,” said Mike.

Flynn started toward the trail on the edge of the bank.

“Wait a minute, where are your boots and coveralls?”

“This is it,” declared Flynn pointing at his shorts and sandals.

“I had my police scanner on and as soon as I heard about the spill, I jumped in my car and came down here right away. I’ve been to more dump sites and strip mines than just about anybody. I know what I’m doing.”

Zelinsky looked at Flynn’s sandals and said, “Tommy, you’re on your own if you get burned.”

Flynn shrugged and sauntered toward the trail.

The DEP inspector and lawyer carefully worked their way down the path to the river with Flynn tramping along behind them. As they approached the river, the stench of the putrid sewage and chemicals was nearly overpowering. There were two EMTs and several troopers on a flat area near the riverbank. The EMTs were packing up the last of their gear and getting ready to head back; the troopers were taking pictures. An aluminum canoe had been pulled up onto the shore amidst the debris from the EMT’s medical supplies.

17

“Chuck, how’d you let those state police goonies get down here before you?” Flynn said. “What do they know about an environmental disaster? They’re in the process of screwing up your investigation,” Flynn said, poking Zelinsky in the back.

“Hey guys, stay away from the water until I have a better handle on what’s coming out of the tunnel.” The troopers looked at Zelinsky and the others for a moment and went back to work.

Zelinsky, Mike, and Flynn worked their way along the riverbank from the upstream side of the tunnel. The trail along the rocks was slick and covered with poison ivy. Flynn seemed oblivious to the vine and eagerly strolled the path as if he were in his back yard.

Zelinsky looked at the large iron bars cemented in front of the entrance to the mine tunnel and the water that trickled between them. He pulled a camera out of his backpack and snapped shots of the water draining from the portal and the debris floating in the water where it spilled as it entered the river.

“Get some of those, too,” Flynn said pointing to some dead fish. Zelinsky took the additional pictures.

The inspector set his gear up on a large flat rock. Taking the rubber gloves out of his backpack, Zelinsky organized the test kit and the vial for testing pH. Adjusting the goggles over his hat and eyes, he carefully approached a place where the water pooled before it entered the river. He filled the vial with tunnel water and returned to his test kit.

“So far so good, Chuck. You make sure you document everything exactly the way I taught you,” Flynn said nodding his head.

“That’s right,” Mike said as an afterthought, rolling his eyes.

Zelinsky sniffed the air. “Phenol,” he said loudly. Mike and Flynn looked at him. “Carbolic acid.”

He dropped some pH testing solution into the vial. The liquid turned slightly red indicating the solution was acidic. He held the vial next to a chart. The pH was between 4 and 5. The water was acidic, but not extremely so.

“Man, that’s some really bad shit,” declared Flynn sniffing the air. “We’ve come across some really polluted water in the past, but this is up there.”

18

Zelinsky dumped the water from the test bottle into the river and took two large glass sample bottles out of his backpack.

He held them with his gloved hands, filled them, and carefully covered and sealed them. He taped the bottles shut as Flynn had trained him to do. Zelinsky made some notes in his field book and placed the bottles in his backpack. Next, he placed two dead fish into plastic baggies.

“I’ll expect a copy of your report and the sample results next week,” said Flynn.

“No way,” replied Zelinsky. “You want a copy of the report, you can do a file review like anyone else.”

“Why? So Mikey here or another one of your tight-assed lawyers can cut the good stuff out of the file before I get there.

Sorry Mikey,” he said nodding to Mike. “What’s the big deal, Chuck? The report belongs to the people, and I’m one of the people. I can get this in three weeks the hard way or in three days if you help me.”

Zelinsky shook his head at Mike.

“So, what’s the plan?” Flynn said. “What do you say we get into your Jeep and drive around until we find the bad guys?”

“I shouldn’t have allowed you down here as it is. We’re not getting into my Jeep and driving around,” Zelinsky said.

“I didn’t think you would, but it didn’t hurt to ask,” Flynn said, grinning.

The men approached the state troopers who were packing up their investigation along the bank. They had put away their tape measures and cameras. Most of them had returned to the parking area, leaving just two troopers from the crime lab to finish up.

A young state trooper, also wearing white coveralls, approached them and looked first at Zelinsky and Mike in their white HazMat suits, and then at Flynn in his shorts and sandals.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing positive,” answered Zelinsky. “I have to send it to the lab, but I’m guessing it’s phenol from the smell. And it’s really strong.”

“How did that shit get into the river?” the trooper asked.

Zelinsky waved his hand in the direction of the tunnel. “This 19

whole area is honeycombed by old coal-mine tunnels. The miners bored dozens, probably hundreds, of boreholes, escape hatches, and air shafts from the surface and into the mine tunnels. I’m sure that many of them, if not most, have caved in or are hidden under vegetation and debris. But there are still quite a few open and someone can dump into them. Some asshole must have dumped crap into a borehole nearby and it’s coming out here.”

“Is this your jurisdiction or ours?” asked the trooper.

“Don’t know; probably a little of both,” replied Mike.

“What about those kids?”

“This damn mine tunnel took a lot of lives when it collapsed in the 1950s. It’s still ruining lives. I hope to hell those kids didn’t get any of that water in their eyes.”

“Who do you think did this?” asked the trooper.

Mike shrugged as they started walking toward the trail.

“Some asshole.”

The senior men exchanged a quick glance.

Flynn waited until the troopers couldn’t hear him, then said just loud enough for Mike and Zelinsky to hear, “Big Bill.”

“What?” asked Mike.

“Big Bill’s Truck Stop. Bill McClatchy is a scumbag and his place is just a couple of miles from here. I’ll bet he has a borehole.”

Mike looked at Zelinsky. “Well, everything’s on the table at this point,” Zelinsky said as they started up the trail.

When they scrambled back to the overlook, Zelinsky looked at Flynn. “All right Tom, your little ride-along is over. What are you planning on doing next?”

“That all depends on whether you boys at DEP try to sweep this under the rug, as usual, or whether you take this investigation seriously. Think of me as a pesky mosquito that won’t go away,” Flynn said, smiling.

“Tommy, don’t take this the wrong way, but mosquitoes can get smashed into little bits.”

“Chucky, you wouldn’t be trying to intimidate me now, would you?” Flynn said, grinning at Mike.

“Look, all I’m doing is advising you. There’s a shitload of 20

crap coming out of that tunnel and some bad guy had to dump it there. You don’t have the state police backing you up, Tommy.

Christ, you don’t have anyone backing you up. Just be careful and don’t get in our way.”

“Tom, look, we have a job to do, so please let us do it,” Mike said to Flynn.

“Don’t worry, Mikey. As long as you guys do your job, I’ll stay out of the way. If you don’t do your job, then I’ll be making sure you do.”

Mike stripped off his gear and got in the Jeep with Zelinsky.

Zelinsky looked back at the parking lot and saw several state police cars and Flynn’s beat-up old purple Isuzu Hombre pickup.

As they drove away, Flynn walked back to the overlook and stood alone looking down at the river.

21

3 6:05 p.m., Saturday Dr. Seth Guberman, beginning the second year of his residency, was on the twelfth hour of a thirty-six-hour shift at Our Lady of Grace Hospital. The emergency department was unusually busy when the ambulances brought in the teens and he only had minutes to spend with them. He listened to the EMTs and had no reason to doubt their report that the teens had been exposed to a high level of chlorine in the water. The report was consistent with his examination. He made sure both had plenty of oxygen and monitored their blood pressure. Sure enough, they went from tachycardia to normal in a couple of hours. He kept them on oxygen until he was sure their BP had returned to normal. Just to be certain, however, he ordered a full-scan blood panel, but on a Saturday evening, the results would not be returned until sometime on Sunday. Even their burns had begun to subside.

By early evening, the teens were up and chatty and both seemed fine. He saw no reason to keep them any longer and the E.D. needed the beds. He gave their parents steroid pills and some ointment for the burns and asked them to return the next day after the blood work was back. As they walked from the E.D., he glanced at the clock. Just a few hours to go until things quieted down and he could catch some sleep in the on-call room. *** 22

Zelinsky called the emergency department from his apartment. After seven rings, a woman answered with a single word: “Grace.”

“Can I talk with the doctor who treated those kids, the ones who got into the mine water?”

“Are you family?” the attendant asked.

“No, I’m with DEP. I have some information for the doctor that might help the kids.”

“Well, hold on.”

He looked at his watch. It was after 10:00 p.m. He took another sip of beer. Finally, after five minutes, there was a click on the phone. “Are you the one who called about those kids?”

“Yes, I have information…”

“Well, they were discharged about twenty minutes ago.”

“What were they treated for?”

“I don’t know and even if I did you’re not family, so I can’t tell you.”

He paused. “Look, do me a favor. Tell the doctor I’m pretty sure they were exposed to phenol, not chlorine like the EMTs thought. I don’t know if he treated them for that, but it might make a difference.”

He waited for a response, but the line was dead.

23

4 4:10 a.m., Sunday Jack Wyse and his partner, Bart Devlin, EMTs with Grace Ambulance, arrived at the Battaglia residence in Avoca at a little after four in the morning. They responded within fifteen minutes of being called.

Mr. Battaglia met them at the door and hurried them back to his daughter’s room. Cindy was crossways on the bed, red as a lobster, a vomit-spattered bucket on the floor beneath her head.

She was restless, coughing and moaning. Wyse, the senior EMT, checked her pulse. It was weak and her breathing was shallow.

“What happened?” he asked the parents as he unpacked his gear.

Mr. Battaglia answered. “She was swimmin’ in the river with her boyfriend and they got into some chlorine. The EMTs, I guess it was some other guys, took them to Grace and they was looked at. She had high blood pressure and sunburn. The doc gave her oxygen for a couple of hours and gave us some pills and cream. She’s supposed to go back today to be checked out.”

Wyse looked at the unconscious girl. She was covered with first and second-degree burns. He fitted a cannula over her nose and examined the blisters around her mouth. Gently, he spread her lips apart. Her mouth was filled with sores.

He was about to touch her chest with his stethoscope when through her thin nightgown he saw more sores and swelling.

“Um, folks, do you see this?”

He pointed to the sores visible through the material. The parents, middle-aged people, were white with fear.

24

“I need to lift up her pajama top and look at this, listen to her heart too. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Battaglia.

Wyse lifted her nightgown to her neck. A large open sore, like a popped blister, covered her chest. It was surrounded by smaller similar spots. Her breasts were bright red and covered with pustules. She looked like she had been scalded.

“Was she like this at the hospital?”

“No, just red, like a bad sunburn. Nothin’ like this,” answered the mother, her voice catching in her throat and tears welling in her eyes.

Wyse wrapped the blood pressure cuff around the girl’s arm and pumped. He listened hard for the familiar tha-thump, but couldn’t hear it. Finally, there was the thump of the systolic reading, but it faded away almost immediately.

He checked her blood pressure again and said to Devlin, “80 over 40.”

Devlin looked at him and raised his eyebrows. Once he had let loose with a quiet “whoa” in front of a heart attack patient’s wife and Wyse laced into him after the patient, who was halfdead, was transported to the hospital. He now knew the limit of his response was a quick flick of an eyebrow or a slight nod of his head.

“What’s that mean?” asked the father.

“She’s hypotensive and bradycardic, um, her blood pressure and heart rate are low. Also, it sounds as though her lungs are filling with fluid. We have to transport her to the hospital. Now.” Cindy twitched. Devlin leaned over her, watching. She twitched again.

“Jack,” he said, betraying his concern.

Before Wyse could answer, Cindy’s head snapped back and her body erupted into convulsions, her arms and legs flailing savagely.

“Madonna!” Mrs. Battaglia cried.

“Mary, Mother of God,” whispered her husband as he crossed himself.

The seizure lasted several minutes while Wyse and Devlin did their best to restrain her gently. Wyse held pillows to the 25

sides of her head and Devlin pressed his hands next to her body firmly, but gently. When the spasms ended, the EMTs quickly loaded Cindy onto the stretcher and strapped her in.

After they extracted her from the house, Devlin finally spoke up. “What the hell is this?” he whispered.

“Don’t know,” Wyse replied. “Maybe drugs, maybe poison.

It sure as hell isn’t a sunburn. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Cindy’s parents, seemingly in shock, held each other as Wyse climbed into the back of the ambulance. “We’re taking her back to Grace. Follow us in your car.”

Siren howling, they began the fifteen-minute drive with Devlin driving madly at the wheel and Wyse in the back using all of his skill to treat the girl. Wyse talked with the E.D. on the radio as they tried to figure out how to stabilize the pretty, eighteen-year-old girl.

Five miles from the hospital, as the siren wailed, Cindy stopped breathing. Wyse began CPR and continued trying to revive her as he handed her over to the E.D. staff that anxiously awaited them on the curb when they arrived at Grace. At the head of the pack of doctors and nurses was Dr. Guberman, who had been handed a telephone note from a DEP inspector when word came in the ambulance carrying the girl was inbound.

In the moments before Cindy arrived, the twenty-eight-yearold physician Googled the treatment for phenol exposure and learned that everything he had done for the teens when they arrived at the hospital that afternoon was wrong.

At 5:05 a.m. Cindy was pronounced dead. *** At 7:30 that morning, Peter’s mother Jean Mason finished listening to Dr. Guberman’s breathless message. She had just come home from her job on the night shift at a factory outside of Scranton and played the message on her machine on her way into the house. The doctor’s message was there had been a mix up at the hospital and someone needed to call him immediately.

She wished her husband, a cross-county truck driver, had been home to help, but he was not due to return until the evening.

26

As the message played out, her phone rang and she picked it up on the first ring. Mr. Battaglia, whose wife was sedated and sleeping, had taken the job of calling friends and family with the terrible news. Mrs. Mason listened gravely and told Cindy’s father she would tell her son.

She tapped quietly on her son’s door and pushed it open. The putrid stench of vomit radiated into the hall. She flipped on the light. Peter was face-down on the bed in his shorts and T-shirt, in a pool of puke and pus. Howling in shock, she put her hands to his cold body and rolled him over. His torso was a mass of suppurating flesh, his face swollen and unrecognizable.

Tears streamed down her face and she cradled her son’s head on her lap, vomit draining from his mouth over her hands and jeans. She had taken care of him his entire life. There was nothing she could do for him now.

27

5 11:30 p.m., Monday Harrisburg is a company town. In 1812, when the politicians from Philadelphia and Pittsburgh fought to a draw over which of their hometowns would be the permanent capital of Pennsylvania, Harrisburg was the compromise. The seat of government was banished from Philadelphia to the middle of the state in the midst of farmland and wilderness at the edge of the Appalachian Mountains. While it enjoyed an era of industrial prosperity in the late nineteenth century, for many years it has been an oasis of white-collared government employees in a sea of Pennsylvania Dutch thrift and agricultural industry.

The company, of course, is the state government. Called the Commonwealth by government employees and lawyers and the State by nearly everyone else, the number of state employees outnumbers all other jobs combined. None of these state jobs pays very well. Even the governor earns little more than a firstyear attorney at a Philly law firm. The average state employee toils for thirty-seven-and-a-half hours a week, mostly in small offices and cubicles, making sure the wheels of government turn. Twice a month, he or she brings home a modest paycheck that is acceptable only because the cost of living in the region has always been low.

Harrisburg suffers the way other northeastern capital cities do, from a transient population of high-level bureaucrats who come and go every four years or so, a permanent population 28

of underpaid local workers and minorities, a lack of a growth industry to fuel the local economy, poverty, crumbling housing, and poor schools. The itinerant professional class lives well in bedroom communities at the edge of the city and in gentrified housing within walking distance of the state offices and the capitol.

The governor lives in a colonial-style mansion built in 1968, between Front and Second Streets with a breathtaking view of the Susquehanna River, about two miles from the capitol building.

It is a sufficiently pretentious residence for the Governor of Pennsylvania, with its brick façade, public areas, twenty-foothigh ceilings, circular staircase, and extensive gardens. For years it was called the Governor’s Mansion but was officially renamed the Governor’s Residence in a fit of common-manism by a recent occupant. Nonetheless, everyone in Harrisburg, other than the governor, still calls it the Governor’s Mansion.

On Monday night, Anthony Capozzi, the Secretary of the DEP, drove to the mansion for a late-night meeting with Governor Miller. Capozzi was already in his pajamas when he got the call summoning him to his boss’s private office for a late meeting. Dressing quickly in slacks, a blazer, and a necktie, he left his home in Camp Hill, sped his Lincoln Continental across the Susquehanna River on the Harvey Taylor Bridge (named for a long-dead pol), and approached the Governor’s Mansion from Second Street. As he stopped in front of the iron gate, a plainclothes Capitol Police officer in a business suit passed between his car and the gate and rapped on the driver’s side window.

“Good evening. I’m Secretary Capozzi, here to see the governor.”

The officer ran his finger down his iPad to the last entry on the list. He leaned into the window and flashed his light toward Capozzi’s face, careful not to shine it in his eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Just give me a minute to open the gate. The governor is expecting you.”

A moment later the gate slid open and Capozzi pulled onto the cobblestone circular drive, parking next to other cars in the 29

small lot. As he approached the house, the main door opened and another plainclothes officer greeted him and walked with him toward the governor’s office. Most of the lights in the house had been turned down, and the effect of the shadows against the high ceilings and staircase was dramatic. The officer tapped lightly on the door.

After a short pause, a man behind the door called out, “Enter.”

Only two lights were on in the office—a desk lamp that shined directly onto the leather blotter in front of the governor, and a small reading lamp over a leather chair in the corner of the room. A twenty-seven-inch monitor and computer keyboard were sequestered to the side of the desk. The word in town was that the governor did not know how to use it and his secretary printed all of his important emails on paper for him to read.

The room was well-appointed with masculine furniture, a large ornate desk, and numerous bookshelves. Photographs of the governor and a variety of politicians lined one wall; immediately behind the governor were photographs of his family, a wife, and two daughters. Although this was not the governor’s formal office—his ceremonial and official offices were located in the capitol—this was the office from which this governor conducted most of his private business.

Governor Miller was behind the desk, still wearing the white shirt he had worn all day along with a paisley necktie, which was pulled loose, and an open collar. A cigarette burned in an ashtray and the smoke curled around the reading lamp. The former appliance salesman from Greensburg with the combover and the black-dyed hair did not stand when Capozzi entered the room.

“Hello, Governor,” he said.

“Quiet day today,” the governor replied. “The Yids are off on their new year holiday.”

“Whatever you say, Governor.” Capozzi tried not to grimace.

“What the fuck are you going to do about this mine tunnel bullshit?”

“Well,” said Capozzi, pausing as he collected his thoughts, “we have inspectors and investigators all over this.”

30

“Shit like this makes me look bad and we’re exactly fiftyseven days away from the election. That son of a bitch from Wilkes-Barre is already making hay over this. That asshole is saying I’m not tough enough on environmental crime. Worse yet, he’s the goddamn Republican and I’m the Democrat—I’m supposed to be the environmentalist, not that no good Trumpster.

The press is eating this up.” He paused in mid-rant, then said, “I want you to crush the piss-ant who did this to me.”

Capozzi thought about the two kids who were burned alive, still haunted by the emergency room pictures he had seen that afternoon in his office. Fleetingly, he wished his governor was more concerned about the kids than his reelection.

“Sir, we’re doing everything we can, but there are dozens of square miles where this acid or whatever could have been dumped. There are literally hundreds of locations that have boreholes relatively close to the mine tunnel exit—” “Look, Tony, I don’t want excuses, I want results. I want you to find the asshole who did this to me and I want you to destroy him.”

“Yes, but you know this isn’t just going to be some idiot with a tanker truck. We’re pretty certain this crap came from Jersey or maybe New York. You know what that means.”

“Fuck those Mafia bastards.”

“You want me to go all the way with this?” asked Capozzi.

“Yes and no. I want you to do everything you can to the prick who’s responsible for this, but you have to keep Sheehan out of it.”

“Well, he is the DA of Luzerne County and this is within his jurisdiction—” “The hell with him. He’s also running for governor and he would do this to me. Keep him in the dark. That press pig will take credit for everything and use this against us in the election.

You understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Capozzi paused. “What about the attorney general?”

“Keep Schwartz the hell out of this too. I want my administration to be credited with busting this up and I don’t want Sheehan or the AG hogging any credit for it.”

31

The governor stood up and Capozzi followed suit. Miller walked to the door, brushing some ashes from the pot belly that hung over his belt, and clasped Capozzi’s hand. “Maybe after the election, you can turn this over to Schwartz. Be sure to check in with me regularly.” *** A few minutes after the governor returned to his chair, there was a tap on his office door.

“Enter.”

A tall, fit, silver-haired man in a suit strode in and stood at attention.

“Greg, did you hear that?” asked the governor.

“Yes sir, clear as a bell,” replied the state police major.

“This is important. Capozzi supported Senator Terranova in the last primary, but I really had no choice other than to bring him into my administration, thanks to those gumbas from Hazelton.

I never really trusted the guy. Make sure you keep on top of his investigation. I want a verbal report every day and more often if something is going on.”

“Will do.”

“Make sure your guys keep back far enough so that no one picks them up. It would be a disaster if that happened this close to the election.”

“Yes, sir. Leave it to me.”

The governor picked up the phone in an obvious dismissal and the major turned on his heel and left the office, quietly shutting the door behind him. Realizing he had no one to call at midnight, he placed the receiver back on its cradle, took a long drag on his cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs, and angrily stabbed the butt out in the ashtray. *** In the second floor of a dilapidated house that had been converted into apartments, on Second Street directly across from 32

the Governor’s Mansion, a man set down a headset and tapped a few commands onto a laptop. Then he picked up his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.

“It’s me. You’re not going to believe this. Miller just had a meeting with Capozzi. Yeah, the Secretary of DEP. That crap with the acid in the mine tunnel, he’s going to try to use it to make the DA look bad. Also, he has that Nazi from the state police, Friedrich, on this too. I have the whole thing on an audio file. I’ll email it to you in a minute.”

33

6 10:00 a.m., Tuesday Mike Jacobs returned to his small office in Harrisburg, overlooking the railroad tracks. He reviewed files he had inherited the prior week when another lawyer left DEP and moved into private practice. He opened a folder and glanced inside: a prosecution of the owner of a Chinese restaurant for various violations of sewage regulations. He tossed it aside and shook his head. After two years at what he thought would be his dream job, he wondered if he would ever again get a chance to work on a big case. He opened the next file: An appeal of DEP’s denial of a sewage permit filed by the owner of a trailer park. He rolled his eyes and cursed.

During his last performance review, Mac Prince, the chief counsel, told him—in athletic terms—to ‘get his head in the game.’ Prince said that after two years he expected more from the young assistant counsel. Mike was not surprised he had been assigned lousy cases. He wasn’t sure if this was to train him or to encourage him to leave.

Disgusted with the quality of his new cases, he swiveled his ancient leather chair and stood up to stretch his legs. The vent next to the window had been painted white years ago, but now was grey, black and covered with dust. He looked out the grimy window toward the railroad yard and watched a long line of hopper cars filled with bituminous coal head east while a line of boxcars on the next track headed west underneath an old 34

highway bridge. In the middle of the railyard was a water tower that had once been proudly emblazoned Pennsylvania Railroad, but the name of the railroad had changed so many times the only word that hadn’t been painted out was a faded Railroad. The other words bled through the peeling paint.

He sighed and walked next door into Jenny Ellison’s office.

She was leaning on her arm going through a stack of files on her desk. The attractive black woman’s hair was straight and she wore an orange print dress with short sleeves.

“Well, I got a stack of files Michelle left behind and every single one of them is a shaggy-dog case,” he said.

Jenny looked up and straightened in her chair, rubbing her eyes. “Geez Mike, you think you’re the only one who got crummy cases when she left? I got my share of furry ones too.”

As they talked, Mike admired the striking good looks of his next-door neighbor and was glad she had a steady boyfriend— an Assistant U.S. Attorney named Tim Cullen—as that meant their relationship was always on a platonic level. It helped that Tim was a former Marine who could have whipped his ass.

Mike’s phone rang. He waved his hand at Jenny, dashed into his office, and snatched the receiver.

“Hey Buddy, this is your old law-school friend, Colin Ford.”

“Dude, are you still fighting the bad guys?” asked Mike.

“Yeah, the DA has me doing felonies now. So far, I’ve handled twenty-five felony jury trials in Manhattan. My record is twenty wins and five losses. Not too bad for someone only two years out of law school. Et tu?”

“Yeah, me too. I’m saving the whales. We don’t get jury trials at DEP, but as a litigator, I’ve certainly seen my share of courtrooms.”

“Litigator? Courtrooms? Is that what they call your admin offices these days?” asked Ford.

“Yeah, we have real administrative law judges who wear black robes and follow the rules of evidence and everything,” Mike said.

“Uh-huh, I see.”

“So, is this just a social call?”

35

“In fact, it is. Are you seeing anybody these days?”

“No, nobody special. I guess I’m just playing the field. How about you?”

“Well, I’m still having too good a time. Ever since I moved to New York from Vermont, it seems I’ve developed a taste for Jewish women. They can’t get enough of this shagetz. That’s what I am, right?”

“Yeah, close enough.”

“Well, Buddy, how about the next time you’re in New York we get together and check out the club scene? Do they even have clubs in Harrisburg?”

“Sure, sounds like fun Colin, I’ll let you know when I get up to New York.”

Mike said good-bye and pressed his finger on the receiver button. Without hanging up, he dialed a number in Wilkes-Barre.

The phone rang four times before it was answered.

“Golden Years Nursing Home, nurses’ station. This is Patty speaking. May I help you?”

“Patty? Hi, this is Mike Jacobs. How is the prettiest girl in Wilkes-Barre today?” he said, thinking about the cute blonde nurse.

“Hi, Mike. I’m pretty sure you’re calling to speak with your mother, not me.”

“Don’t be so sure. Actually, I did want to talk to you. When I speak with her, she always tells me she’s fine and feels great.

Frankly, I don’t believe her most the time. I was hoping to get better intel from you.”

“She’s been okay lately. I’ve noticed she’s had a little difficulty breathing and gets very worn out when I take her for a short walk down the hall. I told her doctor and he increased her Lasix. She’s pretty forgetful too, but I don’t think there’s anything to worry about at this point.”

“Thanks, I appreciate your honesty. So, can I talk to my mom?”

“She’s in our function room watching a program right now.

Do you want me to get her?”

36

“No, I’ll try to reach her later.” He paused. “You know, I’m coming up to Wilkes-Barre this weekend.” He paused again.

“Maybe I could take you out for a cup of coffee? Maybe dinner?”

“Well, okay. Maybe a cup of coffee after work.”

“That’s great, I’ll see you when I visit my mom and we can make plans.”

Mike smiled and went back to his files. A half-hour later, one of the senior lawyers in his office, Roger Alden, knocked on his door.

“Hey Mike, throw on a tie, you and I have been invited to visit the Secretary,” he said.

“Do you know what this is about?” asked Mike as he reached for one of the ties draped around his desk lamp.

“Prince said it had to do with that crap discharged from the mine tunnel the other day near Pittston. You were there Saturday, right?”

“Yes. I was visiting my mother in the nursing home and was staying in our family’s house when Charlie Zelinsky called me and asked me to meet him near the river.”

“How was it?”

“Smelly.”

“Did you see those kids?”

“No, I missed them by a few minutes. The paper said it still wasn’t clear if they died from an overdose, poisoning, or the tunnel water. Maybe we’re about to find out.”

Mike threw on the spare necktie and sports jacket he kept on the back of his door, grabbed his briefcase and they walked down the street toward the Secretary’s office in the Pinchot State Office Building. Prince, the chief counsel, wore a dark blue suit, white shirt and blue necktie, was already there and Secretary Capozzi was behind his desk. Mike had been in the office on one or two occasions, but never to discuss a case. After quickly shaking hands, the newcomers took seats next to the chief counsel.

“So, as I was telling you, Mr. Secretary, as best as we can guess, a tanker truck loaded with a real witches’ brew must have pulled in somewhere within two or three miles of the mouth 37

of the tunnel and dumped a load into a borehole,” Prince said.

“We estimate he must have dropped maybe five or ten thousand gallons of what the lab says is concentrated waste phenol for it to have had the potency it did when it exited the tunnel. Our drought didn’t help much either. Groundwater levels are low and there was very little dilution. The samples we have been pulling show there’s a lot of other crap, sorry, chemicals in the waste. We think that means other loads are being dumped into a borehole. It’s very likely there’s more than one borehole and more than one dumper.”

The secretary looked at him and sighed, “Do you have any idea where this came from?”

“You mean originally or locally?” asked Prince.

“Both.”

“Well, the chemicals are hard to trace. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of businesses in the Northeast that use phenol.

It’s used in plastics, plywood, nylon, epoxy, medicine, you name it. Heck, it’s even in scotch. Could be from almost anywhere, but we have an inspector who believes this stuff is coming from New Jersey.”

“Do you have any idea where it’s being dumped?” asked the secretary.

“No, we have no evidence, but our inspector has a number of suspects and hunches. You know Bill McClatchy, they call him Big Bill? Our inspector puts him high on the list of suspects. He owns a truck stop in Old Hills located near the mine tunnel, just off I-81, and within the radius of the likely dumping zone. No one has any information about any boreholes on his property though.”

Secretary Capozzi shook his head. “Big Bill? Yeah, a local character. I’ve known him for years and I can’t say I’m surprised.

Look, I don’t care who it is, I want the asshole crushed, do you get me? This is critical to the image of the department, not to mention Governor Miller’s re-election campaign.”

The secretary fell silent and watched as Mike furiously scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad long after everyone had stopped talking.

38

“Mike, what are you doing?”

“Umm, taking notes, Mr. Secretary.”

Secretary Capozzi closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. “Jacobs, we don’t take notes at this kind of meeting.”

Capozzi motioned with his head and Prince took the legal pad from him.

“Okay,” said the secretary, “where was I? Poor Bill, what a jerk. Anyway, I want you to destroy him—or whoever it is— and when it’s all over we’ll throw away the key. I want to hear reports on this daily, more often if something is breaking. Also, remember, no surprises.” The secretary paused, then added, “Look, I want this resolved by November sixth, no, make that a week earlier. Got it?”

“You mean before election day?” asked Prince.

“You have a problem with that?” the secretary asked, glaring at him.

“No sir,” said Prince solemnly. “One more thing, don’t you think it would be a good idea if this case went criminal? I mean, those kids—” “No, no way. If it does, that asshole DA in Luzerne County, Sheehan, is going to hog the spotlight. Maybe the AG, too. The governor wants his administration to get all of the credit for solving this. Do everything you can to shut this down and knock out Big Bill’s teeth. Order him to close, assess him millions of dollars of civil penalties, and bankrupt the bastard. Maybe then we’ll give the carcass to Sheehan or the AG to pick over the bones.” *** Back in Prince’s office, the chief counsel handed the legal pad back to Mike. Prince looked at Roger. “You’re my most senior litigator and I want you to take the lead in this case. You heard the secretary, we have to crush this guy—whoever it is—the bastard richly deserves it. Mike, you’re going to be the second chair. You guys up for this?”

“If you think I’m ready for it, I guess I am,” said Mike.

39

Roger nodded. “I only have one problem, Mac. I have the trial on that old mining case before the board beginning a week from today. It should only be two days, but that’s going to distract me until it’s over.”

“Can you get a continuance?”

“No way; we’ve already had four continuances and the judge has made it clear there will be no more.”

“How about if another lawyer takes over?”

“We really can’t do that to someone, can we? I mean there have been a dozen depositions already and we’re going to trial in seven days. I’ll make sure Mike gets a good head start on the investigation and I’ll be back on the mine tunnel case full-time in ten days.”

Prince thought for a moment. “Okay, but Mike, don’t screw up. This is not only important for Capozzi, it’s important for the department. Your careers are riding on this case.”

Mike gulped and nodded. *** When the men returned to Roger’s office, Roger motioned for Mike to sit and then closed the door. “Okay, I want you to clear the decks of anything you have that’s pressing right now.

Then, you need to get your butt up to Wilkes-Barre and meet with Charlie Zelinsky. Start collecting every email or scrap of paper that might be relevant to this case and go through it. That means hazardous waste manifests, inspection reports, permits, the whole nine yards. Can you get up to Wilkes-Barre this week?”

“Yes, that’s no problem. Actually, that will work out fine, since I can stay at my folks’ house and visit my mother after work. What about your trial?”

“I really couldn’t dump that on someone else so close to trial. That will occupy me for most of the next week. After that, I’ll be on this case full-time.”

Mike headed back to his office, but as he passed Jenny’s door, he stuck his head in her office. “Guess who pulled the mine tunnel case?”

40

“You? You’re first chair?” she said.

“Well, second chair with Roger.”

Jenny made a face. “Mike, I like you, I really do. Here’s some advice from a friend: Don’t screw it up.”

41

7 9:15 a.m., Wednesday “Seriously Mike,” George Slaughter, DEP’s manager for the waste program in Wilkes-Barre said solicitously, “we have this under control. I don’t know why you boys from Harrisburg need to be here.” He adjusted his belt beneath his expansive stomach and, at six-foot-four, stood over Mike. “We handle hundreds of inspections a year and I’ve lost count of how many investigations.”

“George, I’m here because this is an important investigation and—” “Oh, you guys from Harrisburg don’t think we can handle an important investigation?” Slaughter asked, his voice rising.

“No, I mean yes, you can handle an important investigation.

It’s just that all of the T’s have to be crossed and the I’s dotted so we can make this case,” Mike tried to explain.

“Well how about when I need the frickin’ T’s and I’s taken care of, I’ll give you a call?” he spat at Mike contorting his round face, baring his crooked yellow teeth.

From the corner of his eye, Mike saw Zelinsky wince as he watched Slaughter rant in a local accent that sounded Irish, although Mike suspected he had never set foot on the Emerald Isle. Other DEP employees had stopped working in their cubicles and edged out to better hear him yell, not daring to make eye contact with any of the participants. As Slaughter intensified, Mike had to wipe his face from the spittle. Slaughter didn’t seem 42

to notice or care. His face had turned red and the capillaries in his bulbous nose became redder still as he became more irate.

Slaughter wore a cheap short-sleeved shirt and a spotted clipon necktie and he smacked his fleshy hands together like all he wanted to do was punch Mike’s face.

“Come on George, I’ve been sent up to work with you, not against you,” Mike pleaded. “Let me get Roger on the phone, maybe I’m not explaining myself.” Without awaiting a reply, he picked up Slaughter’s phone and dialed Roger’s number.

“Hello?”

“Roger, this is Mike,” he said almost breathlessly. “I’m with George Slaughter and Charlie Zelinsky. Can I put you on the speaker?”

Without waiting, Mike pushed the speaker button.

“Roger, George is having trouble with our being up here and working with them on this investigation.”

Without hesitation, Roger demanded, “George, what seems to be the trouble? Don’t you need an extra pair of hands? Some legal advice?”

“When I want some frickin’ legal advice, I’ll ask for some frickin’ legal advice,” Slaughter bellowed, spitting at the phone.

“Well George, we’ve been asked to come up there to help and Mike is there now to help your office with the investigation.

I’ll be up next week when this trial is over,” Roger responded.

“We don’t need all your frickin’ help. Look, how about if I just put in a call to Bob Clifford and let him handle this?”

Slaughter said, referring to the deputy secretary who handled waste issues.

“Look, I’m sorry you feel this way, but this is just the way it is. Bottom line, we’ve been sent to you by Capozzi himself, so there’s really nothing you can do about it. We want to work with you and your guys not against you, so I hope you can cooperate with us.”

Mike thought to himself, I’ll see your deputy secretary and raise you a secretary.

Slaughter was silent. Finally, a crooked smile appeared on his face and he said, “Cooperate? Of course, I’ll cooperate, I 43

have four more years to go until retirement. What choice do I have?” *** Zelinsky led Mike out of the office. Following Slaughter’s tirade, the room was quiet and the DEP employees watched from their cubicles as the two men walked down the hall. They took the stairs from the DEP’s second-floor offices and silently strolled by the fruit and vegetable warehouse that occupied the first floor of the smelly building.

When they were on the street, Zelinsky looked at Mike.

“Look, George isn’t against you, he just doesn’t like meddling from Harrisburg. He figures we can handle this investigation without interference from attorneys.”

“I hope you don’t see our involvement as interference, we really are all on the same team,” Mike said. “Something else, you know I’m from Old Hills. So, I know this area and come back all the time. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty and I’m happy to go through documents and manifest forms. Whatever it takes,” he added hopefully.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll appreciate the extra pair of hands. Let’s take a ride and drive by the locations of my favorite suspects,” Zelinsky said.

In Zelinsky’s Jeep, Mike noticed huge piles of clothing and belongings in the back. “Are you doing laundry?” Mike asked with a smile.

“No, I’m moving out. The wife and I have split. Any more personal questions?” Zelinsky asked coolly.

Mike sat quietly, embarrassed he had put Zelinsky on the spot. *** As they drove away from the DEP office, a white Chevrolet pulled away from the curb and followed them down the street toward Interstate 81.

44

8 11:45 a.m., Thursday Back at his desk in Harrisburg, Mike looked at the growing stack of files. In front of him were approximately two-hundred hazardous waste manifests from fifteen different companies.

The forms were each several pages long and indicated the source of hazardous waste, the name of the transporter, the name of the chemicals in the waste, and the name of the ultimate disposal facility. Most of the forms were prepared electronically, but some were filled in by hand. By law, anyone disposing of hazardous waste had to fill out the form and maintain it in their files for twenty years. Reviewing the forms was mind-numbing work.

For two hours, Mike looked through the copies Zelinsky had emailed him from the Department’s files in Wilkes-Barre. His neck ached and his eyes were tired.

At 11:45 Jenny came into his office. “Hey, you look like you could use some lunch. There are a bunch of us who are going to meet at Strawberry Square. Do you want to come with me?”

“I don’t know, I have a lot of stuff to go through and Roger wants me to try to get through these today.”

He showed her some of the manifests and she made a face.

“Well, it seems to me like a growing boy like you still has to eat.

Besides, you need my company and conversation to lift your spirits before you get back to the exciting world of environmental law.”

“You know, you’re right, let’s go,” he said.

45

They walked out onto Second Street in the warm September air, Mike in a suit coat, Jenny wearing a dress, and walked several blocks until they reached Strawberry Square, an office tower with shops on the first floor and a food court on the second. Above that were state offices, including the offices of the attorney general. The shops were a hodge-podge of card shops and vitamin stores. The high-end outlets the developer envisioned never materialized, but they would have quickly vanished as the vast majority of people who worked nearby were state employees who could budget Walmart sooner than Hugo Boss or Chanel. As a result, the building always had several vacancies on the street level.

The food court, however, was reasonably priced and a hit among the state workers, lobbyists, and lawyers. The large open seating area looked down on an atrium and the shops below, and fast-food counters lined the walls. Jenny found her friends and guided Mike to some chairs at a long table in the middle of the crowd. As they sat, Jenny’s boyfriend, Tim Cullen, an Assistant U.S. Attorney, arrived. He leaned over and gave Jenny a quick hug.

Mike was always impressed by Tim. He was about six feet tall and trim, like a swimmer. His skin was dark brown and he wore his hair clipped close to his scalp. Although it had been years since he was in the Marines, he comported himself like a Marine and always seemed to be standing at attention.

“Hello, Mike,” Tim said loudly.

Mike extended his hand and the two men talked about the fading Philadelphia Phillies. Tim predicted the Dodgers would win in six games.

“I’m still holding out for the Phillies,” said Mike.

They split up and after finding a salad with tuna, Mike returned to the table. Jenny approached with a tray of food and an attractive, slender woman in a dress with shoulder-length dark brown hair. They both took seats at the table with Jenny next to Tim and across from Mike.

“Mike, I’d like you to meet my friend Sherry Stein. Sherry, this is my good-looking friend, Mike. Why don’t you sit next to Mike?”

46

Sherry smiled and placed her tray next to Mike’s. “Hi. Jenny tells me you’re from Vermont. I love to go skiing at Killington.

Have you been there?”

Mike looked at her pretty, angular face and brown eyes and said, “Well, that’s where I went to law school. I’m from Old Hills in northeast PA.” “You went to University of Vermont?”

“No, Vermont Law School. It’s in a small town called South Royalton.”

“Old Hills? Where exactly is that?”

“It’s an old mining town between Wilkes-Barre and Scranton.

If you blink, you will miss it driving up I-81. Where are you from?”

“I grew up in Chestnut Hill in Philadelphia. Then Bryn Mawr College and Temple Law. Jenny tells me you’re an assistant counsel with DEP. How long have you been doing that?” she inquired taking a bite of her salad.

Mike glanced at Jenny who winked and smiled. “A little over two years. How about you?”

“I’m a deputy attorney general, in the Charitable Trusts and Organizations Division— three years. It really is about as boring as it sounds.” She laughed a sweet, infectious laugh and Mike laughed with her.

“So what do you think of Harrisburg?” Mike asked, digging into his salad.

“Let’s put it this way: As soon as I possibly can, I’m heading back to Philly. I grew up in Philly, went to college and law school in Philly, and pretty much consider myself a Philly girl.

About the longest time I’ve ever spent away from Philadelphia was during the summers when my family would go down to our house at the shore in Stone Harbor. How about you?”

“Well, Harrisburg is a heck of a lot bigger than Old Hills and a lot more exciting,” he said.

“Exciting?” she said and burst out laughing.

“Well, after Old Hills and Vermont, anything is exciting,” Mike laughed.

They chatted over lunch and Mike noticed that although Jenny spent much of lunch talking with Tim, she kept looking 47

at them out of the corner of her eye. When he caught her, she turned away quickly as if she hadn’t been looking.

“So Mike, are you working on anything interesting?” Sherry inquired, finishing her salad.

“In fact, I am.” Mike looked around and noticed that everyone around him was absorbed in their own conversations.

He lowered his voice and leaned close, inhaling a trace of her lightly scented perfume. “It’s a pretty hush-hush investigation.

Maybe I’ll tell you about it later.”

“That assumes we’ll see each other later, doesn’t it?” she said with a broad smile.

“Well, maybe we will.” As he said that, three other men who had joined the group with Sherry stood and gathered themselves.

“Sherry, we’re heading back to the office. Are you coming?”

She pushed herself away from the table. “Well, maybe later you’ll tell me about that thing you’re working on.”

“I hope so,” Mike said as she picked up her tray. “It’s been nice having lunch with you.”

Mike rose, they shook hands, and he watched her walk away.

After she dumped the paper from her tray into the trash, she looked over her shoulder, locked eyes, and smiled.

Jenny poked his ribs. “‘It’s been nice having lunch with you’? That’s smooth. Is that the best parting line you’ve got?

Did you even get her phone number? What is it with you Jewish boys? Mike, you’re never going to get a girl with lines like that.”

“Well, we just met.”

Jenny shut her eyes and shook her head. *** Later that afternoon, while he was going through the manifest forms, the telephone rang.

“Jacobs.”

“Mike? Is that you?” It was Sherry. “Hey, I was thinking it would be fun to get together for dinner. I’d like to hear all about Old Hills and then you can tell me what it was like going to school in Vermont.”

48

Mike imagined the pretty, brown-haired girl he had met over lunch. At the same time, he thought vaguely about Patty in Wilkes-Barre.

“Umm, I’m kind of busy today. I’ve got to get through some documents and I suspect it will take me well into the night. Then tomorrow, I’m heading up to Wilkes-Barre and I’ll be there over the weekend,” Mike replied.

“Over the weekend? Uh-oh, maybe my sources aren’t as good as I’d thought. Sounds like a hot date with the girl next door. Are you visiting your girlfriend?” she asked.

“No,” he laughed, “just my Mom. She’s in a nursing home. I don’t have a girlfriend right now.”

“Oh goodie,” Sherry replied. “Well, Monday is Yom Kippur.

You’re Jewish, right?”

“Right.”

“Me too. Now that would be a bad time to have dinner, although it would be cheap. How about Tuesday?”

Mike thought for a moment and realized he had not even taken Patty out for a cup of coffee. “Tuesday would be great.”

They exchanged phone numbers and after saying goodbye, Mike slowly placed the receiver back on the phone. He got up and walked into Jenny’s office.

“Do you want to guess who just called me?” He said with a smile.

“Sherry,” Jenny said without pause. “She called me right after lunch and asked me for your phone number. I figured you wouldn’t mind. Plus, unless you’ve been holding back, I don’t think you’ve had a date in about two months and you’re due. Not only that, Sherry is a hot looking Jewish girl and I think you two would have cute little Jewish babies.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. You already have me marrying this girl and making babies?”

“Isn’t that what friends are for?”

49

9 8:00 a.m., Friday Sherry looked at the banker’s boxes lined up in the windowless conference room she had usurped. The dusty and dirty room was brightly lit by an excess of overhead fluorescent lights. The walls bore numerous pinholes and tape residue left over from maps and pictures that had hung there during earlier investigations. Someone had written “DEAD” with a sharpie on the wall over a pair of pinholes; she assumed the photo that had been there was of the deceased. Now all that remained on the wall was the single word. She couldn’t decide if it was a statement or a warning.

She turned to the box in front of her and placed the lid on a chair. It was crammed with paper. She pulled out the first file.

Inside were copies of tax returns for Maureen Sheehan going back twenty years. Some of the words were faded and the paper started curling the moment she freed it from the file. She pushed the box to the side and started scrutinizing the paperwork.

When she got to the line that indicated income from all sources, Sherry noted that twenty years ago, Sheehan’s income as a teacher was $12,000. Sherry went to the back of the file and pulled out the tax return for the most recent year. She noted Maureen Sheehan had listed her position as executive director of the North East Fund. On the income tax form, her wages were listed as $30,000 that year.

She reached over and pulled out the annual report for the North East Fund. The report was glossy and colorful, sporting 50

photographs of well-known sites in northeastern Pennsylvania.

Sherry flipped to the income and expense section. The income report indicated the North East Fund had received $175,000, in contributions. Under expenses, there was a total administrative salaries expense for an executive director and secretary of $45,000. All of this seemed in order. Bargain basement, sensible, and maybe just a bit too reasonable.

This was such an important investigation, the kind that could make or break a career, and her head was swimming. The work was achingly boring and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t get her brain around some of it. Sherry hoped her investigator would be able to make sense of it and be able to explain it to her. There was no way she was going to fail at this. None. She looked at the stacks of papers in front of her, closed her eyes, and fought back the tears. *** After driving to Wilkes-Barre early that morning, Mike spent the entire day at DEP’s Wilkes-Barre office going through boxes of inspection reports for dozens of facilities within the likely radius of the dumping. Many of the documents had been electronically filed, so he also spent quality time at an antique computer terminal with a gigantic monitor scrolling through screen after screen of reports. He found it more than a little odd that the only decoration in the small conference room was a portrait of the former local congressman Dan Flood, long dead, with his wax moustache and white suit, who had only resigned from Congress after being convicted for bribery. He noticed that other than Zelinsky and Slaughter, none of the dozens of other employees in the office would talk to him.

At 4:30, as the office closed, he packed up his briefcase and drove to the nursing home. When he arrived, Patty was taking care of an old woman in a wheelchair. He did not say anything for at least a minute and just watched her. Rather than bending over, she knelt down and was at eye level with the woman. Her blonde hair was held back in a tight bun. Every time she smiled, 51

her cheeks rose and her eyelids crinkled. She was good-looking in her pink scrubs and Mike wondered how she would look in a pair of tight jeans.

When Patty stood up, she saw him and came over. She smiled an incredibly broad smile and said, “Hi, Mike. Why don’t we go over here and talk.”

Mike put his hand out to shake hers, but it was more than a handshake that lingered for moments. “Hi, Patty. What’s going on?”

“Your mom is a little confused today. Well, more than a little confused,” she said, holding his gaze. “There are days when she’s completely lucid and then other days when she just mumbles. Today, she’s doing a lot of mumbling. Come on, I need to see her anyway.”

When they got to her room, Mike noticed again that instead of a nameplate on her door to identify her room, someone had written Estelle Jacobs on masking tape.

“Let me go in first just to make sure she’s put together,” Patty said at the door.

As she entered the room, Mike heard her say, “Mrs. Jacobs?

I have a special visitor for you.”

Mike saw that his mother was lying in a fetal position in the bed. She had knocked the cannula out of her nose and her hair was a mess.

“Hi, Mom. It’s me, Michael,” he said brightly. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“Who’s that?” his mother said to Patty.

“It’s your son, Mike.”

“I don’t have a son named Mike. My son’s name is Stevie.”

“Mom, it’s me, Mike. Stevie lives in Chicago.”

His mother paused for several seconds considering what he had said, “Stevie? I missed you. You ought to visit your mother more often.”

Mike looked at Patty and she shrugged. “Mrs. Jacobs, let me brush your hair and then I’ll get out of here so you can visit with Mike, okay?”

She ran a brush through the woman’s grey hair and then patted it with her hands. “There you go, that’s a lot more presentable. I 52

have to go help some other residents. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Then, looking at Mike, she said, “I get off at seven and I missed lunch today.” Patty smiled and patted Mike’s arm as she walked by.

Mike sat with his mother and chatted with her for a half hour.

Then she said that her show was on, so Mike turned on the TV and watched it with her.

During a commercial break, a Sheehan for Governor commercial came on. The ad displayed several police officers, all of whom were talking about Luzerne County’s district attorney as their candidate and someone who could be counted on to uphold the law.

Immediately afterward, a Reelect Governor Miller commercial came on featuring black and white photos, all of them distorted, showing large, intimidating white and black men, each of whom looked like they were happiest when raping and mugging honest citizens. The voiceover stated that Sheehan’s conviction rate was among the lowest for DAs in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. “If Gerry Sheehan cannot perform the job he was elected to do in one county, you cannot trust him to be the Governor of all sixty-seven counties of Pennsylvania.” *** A few minutes before seven, Mike said goodbye to his mother and told her he would see her on Saturday. Patty wasn’t at the nurse’s station. He surveyed the space, looked down the halls, and then saw her, slender and big-chested in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Her hips were slightly wide in an attractive, womanly way, and Mike nodded his approval. Patty smiled when she saw him. She tapped her pointer finger on her lips twice and said to the nurses behind the desk, “See you tomorrow ladies.”

She continued walking and Mike fell in with her. After they exited the nursing home, Patty looked at him. “This is such a small town and the nursing home is even smaller. I think it’s a good idea they not know we’re having dinner together.”

53

“You’re probably right,” he said. “Did you drive?”

“Yes, that’s me over there,” she said, pointing toward a black Honda Civic. “How about if I drop my car at my apartment, then we can go to dinner in yours? I need to do something inside first.”

He followed her to her apartment, then waited while she went inside. A few minutes later she was in his car and they drove away.

Dinner was a pasta affair at a small Italian restaurant, near the highway. They talked about school—they had both gone to Old Hills High School, although Patty was a year older—and people they knew from the past.

“I’m in touch with just one or two people from Old Hills,” Mike said. “I guess I just lost track of most of my high school friends. How about you?”

“Well, since I live in Wilkes-Barre, I still see quite a few people from high school. A lot of kids from our class left the area years ago; there just aren’t any jobs. A couple of people from school are working in their family’s businesses and others are working locally,” she said.

Mike thought for a moment. “Weren’t you dating that football player? Greg something?”

Patty took a long time to answer. “Greg Domarski, he played tackle. We stopped dating when he left for college. He’s still around and I bump into him from time to time.” Mike noticed this was the first time she did not look at him while she spoke.

After dinner, they drove back to Patty’s apartment. It was still relatively early for a Friday night. They sat in his car and talked for several minutes with the windows cracked open and the radio on.

“Wonderful Tonight” came on the radio, an oldies station.

“Do you like Eric Clapton?” Mike asked, turning up the music.

“He’s okay. I suppose I’ve liked Sheryl Crow since high school. Her songs really speak to me.”

“Do you want me to try to find her?” he said placing his hand on the tuning knob.

54

Mike hoped Patty would invite him into her apartment. The conversation stalled. After a short silence, Mike put his hand on the side of Patty’s face and ran his hand just under her ear.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?”

Patty raised her eyebrows slightly at his request. “No, I’d kind of like that.”

Mike leaned closer and she leaned into him. At first, he gently brushed his lips against hers, touching ever so slightly.

Mike smelled the strawberry fragrance of her shampoo. Then she wrapped her hands behind his head and they pressed their lips together. When their tongues met he could still taste the wine she had with dinner. Mike’s arm slid behind her back, planning to make his next kiss more memorable than the first.

There was a faint knock from outside. They broke off and looked around. The small shape of a girl, perhaps eight or nine years old, with her face pressed up against the apartment window, was banging on the glass.

“What? Who’s that?” asked Mike, bewildered.

“Oh, Mike…I don’t know how to say this, but,” she paused, “that’s my daughter, Katie.” Patty made a face, shutting her eyes and shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I was looking for the right moment because I like you and didn’t want to scare you off.

I’m so sorry. I told you I was dating Greg, Greg Domarski, in high school. I didn’t tell you I got pregnant right at the end of senior year and the bastard wouldn’t marry me. He had a big football scholarship and made a million promises. At the end of the summer, before I had the baby, Greg left for Syracuse and the football team and I stayed behind and had the baby.

His knee blew out in his sophomore year and he dropped out a few months later. Now he works at Big Bill’s Truck Stop as a mechanic and has never made a single child support payment.

I’m sorry. I should’ve told you right away.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mike brushed a loose strand of blond hair from the corner of her face. “I’d like to meet your daughter.”

“That’s very sweet, but not tonight. I have to get the babysitter home and, well… not tonight.”

“Do you want to get together again?”

55

“Maybe I should be asking you that question,” Patty said, smiling.

“Well, how about tomorrow night?”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have a gettogether tomorrow night with some of Katie’s friends and their parents, right after work—really—so I can’t go on another date with you tomorrow night. Before you ask, I’m working all day on Sunday, too. Maybe next week?”

“Okay, I’ll give you a call.”

They gave each other a quick kiss on the lips and Patty slipped out of the car, glancing over her shoulder and smiling as she opened the door to her apartment. Mike saw the little girl leave the window and run toward her mother.

Mike sat in his car for thirty seconds thinking about the evening and listening to the radio. Then he turned the ignition, put it into gear, and drove toward his mother’s house. Mike was so taken up with his thoughts that he neglected to see the white Chevrolet that had followed him all the way from the nursing home. It drove slowly past the driveway before Mike pulled his keys from the ignition.

56

10 8:30 a.m., Sunday District Attorney Gerald Sheehan sat in his large, ornate office in the courthouse. The room was heavy with antique furniture and discrete seating areas. Law books, none of which he had ever opened except for publicity shots, filled the bookshelves. Other shelves held trophies and awards from numerous organizations, mostly local law enforcement, he had received during his six years as Luzerne County DA. He also had footballs, baseballs, and other memorabilia from his days as a high school four-letter star. The still athletic-looking DA, who made a point of playing basketball every Wednesday night in a cops and firefightersonly league at the YMCA, sat behind his desk with his suit coat draped over the back of his large leather chair. The sleeves of his crisp, white shirt were rolled up to just below his elbows for what his consultants called his “man of the people” look.

“Crap, Mort, the numbers this morning look like shit,” he said to his doughy, curly-haired campaign manager, Mort Fine.

“We ought to be kicking the shit out of that do-nothing Miller.

Our fundraising is way below where we want it and my finger is black and blue from calling so many people for donations.

Did I tell you my ass is sore from driving from one backwoods county to another? You have to pick it up. It’s only a month to the election and we’re trailing by six points.”

“Look, we’re beating him with traditional Republicans and Trump Democrats. I suppose that asshole, Senator Taggart 57

from Pittsburgh, who allegedly is your running mate, is helping you out west. I know we’re going to win the ‘T,’ you know, the central part of Pennsylvania and the northern tier, but we’re getting crushed inPhilly. We’ve got to pick up ground among the D’s.” Fine sat forward in the chair opposite Sheehan and scrolled his iPad as he talked.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Sheehan snorted.

“Miller’s a Democrat for Christ sake and he’s done a shoddy job on the environment. Everybody loves the environment. You should be kicking his ass on that,” Fine replied.

Sheehan thought for a minute. “Well, we’ve had this mine tunnel thing, you know, where those kids got burned? That’s right in my county. From what I hear, DEP is taking their time investigating that accident. Not only that, they’re keeping the investigation pretty hush-hush. You know, it should be a criminal investigation, not an administrative thing that DEP handles all on its own with a bunch of bureaucratic assholes. If this were any other time and if Miller wasn’t running against me, DEP would have come to me, the DA, just as a matter of professional courtesy. I’ve heard nothing from Capozzi or any of his boys.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Why not just go in and take over the investigation or start your own? Hell, those kids were burned, killed, from the crap in the tunnel. That ought to be good for charges of reckless indifference, aggravated assault, some kind of homicide, risking a catastrophe, something like that,” Fine said optimistically.

“Easy, our office doesn’t have the dough to conduct that kind of investigation. There’s an awful lot of chemical sampling, reviewing mountains of papers, interviewing dozens of people, and we’d need a dozen investigators for a job like that. Also, we don’t have the people with the right skills. We just don’t have the technical expertise or money. Besides, if we tried to take it over, that would be too public. People would say it was just politics, I think it would backfire.”

“Here’s something else to consider, Gerry. Keep in mind there’s a possibility one of our friends may be responsible for this incident.”

58

“It hasn’t been lost on me that Miller will wait until the day before the election and then announce that one of our big contributors was somehow responsible for this.”

“So what are you thinking?” Fine asked.

“I think I’m going to let this play out a little and then reel in the fish when Miller thinks he’s about to get it.”

Fine smiled, then stood up and pointed at his watch. “It’s time to go to church.”

“Which one?” Sheehan said shaking his head. “Christ, I haven’t been to church in years and now I go to ten a day on Sunday.”

“Actually, you only have seven to do today,” Fine said.

“Yeah, but you took me to four temples yesterday.” Sheehan stood up and took his suit coat off the back of his chair.

“How can you get DEP to tell you what they’re going to do if they’re not cooperating?” asked Fine, putting on his suit coat.

“I mean, if DEP isn’t cooperating, how will you know what to do or when?”

“Trust me, I’m an old trial lawyer. I have a plan A and a plan B. I expect to be there at exactly the right moment.” *** At forty-seven, Maureen Sheehan was only two months younger than her husband. She prided herself, however, for looking at least ten years his junior. For church that morning, her slim body was wrapped in a Christian Dior wool suit she had purchased at Saks Fifth Avenue in New York, and dark blue Andrew Geller shoes with a matching handbag. She had not hesitated to charge the campaign for a new wardrobe and her husband knew better than to argue. Since she was as tall as her five-foot-ten husband in her bare feet, her heels made her tower over the man. Her blond hair was frosted and cut short.

Maureen hated campaigning but loved the attention she got as the wife of the district attorney and candidate for governor and made a point of being in as many photographs with her husband as possible. While she laughed when one snarky reporter said 59

that she probably had measured the Governor’s Mansion for new curtains, she had, in fact, asked her staff to obtain pictures of the place so she could get ideas about how to redecorate.

That morning, she told her husband she would attend three church services, but no more. Her final service of the day was the 10:30 a.m. service at the First Episcopal Church of Scranton.

Her husband had to leave early for a special noon service at Mt. Moriah Baptist Church in Williamsport, a mostly black congregation. Maureen announced to her husband and his fat campaign chairman, Fine, she had no intention of attending such a service. Her dear mother, may she rest in peace, would roll over in her grave if she knew her daughter, a graduate of twelve years of parochial school and four years of Catholic college, was attending a Baptist church.

At 11:15 a.m., even though the Episcopal service was running late, Fine made a show of standing up and whispering in the ear of the district attorney. Sheehan pretended he did not want to leave until Fine pointed to his watch and whispered loudly they were running late. After a moment of commotion, Sheehan and his entourage stood up, the DA bowed his head graciously to the Reverend Canon Kermit Jones, and shrugged his shoulders as though he had no choice. He walked out shaking hands and apologizing to the parishioners. Outside the church, Sheehan and Fine waited for Maureen as they talked next to the new Chrysler 300 the campaign had purchased to drive him from stop to stop. They had specifically purchased the Chrysler as it was the largest and most comfortable car the campaign could get that was American-made and not a Cadillac or Lincoln.

“Jesus, Maureen, I need the black vote as well as the Episcopal vote. Would it be so hard for you to drive with us to Williamsport and fly the flag?”

“Look, I’ve been to church three times already today and I’ve had it. I even went with you to most of those synagogues yesterday. I’ve done my fair share of campaigning this weekend and I’m exhausted. And don’t forget,” she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty to make sure the campaign has enough funds. You had 60

better be right that no one will be able to trace this business about the cash or I will cut your balls off with a kitchen knife.”

Sheehan pretended to laugh as though his wife had just shared an intimacy or a funny story with him. He gave her a onearmed hug and then attempted to kiss her on the cheek, which she ducked in an ambiguous way that could have appeared to have been nothing more than bad timing. Fine looked at Sheehan and the DA shrugged.

“Okay, Maureen, you take care of that headache and I’ll see you tonight,” Sheehan said loudly enough for the gawkers, reporters, and well-wishers standing nearby to hear. “Give my love to the kids.” Sheehan’s youngest child was a sophomore at Villanova University and had not been home in two months.

They grabbed hands and smiled for the cameras, one of which was Sheehan’s campaign photographer, and the others from the Scranton newspaper and AP. As Sheehan and Fine climbed into the Chrysler, Maureen and Philip McBride got into the Sheehan family BMW. McBride, twenty-four years old and the veteran of a single failed congressional campaign, was Mrs. Sheehan’s personal assistant.

She had selected the tall, handsome Georgetown graduate herself, and McBride had taken the position because it was difficult to get a paying campaign job, and working for a man with a chance to become the governor of Pennsylvania would look good on his resume, no matter the outcome.

McBride caused some whispering among other members of the campaign who thought it was odd that Mrs. Sheehan’s aide was a male and not a female. Nevertheless, with his small amount of prior campaign experience and Maureen’s lack of interest, she argued that she needed political assistance, not someone to apply her makeup. That, in addition to the completely professional demeanor between the two of them, quieted most, but not all, of the chatter.

“Where to Mrs. S?” McBride asked Maureen who sat next to him in the passenger seat.

“57 Columbus Drive and step on it.” She kicked off her heels and settled back.

61

McBride noticed she stared straight ahead and glanced at her French manicure as he drove the car toward Interstate 81.

“Uh, are you sure? I took you there yesterday,” he said softly.

“Look, Philip,” she said sharply, “I’m sure. Yesterday I had to get the Moses off me. Today, I need to get the Jesus off me.”

McBride, who had grown up in Providence, Rhode Island in a large Catholic family, winced.

Maureen reached over and ran her hand up his right leg from his knee to his crotch. She stroked him for a moment until he responded as she knew the young man would. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” she said sweetly.

McBride looked at her as they sped along the highway. “My apartment it is,” he said with a weak smile.

“Did you buy that bottle of champagne I told you to get?”

“You’re the boss, Mrs. S. It’s in the fridge.”

“Call me Maureen,” she ordered.

“Maureen,” he said.

Maureen stroked him vigorously until he had a visible lump in his pants, and then she crossed her legs tightly and sat back with anticipation. She did not notice the drop of sweat that trickled down McBride’s neck.

62

11 10:30 a.m., Monday Mike’s office was engorged with stacks of banker’s boxes.

He finished going through a file and slapped it on top of the large mound he had just finished reviewing. He leaned back in his chair when the phone rang.

Mike answered mechanically, “Jacobs.”

“Is this Assistant Counsel Michael Jacobs?” asked a woman.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“My name is Rita. I’m First Deputy District Attorney Wilson’s secretary. Please hold for Mr. Wilson.”

Before Mike had a chance to speak, the phone clicked and a man’s voice came onto the line.

“Mr. Jacobs? This is Tim Wilson at the Luzerne County DA’s office. How are you today?”

“Okay,” Mike replied slowly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Wilson?”

“Michael—is it okay if I call you Mike?—let me get right to it. District Attorney Sheehan has been thinking about starting an environmental crimes unit in the Luzerne County District Attorney’s Office. You’ve been making quite a name for yourself down there in Harrisburg. I was reviewing several of the decisions of the Environmental Hearing Board where you were counsel for DEP. I must say your work has been exemplary,” asserted Wilson.

“Thank you for the compliment, but what does my record have to do with Mr. Sheehan?” asked Mike.

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“Well, Mr. Sheehan would like to meet with you. I would like to meet with you, too. You have a great academic record, you’ve been doing environmental law for three years, and you’re a local kid. Old Hills, right?”

“Yes, I grew up in Old Hills. But I’m kind of busy these days. Why would you want to meet with me?”

“Let me just come right out and say it. DA Sheehan wants you to head up the new Luzerne County environmental crimes unit. This would be great for us because we’d be getting a guy with solid environmental credentials as well as someone from this county, which we like. You’d have the opportunity to move back home and I think you’d find the salary package we are putting together would be much better than what you are getting now as an assistant counsel. Not only that, you can get some real courtroom experience in front of a jury, which I suspect you’re not exactly getting before the EHB. I’m sure your mother at the Golden Years Nursing Home would love to have you back too.”

“Well, this is all very flattering but I’m in the middle of really important stuff right now. Also, isn’t Mr. Sheehan running for governor? What happens if he wins?” Mike asked.

“Assuming DA Sheehan wins, and I am assuming he will win, then the first deputy DA becomes the acting district attorney.

That’s me. I think this is a terrific initiative and you would be working directly under me whether I was first deputy or the DA. We’re going to make this environmental crime unit happen— only the AG, Philly and Pittsburgh have anything remotely like it. We plan to have the preeminent environmental crime unit in the Commonwealth. Mike, you have solid environmental law credentials, and as deputy DA in charge of the environmental crime unit, well, let me just say it would be a terrific opportunity.”

“Mr. Wilson, I have to say you’ve taken me completely by surprise. I’m very flattered by your offer. I’m in the middle of a gigantic new case and at the very least I have to think about it and consider all of the implications. Can I get back to you in a couple of weeks?”

“Look, I’m sure a smart young guy like you can understand that a man like DA Sheehan is moving quickly on a number of different things for a whole host of reasons. I need you to get 64

back in touch with me next week. We have reasons for wanting to do this no later than early October. Also, it’s not like you’re the only environmental lawyer in Pennsylvania who’s upwardly mobile. We have a short list and as much as we like you, there are several other up-and-comers we can talk with. I’d like you to call me back no later than Wednesday and let me know whether you want to come in for an interview with us.”

Mike slowly placed the receiver back on the telephone. He had been taken completely by surprise. He looked around his shabby office and at the boxes and piles of paper. After a few minutes, he walked to Roger’s office and tapped on the closed door. There was no answer, so he slowly opened the door and peered in.

Roger was leaning back in his chair, his mane of white hair hanging straight back, and his mouth wide open. At first, Mike thought the senior lawyer was not breathing until he took a deep breath, snoring loudly. Suddenly, Roger opened his eyes and saw Mike standing at the door.

“You planning to rob me or are you just admiring my office?” inquired Roger.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…disturb you.”

“No, you didn’t disturb me. I was just sitting here thinking.

Were you looking for something?”

Mike closed the door behind him. Both guest chairs were cluttered with stacks of red weld files.

“Just move those,” Roger said.

Mike rearranged some of the papers on a chair and sat.

“You’re not going to believe this, but I just got a call from Sheehan’s first deputy DA, a guy named Wilson. I think they’re offering me a job.”

“Seriously? Were you looking?” Roger asked, blinking.

“No, not at all. I suppose like everyone else from time to time I think about getting a higher paying job but I haven’t been looking. That’s why I was so surprised getting the call.”

Mike described the call to Roger who listened intently.

“You know, one really weird thing about the call was that this Wilson guy knew a lot of stuff about me,” Mike said. “I 65

suppose it’s easy enough to figure out where I’m from, but he knew which nursing home my mother is in. Isn’t that odd?”

“It is, but keep in mind they have a lot of investigative resources we can only dream about. So what are you going to do?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”

“Here’s some free advice. I know you’re not political, but this is a really political season. Anyone who’s perceived as not being a team player is likely to be kicked off the squad. I’d keep this to yourself and make sure that Mac Prince doesn’t find out about it. I expect you’d be out of a job before the end of the day if they knew you were even being considered for anything associated with Governor Miller’s arch enemy.”

Mike looked at him blankly. “But I didn’t invite the call.”

“Doesn’t matter—appearances are everything.” Roger paused and looked at Mike who had slumped in his chair and was looking at the floor.

“Okay then, let’s go over the case,” Roger said cheerfully.

Mike and Roger spent the next half-hour going through their findings. Finally, Roger said, “I’m going to need you to go back up to Wilkes-Barre later this week to meet with Zelinsky. Prince has really been pressuring me to get this investigation moving toward a conclusion and I have to focus on my trial for next week. They want results a good week or so before the end of October. That’s two weeks, three at the most. We need to focus in on Big Bill and a couple of other primary suspects. We still have to figure out how that phenol, wherever it’s coming from, ended up in the mine tunnel before it discharged into the river.” *** A man sat at a cheap desk in a room roughly the size of Mike’s small office. A small speaker box and computer monitor were on the desk in front of him. The man’s head was tightly shaved in a military-style crew cut and he was dressed in a shortsleeved white shirt and cheap necktie. He wore a shoulder-rig holster with a Colt .38. His suit coat hung over the back of the 66

secretary’s chair on which he sat. Several half-filled cups of coffee were on the desk along with a cell phone, a Harrisburg Patriot-News newspaper, and a small black notebook. The office smelled of must.

He took notes while he listened. When the conversation was over, he pushed a number on his phone.

“Yeah, it’s me. As soon as the kid finished talking with Wilson, he went into Alden’s office. Looks like he’s not particularly enthusiastic about going to work for the DA. Anyway, he just gave a whole rundown on the entire case start to finish. He has a good memory and gave a great summary. Yeah, that dictation software did a pretty good job of transcribing it. As soon as I clean it up, I’ll email it to you.”

The man hung up, then stood and stretched. He adjusted his holster and walked to the window. The air vent next to it had been painted white years ago, but now was grey, black and covered with dust. The blinds had been drawn. He pulled apart two of them and looked out at a railroad yard with boxcars moving in opposite directions. He watched the westbound train as it went underneath an old highway bridge. An old water tower had the word Railroad painted on it. After a minute watching the trains, he sat down on the chair, adjusted the volume on the speaker so he could keep tabs on it, picked up the newspaper, and began to read.

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12 6:10 a.m., Tuesday Enriche Veleo was an unlikely executioner. He was the kind of man who would sooner catch a bug in his house and toss it outside than smash it. He didn’t own a gun and had never raised a hand against anyone. No one would have guessed the profession of the short and dark-complected man in the plain blue coveralls with a patch over his breast pocket that read “Ricky.”

He did not have a menacing appearance, and there was nothing sinister about him. In fact, he was rather ordinary. Quiet and restrained, he would have been angry if someone had accused him of cruelty. The last man one would expect to pull the switch coldly, without malice or a second thought, was about to do so.

Veleo fixed the hose from the old oil tanker directly into the opening of the borehole. As he worked, he wiped the sweat from his forehead onto his sleeve, made a few adjustments to the controls of his rig and, after glancing around, pulled the lever.

4,500 gallons of venomous black sludge—phenol, waste oil, TCE, TCA, benzene, PCBs, and some water mixed in for good measure—spewed into the borehole.

The shaft had been shored up with an iron casing that was cemented into the unconsolidated gravel, coal mine waste, and fill near the surface. The brew poured into the cased opening, down past the man-made rubble, and below the entombed topsoil and subsoil. The short casing gave out at twenty feet as the shaft itself continued past strata of ancient, packed metamorphic rock.

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As the black excreta vanished, it would return momentarily, as if the mouth of the earth was stifling back vomit, until it found a fracture in the rock and spread laterally away from the well.

With continuous pressure pushing the liquid through the hose and gravity pulling it toward the depths of the earth, it continued surging down the borehole. At a depth of seventy-five feet, now in solid bedrock, the waste flowed past tiny fingers of anthracite coal, too thin and fractured ever to have been mined. Down and down it streamed, past contorted strata of shale, anthracite, and sandstone bedrock in layers that were as wrinkled as the fat on Big Bill McClatchy’s neck. As the truck drained, Veleo stood twenty paces away and lit a match, repeatedly puffing on the Lucky Strike, annoyed the match would not readily cooperate with his efforts to light the cigarette.

At nearly 250 feet below the surface of the ground, had anyone been there to observe it and had there been any light to see it, one would have seen the poison as it spewed out of the borehole and splattered into the remains of the lateral workings of the old Excelsior No. 12 Mine. Excelsior had quit mining in this vicinity in 1954. Over a half-century earlier, when the surface was still mostly poor farmland and the miners labored with shovels and pickaxes deep underground for the precious anthracite coal, an Irish mine foreman named Gallagher decided his men needed an air shaft. A surface crew drilled the three-inch opening to ensure that the poor souls who toiled in this mine had a semblance of fresh air, nearly a mile from the main shaft.

Gallagher’s selfless efforts for his men were thus rewarded.

While Veleo tried to decide whether he should first pay his outstanding MasterCard bill or his electric bill, the liquid splashed from the air vent borehole into the old workings, joining the stream of putrid water that trickled through the remains of the No. 12 shaft. At one time the horizontal shaft was nearly four feet high—tall enough that a man could walk hunched over in a perpetual state of kyphosis or, if he were lucky, he could ride on one of the mule-drawn rail cars that brought men into the mine and moved the coal out. Since the mine had closed, however, after years of cave-ins, if anyone were insane enough to enter the 69

workings today, he would hardly find a location more than three feet high anywhere. The ceiling had so thoroughly collapsed in places that only sewage and chemical wastewater could work its way through the collapsed shaft, roof rock, and rotted support timbers.

The old miners at No. 12 knew how to dig a mine shaft, so this one was tilted ever so slightly to allow any water that entered the mine to drain out. Now, nearly a century after the tunnel had been constructed, and a half-century after it was abandoned, the old mine continued gravity-draining toward the Susquehanna River near Pittston, exactly as the clever Welsh mine engineers had planned. The slug of toxic water flowed as though in a sewer pipe—which, in a sense, it was—until it met the main shaft of the Excelsior Mine. Nearly ten feet high until it too had subsided, this passageway contained the combined wastewaters of dozens of mine shafts all abandoned after the catastrophic Knox Mine Disaster of 1959.

The Blue Danube this was not. Were it not for the severe drought the region endured that summer, the mine tunnel would have been filled with a considerable current of mostly groundwater. The 4,500 gallons from the tanker, however, made up most of the volume of flow on this September morning. The stinking mess of water in the tunnel contained brown shit water, used condoms, ground wastes from garbage disposals, bloody waters from doctors’ offices and medical facilities, overflows from leaking sewers, coal residue that converted into sulfuric acid, oil and crud from hundreds of French drains in garages and basements where the workers and homeowners did not think twice about disposing their used oil, industrial cleaning wastes, direct discharges from hundreds of houses whose residents were grateful to have never paid for sewer service, and now 4,500 gallons of highly toxic waste from the small industrial operation in North Jersey whose owner had paid Bayonne Trucking and Cartage Company the cut-rate price of $75 per gallon to dispose of his contaminated swill, no questions asked. Bayonne Trucking threw in the phony state and federal paperwork gratis.

The flow was enhanced by naturally-occurring groundwater that slightly diluted the toxic brew but also carried it along as it 70

gathered some volume from other mine shafts, boreholes, and broken sewer pipes. Unknown to most surface dwellers was the truth that most of the mine shafts and workings in Pennsylvania’s Wyoming Valley were interconnected, the result of either inept or illegal mining practices. Thus, the mine water of virtually the entire anthracite region in northeastern Pennsylvania confluenced as a River Styx.

Eventually, the water, if you could still call it that, reacquired daylight as it poured unfiltered into the Susquehanna. The dumpers counted on the dilution of the toxic waste with billions of gallons of relatively clean river water. It didn’t bother them that the water flowed through scenic gaps in the Appalachian Mountains, past Wilkes-Barre, Berwick, Bloomsburg, Sunbury, Harrisburg, and hundreds of other cities and villages, crossing the Mason-Dixon Line, until it reached Havre de Grace in Maryland, where it mixed into the Chesapeake Bay itself. Certainly, it never occurred to Veleo. All along the way, the water encountered the intakes of dozens of drinking water filtration plants.

Before he left the trucking terminal in Bayonne, Veleo’s boss, Vincent Castratorio, gave him a paper bag containing forty-five $100 bills for the owner of the borehole. The bag sat on the floor of Veleo’s cab while he stood at a distance, smoking a cigarette, as his truck excreted into the shaft. In addition, for each load, Castratorio was forced to make various and sundry payoffs. A state inspector received a package containing $2,500 cash for each shipment, along with a strong admonition neither to deposit it all at once nor to buy anything flashy. The local building inspector received an envelope containing a mere $250, but he was a douchebag, and Vinnie figured he would never have the balls to check with the state inspector to see if he was being ripped off. There were the usual and ordinary expenses, like upkeep of the terminal, maintenance of the truck, diesel fuel, tolls, Veleo’s and his other employees’ salaries, attorney’s fees, and the like. Then there was the mandatory split with the boys from New York City, but that was a reasonably fair fifty-fifty.

For his effort, after all expenses, Vinny pocketed about $45,000, tax free, per load.

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When Veleo finished pumping the waste, he adroitly coiled and secured the hose back into the truck, dumped the residue into the borehole, and replaced the metal cap over the shaft. Then he walked to the nearby building, shopping bag in hand, with a paper receipt from the truck register proving he had delivered 4,500 gallons. Veleo knew what was in the bag, but was smart and never touched the money himself. He knocked on the door.

“Yeah?”

Veleo had difficulty seeing the features of the big man inside the darkened room. He did, however, notice the huge .45 he wore on his wide hip.

“Yo, I’m done,” Veleo said, handing him the slip from the meter on the truck.

The man glanced at the slip, crumpled it while he made a face at the driver, then held out his hand. Veleo was short and slim, and his dark hair stuck out at odd angles under the dirty green, baseball-style cap that had “Bayonne Trucking” embroidered on it. As a man who operated successfully as the servant of his Anglo jefes, Veleo dutifully handed the bag to the man without hesitation.

The man looked in the bag and then nonchalantly tossed it on a chair in the corner of the room. “You come back next week?”

“Don’t know. Wherever the boss sends me, I’ll be there.”

A cell phone in the man’s pocket rang. He fumbled with the phone to answer it, started talking, and after a minute, he looked at Veleo and pointed to the door. Veleo quietly closed the door as he turned and left the building. He got into the empty tanker and headed back to Bayonne. Checking his rearview mirror, he breathed a sigh of relief as he crossed the narrow bridge in Easton and was back in Jersey.

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13 5:15 p.m., Tuesday Mike’s stomach growled and his head hurt. He had gone without food since late Sunday afternoon and was approaching the twenty-four-hour mark on his Yom Kippur fast. The observance—he found it difficult to call it a holiday—would not be over until close to 8 p.m., an hour after sundown, on this September evening. Temple Beth Emuna had a small “breakthe-fast” snack immediately after services and afterward, he figured he would go home for a bowl of cereal and bed.

He listened to the cantor, quite impressed with her ability to sing and chant loudly and remain on her feet for these many hours. As the time crept by, he noticed the crowd had thinned considerably since the morning, when he had first arrived, not early, but fashionably late. Still, there were many people in the sanctuary.

Mike had returned to Harrisburg on Saturday so he could do some of the massive amounts of paperwork that had piled up in his desk and deal with the emails that clogged his inbox and demanded his attention. He stayed in Harrisburg, rather than return to Wilkes-Barre, for Yom Kippur. He looked around and noticed the families—this was a Conservative congregation— and felt sad he was alone. His mother was in the nursing home, his father dead for many years, and his older brother—a rabbi— busy with his own congregation in Chicago.

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Mike concentrated on the prayer book and tried to stir the old passion. He felt it for a time during the last years of high school when he convinced himself he wanted to attend the Jewish Theological Seminary and become a rabbi like his brother, but it seemed like the fire simply died out within a few short months of arriving in New York and midway through his freshman year he began making arrangements to transfer out of the seminary.

As he sat and tried to concentrate on the prayers, he wondered where the enthusiasm for his faith had gone.

After a while, Mike focused on his life over the past several years since coming to Harrisburg. He had strong feelings about protecting the environment and was proud he had been selected to work for DEP. He expected to be their ace environmental litigator, a hot shot, the whiz kid. While he had secured his dream job right out of law school, he was not exactly hitting the ball out of the park. In baseball terminology, he was a so-so .220 hitter. He was expendable. Not destined for the record books. He worked on a number of dull cases that never seemed to capture his attention, and his work showed it.

Like every other mediocre hitter, Mike had his occasional flash of greatness. Once he won a significant pre-trial motion and when he read the court’s order, standing in front of his secretary’s desk, he proclaimed, “This is better than sex!” Jenny, who was passing by, gave him a dirty look and reminded him of that line the morning after every one of his dates.

The mine tunnel case was big, it was the biggest case on which he had ever worked, and he pondered why he had been selected for such an important case. Perhaps it was to give him the opportunity to excel, although he wondered if it could have been because Secretary Capozzi secretly hoped he would screw up.

Fortunately, he was second-chairing with a truly gifted environmental lawyer. Roger Alden had been a secondgeneration member of the legendary Strike Force—a group of young lawyers who started the DEP Office of Chief Counsel in the early 1970s. Roger was not one of the original ten, but

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he joined DEP in 1980 and was the only one left at DEP with direct ties to that legendary group. The others had moved on to the EPA, the Department of Justice, and one or two to private practice. One had been killed in the line of duty and another on a motorcycle. Working with Roger would give him the opportunity to learn at the side of a master. Mike was concerned, however, that Roger seemed to have grown tired and less conscientious.

He hoped it was just that Roger, too, was bored with his cases.

As 6:00 p.m. approached, Mike’s head began to pound and he decided he needed some water and an Advil. Although even water officially was taboo during the fast, he had given up caring about it and only vowed he would not eat food until the fast was over. He left his book on his seat and quietly walked from the sanctuary to find the water fountain in the lobby. There he saw Mrs. Kane, an elderly woman whom he had met when he first started attending Temple Beth Emuna.

“Michael, how are you holding up?” she asked.

“Fine, Mrs. Kane. I just need a mouthful of water.”

“So, do you have somewhere to go to break the fast?”

Mike thought about making up a story, but decided that was not exactly the right thing to do in the middle of the Day of Atonement. “Well, I was going to go to my apartment and have something to eat.”

“Alone? No! You should come to our house and join us.

We’re having lox and bagels, kugel, scrambled eggs, quiche, and I baked a couple of nice cakes just for tonight.”

Mike’s mouth started watering just thinking about the food.

It certainly sounded a lot better than a bowl of cereal. “Well, I wouldn’t want to impose. Will anyone be there other than you and Mr. Kane?”

“Just my son Arnold and his wife.”

Mike had learned the hard way to be careful about putting himself into situations that could encourage someone to try to fix him up with a daughter, niece, granddaughter, or other female relative. After arriving in Harrisburg, he decided there must have been a neon sign placed over his head that read:

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Single Jewish Lawyer! Great marriage potential! No attachments! Perfect son-in-law material! Hurry and fix him up before you miss your chance!!!

Having grown up in a small town he should have known better, but after moving to Harrisburg, he accepted the first fixed-up date that was sent his way. The girl was the niece of a woman at Temple Beth Emuna. She was a nice girl, but it was an awkward date. The two had no connection. Mike realized if the date had gone miserably, word would have spread among the female Jewish community and he would never again date another woman until he fled town. He let her down gently and vowed never to accept another fix-up. The negative side of his promise was that Mike found himself alone more often than he would have liked.

Mrs. Kane, however, had not said anything about a niece or a granddaughter, so he felt reasonably safe. “Okay, Mrs. Kane, I’ll come over right after shul.” *** Following services, he drove to the Kane home overlooking a small lake in the Uptown section of Harrisburg. Mr. and Mrs. Kane and their daughter-in-law Marge were busy helping get ready for the meal, while Mike sat in the living room with the son, Arnold, a sixty-year-old owner of a paint factory in a small town outside of Harrisburg.

“So, you planning on working for the state forever?” Arnold asked.

“No, I think I’ll be with the Commonwealth for a little while longer, then I’ll probably go into private practice.”

“That’s good. My experience has been that most of the lawyers working for the state are lazy or they’re scum. They’re leeches sucking the lifeblood out of what little business we have left here in Harrisburg. Do you get involved with the Department of Revenue?”

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Mike sensed this might be the source of the younger Kane’s anger. “No, I don’t even know anyone who works there right now,” Mike lied. It immediately occurred to him Yom Kippur was only over for a half hour and he had already said his first lie.

“I do environmental law for DEP.” “DEP? Those DEP bastards cited me for a TCE violation. We had a small spill. Just cleaning fluid, you know, safe as anything.

One of the guys in the plant, a big jerk union organizer, reported it to DEP. It cost me a $5,000 fine for not reporting the spill and I had to pay almost $10,000 for an environmental report and a cleanup. It was like a gallon of nothing and it cost me fifteen thousand bucks! Do you do that kind of work?” Kane demanded.

Mrs. Kane called them from the dining room to advise the meal was being served. Mike realized she saved him from lying a second time within an hour of the Day of Atonement.

He sat where he was directed, noticing there was an extra seat for a sixth guest. He did not have to wait long for his dinner companion as he heard the door open and Mrs. Kane jumped up and ran to her guest—a cute young woman who appeared a couple of years younger than Mike, with short brown hair and wearing a dress. He guessed she was another relative. The Kanes all got out of their seats. This was Mr. and Mrs. Kane’s granddaughter, the only one of Arnold and Marge’s children who still lived in Harrisburg.

They were introduced and Mike held out his hand to Nicky Kane. She shook it quickly and sat next to him, barely turning his way. Mike immediately felt betrayed, but realized he only had to get past supper. Then he could run for the door. At least he would get a decent meal out of it. *** After the dinner ended, all four elder Kanes picked up dishes and quickly headed for the kitchen, leaving Mike and Nicky alone in the dining room.

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“Oh Jesus, can you believe that?” Nicky said immediately watching her family flee the room.

“Um, yes, actually. Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would be here. I never intended to allow myself to get into a fix-up situation.”

“Well, me too,” Nicky replied. “Look, I’m sure you’re nice and all, but I need to make something clear.” Nicky leaned in close to Mike and whispered, “I’m not into dudes. Do you understand?” She straightened back up in her chair. “I’ve come out to them and they’ve all heard me tell them that, but PopPop and Mom-Mom are so adorable, they simply don’t get it.

My parents just think I can’t get a date with a guy. So I have to endure embarrassing situations like this one from time to time.”

“Thank God,” Mike exclaimed smiling at her, provoking a curious look from Nicky. “Look, just for the record, I asked your grandmother and she didn’t tell me you were coming, so I’m not here to meet you. I really came for the food, not to find a date.

I can tell you one thing though, now that I know, I think I can finally relax and enjoy dessert.”

“Me too,” Nicky said, smiling.

They were both laughing as the parents and grandparents came back into the room carrying the cakes promised earlier in the evening. Mike noticed them all looking at each other and they seemed pleased the kids were laughing together.

After that, Mike actually enjoyed himself with Nicky and the two of them chatted amiably. It turned out Nicky also worked for the state, in the Corporation Bureau. Mike even lingered longer than he had anticipated. Later, as he prepared to leave, Mike thanked his hosts and Nicky walked him to the door. He held out his hand, but Nicky threw her arms around him and hugged him, then gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. Mike was shocked.

With her back to her family and her hands still on Mike’s arms, Nicky whispered, “Thanks for letting me do that. I really love Pop-Pop and Mom-Mom. That was for them.”

Mike smiled. “Well, I promise I’ll never ask you out on a date, but I hope I bump into you some time in town. You’re a very interesting woman.”

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He waved goodbye to the family, noticing the broad smiles on their faces, and then strolled back to his car and the short drive to his apartment.

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14 4:20 p.m., Thursday Mike was still working through the pile of files on his desk when the phone rang. “Jacobs.”

“Mike, you really have to find a new way to answer your telephone,” Sherry laughed. “You sound so formal.”

“Well, I’m in the office and I thought I was supposed to sound formal.”

“I’ll see if I can’t loosen you up a bit at dinner tonight,” Sherry said. “We are still on for dinner, right?”

Mike thought about his dinner with Patty just a few nights earlier. If he was dating Patty, then perhaps he should not go out to dinner with Sherry. On the other hand, he was not sure if he was dating Patty or if they had only had dinner. The kiss was another matter. He did not know where that was going to lead.

Then, he thought, tonight it will only be dinner. Why shouldn’t he have dinner with a fellow colleague, another government attorney? If it was wrong for him to have dinner with Sherry then maybe he shouldn’t have lunch with Jenny. But that was ridiculous, he reasoned, Jenny was his friend. Finally, he decided his relationship with Sherry was going to be much the same.

“How about if I pick you up at six?” he replied. ***

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He parked his car just a few blocks from the Capitol. Sherry lived in the first floor of a row house on Briggs Street that had been divided into apartments. He was wearing the same blue suit from the sale rack, white shirt, and striped necktie he had been wearing all day. Sherry opened the door and smiled. She was beautiful in her silk blouse, wool skirt, and heels.

“Don’t you look dashing!” Sherry said. She reached up— Mike was a good six inches taller—and smoothed his lapel.

They hugged quickly. “There’s a nice Italian restaurant over on Third Street near the Capitol. Let’s walk.”

Sherry closed the door and locked it. As they started toward the restaurant, she took his arm in hers and they walked along the brick-paved sidewalk chatting about their day. The air was starting to feel fall-like and had a hint of crispness. Maple leaves had started to fall, releasing their fragrance to the city streets.

Mike did not mention the phone call he received from Sheehan’s deputy DA. When they sat down to dinner, the waiter asked them if they wanted drinks.

“Yes, I’ll have a martini. Make mine a Bombay, rocks, dry and dirty. How about you, Mike?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on having a cocktail.”

“So you’re going to make a lady drink alone? Really, Mike?”

Sherry pouted.

“Okay, make it two, but no olive juice in mine.”

Sherry looked into Mike’s dark brown eyes and said, “Until I moved to Harrisburg to take this job, I always lived in Philly.

I guess this is the farthest from home I’ve ever been for any amount of time. I had decent grades at Bryn Mawr, but what really hurt me were my LSAT scores. I really hoped to get into an Ivy League law school but my LSATs just were not good enough. I got into several law schools, but the only one in Philly was Temple. I decided to stay in the city, rather than go to Detroit or Albany. Temple was okay but I didn’t even make law review.”

“Well, it looks to me like you did all right, you are working for the Attorney General,” replied Mike.

“I’d been hoping for a job in one of the big Philly law firms, not a government job in Harrisburg. I know I can do the work 81

and was really disappointed when I got no job offers from any of the big firms. Thankfully, my father has been involved in Philadelphia politics and was a big contributor to both the governor’s and AG’s campaigns. I don’t harbor any illusions about how I got this job.”

As they talked, Sherry caught the eye of the waiter and pointed to their drinks. A minute later he returned with refills and shortly thereafter, he came back with their dinners. Sherry had ordered a salad and a side of pasta. Mike ordered salmon.

“I have a terrific inexpensive Chianti that will go with both of your dinners,” offered the waiter.

Before Mike could decline, Sherry said, “Thanks, we’ll take a bottle.”

Sherry continued as they ate. “I really do want to get back to Philly soon. I’m hoping I can use this job as a stepping stone to get into a big firm. How about you, Mike? It seems as though I’m doing all the talking.”

“Well, I grew up in Old Hills which is sort of a suburb of Wilkes-Barre. After high school, I actually thought about becoming a Rabbi—I wanted to follow in my big brother’s footsteps, so I went to the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York. I guess I decided in about five minutes the rabbi’s life wasn’t for me, so I finished up the year and transferred to Penn State and spent three years in State College. It was nice there, kind of a fantasyland. I was lucky to take some earth science courses in physical geography and had a really good advisor, Professor Larkin, who suggested I might be interested in environmental law. I found some environmental lawyers to talk with and was really turned on by the idea of being one.

Everyone agreed a physical geography or environmental science background would be terrific for an environmental lawyer.”

The waiter came over to their table and he filled the glasses with red wine. They clinked their glasses and drank.

“I guess I had some sort of romantic idea about living in Vermont and it so happens that Vermont Law School has a great program in environmental law. I landed in Vermont and three years later, I lucked out and got a job with DEP.” 82

Without looking up from her salad, Sherry said, “So are you working on anything interesting these days?”

“Well…” Mike moved his head closer to Sherry’s. “You tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine.”

Sherry put down her fork, moved her chair closer to Mike’s, and leaned toward him. “I know you heard about the DA from Wilkes-Barre, Sheehan? The guy who’s running for governor?

Get this: His wife Maureen is the executive director of something called the North East Fund. Technically it’s a 501(c)(3) organization and a charity. They’ve accumulated several million dollars in it and she’s the only full-time employee. Based on the records we’ve been able to uncover, she supposedly draws a salary of $30,000 a year. Also, it looks like a large number of the gifts to the charity come from shady characters, the kind a pol would not want to have listed anywhere as contributing to his campaign. Something’s going on, but no one has made any link yet between Sheehan’s gubernatorial campaign and his wife’s charity. The whole thing stinks.”

Mike was listening to her and nodded as she spoke. The entire time, however, he was thinking about how pretty she was.

Her lips and mouth were small but not too small, and her pale white face was perfectly proportioned. He loved her brown hair and brown eyes. He was not sure whether her hair was naturally curly or if she styled it, but it was lovely and long and bounced on her shoulders when she turned her head. As she talked, she remained close and he breathed her perfume. He was well on his way to being drunk.

“Okay, Mike, show me yours,” Sherry said, laughing her infectious laugh.

Mike took a quick look around to make sure no one was listening. Then he said, “You may have heard about that mess in the Susquehanna River, the spill from the tunnel ten days ago?

Two kids died. Anyway, a really strong chemical called phenol was dumped in a borehole not too far from where the tunnel meets the river. We’re monitoring the outfall and a day ago there was another surge of chemicals. No one was injured, but we think it was another dumper. We really have to find the bastards 83

who are doing this soon before someone is hurt again. That’s my big case these days. We’ve been working very hard trying to find the dumper and where the perps dumped,” Mike paused.

“You know, the borehole probably is located in Luzerne County, Sheehan’s county.”

“Maybe someone is trying to make him look bad?” Sherry asked.

“Maybe.”

They continued talking until they finished the bottle of Chianti, then they declined dessert. Mike paid the check, being careful to tip twenty percent, and they strolled back to Sherry’s place in the chilly evening air. Mike had placed his coat around Sherry’s shoulders and they held onto each other for balance.

When they reached Sherry’s apartment, she unlocked the door and walked in while Mike stood at the doorway.

“Aren’t you coming in? I think you might need some coffee before you drive home.” Sherry asserted. She held out her hand until Mike took it in his.

Her living room was fairly large and the kitchen and dining area were right behind it. She had modern furniture and the entire place was tastefully decorated. Mike sunk into the sofa while Sherry started the coffeemaker. “I’m going to get out of these work clothes. Don’t go anywhere.”

Mike gazed around the room, looking at the prints on the wall, framed pictures of what appeared to be her family. When she came back, she was wearing jeans with rips across the legs and thighs, a washed-out denim shirt with the top buttons undone, and bare feet. She sat next to Mike.

“That’s better, don’t you think?” Sherry said softly.

Sherry was sitting with one leg crossed under her and her knee touching Mike’s leg. Mike noticed her toenails were painted red.

They continued talking for several minutes and slowly moved closer together. Sherry’s face was inches from Mike’s.

Without really thinking, Mike said, “Would you mind if I kissed you?”

Sherry burst out laughing, then pressed both of her hands on Mike’s upper thigh. “Would you mind if I banged you?” She 84

leaned into him and kissed him deeply, pushing him back onto the arm of the sofa as she pressed her small, strong body against his. *** At 5:30 on Wednesday morning, Mike awoke in Sherry’s bed. The radiator was on and the room was very warm and still dark, although the light from the bathroom was on and shined across the bed. His head throbbed. The sheet was down around his ankles and he realized he was completely naked.

Sherry, also naked, faced away from him breathing long deep breaths as she slept. He looked at her trim form in the half-light and through the fog of his hangover tried to remember the events of the night. Quietly, he got out of bed to go to the bathroom.

As he stood, he noticed two opened foil condom packets on the nightstand They were empty. He vaguely recalled tearing them open. They weren’t his brand. He desperately tried to remember the details of the night, but all he could recall was a whirlwind of alcohol, laughter, and sex. He crushed the packets in his hand to toss them into the trash and then stepped on something—a third condom wrapper. He shook his head in amazement as he picked it up and headed to the bathroom.

After taking a leak, he returned to the bedroom. Sherry was still sleeping but had turned and was now facing toward him.

Naked, Mike wandered around the apartment looking for his clothes. His pants and underwear were on the floor under the sofa near his socks and shoes, Sherry’s jeans, and her denim shirt. Mike’s necktie was on the floor against the wall and his suit jacket was in a ball on the sofa. On the coffee table was a bottle of Godiva Chocolate Liqueur—still open—and two empty water glasses. He picked up his clothes and continued looking for his shirt. He seriously considered getting dressed quickly and quietly and going home.

Mike walked back to the bedroom and saw Sherry in bed with the covers pulled up to her neck. Her brown eyes were open and she was looking at him.

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“You weren’t trying to sneak out on me, were you?”

“No, I had to take a leak and then I thought I would try to find my clothes. Someone threw them all over your apartment last night.”

Mike innocently held the pile of clothes he found in front of him as though it was evidence of his honorable intentions.

Sherry took the sheet and held it open, revealing her slim, nude body.

“Why don’t you drop that on the chair, get back in bed, and warm me up?” Sherry held out her hands.

Mike dropped his clothes on a chair and joined her. She wrapped her legs around his, rubbed his back with her free hand, and said, “There, that’s a lot warmer, isn’t it?”

A moment later they were kissing. A few minutes later, Sherry giggled as she tossed another condom wrapper onto the floor.

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15 10:00 a.m., Friday Mike sat at his desk and rubbed his temples. When he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of his night with Sherry, reminding him of the sexy and happy night he had spent with her. He could not recall a time he had been with a woman who was as forward or adventurous as she was.

When he and Sherry had finally uncoupled, he went home and threw his clothes in the hamper. Then he took a long shower and put on a fresh suit, getting to the office about an hour late. As he sat in his chair, he looked up and saw Jenny slowly walking past his door, looking in.

“So, how was your date?” asked Jenny.

“Fine,” Mike said pretending to be looking at papers on his desk.

“Are you just getting in?” Jenny inquired, checking her watch.

“Yeah, I had a few things to do this morning before I got into the office.”

“Uh-huh,” Jenny said, leaning against his doorpost. “Well, are you going to tell me about your date?”

“A gentleman never talks,” Mike declared trying to sound conclusive and looking at a paper in front of him.

“Well, girlfriends do. How about if I tell you in a day or so how your date went? Just tell me one thing: Which was better, winning that silly little motion, or your date with my friend?”

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Mike shook his head and waved the back of his hand toward Jenny who laughed and returned to her office.

A few minutes later, Roger came in and said, “I see you’re finally here.”

“What, you too?”

“Ah, to be young and in love. I hear you had a hot date last night with that pretty girl from the AG’s office.”

“What? Does everyone know about my love life?” Mike demanded.

“No, just the people Jenny was talking to, which would be most of the lawyers and secretaries in the office. I think Mr. Patel down in the administration office may not know yet,” Roger said grinning.

Mike’s head cleared. “How did that trial go? Any indication if you won?”

“Well, we still have to file post-hearing briefs in a couple of weeks and I may need to enlist you for that, but I’m feeling very good about the case,” Roger said. “Look, I don’t want to intrude on your social life, but I’ve got to send you back to WilkesBarre. The documents you found are pointing in the direction of several perps and I need you and Zelinsky to start interviewing people. I’d like you back up there tomorrow morning to begin the interviews. Prince is hoping for answers in less than two weeks and while I may be able to hold him off for a few days, we have to give him something by the beginning of the beginning of October.”

“No sweat. I can head up there tonight and get started very early tomorrow morning. I’ll stay over at my mother’s house.

“Something else,” Roger offered. “when I feel the way you look, I drink as much water as I can hold and take four Advil every four hours. Works like a charm.”

After Roger left, Mike decided to heed the older man’s advice. He filled his mug with water and drank it down. Then he refilled it, returned to his office, and went back to his files.

Mike had separated the manifest files into three piles.

One had files with generators that were well-known, national companies that used reputable waste haulers. He transferred this 88

pile into several of the empty banker’s boxes surrounding his desk. It was the largest of the groups and, he felt, was least likely to yield suspects.

The second pile was for generators that also were not likely to be the bad guys. These companies had no record with DEP but were smaller, less well-known companies. In this pile, he also included the manifests of well-known, reputable generators who used transporters that were not very well-known. He reasoned these generators were likely willing to pay the requisite amount needed to dispose of the waste and had no reason to believe they would pay for unlawful disposal. Alternatively, he hoped the transporters would charge a legitimate rate to dispose of the waste, which would scare off any unscrupulous generators. He kept these separated from the first pile since it was still somewhat possible that either the generators or the transporters might be trying to get away with something. The second pile was about a foot high. He took that pile and pushed it to the back of his desk.

Files of generators or transporters that he, Roger, or Zelinsky considered shady ended up in pile number three. These were outfits that had been cited or fined in the past, that had a bad reputation, or had individuals working for them who were of questionable character. At about six inches high, pile number three was the smallest.

Despite the fact Mike felt any of the generators or transporters in the first two piles could potentially be responsible, he decided to focus his efforts on the transporters in pile number three. In his two short years with DEP, he had seen some of the country’s largest companies try to get away with saving a few dollars in disposal costs. They only had time to focus their efforts on a limited number of companies, however, so pile number three would be the focus of the investigation, at least until after the election. He opened a document on the computer and entered the names and addresses of all of the generators from pile number three. On another document, he entered the names and addresses of the transporters. Finally, he entered the names and locations of the disposal facilities for the hazardous wastes.

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The majority of the generators were located in northern New Jersey with a handful from the Philly vicinity. Since the remaining generators came from a wide variety of locations, he decided to focus his efforts for now on the New Jersey generators. He pulled out a New Jersey roadmap he kept in his desk and marked the locations of the generators. On the map, he used a red marker putting bullet marks over the cities where the waste came from—Bayonne, Jersey City, Elizabeth, and Union, as well as Staten Island in New York. Mostly they centered around Bayonne.

Then he did the same for the transporters, this time using a blue pen. When he was done, the map had a lot of red and blue dots concentrated on Bayonne.

While he was working on the list of the destinations of the wastes, his telephone rang. He reached over the papers and picked up the receiver.

“Jacobs,” he said absentmindedly.

“I thought I cured you of that last night,” Sherry said laughing.

“Hi, Sherry. I really did intend to figure out a new way to answer the phone. I guess I was just preoccupied.”

“Thinking about me, I hope.”

“No. I mean yes. I mean, when I wasn’t working I was thinking about you.”

“You’re such a liar,” she said laughing. “And right after Yom Kippur, too. Look, I’m heading home to Philly this afternoon, but I was thinking we might have dinner again early next week, maybe Monday or Tuesday. I really did have a good time with you last evening…night…this morning.”

“I’d like to get together again with you too,” Mike said.

“Roger was just in here though and he’s sending me back to Wilkes-Barre. I have to be there much of the week to review documents and interview witnesses, so I thought I would drive up tonight and stay at my folks’, I mean my mother’s, house.”

“Oh,” Sherry paused, “in that case, do you want to get some lunch today? That way we could prove to ourselves it wasn’t just a one-night thing.”

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Mike looked at the door to be sure Jenny wasn’t lurking there and said softly, “It definitely was not a one-night thing. I’d love to have lunch with you today.”

“Great! Why don’t you meet me at Strawberry Square in twenty minutes?” Sherry said.

After saying goodbye, Mike sat back in his chair and realized his headache had returned. *** Mike rode the escalator to the second-floor food court at Strawberry Square, already packed with workers on their lunch breaks. He wandered between the tables looking for Sherry.

Then the elevator opened and several people walked out. As they separated and the crowd thinned, he saw Sherry look his way and smile.

She wore a dark green wool dress and high heels. The dress had a plunging neckline that displayed the small amount of cleavage she could muster.

She walked straight up to him and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Sorry, just as I was leaving my office, the phone rang. I thought maybe it was you, so I picked it up. I got stuck on a call for nearly ten minutes until I could break away,” she explained.

“Man, it’s crowded. I hope we can find a table,” Mike said.

They strolled around together, stood in line at a salad place, bought lunch, and then finally found a table for two in a quiet passageway at the far end of the atrium.

After opening the plastic wrappers on her salad and plastic ware, Sherry said, “There’s no good way to say this, so I’m just going to come out and say it. I really hope there’s no weirdness between us because of last night. I really like you and hope we’ll see more of each other. I’m not saying we have to make any kind of commitment, just the opposite really, I’m not ready to be tied down. I think you’re funny and cute and I didn’t want to risk the chance you might be scared off. Some guys would feel threatened or something and I hope you’re not one of them. I know I tend to be a bit forward and, well, I just wanted to be sure we continue to see each other.”

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Mike looked into her eyes as she talked and could not believe his luck to have a relationship, or friendship, or whatever it was, with a woman as sexy, interesting, and open-minded as Sherry.

“I really like you too,” he replied. “I don’t know why you had the idea this was just a one-night stand for me. Last night was great, I had fun talking and hanging out.” He lowered his voice, “I mean the sex was unbelievable.” Sherry looked down when he said that and Mike thought he detected her blushing. “But it was really a terrific night, the whole thing, I mean. You’re a lot of fun and pretty and sweet and interesting and I really hope that whatever we have continues and gets better.”

Sherry reached over the table and grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Mike held her hand and quickly kissed her fingers, once, gently. Then he let go.

Sherry took a deep breath and said, “Okay, if we’re done with the weirdness, can we eat lunch now?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Mike said, smiling back at her.

“So, any new developments in that big case you’re working on? You know, the tunnel thingy?”

“In fact, there is. I finally finished going through all of the hazardous waste manifests the inspector sent me,” Mike said, pressing his fork into a cherry tomato and a piece of lettuce. “I triaged the files. One pile, the biggest, has the companies not likely to be involved either as generators of the phenol or transporters.

The second pile has somewhat suspicious generators and transporters. The third pile has the most suspicious characters.”

“That’s interesting,” Sherry said, placing her thin lips around a straw in a cup of Diet Coke. “What do you plan to do with the suspicious characters?”

“Well, I’ve already done one thing. I took a map of New Jersey and marked it up with the locations of the generators and transporters. Most of them are located in or close to Bayonne.

The generators are located over a wider area of North Jersey, but the transporters all seem to be centered in Bayonne. That makes sense because, assuming there is one transporter, he’s probably making pickups from several locations in Jersey. I have to call someone at New Jersey’s DEP, but I wouldn’t be surprised if 92

several of the transporters listed on the manifests are really the same outfit who are using different names. Sometime next week I expect I’ll head off to Jersey to see if we can identify the transporter.”

“Sounds like you’re making real progress,” Sherry said. “So why exactly are you going to Wilkes-Barre?”

“We need to try to find the dumpsite or sites. The inspector has several possibilities, but no one has come forward with any good information. The inspector and I will be meeting with several people, including a couple of CI’s, you know, confidential informants.”

“You sound like you’re having a lot of fun,” Sherry ventured smiling at him.

“Yeah, it’s a lot better than prosecuting Chinese restaurants and trailer parks.”

They finished eating lunch, then dumped their trays and Sherry stood close to Mike. “Promise me you’ll be careful there, okay?”

“I think the bad guys have to look out for me, not the other way around,” Mike replied with a smile.

Sherry leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, this time she lingered a bit longer than when they met before lunch. He held her hand for a second and then released it as she turned and headed toward the second-floor elevator. As Mike stepped on the escalator, he thought he saw a man put his hand on Sherry’s shoulder and begin talking with her. Then he saw them veer away from the elevator and lost sight of them as he descended to the first floor. *** When Mike returned his office, he dialed Sherry’s number.

After five rings her secretary answered.

After he introduced himself, her secretary said, “Sorry, she’s not back from lunch just yet.”

Mike left a message. Nearly half an hour later, his phone rang. It was Sherry.

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“Mike Jacobs.”

“Well, that’s a slight improvement,” she said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“I’m sorry if this sounds weird, but when I was riding down the escalator, I saw a man come up to you and it looked like you walked away from the elevator. I just wanted to be sure everything was all right,” Mike explained.

“I didn’t realize you were a worrier,” Sherry replied. “That was just one of the guys from the office. We took the elevator up together and, well, here I am.”

Mike looked at his watch and saw that nearly thirty minutes had elapsed since they parted. “Good, I guess maybe I’m just a little weirded out by this investigation. I’ll call you next week when I get back from Wilkes-Barre. I’d like to see you again. I’ll be back in a week, so maybe a week from Monday?”

“Sounds like a plan. Please be careful.” Sherry said.

“Now who’s the worrier?” Mike asked.

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16 12:50 p.m., Sunday On Sunday evening, Mike sat at the kitchen table in his parents’ house noticing how quiet it was. On Sunday morning, he had stopped at a supermarket and picked up some groceries for his trip to Wilkes-Barre. When he arrived, he unpacked his car and loaded the refrigerator. Then he decided he needed to talk with someone and dialed a number from memory.

“Temple Rodeph Shalom, this is Rabbi Jacobs speaking, may I help you?”

“Stevie? This is Mike.”

“It has to be you. No one in Chicago calls me Stevie! L’shana tova! Happy New Year, little brother, how are you doing? How’s Mom?” “Happy new year to you, too. Mom’s the same, maybe a little worse.”

“Look, let me warn you, I have a special shul function, we’re finishing building the succah at high noon, that’s like in a minute or two since we’re an hour behind you. The president will be furious if I’m late. Can you quickly tell me about her condition?”

“Well, as we discussed before, the doctors are convinced she has this Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease, you know, early-onset Alzheimer’s. I’m still trying to get more information on it. She’s becoming more and more forgetful.”

“I’ll be able to come into Wilkes-Barre soon and I’ll help you out. This is the busy season for me.”

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“When are all of the holidays over?

“Tonight begins Succoth. Haven’t you been going to shul, little brother?”

“That’s not why I’m calling you, Stevie.”

The line was quiet for a moment.

“So, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I think I’m getting myself into something. I’m not sure, but I need someone to talk to. When did you say you were coming home?”

“I’ll be in Wilkes-Barre in a couple of weeks, in early October. Can it wait?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay, why don’t you tell me what it is? This sounds important.”

“There’s a lot going on, my job and other stuff.”

“Where do you want to begin?”

“Well, you’ve been married for a long time—” Mike said.

“Ten years, two kids, a dog. Not nearly as long as many people.”

“I met this girl, a Jewish girl, dark curly hair, petite. She’s very pretty and smart and I like her.”

“Little brother! That doesn’t sound like a problem. That sounds terrific!”

“Okay, how’s this. I met another girl, blond, blue-eyed, a shikse. She’s also very pretty and smart and I like her.”

“When you say met…”

“I mean I’m sort of dating both.”

“Oy vey. Look, Mike, I don’t know if you can hear the racket here, but I have a sukkah full of families and the president is stalking the hall outside of my office waiting for me to help decorate it. This sounds like we need to talk. Can we talk later?

Actually, Wednesday would be best.”

“That’s okay, Stevie, I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

“Look, here’s some quick advice. Don’t do anything that would hurt anyone. I don’t know where you are in your relationship with these two women, but maybe you can back off just a little until you figure this out. I’m sure both of these girls 96

are wonderful, but just be careful with other people’s emotions.

Okay?”

“Thanks. There’s more to it than that, a lot more. But I’ll call you later this week and we can talk.”

Mike hung up the kitchen phone and slowly got up from the kitchen table. He went into the refrigerator and took out a beer, and satin the living room slowly drinking it. He stared at a wall full of photographs of himself and Stevie. Mom’s trophy wall.

The pictures ranged from baby photos to college graduation. He and his brother were smiling or laughing in all of the photos.

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17 10:00 a.m. Monday Mike spent Monday going through boxes of documents. He focused his mind on the investigation, partly to keep Sherry and Patty out and partly to avoid thinking about Wilson’s offer to head up the Luzerne County Environmental Crimes Unit.

Every time he took a break, however, his thoughts were drawn to the carrot being waived in front of him by the DA. On the one hand, he was doing many of the same things over and over again at DEP. He had probably handled one of every kind of case he was likely to see at DEP, including original jurisdiction cases in Commonwealth Court and appellate arguments. At this point, little of what he was doing was brand new. While he had made many friends in Harrisburg and at DEP, he did not expect to make more friends than he already had. Also, while he was making decent money, he knew he would not make significantly more money staying where he was.

On the other hand, at twenty-seven, he could be heading up one of only three county environmental crime units in the Commonwealth. It was very unusual for someone his age to be granted that kind of opportunity. It was an awesome responsibility and he was pleased it had come his way. Also, he would be able to resume acquaintances with old pals who still lived in Wilkes-Barre. Most importantly, he would be close to his mother. He had no idea how long she had—the doctors made sure he understood that her condition was terminal—and having a job close to her would mean spending more time with her.

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Another plus was that he and his brother Steve had decided not to do anything with their family’s home while their mother was alive. The house was plenty big for a family of four and would easily accommodate him. While the cost of maintaining the house was not small, it was less than his rent.

Still, he was concerned about the timing. While there were a number of people working on the mine tunnel case, he was a key participant. Plus, he was concerned that leaving now would seem disloyal. Nevertheless, he might never have another opportunity like this one.

Even though Mike tried not to think about it, the possibility of this new job kept returning to his head. In the end he decided there was nothing wrong with talking to the DA about the job.

Mike was under no obligation to take it, assuming it was even offered to him. *** Just before 4:30, Mike picked up the phone. “Mr. Wilson?

Hi, this is Mike Jacobs.”

“Mike? Call me Tim. I’m glad you called. So, are you going to come in and chat? There are no obligations, this will be a kind of a meet and greet.”

“Yes. Look, I’ll be in Wilkes-Barre anyway. Can we meet late on Friday afternoon? Maybe after work?”

“How’s 5 p.m.? You know where we are, in the courthouse?”

“Sure, that’s perfect. Look, I’m supposed to be meeting with some CIs and doing some interviews out in the field. Would it be okay if I’m not wearing a suit?”

“That sounds impressive. Sure, no problem. I’ll warn everyone you will be undercover, but we do a lot of that here, too, so it’s not a problem.” He laughed heartily.

The call ended. Mike looked at the telephone on his desk and wondered what he had just done.

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18 8:05 a.m., Tuesday Sherry sat with her investigator, Don Brown, a retired CPA in his mid-60s, who was hired by the attorney general’s office to work for the Charitable Contributions Division. They sat sideby-side in a windowless conference room Sherry had usurped, the floor and tables littered with boxes. Brown wore slacks, a white shirt, necktie and sport coat. It never occurred to him to take off his jacket.

“Miss Stein,” Brown began—he always called her Miss Stein—“I’ve been to Old Hills several times. I’ve seen the community center and the library this North East Fund supposedly has renovated. Honestly, they’re crap. I mean, the library is open six days a week, but it’s nothing to write home about. There’s nothing new in there. It doesn’t look to me like there’s anything unusual about the books they have or the newspapers or magazines. It’s the same stuff you would find in any small-town library. Most libraries now have computers, but not in Old Hills. The building is ancient, it doesn’t even have a fresh coat of paint.”

Sherry wore a short black skirt, black nylons, and a white cotton top. Her dark hair was pulled back and held in place with barrettes. She wore little makeup, but her perfume reached Brown and from time to time he caught himself wishing he were forty, or at least thirty, years younger.

“What about the community center?” she asked.

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“Same deal, except I’ve never seen the place open. Every time I’m there the doors are locked. I looked in the windows and it looks pretty dark. I’ve never even seen a light on in the building. I suppose it’s possible they might have wedding receptions up there on Saturdays, but nothing else.”

“Do they have a website? Maybe advertise shows or movies in the newspaper?”

“Negative. Whenever I go up to Old Hills I always buy the local newspaper. It’s a weekly, and if you want to see a show or go to a movie you pretty much have to go to a mall, maybe Wilkes-Barre or Scranton. I’ve never seen anything advertised for the community center.”

“So, if they somehow got tens of thousands of dollars each—” Sherry began.

“You’d never know it by the looks of those places,” Brown finished.

Sherry and Brown looked at each other for a few moments.

Finally Brown said, “Well, you know what the man said, follow the money.”

“Yes, you taught me that. But where’s the money going?”

“It sure as heck isn’t going to Old Hills,” Brown replied. “At least not to the charitable institutions the North East Fund says it’s going to.”

“So where do we look now?”

“You keep going through these files, Miss Stein. I worked as an insurance fraud investigator for a long time and I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Give me a couple of days to see if I can’t find something that will advance this investigation.”

“Can you check in with me daily so we can be sure we’re coordinating our effort?”

“Roger that.” He stood and picked up his ancient leather briefcase. “I’ll check back in with you later.”

Sherry smiled at him and returned to the papers on the table.

Just before Brown left the room he took an extra-long look at Sherry, noticing her youthful appearance, her brown hair, and slim torso. The scent of her perfume lingered in his nostrils. He sighed as he wearily pulled the door closed behind him.

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19 8:05 a.m., Thursday Mike and Zelinsky drove north on US 11, away from Wilkes-Barre in Zelinsky’s DEP Jeep. They grabbed coffees at a convenience store; then Zelinsky turned west onto Pennsylvania Route 92 passing the boxy white clapboard houses that lined the street near the river.

“Tell me again about this guy, the confidential informant?”

Mike asked.

“His name is Les Ballard, he’s a piece of work. He lives way out here in a trailer in the woods. He used to work for Big Bill, but about six months ago either Bill got rid of him or he quit. It’s also possible he was drunk so much of the time he just forgot to go to work. I’ve been to his place once or twice before and you’ve never seen a rat hole like his.” Zelinsky explained.

“If the guy no longer works for McClatchy, what good is he to us? You told me you thought the dumping occurred no more than a day or two before those kids got burned and that was only two weeks ago,” Mike stated.

“This dumping has been going on for months, more likely years. I expect that anyone who worked there would know something about it. Most anyone who works there now or used to work there would either be too smart or too scared to say anything. Les is neither.”

Zelinsky made a right turn onto a rutted dirt lane hidden between the trees. The trees were turning color and Mike noted 102

how pretty the woods looked in the early fall. No more than a hundred feet from the main road they came to a clearing with an old trailer, smoke rising from a stovepipe in the roof. An ancient Ford pickup sat out front, accompanied by a variety of debris, garbage, and automobile parts. Several junk cars in various states of disrepair were parked in the tall grass at the edge of the woods. Mike didn’t think anyone was spending much time working on those vehicles.

A large German Shepherd paced near the trailer, leashed to a rope that hung from a wire slung between two trees. He had about a twenty-five-foot run and he sprinted back and forth in his narrow dog path as they approached. The dog had tramped down the grass so much his track was all dirt and dog shit. He barked maniacally and pulled the rope taut as Zelinsky rolled to a stop.

“That dog looks deranged,” said Mike.

“Don’t worry; his bite is worse than his bark,” Zelinsky replied with a tired grin.

Zelinsky pulled the keys from the ignition and they got out of the Jeep. The dog charged them and was snapped back by the rope. Zelinsky knocked several times. No one answered. He knocked harder.

“Les, are you there? It’s me, Charlie Zelinsky.”

After another minute of door pounding and dog barking, the door slowly opened. It was dark inside, but Mike could see a man standing just within the trailer.

“Les, it’s me, Charlie. Can you let us in?”

The door opened wider and the first thing Mike saw was the revolver. Les was a short man, mid-thirties, with an enormous belly, clad only in old grey sweatpants. His beard and hair were a scraggly mess. The trailer projected an overpowering stench of wood smoke, garbage, and fried food.

“What do you want?” Les blinked against the morning light and shielded his eyes with his free hand. He squinted and looked again at Zelinsky as if he hadn’t noticed him before. “Oh, hi Charlie. You guys want to come in?” He waved them in with his pistol.

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Mike looked at the gun and then at Zelinsky.

“Les, why don’t you holster that weapon? This is Mike Jacobs, the DEP lawyer I was telling you about,” Ballard put the gun on top of a counter and held out his grimy hand. Mike shook it.

“You want coffee, soda?” asked Ballard.

Mike looked around the trailer. It was filthy. Moldy dishes were stacked up in the sink and there was a crusty frying pan and a pot with the remains of last night’s—or last week’s— dinner on top of the grease-caked stove in the kitchen. Mike could hear the rhythmic breathing of someone asleep in the back of the trailer behind a screened partition. Clothes, CDs, cassette tapes, old eight-track tapes, and toys littered the stained and threadbare carpet. A color TV sat on the sticky countertop. The men looked around for a seat. Ballard pushed some dirty clothes off of two folding chairs and onto the floor, releasing a plume of dust, then pulled the chairs around a gouged and splintered table.

“Like I told you before Les, we want to talk to you about Big Bill’s.”

“Hey man, I thought I made it clear I’m not interested in talkin’ with you about Big Bill’s.”

“Look, you heard about those kids who were killed by the poison from the tunnel? Those kids were burned bad. We’re trying to figure out who’s responsible for that and I think you can help us. Don’t you want to help those little kids?” asked Zelinsky, glancing at Mike.

“I got a nice house, a wife. Well, I used to have a wife.”

Ballard paused a moment and then cocked his head toward the snoring. “Got a girlfriend. I got a good thing here. I’m not giving all this up to help anybody.”

“Les, we really need your help,” explained Mike. “I promise, if you help, no one will know it was you. We’ll never mention your name. All you would be doing is pointing us in the right direction.”

“Do you know anything about the shit coming out of that tunnel?” asked Zelinsky.

“Well, it’s not getting’ there on its own, that’s for sure,” replied Ballard.

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“What do you know about it?” asked Mike.

“I don’t know shit about the shit in the tunnel.” Ballard smiled.

“Les, is there a borehole on Big Bill’s property someone’s dumping into?” Mike demanded.

“Don’t know.”

The men sat around the table, saying nothing. Finally, Mike stood up. “Charlie, this guy doesn’t know squat. Let’s get the hell out of this hole.”

Mike and Zelinsky got up to leave when Ballard held up his hands and said, “Wait a minute. If I tell you somethin’ it can’t come back to me. Not now, not ever.”

“I already told you that it wouldn’t,” said Mike.

“I’m not saying for sure there’s a borehole on Big Bill’s property. But if there was a borehole on his property it would be on the north side, under a sheet of plywood and a couple of empty fifty-five-gallon drums.”

Mike looked at Zelinsky and then at Ballard and sat back down. “So, you’re saying there is a borehole on the property?”

“Look, Lawyer, I’m not saying nothin’.”

Mike stared at Ballard. “Have you ever seen a tanker truck dump anything at Big Bill’s?”

“I’ve seen tanker trucks there and sometimes I see someone standing next to the tanker with a hose going into the ground, but I can’t tell you what he’s doing for sure. I never talked to the guy.

I can tell you that Big Bill’s business is only so-so but somehow he seems to have a ton of dough. He spends a shitload of money in bars, gambling, whores, you name it. He drives around in a big new pickup truck, owns a boat and a four-wheeler. Figure it out on your own.”

“Can you tell us anything about the tanker truck?” Zelinsky asked.

“I can’t tell you what I had for supper last night.” He paused for a moment and looked at the table, “Wait, I seen several different guys standing next to the tanker truck, more often than not. I seen this Puerto Rican guy drivin’ the truck.”

“Anything else?” Mike asked.

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“Yeah, whatever you do, keep me the hell out of this.”

Mike and Zelinsky looked at each other and Mike nodded.

They stood up and Mike shook Ballard’s hand.

“Okay, Les, I think we’re good. We appreciate the help.”

“Yeah, thanks Les,” said Zelinsky.

They walked to the trailer door and opened it. Mike exhaled and took a deep breath of fresh air. As they walked to the truck, Mike realized something was different. It was quiet. The German Shepherd was prone and panting in the dirt.

Zelinsky squinted. “What’s with your dog?”

“He gets like this sometimes. He gets riled up and then falls over. I think maybe he gets heart attacks.”

Mike and Zelinsky climbed back into the Jeep and slowly drove onto the paved road.

“Finally, we got a break,” Mike said, smiling.

“We’ve got a long way to go before I’ll agree with you.”

They drove south on Route 92, a white Chevrolet following several car lengths behind.

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20 5:30 p.m., Thursday Mike and Zelinsky stood next to Mike’s blue Prius in the DEP parking lot. Mike had his keys in his hand. Zelinsky’s Jeep was splattered with mud from the day’s investigation.

“All in all, I thought it went pretty well today,” Mike ventured. “Les Ballard was particularly helpful and some of those other interviews also provided good information.”

“Well, we might be starting to accumulate enough information to make me feel more hopeful about going after Big Bill. Let’s see how the interviews go tomorrow. I’ll meet you back here at eight.”

They shook hands and Mike got into his car and started it up.

Zelinsky waited until Mike’s car was moving before he pulled out of the parking lot, an old inspector’s custom started well before the advent of cell phones, to be certain that no one was left in a parking lot with a broken-down car.

Fifteen minutes later Mike was walking through the nursinghome lobby toward his mother’s room when he saw Patty. She was talking to an old, white-haired woman in a chair. Even in her pink scrubs, Mike thought, she looked pretty. She gave him a broad smile. He grinned back.

The old woman glanced at Mike and said, “Honey, there’s your man. I have a sixth sense about these things and I just know when two people are meant for each other. When are you and your boyfriend getting married?”

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Mike and Patty both laughed awkwardly and Patty said, “Mrs. Corcoran, that’s very sweet of you, but Mike is just here to visit his mother, Mrs. Jacobs. Our relationship is totally professional.”

“Is that what they call it today, honey, professional? I know what’s going on when I see two people smiling like a couple of lovebirds.”

“Do you mind if I talk with Mike for a minute? I need to tell him some things about his mother,” Patty asked patting her on the arm.

Without waiting for a reply, Patty walked with Mike to an empty corner.

“Sorry about that, sometimes the old folks get an idea into their heads and, well…” Patty said.

“She seems very cute; don’t worry about it,” Mike said, still smiling. “How’s my mom today?”

“Actually, she’s had a rough day. She’s had a bad cough since last night and we’re concerned. Her doctor hasn’t been in here in several days and some of us are afraid she’s developing pneumonia. I called the doctor’s office twice today.”

“Is it okay if I see her?”

“Go ahead, I’ll join you a little later.”

“Umm, like I told you on the phone the other day, I’ll be in town for a few days. Any chance we can catch dinner?” Mike asked.

“Tonight would be great, I have baby sitter problems tomorrow.”

They smiled again and Mike went to his mother’s room.

All but one light was out. The small lamp behind her bed had a dim bulb, giving the room an eerie glow. He kissed his mother’s forehead. She opened her eyes.

“Stevie? Is that you?” She coughed lightly.

“No Mom, it’s me, Mike.”

“Can I go home now? I’d like to sleep in my own bed. I’ve had a nice time at this place but it’s time to go home.”

“You live here now, Mom. We’ve talked about this a lot.

You’re too sick to go home. There’s no one there to take care 108

of you and you need nurses and other helpers. It’s best to stay here.”

Mike expected his mother to respond, but she said nothing.

She coughed several times.

“You want me to take you to the dining room?” he asked.

His mother offered no reply, so he rolled her wheelchair close to the bed and helped her in. Then he wheeled her to the dining room and helped her eat. She coughed so much during dinner Mike was afraid she would choke on her food. When the meal was over, he brought her back to her room and she watched TV while Mike sat nearby.

At a little after seven, Patty came into the room wearing her jeans, a button-down cotton blouse, and her down vest. “All right Mrs. Jacobs, I’m going to be leaving. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Patty looked at Mike who nodded and held up his pointer finger for a moment.

“Looks like I’ll be going too, Mom. I need to get some dinner.”

His mother was silent. Mike asked Patty, “Can you help me get her into bed?”

Afterwards, they left the room together. Walking past the desk, Patty asked one of the nurses, “Audrey, would you mind getting Mrs. Jacobs in 105 ready for bed? I’ll see you girls tomorrow.”

When they were out of earshot of the other nurses, Patty said, “Can you follow me back to my apartment? I need to talk with my babysitter.”

At Patty’s apartment, both parked in front of the building.

Patty got out of her car, walked to the front door and, after a moment’s hesitation, came back to Mike’s car. She leaned into the open window and said, “Why don’t you come in with me?

This will give you a chance to meet Katie.”

Mike followed her into the apartment. A skinny girl, about nine years old with braided light-blond hair, ran over. She threw her arms around Patty and began chattering about the day. The sitter, an older woman, sat on the sofa watching television.

“Katie, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Mike Jacobs.”

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Mike stooped down so he was at eye level with Katie and said, “Hi Katie, I’m glad to meet you.” He stuck out his hand out and she shook it.

“My mom says you fight environmental bad guys, is that right?” Katie asked.

“Yes, that’s it, I’m kind of like the sheriff when it comes to environmental bad guys.”

“Okay, can I see your badge? Maybe your gun?”

“Uh, well, I don’t have a badge or a gun,” Mike replied as he stood up to his full height. “They don’t issue them to us.”

“They don’t even give you a badge?” Katie made a face at Mike causing him to wonder if she even believed he fought environmental bad guys.

While Mike and Katie talked, Patty spoke with the babysitter.

“I’ll be home late tonight, Katie. I expect you to be in bed asleep.”

Katie gave her mother a quick hug and went back to her homework.

After Patty and Mike climbed into Mike’s car, he said, “I really like Katie. She seems very sweet and really cute.”

“Like her mother?” Patty smiled.

“Like her mother,” Mike said with a glance and a smile.

Mike found the restaurant in Wilkes-Barre and the waiter asked if they wanted drinks. “Maybe later,” said Patty. Mike ordered a Yuengling Lager.

“I guess you raised Katie on your own?”

“Well, Greg never was around and my only family was— is—just my sister and me. She lives in Colorado, so it was just the two of us.”

“I admire that. I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy.”

Patty pursed her lips, looking away.

After a moment of awkward silence, Patty said, “do you think you’ll come back to Old Hills?”

“Actually, the thought has occurred to me. I like Harrisburg, but I miss the old neighborhood. A lot of this area has been seriously messed up by mining, but a lot of it is really beautiful.

Maybe you learn to appreciate the untouched areas because 110

they’re so pristine by contrast. Plus, there’s something very special about the people here.”

He enjoyed talking with Patty and found he did not have to put on a show for her. She seemed comfortable with him exactly as he was. After relaxing over a cup of coffee, Mike looked at his watch and saw it was only 9:30.

“It’s still early. You want to take a little drive?” Mike asked.

They pulled away from the restaurant and began driving.

With the music turned down low, they chatted as Mike negotiated the streets he knew so well from his youth. Something in the rear-view mirror caught his attention.

“That’s weird,” Mike said. “I think the car behind us has been following us since the restaurant. Don’t look around. Let me make a couple of turns and see if he continues following.”

Mike turned at the next street and the car behind him also made the turn. He made another turn onto a residential street and the car also made a turn.

“Let me see if I can lose him.”

“Mike, this is a little scary,” Patty whispered.

Mike turned onto a larger road. He sped up until he was traveling about 75 miles an hour. He was now on familiar terrain outside of Old Hills, with the headlights of the other car right behind him. Without signaling for a turn, he made a quick right followed by another quick left onto a street he knew. Then he sped up a hill as he drove through a wooded area and without his signals made yet another turn. He turned off his lights and drove slowly along a lengthy stretch of road in a wooded area. Finally, he made a sharp turn into a driveway, pulled behind some shrubs, and turned off the motor. He was careful to keep his foot off the brake so the tail lights would not be activated.

“Scrunch down in the seat in case he’s still following us,” Mike ordered.

Mike put his arm around her and they waited quietly. After a couple of minutes, a small car crept past the driveway and continued slowly down the road. Mike rolled down his window and listened.

“It’s quiet. Whoever it was, they’re gone.”

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“Where are we?” Patty asked.

“Home. Come on in, I could use a beer.”

“Who was that?”

“Probably some kids out joy-riding.”

They went inside and Mike walked Patty into the living room. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get us a couple of beers.”

Mike got two Yuengling Lagers and opened them. Returning to the living room, at first he did not see Patty. Then he saw her in the darkness, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, her back against the wall. She had kicked off her flats.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit on the sofa?” he said, handing her a beer.

“I kind of like it down here. Want to join me?” she asked, patting the rug.

Mike sat on the rug facing her with his knees touching hers.

They clicked bottles and both took a sip.

“Do you really think it was just some kids joy-riding?” Patty asked.

“I’m pretty sure that’s all it was. I think I have to apologize to you for all of the drama. I’m not even certain that car really was following us, it may have just been my imagination.”

Patty laughed and her high cheeks rose. “Nothing exciting ever happens in my life these days. I get up in the morning, I take care of Katie, go to work, come home, take care of Katie, go to sleep, and start over. To be honest with you, I’d like it if something a little more exciting happened to me.”

Mike watched her as she talked. She was incredibly pretty in a wholesome way, like the girl next door. Her blond hair was beautiful when she had it pulled back, as she generally did at the nursing home, exposing her full face. Her hair was nicer still when it was down, as it was now, pouring down her shoulders and reaching across her back. As pretty as she was, however, her best physical feature was her full lips and warm smile that seemed to stretch from one ear to the other. Mike had been attracted to her from the first time they met at the nursing home.

At this moment, he anxiously hoped the feeling was mutual.

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Sherry entered Mike’s thoughts, then he remembered she had made it clear that neither of them was making any kind of commitment, nothing exclusive. For all he knew, they had enjoyed a brief fling and it was over. He pushed all thoughts of Sherry out of his mind and focused on Patty. He finally said, “I would really love to kiss you. Is that okay?”

Patty leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. Mike gently placed his hand on her neck and, after a couple of tentative brushes of the lips, they kissed deeply. They reclined on the floor kissing for many minutes, their arms and legs entwined.

Mike moved his head back slightly. “Would it be okay if I unbuttoned your blouse?”

“What?”

Mike paused, not sure how to gauge her response and said, “Is it okay if I touched you,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “your breasts?”

She looked into Mike’s brown eyes as if she was trying to sense a flicker of insincerity or conquest. Then she closed her eyes and laughed. “No one has ever asked me that, not without being crude, anyhow. Of course you may.”

They both laughed as he fumbled with her buttons. After a moment, she took over and removed her top. She wore a white bra which she helpfully unhooked and removed. Mike’s eyes widened at the sight of her large breasts with their broad pale areolas and nipples.

“I was pretty sure I was going to laugh at you if you asked again, so…”

Mike smiled and leaned forward, pressing his hands against her warm, bare back. He kissed her gently and lightly stroked her breasts with his fingertips, noticing that her nipples responded to his touch.

Suddenly, someone pounded on the front door. Mike jumped up and jogged to the window. He pulled the curtain aside slightly.

There was a blue car in the driveway behind his Prius. Its lights were on and it appeared to be running.

Mike looked back at Patty who had quickly slipped on her bra and was buttoning her blouse.

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“Let me see what’s going on,” Mike said.

He went to the door and looked through the peephole.

Outside, he saw a man, tall and heavy-set. He had a goatee and mustache and looked vaguely familiar.

“Who is it? What do you want?” Mike shouted through the door.

“Open the door, man,” the stranger bellowed.

“Not until you tell me who you are and what you want,” Mike replied.

“It’s Greg, Greg Domarski. I want to see Patty.”

Patty, who had come up behind Mike fully clothed, said, “That son of a bitch. Let me deal with him, he does this from time to time. He never makes any child-support payments and runs around on his wife with every woman between WilkesBarre and Scranton, then gets drunk and wants to be with me.

Stay here,” she ordered.

Patty opened the door and slipped outside, shutting it behind her. Mike looked through the peephole. A moment earlier, he was making out on the rug with Patty. Now, she was standing outside in the cold night air arguing with her former boyfriend while he was behind the door. He felt weak inside the house alone while his date was outside dealing with her intoxicated ex.

He opened the door.

Patty was already on her way back inside. Greg was getting into his car. Mike kept his eyes on him as he put the car into gear and backed away. He watched until the two red tail-lights vanished around the bend.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” Patty said sadly.

“You don’t have to apologize to me. I feel bad for you.”

Patty shrugged and went back into the living room.

“Would you like me to get you another beer?” Mike asked.

She returned to the hallway wearing her vest and with her pocketbook in her hand, looking awkward and uncomfortable.

“No, I’m sorry. I think I want to go home. It’s not your fault,” she said quietly.

“I understand entirely; let me get my keys.”

Mike drove the Prius down the road to the T-intersection that led down the hill near the house. As he stopped, he noticed 114

tire tracks heading straight off the road past the embankment.

There was debris on the road. He stopped the car and the two of them jumped out. Over the embankment and down in the woods, about thirty feet away, they saw the lights of a car.

“Oh my God! I think that’s Greg’s car.” Mike said.

Holding onto trees and scrambling down the hillside, they followed the tracks down the hill and into the woods. The car had collided with a large pine tree, steam rose from under the hood. The engine had stalled, but the headlights were still on. As they approached, Mike noticed the tail light on the right side was smashed while the taillight on the left side was still whole and burning red. The light from the remaining taillight cast an eerie red glow while the headlights were pointed down to the ground, illuminating the trunk of the tree. The rear bumper was crushed.

Through the rear window they could see Greg was slumped over the steering wheel. Mike opened the car door. Patty hurried down the hill and pushed him out of the way to examine Greg.

“He’s unconscious, but breathing. There’s blood all over his face. I don’t know if he broke his nose or if he cut his head. We can’t move him in case he has a neck injury. Can you call an ambulance? The police?”

Mike had bad reception in the narrow valley and scrambled back up the hill to the road. Then he saw taillights from another car, idling about a thousand feet away. Mike slowed to a stop and as he stood in the road the car sped off. It was strange that the car was just sitting in the road and drove away when he came out of the woods. He called 911.

Mike saw the tire tracks he had initially noticed were actually skid marks and the debris was pieces of red plastic that appeared to be the remains of a tail light. The skid marks led directly to the edge of the woods. As he surveyed the scene it occurred to him that perhaps another car had hit or pushed Greg’s car off the road.

Moving quickly, Mike started back into the woods, then saw another set of headlights approach the intersection. He tried to wave it down, but the car, a blue Ford, sped up and continued past the stop sign without slowing down. Surprised, Mike stood 115

at the edge of the road, stopped waving, and lowered his hand while he watched it drive away. A few seconds later, in the distance, he heard an ambulance. He jogged back to Patty whose fingers were on Greg’s neck, monitoring his pulse.

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21 7:28 a.m., Friday It was barely 7:30 a.m. and Governor Miller was smoking his fourth cigarette of the day. He glared across his desk at Secretary Capozzi. After one sip of tea, Capozzi’s cup sat growing cold on the edge of the governor’s desk. The Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Harrisburg, Allentown, Wilkes-Barre, Scranton, and Erie newspapers sat in a pile to the governor’s left.

“What’s the status of your investigation?” asked the governor.

“Well, as I’ve been explaining, my team’s been attempting to track down both where the phenol came from and where the hell it was dumped. They think they’re getting close, and they’ve been able to narrow it down. I understand they’ve already interviewed about a dozen informants and they’ve gone through boxes and boxes of paper and emails. My inspectors have been crawling all over Luzerne County trying to find that borehole.

I’m hopeful that in a week or so we’ll have a definite suspect.”

“It better be no more than a week. Look at this crap.” The governor picked up the Philadelphia Inquirer and flipped the newspaper over to the bottom of the front page. “‘Gerald Sheehan, the district attorney of Luzerne County who’s challenging Governor Miller in the upcoming election, released a blistering statement yesterday. In it, Sheehan said ‘the governor and DEP have been lax on environmental enforcement and have been conducting a poorly run investigation of the

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mine tunnel disaster.’” He crumpled the paper angrily. “Who the hell is Sheehan to say anything about me being lax on environmental enforcement? We’ve been issuing press release after release showing the hundreds of thousands of dollars of civil penalties we issued and the number of companies we shut down,” complained the governor.

“Well, I think most people just see what he’s saying as politics,” said Capozzi.

“You think so? Look at this,” he said, holding up the WilkesBarre paper. Turning to the editorial page he read, “‘The current administration has taken entirely too long to find the perpetrators of the mine tunnel disaster in Luzerne County. This newspaper wonders whether the investigation would have been conducted more quickly and thoroughly had the governor’s opponent not been from the county in which the disaster occurred. Politics should not play a role in protecting our environment.’”

“Governor, do you really think your opponent’s hometown newspaper is going to say nice things about you? I think everyone will see through that.”

“Well, get this, that prick wants to have three debates between now and the general election. I’m ahead by five points and if he thinks I’m going to give him a platform, fuck him,” declared the governor.

“Maybe you ought to consider doing at least one debate,” counseled Capozzi. “After all, it will be on public television and who watches that?”

“Where were you for that debate between Bentson and Quayle? Bentson made Quayle look like a sap and he never recovered from it. Supposedly no one watches vice-presidential debates, so don’t tell me that no one watches. All that has to happen is that Sheehan gets off a good one-liner or I fumble some words and it will be all over the major networks and the papers. Not to mention the internet. I’ll be toast. I’ve already told my campaign manager to decline the invitation and to say I’m too busy running the state to engage in petty politics.”

“Whatever you say, Governor.”

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“Look Tony, your guys have got to pick this up. It’s just too important to wait until the end of October. I need results by next week, end of the week latest.”

The governor stood up and, taking his cue, Capozzi left. Then the governor picked up his telephone and buzzed his secretary.

“Call Prince in Harrisburg and Slaughter in Wilkes-Barre and read them the riot act. I want answers now!” *** Mort Fine held up the Pittsburgh Press editorial page and showed it to the DA. “Get a load of this, Gerry, ‘Republican gubernatorial candidate Gerald Sheehan lambasted Governor Mark Miller yesterday for dragging his feet in responding to his request for public debates prior to the election. While this newspaper has not always agreed with Mr. Sheehan, we do agree that gubernatorial candidates should engage in public debates prior to the election. This newspaper publicly announces that we will sponsor a debate held in Pittsburgh and we call on Governor Miller to agree quickly to a series of debates. The public has a right to see and compare the candidates for the commonwealth’s highest office.’”

“Miller will never agree to a debate,” said Sheehan. “If I were in his position, five points ahead with less than a month to go, I wouldn’t either.”

“Well, all of this publicity is good for us and bad for him,” said Fine. “I think we keep hammering on Miller’s Rose Garden strategy. I also think this environmental issue is picking up steam.” *** At 9 a.m., Mike sat in the kitchen of his mother’s house. He had a legal pad and other papers spread in front of him and had his iPhone on speaker.

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“I’ve been on the phone with the police for the past hour.

The detective said he interviewed Greg a little while ago in the hospital, but he doesn’t remember the accident. They say they have made a preliminary determination that he was drunk, driving too fast, and missed the turn,” Mike said into the receiver.

“How do they explain the skid marks and broken tail light?” asked Patty.

“They say they think the skid marks and debris in the intersection were from an accident that occurred two weeks ago.

Frankly, it just doesn’t make sense to me. Anything from that accident would have disappeared within days. Also, I’m certain I saw Greg’s car as he drove away from the house and he had two working tail lights not five minutes before the accident. When we saw his car in the woods, he had a good tail light and a broken one. I’m frustrated because the local cops think they figured this out and they’ll probably give up doing any investigation.”

“This whole thing is creepy. Did they say anything about those cars you saw after the accident?”

“Only that in this day and age people don’t stop like they used to. I think that’s bull. In this little town, people not only stop, they get out and help.”

Patty and Mike both paused and collected their thoughts.

“Mike, did it occur to you that Greg drives a small blue car and so do you? I wonder if someone thought that was you in your car?”

“I woke up at six this morning—after three hours of sleep— and that’s exactly what was on my mind,” he said.

“Please be careful. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

As Mike drove back to DEP’s Wilkes-Barre office, he stopped at the intersection down the street from his mother’s home. Pulling to the side of the road he put on his four-way flashers. Then he walked to the edge of the woods where Greg’s car had been until it was towed away early that morning. He walked down the side of the hill to where Greg’s car had crashed into the tree. There were no other large trees in these woods,

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everything else was brush and saplings. If the car had missed that tree, it would have kept going for a thousand feet until it flipped over or slammed into the wide stream at the bottom of the hill.

Mike got back into his car and slowly drove to the office.

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22 3:30 p.m., Friday After weeks of fruitless searching and research, Don Brown sat back in the creaky old chair in his small office on the fourth floor in the attorney general’s office. He finally had something to smile about.

Brown took the elevator up to the eighth floor and walked down the hall to the small conference room Sherry had taken over. Almost there, he smoothed the long strands of silver hair that covered his mostly bald scalp and checked his tie in the reflection of a framed print on the wall. The door was open and he could see her leaning over the table studying papers. He tapped lightly.

“Come in,” she said.

“Good afternoon, Miss Stein,” he said smiling broadly.

Brown entered the room, taking care to leave the door slightly open. Sherry wore a patterned silk top that clung to her thin frame and a wool skirt with nude stockings. She had kicked her shoes off under the table. Brown did his best to look at her eyes and not her attractive young body.

Sherry smiled when she saw him. “Don, how many times have I told you to call me Sherry? You don’t have to be so formal with me.”

“Well, Miss…Sherry, I mean. When you’ve been around as long as I have, there are certain formalities that are ingrained in you. I’ll see if I can try to honor your request the best I know 122

how. Anyway, I want to show you something. I think you’re going to be interested in this.”

Brown placed his battered briefcase on the table and opened both brass locks with a click. He took out a stack of manila folders.

“I begged for these campaign reports for weeks from the Department of State. I finally got them yesterday and spent most of the day and night going through them. This file here,” he said lifting a folder, “I got from newspapers in the State Library, across the street.”

On the table he laid out the records from the Department of State’s Bureau of Elections. Campaign Contributions, First Quarter, Sheehan for Governor was printed across the tops of the forms. A number of campaign contributors and their contributions were circled in red.

“I thought the attorney general made it clear we were not to investigate the DA?” Sherry asked.

“Miss Stein, Sherry, you always knew the investigation of Maureen Sheehan would become an investigation of her husband. At some point they had to come together. I’m still not certain about some critical factors that intertwine the two, but now you’ll see what I think is an important piece of the puzzle.

Let’s just keep this between us for now.”

Waiting until after Sherry nodded he said, “Take a look at this contributor here, Richard Avery. He gave Sheehan’s campaign $1,000.”

“Okay, that’s a fair amount, but not over the top.”

“Yes, but look at this.”

Brown pulled out another manila folder and removed a photocopy of a clipping from the newspaper. “Here is an obituary for one Richard Avery. He died over two years ago on January 14. According to this form from state, he made his contribution a year later on February 1.”

Sherry took the report and the obituary and looked at both of them. “Okay, it may not even be the same person, or sometimes mistakes happen.”

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“I agree, but look at this. Here’s a contribution of $1,500 from someone named Alvin Brodsky from Pittston.” He pointed to an entry he had highlighted in yellow on the form.

“And here I have an obituary for Alvin Brodsky, also from Pittston, dated May 18, 2014.” He handed her the obituary.

Without waiting for her reaction, he said, “Here’s a contribution for $2,500 from Antonio Delfino of Kingston…and here’s an obituary for one Antonio Delfino of Kingston from 2010. I’ve got about twenty more of these so far and I haven’t gotten through the E’s. Miss Stein, I’ve hardly scratched the surface.”

Sherry looked at the papers in front of her. “Are you sure these are the same people?”

“Affirmative. I cross-checked them and they’re the same addresses and names.”

“How much money does this represent?” She asked.

“So far, this is $37,500 worth of campaign contributions.”

“Individually, none of these are huge contributions, although they’re all pretty generous,” she said. “Do you have anything to connect the DA or Mrs. Sheehan with this activity?”

“Negative, nothing at all. Not yet, anyway.”

“So, at this point, it looks like someone is using the names of dead people to funnel contributions into Sheehan’s campaign?”

“That’s right, and at this moment we have absolutely no knowledge of who did it or even if the campaign is aware of it.”

“Well, it’s a fair amount of money, but not so much that it would ordinarily raise red flags. As far as I can tell, this list you have looks like it has hundreds of people who have given contributions. So, where is the money coming from?” Sherry paused again for a long moment looking at the paper and then asked, “Is it possible the money is coming from the North East Fund?”

Brown smiled. “Affirmative. Right now, that’s my operating assumption. I’m working on something else and hope to have a clearer picture of that for you in a few days.”

“I know I already asked you to check with me every day, but maybe you can call me at lunchtime and when you finish for the day. I want to be sure we are coordinating our activity.”

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“Roger that,” he said.

“Ultimately, the only way we can get them will be to bring all of this evidence before the grand jury, but by the time we get there, we’ll have this nailed down,” Sherry said smiling brightly.

She clapped her hands together holding up the papers. “Don, I could kiss you!”

Without realizing it, Brown’s face turned red and he backed away from the pretty, young deputy attorney general. “Yes, you could Miss Stein, but then my wife would never let me work with you again.” *** Slaughter was sitting in his office when Mike knocked on the door. His office was large, even larger than Secretary Capozzi’s.

Mike guessed this had more to do with the comparative cost of real estate in Wilkes-Barre than the importance of the man.

The room was a hodge-podge of mismatched furniture, beat up file cabinets, ratty chairs, and one truly remarkable object— Slaughter’s desk. It was the size of a battleship. Mike had no idea where such a magnificent desk had come from, but he was sure there was a story that went with it.

Slaughter’s mammoth desk was covered with papers, topo maps, photographs, books, and notepads. It seemed to Mike the contents of all of Slaughter’s files were piled on top of this desk and he would not have been surprised to find the drawers empty.

Slaughter was a huge man, but his desk made him look small.

When Mike tapped on the open door. Slaughter looked up from his paperwork and beckoned him inside.

“Thanks, I was just getting ready to clear out for the day.

Charlie and I interviewed a bunch of witnesses today. I wanted to thank you for your hospitality and let you know that I expect to be back for a couple of days next week.”

Slaughter shrugged. “Did you happen to hear from Prince or the secretary?”

“No, they generally don’t communicate directly with me.”

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“Well, I heard from the secretary and he’s very unhappy. He told me the governor is chewing his ass for results and thinks the investigation is going too slowly. I told him I had my best man on it and chief counsel had two lawyers on the case, but he told me to increase the number of inspectors on this to speed up the investigation. I tried to explain to him I had a lot of other cases we were working on and the right man on the job. More men would not necessarily mean faster results. He told me didn’t matter and I should put more men on the job.” Slaughter paused, then spit out, “Frickin’ Harrisburg.”

“I spoke to Roger late this afternoon and he didn’t say anything to me about Prince or the secretary. Maybe he was just trying to protect me? I’ll see him on Monday and see what he says,” said Mike. He paused for a moment, then added, “By any chance did you hear anything about an accident last night in Old Hills?”

“Yeah, that football player, George Domski or something like that. I heard he was drunk and driving too fast. Missed the turn just outside of town.”

“It was Greg Domarski. He was at my house five minutes before the accident. There are a number of weird things about the accident and I think the Old Hills Police Department is happy just to sweep it under the rug. He may have had a few beers, but I didn’t get the sense he was too drunk to drive.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, he was lucky. Concussion, messed up leg, cuts all over his face and head, he’ll survive. Something strange about the accident, George, I think another car pushed him off the road and down the hill. I saw broken glass and debris at the turn, and his rear tail light was busted. The cops are saying the stuff on the road was there three weeks ago, but I don’t think so. You know, both Domarski and I drive small blue cars and it was dark.”

“To be honest with you, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone did something. Maybe to send you—us—a message. This kind of thing happens. What are you going to do? Are you staying up here or are you headed back to Harrisburg?”

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“I’ll probably stay up here until Sunday and visit my mother, and then I’ll head back to Harrisburg.”

“Well, you be careful,” said Slaughter looking back down at the papers on his desk.

Mike realized this was the third or fourth time in as many days that someone told him to be careful. *** Mike did not immediately see Patty when he arrived at the nursing home in the late afternoon. He went into the dining room and saw his mother sitting at a table. A nurse’s aide was with her.

Mike walked to the table and sat down in an empty chair.

“Hi, Mom. How was your day?”

His mother did not respond. Instead, the nurse looked at him and said, “She’s been very quiet today. Otherwise, she’s been fine.”

Mike sat for about twenty minutes attempting to make conversation. He saw Patty through a glass wall several times as she walked by. He hoped she would join them. Finally, she did.

“Mrs. Jacobs, I see you’re with your son. What’s his name again?” Patty asked, smiling at Mike.

His mother looked at her with an odd expression. “Michael of course,” she said.

“Just checking,” Patty said, grinning. “Would you like to go back to your room?”

“Not yet.”

“Mom, would you mind if I spoke with Patty?”

His mother did not respond so he motioned with his head and he and Patty stepped outside of the dining room. Mike took a quick look up and down the hall and, seeing no one watching, gave Patty a quick kiss on the cheek. Patty put her arms around him, squeezed him quickly, and let go.

“Are you okay?” Mike asked.

“No, I’m not okay, but I’m dealing with this.”

“You still have that school play tonight?”

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“Yes, tonight just isn’t going to be good. I’m free tomorrow night, though, and would really like to get together with you for a while.”

Mike wondered if this would be a good time to tell her about Sherry, but decided he couldn’t heap this on top of the trauma she had just witnessed. There would be plenty of time, he decided.

They made arrangements before Mike returned to his mother to say goodbye.

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23 4:55 p.m., Friday Mike sat in a chair next to the receptionist’s desk in a waiting room outside the DA’s office, his briefcase on the floor next to him. Rita, with whom he had spoken on Tuesday, was a pleasant, middle-aged woman with a strong Wilkes-Barre accent. Every few minutes she would look at him and smile and shrug. A few minutes before five, a man entered the room. He was just under six feet tall and wore suit pants, a white shirt, blue and red striped tie, and suspenders. He smiled broadly and held out his hand.

“Mike? Tim Wilson. So glad you could make it.”

“I apologize again for not wearing a suit,” Mike said, noting Wilson’s firm grip.

“In your honor, I left my suit coat in my office,” Wilson said with a grin. “Let me show you around.”

They walked from room to room and Wilson introduced him to the assistant DAs and detectives. Then Wilson showed him the DA’s office. Mike glanced in and noticed it was significantly larger than Secretary Capozzi’s and was loaded with trophies and photographs. Mike thought it looked like a typical politician’s lair.

They ended up in a much smaller office that had a brass plate on the door: First Deputy DA, Timothy Wilson.

Inside, Wilson sat in the tall leather chair behind his desk.

Mike guessed correctly the chair had once belonged to a judge.

Mike sat in one of two guest chairs. As they settled in, the telephone rang.

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Wilson made a face at Mike and picked up the receiver.

“Wilson.”

Wilson listened for a moment, then pointed to the telephone receiver and silently mouthed “DA Sheehan” to Mike.

While Wilson talked to the district attorney, Mike looked around the office. It was a typical prosecutor’s office, messy, with papers piled on the desk, credenza, and bookcases. It had a view of a parking lot. In a way, Mike felt at home in this office. To him, it meant the prosecutor was busy—too busy to worry about trivial matters such as putting papers in files, but Mike would bet that Wilson knew where each paper was on his desk. He noticed a photograph on the desk of a slightly younger, thinner version of Wilson and an attractive woman about his age. The couple was on a beach somewhere, hugging and looking into each other’s eyes. Mike assumed the woman was Wilson’s wife.

Children’s crayon drawings were Scotch-taped to the wall. In a child’s scrawl, one paper read To Daddy, From Lacey.

Mike could not make out the nature of Wilson’s conversation with the DA as he was only hearing Wilson’s side and Wilson wasn’t saying much. Finally, Wilson nodded at Mike and said into the receiver, “Yes, he’s here right now. I’ll be sure to apologize for you and tell him you very much wanted to meet him in person. I’m sure he understands.”

A few minutes later, Wilson finally said goodbye and hung up. “Sorry about that,” he said. “The DA is in Pittsburgh this weekend campaigning. I still manage to talk to him at least once a day. He made a point of asking about you and wanted me to apologize because he was not here to greet you in person.”

“I totally understand. Hopefully, I’ll get to meet him soon.”

“What do you think about coming back home to work in Wilkes-Barre? This is a great opportunity and I know DA Sheehan and I would love to have you here. I’ve been working for weeks to develop an environmental crime task force and you’re the right guy head it up.”

“Mr. Wilson…”

“Tim.” “Tim, uh, this is a bit sudden. Aren’t you going to ask me about what kind of a lawyer I hope to be? My views on the 130

death penalty? How I would head up the task force? That kind of stuff?” Mike asked.

“Sure, sure, there’s plenty of time for that. I have a very good feeling about you and so does DA Sheehan. We pretty much have our minds made up.”

“Well, you’re really taking me by surprise. I thought there would be more of an interview. Can you tell me something about the task force?”

“It’s kind of a work in progress. You would head it up and be prosecutor in charge. You have some kind of an environmental degree and you’ve been working at DEP for what? Seven or eight years? We would assign an investigator or two from the county detective’s office and you’d be off and running. I don’t suppose you know anything about that mine tunnel case? We’re thinking about bringing an independent prosecution against the perps. In any event, we’re pretty much ready to go. All we need is someone to head it up.”

“This is really sudden,” Mike replied. “When would you want me to begin?”

“How about Monday?” Wilson laughed. “Okay, that would be a little sudden, maybe the Monday after next? I guess you can tell we’re anxious to get this going.”

“And the pay...?”

“How does $90,000 a year, plus benefits, sound?”

“Wow, that’s unbelievably generous, it’s a lot more than I’m making now. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say yes. I’ll get the paperwork started on Monday,” Wilson said, still smiling.

“Mr. Wilson—Tim—I need some time to think this over.

As you know, I’m in the middle of a huge investigation and I have a lot of pressure on me to conclude that before the end of October.” Mike said.

“Before the end of October? The mine tunnel thing?” asked Wilson.

“Yes,” Mike replied slowly realizing he had just tipped his hand. “Anyway, give me a few days to think it over. Can I have until the end of next week?”

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“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you take the weekend and get back to me on Monday, maybe Tuesday?”

Wilson kept nodding and smiling. He began to stand up and so did Mike.

“Well, I need to finish up a few things. We have a tradition, beer on Friday afternoon with the DAs and the detectives. When the DA is here, he buys the first round. Since he’s not here, it’s on me. Then I have to get home to my family. Let me walk you to the door,” Wilson said.

Mike held up his briefcase and said, “Would you like to see a copy of my resume? I brought my resume and a writing sample.”

“Sure, sure. Let me have that for the file,” Wilson replied, holding out his hand to receive the papers.

As Mike stood, he awkwardly opened his briefcase, removed a copy of his resume and a copy of a brief he had written for a case before Commonwealth Court and handed them to Wilson.

The first deputy DA took the papers and casually placed them on top of a pile on his desk.

“Monday then?” asked Wilson.

Wilson walked Mike back toward the reception area. As he walked with him, they rounded a corner and nearly ran into two men who were walking out of the detectives’ office. One was a black man, medium build and a little on the flabby side. The other was a tall white man with a military-style haircut.

“Oh, let me introduce you. Mike Jacobs, I’d like you to meet two of our senior detectives, Lou Black and Bill Wallace.

The detectives quickly looked at each other, then held out their hands and each shook Mike’s. Mike was not sure which man was which.

Mike looked at the men and tilted his head. “Do you guys ever get to Harrisburg? You both look vaguely familiar to me.”

The two detectives looked at each other. The black detective, Wallace, said, “Not that often. Sorry, I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“Me either,” said Black.

“Well, nice meeting you.”

As Mike and Wilson walked away, Mike glanced over his shoulder and noticed the detectives lingered in the hallway 132

watching them. Deep in his mind a faint bell was ringing. He wondered whether he had met them at some law enforcement training program he attended. Mike could not put his finger on it.

“Mike, do you mind if I let you out the back door?” asked Wilson. “It’s after hours and the sheriffs have locked the front.

When you go out this door, just walk past the cop cars and out to the main parking lot.”

They shook hands at the back door of the courthouse facing the parking lot. Mike walked down several steps and saw a line of police cars, all virtually identical with emergency light bars on the roof. Every car had been backed into its space. In the first space, however, was a white Chevrolet. It did not appear to be a police car, but was parked in a space marked “Detectives Only.”

The front bumper had a serious dent and broken headlight.

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24 7:10 p.m., Friday It was close to seven on Friday night when Mike arrived back in Old Hills. Instead of heading into the house, however, he went to a bar in the center of the small town.

Mike parked his Prius in front. The sign swinging over the lot had Sullivan’s painted in green script surrounded by four-leaf clovers. There were several trucks and cars already there, but the bar usually wasn’t busy for another hour or two. He opened the door and inhaled the familiar smell of stale beer and hamburgers.

He had been in Sullivan’s many times, even before he turned twenty-one. It was set up like a diner, with a long wooden bar directly in front of the entrance and a row of soft vinyl-topped stools. There were booths along the outer wall and a side area with tables that served as a dining room and overflow area for the bar. On those rare occasions when there was live music, that’s where the band played.

Mike took a seat at the end of the bar. The Oak Ridge Boys’ Bobbie Sue played on the jukebox. He recognized the bartender, a woman he knew from high school. He vaguely remembered her name was Bonnie.

“Well lookie, it’s Mike Jacobs.” She wiped the counter in front of him with a damp cloth in an endless effort to remove the beer that was ingrained in the wood. “We don’t see much of you here anymore. What’ve you been up to?”

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“Hi, Bonnie. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve been here.

You know I moved to Harrisburg a couple of years ago? I promise, whenever I come back to town, this is the only bar I go to. How are you doing?”

“Well, nothing much changes in Old Hills. It’s pretty much same old same old. Can I get you something, Hon?” “Sure, you still have Yuengling Lager on tap, right?”

“I better. We sell more of that than anything else.”

“Okay, make it a Yuengling draft.”

Bonnie drew the beer and Mike watched as she alternately filled the mug and dumped the foam. She placed the beer in front of him and the head continued foaming, spilling over the sides of his mug and onto the bar.

“So, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Visiting my mother. She’s in a nursing home in WilkesBarre. I’ve also been doing some work in Wilkes-Barre lately, so I’m staying in my folks’ home.”

“Up on the hill? What are you going to do with that house?”

“Don’t know. Mom’s still alive and kicking, so I suppose nothing for a while. This way, Steve and I can maintain the hope my mother will go back in the house someday. At the very least, it’s a good place to stay when I come to visit.”

“I’ve lost track, Mike. Where is it you work?”

“The Department of Environmental Protection in Harrisburg.

You know I went to law school? Anyway, when I was done, I got a job as a lawyer with DEP.” Bonnie glanced around, then leaned forward on the bar. She brought her face close to Mike’s and asked in a low voice, “Are you involved in that mine tunnel thing?”

Mike could see the crow’s feet beneath her thick makeup.

Her short black hair hung limply on the sides of her face. He had to force himself not to look down her blouse, which was wide open in front of him, her breasts resting on the bar. He could smell cigarettes on her breath.

“Yeah, that’s my case.”

“Look, I hear lots of things tending bar. It’s funny, people see me standing here, they flirt with me, order booze and food 135

from me, and stare at me, but when they’re talking they act as if they were sitting in an empty room. I guess maybe they think of me as something like that barstool, maybe this tap over here, or just another piece of furniture. I hear things they think no one is ever going to hear. Sometimes it’s arrangements to go to a motel before they head home to the wife, sometimes it’s stealing from the boss, but sometimes it’s much worse than that. I always keep my mouth shut, though, I ain’t stupid.” Bonnie paused, “Hon, you were always sweet to me back in the day. You be careful.”

“You too,” Mike said softly wondering how many times he was going to be warned about his safety.

“No, I mean it,” Bonnie said as she stood back up and absentmindedly wiped the bar. Willie Nelson’s “Always on My Mind” played over the speakers. “You want any food? The kitchen’s open and I can get you a burger, fries, you name it.”

“That would be great—make it a burger, medium, and fries.

I’m going to sit at that booth. Would you mind bringing it over to me when it’s ready?”

Bonnie smiled thinly and shook her head. Then she turned into the kitchen. As she walked away, Mike recalled the pretty, dark-haired high school girl who always seemed to have a boyfriend. The years had not been kind to her. He was struck most by lines on her face and her raspy voice. He picked a booth at the end of the room and sat with his back to the wall, facing the door, sipping his beer. A few minutes later, a familiar face came in and ordered a beer. Tom Flynn sat on a stool at the bar holding his bottle of Miller’s and looked around the room until he saw Mike. He got up and strutted to his table.

“Counselor! Why it’s my old wingman, Mikey. You got room at this big empty table for me?” Flynn asked.

“Sure, pull up a bench.”

Mike looked at Flynn. As they talked Mike realized that in the past year or so since he had spent any time with Flynn, his beard had gotten longer and he had gained at least twenty-five pounds.

“I don’t know if I’d say I was your wingman, we only worked together for a year when I was a rookie.”

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“Then that makes me Obi-Wan Kenobi and you Luke Skywalker.” Flynn turned his head and said in his best Alec Guinness, “Luke, don’t go over to the dark side. Stay with me and fight the evil empire.”

Mike smiled at the poor impersonation of the Star Wars character and said, “Well, I’ve been with DEP for two years now and I’m not sure how much longer I want to stay there. I have no idea where I’ll go after this though.”

Flynn raised his voice two octaves and in a singsong voice said, “Powerful the dark side is. Use the Force you must.”

“I don’t think that was Obi-Wan Kenobi. I think you just became Yoda. Actually, you look a lot more like Yoda than ObiWan.” Still grinning, Flynn said “Force is strong within you Skywalker. Make beer fly around room.” Flynn pushed his beer in front of him and gestured with his hands.

Mike watched his former colleague and said, “Now you sound like Yogi Bear.” He took a sip of his beer and asked, “So what have you been up to Tom?” “Me make beer fly around room,” Flynn said picking up his beer bottle, waving it in front of him and guzzling it down.

“Seriously, how’s everything going,” Mike paused, “since you left DEP?” “I didn’t leave DEP. I was fired. Remember?

Macalister, the Prince of Darkness threw a fit and called me in from the field, right in the middle of that investigation of the strip mine operator, Altobelli. He didn’t appreciate that I accused the governor of having an unnatural relationship with Altobelli. So what if it was on the Evening News in every city in Pennsylvania?” Flynn laughed as he remembered the day. “Actually, I have a thriving practice. Only a part of it is environmental law but I’m doing well.” He set his bottle on the table with a thud and said, “So are you still up here on the mine tunnel case?”

Before Mike had a chance to answer, Bonnie came over and put the burger and fries in front of him, taking a bottle of ketchup out of her apron pocket.

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“Do you want anything to eat, Tom?” asked Bonnie.

“No, I’ll just eat some of Mike’s fries,” he said grabbing several from Mike’s plate. “Mike, you putting some ketchup on these?”

Mike rolled his eyes and dumped some ketchup on the plate and on his hamburger and began to eat.

“As I was saying, you’re working on the mine tunnel case?”

Flynn scooped up some ketchup with a fry as he spoke.

“Yes, ever since I saw you on our little hike to the Susquehanna River.”

“Me too,” Flynn said, scooping up more ketchup with another of Mike’s fries.

“Who are you representing?” asked Mike. Are you representing the families of those kids? Not the dumper, I’m sure.”

“Well, you know me, you won’t find me representing the dark side. I don’t think anyone is representing those kids yet.”

“I’m confused. Then who are you representing?”

“The people. You know, as in ‘the people have a right to clean air, pure water,’ blah, blah, blah,” he said quoting loosely from the environmental amendment to Pennsylvania’s constitution.

“I thought I was representing the people,” Mike said.

“Sorry, Brother, you represent that governor of yours, Mr. Miller, not the people. I remember all too well learning about the difference between representing the people and representing the governor. Prince gave me that lecture on the day he fired me.”

“What is it you’re doing, exactly?” asked Mike.

“I’ve been conducting my own People’s Investigation. When I get the answers to who’s responsible for polluting the waters of the commonwealth, I may just file suit under the Solid Waste Management Act and The Clean Streams Law. If you guys can’t get your act together, I’ll do it for you and collect hefty attorney’s fees in the process.”

“What exactly do you mean by a People’s Investigation?”

Flynn wiped up the last of the ketchup on Mike’s plate with the last French fry and shoved it in his mouth. He licked his fingers until most of the grease and ketchup were gone. “Are you 138

around tomorrow? How about if I take you for a drive and show you what I found.”

“Uh, I’m not sure I’m allowed to do that.”

“Balls you have not. Use the Force, young Skywalker,” Flynn said, switching from Yoda to Obi-Wan. Mike thought for a moment. So long as they stayed in the car it wasn’t very likely they would get into trouble. “Sure, sure. I’ll go with you. What time do you want to go?”

“How about if we meet at that Turkey Hill store in Old Hills near 81 at 8:00 tomorrow morning?”

They shook hands and Flynn left. Mike sipped the last of his beer, making sure Tom had pulled his pickup out of the lot before he headed home. After a few minutes, Bonnie came by with the check and looked at the empty seat and the empty bottle of beer where Flynn had been sitting. “Are you paying for Tom’s beer?”

“I guess I am now.”

She handed him a check for the two beers and the hamburger.

As Mike prepared to leave, he bought a six-pack of Yuengling and paid his bill. Then he shoved an extra twenty-dollar bill and his business card into Bonnie’s hand and said, “Thanks for everything. Keep your ears open.”

She grabbed his wrist and held it. “Mike, you be careful, okay?”

He looked at her once-pretty face and nodded.

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25 7:40 a.m., Saturday It was sunny and cold on Saturday morning. Mike had to search through the closets to find a suitable coat that was both warm enough and still fit. He was surprised how much of his childhood clothes his mother had kept. Finally, he settled on an insulated wool jacket from high school that was a bit tight, but warm.

Mike parked next to the convenience store at ten minutes before 8:00, locked the car and went inside. The nearest Starbucks was twenty miles away, so he purchased a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a packaged donut and waited for Flynn. As the minutes ticked by, Mike began to wonder if he was in the right place. It occurred to him he did not have Flynn’s cell number and, even if he did, he doubted Flynn would answer it.

At approximately 8:15, Flynn drove up in his old Isuzu Hombre pickup and parked in front of a gas pump. He shoved the nozzle into the fill pipe. Before he began pumping, however, he looked around and saw Mike. Flynn waved him over to the gas pump. “Can you lend me twenty bucks?”

Mike said, “Good morning to you too. Did you forget your wallet?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Mike reached into his pocket and realized he only had a total of thirty-nine dollars. He handed a twenty-dollar bill to Flynn.

“I’ll put that on your tab, along with the beer I bought you last night.”

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“Right, thanks for that,” Flynn said, holding the bill up to the light pretending to examine it.

Flynn used fifteen dollars for gasoline and the rest of the money to buy a cup of coffee and a package of powdered doughnuts. He and Mike climbed into the truck for the drive back through Old Hills. Flynn drove the pickup, holding the coffee cup between his knees and munching from the package of doughnuts, which he had placed on the dashboard. As he talked to Mike, he chewed with his mouth open, and his scraggly beard and shirt became covered with powdered sugar.

Every now and again Flynn had to turn the vehicle, which resulted in him taking the coffee cup and holding it awkwardly as he negotiated the curve.

“So where are we going?” asked Mike.

“I thought I would take you to some places I have been looking at, including places Chucky has not seen,” he replied, referring to Zelinsky, the inspector.

“Well, if you’ve identified some additional suspects, maybe you should forward that information to the department.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing—right now—Mikey,” Flynn said grinning at his passenger and pointing at him with the cup before draining the last of his coffee and tossing it over his shoulder onto the narrow floor behind the passenger’s seat.

Mike glanced behind the seats and saw it was littered with trash, mostly fast-food wrappers, cups, and empty beer cans.

“What kinds of places are we going to look at?”

“Oh, just a few gas stations, building lots, junkyards full of snarling dogs behind razor-wire fences, that kind of thing.

Mostly they’re in Old Hills or maybe in the suburbs. I’ve talked with Zelinsky and he’s been looking in the obvious places. You know, I tried to train him to look in the not-so-obvious places, but he seems to have regressed back to his old ineffective ways.”

Mike shook his head. “We have to make do with limited resources. Charlie can only be in so many places during the course of the day. When he follows leads, they have to make sense, otherwise he’s just wasting time. If he went to every obscure but theoretically possible location, he’d never have time to conclude his investigation.”

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“Well, look at me, I don’t even work for the department and my investigation is chugging along,” Flynn said waving around a donut.

Without warning, Flynn turned off the main road and onto an empty field outside of Old Hills, tossing Mike from side to side as he grabbed for the dashboard. Flynn’s old truck bounced across an empty field except for small piles of coal refuse and trash. The open area was several football fields wide and about as long. On one side was a small strip shopping center and on the other a small, one-story office building.

“What is this place?” asked Mike holding onto the strap over the door.

“Nothing. It’s just a field. I think some developers had grandiose ideas and were planning to extend the shopping center, but then ran out of dough,” Flynn said, concentrating as he drove across the field. “Here, up ahead,” he said, pointing as he downshifted and then stopped the truck.

Flynn walked about a dozen feet and stopped. Mike was slow getting out of the truck. He had felt uneasy about this tour since the night before when Flynn had suggested it. In addition to wondering if he was doing the right thing accompanying Flynn, he had the strange feeling he was being watched. Before he stepped out, he looked back toward the road to see if anyone was following them. When he was satisfied no one was, he closed the car door and joined Flynn.

“Look, see this?” Flynn was on his hands and knees, pushing aside some of the tall grass. Sticking up from the ground was a round iron pipe, about six inches in diameter, rusted and mounted flush with the ground. Flynn produced a small flashlight from his pants pocket and shined it into the hole.

“Nothing, just darkness,” Flynn explained. “Get over here and listen.” “Hello? Anyone down there?” Flynn grinned at Mike. “Any miners down there? Living or dead?”

They could hear the echo of Flynn’s yelling as the sound reverberated down into the mine shaft.

“What is this?” asked Mike.

“Not sure. Sometimes the miners drilled ventilation holes, although I think this one is too narrow. Sometimes they needed 142

electricity drops. They would drop a power cord down the hole, which was easier than running an electric line from the mouth of the mine, depending on the mine. Watch and listen.”

Flynn picked up a pebble from the ground and dropped it into the borehole. They heard the pebble ricochet off the sides of the steel shaft and although their heads were close to the opening, did not hear the pebble land.

“Pretty deep,” Mike said.

“Not really, only about a hundred-and-fifty feet according to the map. We’re close to the Susquehanna River here. This is pretty close to where those old miners bought the farm in the 1950s. They didn’t realize they were angling up too high as they approached the river. Once it broke through, that was all she wrote. Killed about a dozen of the poor bastards. Goddamn coal companies.”

“Well, that was a long time ago. You can’t blame the whole industry because of a few bad actors,” Mike replied.

“Gone to the dark side DEP lawyer has,” Flynn said in his Yoda voice.

“Cut it out. Do you think because someone doesn’t agree with you they’re evil?”

“No, they’re evil when they side with greedy corporations.

Use the Force, Luke, while you still can.”

Flynn looked at Mike a long time, then he stuck his nose to the top of the borehole and inhaled. “Here, smell that…I smell phenol,” he declared.

Mike leaned over the borehole and inhaled. The smell was dank and vaguely putrid.

“Do you smell any chemicals? I thought I smelled phenol,” said Flynn.

“I don’t really think so,” Mike replied. “It just smells damp, like a cave. Maybe a little like a sewer.”

Flynn stood. “Well, I don’t think this is our spot, anyway.

I had to look hard to find this on an old mining map I found in Scranton and then it took me hours to locate the borehole.”

He gestured with his hand, taking in the field, “Plus, there’s no indication anyone has been back here except for us.”

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They brushed the dirt off their hands and returned to the truck. Flynn stuck the keys into the ignition and turned. Nothing.

The engine did not turn over. They sat in silence, the only noise the traffic from the nearby road. He tried again and a ticking noise emanated from under the hood. On the third try, the engine fired up.

“Got you a little nervous, eh?” Flynn said.

“What now? Maybe get a couple of beers and head back to town?” Mike asked.

“Are you kidding? We’re just getting warmed up.” Flynn said as the Isuzu bounced over the ruts in the field until he stopped at the edge of the highway. He waited until a line of cars passed and then gunned onto the road in front of a large SUV that honked at them. Flynn waved at the other driver.

As they drove south along the old highway, Flynn chatted about the mining operations and displayed his vast knowledge of deep mining in the anthracite region. Mike, however, was thinking about the trouble in which he would find himself if he and Flynn got caught. Flynn was a private citizen who had no business trespassing on private property, but Mike knew that as an agent of the commonwealth in the midst of an investigation he should not be on private land unless he had a search warrant or an administrative justification for being on the property.

Somehow, he doubted the explanation of joyriding with Flynn on a Saturday morning would cut it with Prince or the secretary.

The last thing he wanted was to end up like Flynn—out of a job and a pariah among many of those in the agency.

“Hey, Tom, now that you’ve shown me that cool borehole why don’t we call it a day? I have to go visit my mother and then head back to the ‘Burg. Okay?” Mike asked.

Flynn gave Mike a long look as they drove down the road.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what. We’ll go to just one more place and see what we can see. It’s right next to the road and I’ll have you back to your car in an hour.”

Mike looked at the small clock in the dashboard. It had stopped at 6:20. He pulled out his cell phone and saw that it was 10:40 a.m.

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“Well, if it’s right next to the road I guess that’s okay.”

“Good because we’re here.” Flynn pulled into the Dunkin’ Donuts shop across the street from Big Bill’s.

“Christ, Tom, you didn’t tell me we were going to Big Bill’s.

He’s like the target of the investigation.”

“Really?”

“Shit, look, keep that to yourself.”

“Come on, Skywalker, Yoda wants a donut. You can handle sitting in a donut shop and watching the place, That’s within your constitutional right as a law enforcement officer—open fields, broad daylight, and all that crap, right?”

Flynn did not wait for an answer as he led the way into the shop. He walked in and took a seat at the window counter facing Big Bill’s. Mike followed slowly behind, took the seat next to Flynn, and was glad the only other person in the place appeared to be the attendant.

They ordered coffees. Mike ordered a plain donut and Flynn ordered two, one glazed and the other powdered.

“Doesn’t look too busy over there,” Mike said to Flynn.

“The garage is closed on the weekends. They only pump gas and sell crap from the convenience store,” Flynn replied.

“And you know this…how?”

“I’ve been staking this place out for weeks. Almost as soon as I heard about the spill, I had a feeling that low-life McClatchy was involved in this. Prick thinks he owns the governor and Sheehan. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s connected,” Flynn paused, “you know, in the mob.”

Mike looked at him. “I know what ‘connected’ means.”

They sat for a long time, drinking their coffee and watching Big Bill’s. Flynn spent much of the time telling Mike war stories about his glory days at DEP. Mike had little to add. After about an hour, Flynn waved his hands around and ordered another donut and Mike excused himself to use the toilet. The men’s room was small but clean and after he was done taking a leak, Mike washed his hands and looked in the mirror. His face seemed puffy and he pulled the skin on his chin back toward his neck and let go.

After a few moments, he turned the water back on and splashed cold water on his face.

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Mike walked out of the bathroom and saw Flynn was gone, the residue from their snack already cleared away. When the waitress saw him she came over and said, “Here you go Hon, your friend said you were covering the bill.”

Mike handed the waitress a ten-dollar bill for the coffee, donuts, and tip. He looked out the plate glass window and observed that Flynn’s pickup remained where he had parked it. It was empty. He walked to the curb and looked toward Big Bill’s. Across the street, he caught a glimpse of Flynn walking from the gas islands into Big Bill’s convenience store.

“Oh crap,” Mike said under his breath.

Mike jogged across the street, took a deep breath, and continued onto Big Bill’s property. He headed straight for the convenience store and entered through the glass front door. He didn’t see Flynn at first, only a teenage girl sitting on a stool behind the cash register and a customer looking at the candy rack. Then, in a convex mirror hanging from the rear of the store, he saw a flash and realized Flynn was in the back of the store.

Mike quickly walked up to him and in a low voice asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just buying a snack for later, Counselor.”

“Well, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Uh-huh,” said Flynn in a mocking tone of voice. “Oh look, the entrance to the garage.” Flynn pointed at a side door inside the store that led directly into the garage.

Flynn put his hand on the glass door to the garage and Mike immediately laid his hand on top of Flynn’s.

“Don’t,” Mike pleaded.

Flynn looked at Mike’s hand on top of his and said, “I didn’t know you cared.”

Mike took his hand off Flynn’s and the former DEP lawyer opened the door. He said in a loud voice in the general direction of the cashier, “Just going to buy some oil for that oil burner of mine across the street.”

Flynn walked across the threshold and into the garage. Mike looked toward the girl behind the cash register; she was staring right at them, so he said a little too loudly, “You got motor oil back here?”

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The cashier pointed toward the side door. “Yeah, it’s on a rack just on the other side of that door. When you find what you want, bring it here and I’ll ring it up.”

Mike went into the garage and saw the rack next to the door loaded with a variety of motor oils. Flynn was nowhere in sight.

“Tom, you asshole, where are you?” Mike hissed.

Mike heard a noise from the back of the garage. There were several trucks in the service bays waiting for Monday morning.

Flynn appeared to be walking around behind them, surveying the floor and kicking at a fifty-five-gallon drum next to the rear wall of the garage.

“Tom, let’s get out of here.”

Suddenly a man’s voice boomed, “Can I help you boys?”

The man was about five-foot-eight and looked like he weighed about four-hundred pounds. He resembled a bowling ball with legs wearing a stained, pink golf shirt and jeans. His small ears stuck out as though they had been glued on by a fiveyear-old and he had a crew cut. The rolls of fat on and under his face eventually blended into the rolls of fat on his neck and enormous stomach. It was Big Bill.

Mike froze as he looked at the man. From behind him, Flynn said, “Yes sir, we were looking for bottles of motor oil. The girl in the store said they were back here somewhere.”

“Well, you boys missed the rack altogether. Come over here and help yourself to what you need.”

The huge man led them to the rack that held the motor oil.

As he walked in front of them, Mike noticed he wore a holstered sidearm. When he got to the rack, he waved his hand in front of it and said, “Here you go, she’ll ring you up in the store.”

Flynn stood in front of the rack studying the oil. McClatchy studied Flynn and Mike.

“Do I know you boys? You both look vaguely familiar. My name’s Bill McClatchy. They call me Big Bill.” He extended his hand and Mike shook it. It was surprisingly soft.

“I’m Tom. I’m not from around here,” Flynn said nonchalantly, without looking up from the oil.

Mike froze for a moment and said, “I’m Mike. I grew up not far from here.”

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“Really? Maybe I know your folks,” replied McClatchy.

“I doubt it. My dad had an electronics store in Wilkes-Barre, but he died many years ago and my mom stayed at home.”

McClatchy made a face as he stared at him. “Jacobs, right?

Your folks have a house up on the hill. I remember your old man’s store. TVs, stereos, radios and whatnot. I’m pretty sure my father bought a color TV from him just after they came out.

What are you up to?”

Although the temperature was in the high 40s outside and in the high 50s in the garage, Mike could feel the perspiration dripping down his neck.

“Oh, I got a job in Harrisburg, nothing to write home about.”

McClatchy was about to say something when a loud bell rang. He looked over his shoulder toward his office and back at Flynn and Mike, “That’s my phone. Nice catching up with you, Jacobs. Maybe I’ll see you boys around.”

McClatchy waddled off toward his office as the phone rang a second time. Mike and Flynn quickly entered the store and laid the can of oil on the counter. Mike paid for it and the girl put the can in a brown paper bag and handed it to Mike. Then the two men headed across the street to Flynn’s car.

“Get me the hell out of here,” ordered Mike, as he closed the car door. He hurled the bag with the bottle of oil into the back of the truck where it landed among the beer cans and trash.

“Good you did, young Skywalker. Proud of you I am. Hope for you there may be.” Flynn said laughing as he turned the ignition. The car started right up. “Thanks for the oil.”

As they drove away from Big Bill’s, Mike shook his head in disbelief and said, “I can’t believe you placed me in this position, Tom. Maybe you think it’s hilarious you lost your job and you’re fighting environmental crime out of your purple Isuzu, but I plan to work at DEP for a while yet. Not to mention, this is the biggest investigation I’ve ever worked on. Shit, I met with the secretary just two weeks ago and he made it very clear how important this investigation was. Just get me back to my car.”

Flynn looked like he was about to say something when Mike stared him quiet. The two of them drove back to the Turkey Hill convenience store not uttering another word.

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When Flynn pulled in next to Mike’s car, he said, “Hey, Buddy, let’s do this again.” Flynn held out his hand and grinned.

Mike ignored the hand and Flynn’s effort at reconciliation and slammed the truck door. He waited for Flynn to drive off, then started up his car and went back to his mother’s house, his eyes watering with rage at Flynn and anger at himself. *** The white Chevrolet had stopped about a hundred feet away from the convenience store. The passenger finished scrawling something in a notebook, looked at the driver, and said, “What the hell? Our boy goes for a ride around Old Hills with that asshole Flynn and then meets McClatchy in the back of his garage. What the hell was that all about?”

“Beats me. He came out of Big Bill’s with a paper bag, but it looks like Jacobs left it in the car with Flynn. Let’s head back to the ranch and see if we can sort this out.” *** Mike had just pulled into the driveway and as he got out of his car he could hear the phone ringing inside the house. He unlocked the door and ran to the ancient wall-bound phone in the kitchen. It was too old to have Caller I.D. “Hello?”

“Who is this?” asked a male voice, hoarse and deep.

“Mike. Who am I talking to?”

“Stay the fuck away from Big Bill’s,” growled the man.

“What?”

“You heard me, asshole. Stay away from Big Bill’s.”

The telephone clicked and the line went dead. Mike looked at the phone for a long moment. He thought about whether he recognized the voice. Something about it was familiar. Mike placed his finger on the hook and then dialed zero.

“Operator.”

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“Yeah, hello. Look, I know there’s a number you can dial to trace a call and was wondering if it’s possible to trace a telephone number for a call I just received.”

“Hold please for the supervisor.”

Before he could respond, the phone clicked several times.

Finally, another voice answered.

“Supervisor,” said a female voice with a strong foreign accent.

“Hi, my name is Mike Jacobs and I was wondering if you can trace a call.”

“Are you law enforcement?” asked the supervisor.

“No, yes, well, for now, let’s say no.”

The supervisor paused. “Well sir, unless you’re law enforcement, we can’t do that. This isn’t TV. Do you want me to connect you to our security department?”

Mike thought for a minute. “No, that’s okay. Let me think about it and I can call back.”

“Good day sir,” said the supervisor and the line was disconnected.

Mike hung up and went back to the front door to close it, shutting it only after he took a long look down the street to see if anyone was watching the house.

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26 8:05 p.m., Saturday Mike drove his car into the parking area in front of Patty’s apartment. Before he had a chance to turn off the engine Patty came out and pulled the apartment door shut behind her. She wore a knee-length plaid skirt and dark green turtleneck sweater with her down vest on top. She approached the car and smiled as she opened the door.

“Hey there, you sounded a little distressed when you called me this afternoon. Are you okay?” she asked, shutting the door.

“Oh, I’ve been better,” Mike said. He leaned over and gave Patty an unenthusiastic kiss on the cheek and she smiled.

“So, what’s the plan? Katie is staying with a friend, so I can come home whenever I want to tonight. I even put on a skirt for our date.” She patted the skirt and leaned forward trying to catch Mike’s eye.

“Yes, you look terrific tonight.”

Patty put her hand on his shoulder. “Mike, are you okay?

Maybe we should call this off tonight?”

Mike looked at her and she could see his eyes were moist.

“Can we just go? I really do want to talk with you tonight. I’m sorry, it’s not you. This is me. I’m okay.”

“Sure,” Patty said quietly. “Do you still want to go out and eat?”

“About that. There’s this guy, a former DEP lawyer. Anyway, I bumped into him last night and basically lent him most of my 151

cash. I have a feeling I’ll never see that money again. I’m trying not to use my credit card too often if I can avoid it. Is it okay if I take you to my folks’ house and make dinner? And I don’t want this to sound like a setup or anything crass like that, but I really don’t feel like being in public tonight. There’s a lot going on and I think I just want to hide in the house for a while. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

Patty looked at him thoughtfully, rubbing his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Mike shrugged.

“Let’s go to your parents’ house, then. I can help make dinner and we can talk. I think you need a sympathetic ear.”

When they got to the house, Mike led the way. He pulled the front door closed behind them and turned on a few lights. Before Mike turned back, Patty embraced him and initiated a lingering kiss.

“Well, that was a lot better than in the car,” Patty said as she stepped back and unsnapped her vest. “Do you want me to take off my vest? Anything else?” she said laughing.

Mike smiled at her and said, “I think you’re making fun of me.”

“No, I love…the way you respect me. I don’t recall a man respecting me like that…ever.” She took off her vest and laid it on a chair in the hallway along with her purse.

“Do you want a beer? I have Yuengling.”

“Actually,” she replied, “do you have anything stronger?”

Mike made an ambiguous expression and then said, “Let’s take a look.” They went into the living room and Mike found an old bottle of Jack Daniels in a cabinet. “I can’t vouch for this, it’s probably from my Bar Mitzvah, but is this okay?”

“Perfect.”

They made their way to the kitchen and Mike found a couple of water glasses. “You want ice? Water?”

“Neither. Neat is fine.”

Mike poured a small amount of the whiskey into two glasses.

They touched glasses and Mike said “Cheers.” He started sipping

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his whiskey keeping an eye on his date, but Patty drank hers in one shot. Mike downed his too.

Patty made a face as she exhaled and stuck out her tongue.

“Whew. That was interesting.” She paused and then said, “One more?”

Mike poured another shot of the brown liquid and they touched glasses again. This time he drained his in one gulp, while Patty barely sipped hers as she watched him. She placed her glass on the counter.

Mike wondered for a moment why Patty wanted a refill if she was not going to drink it, but then she said, “You said something about dinner?”

They rummaged around in the refrigerator and took out a dozen eggs and some vegetables Mike had brought with him from Harrisburg.

“Do you have any potatoes? I make some mean home fries,” Patty said, opening a pantry door.

“Yes, I got some about a month ago. I hope they’re still good.” Mike pulled out a bag from the bottom of the pantry.

For the next half-hour, Mike and Patty chopped vegetables and potatoes. They talked about former classmates and their families. Patty mentioned she had just decided to take Katie to go visit her sister in Denver. Finally, Mike pulled two frying pans out of a cabinet and Patty poured a small amount of oil into hers while Mike watched. Patty deftly fried some onions and green peppers and then placed the potatoes into her frying pan, liberally applying salt, pepper and paprika. As the potatoes browned, Mike took out margarine and melted it in his pan.

After he sautéed some vegetables, he dumped them into a paper towel and began scrambling eggs for an omelet. In one of those small culinary miracles, all the elements of the entire meal came together at the right moment.

They sat down at the kitchen table and Mike divided the potatoes and omelet onto two plates. He thought for a moment and then intentionally gave Patty the larger portion. Patty was already seated and she looked at the two plates sitting on the table, picked them up and switched them.

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“You may still be a growing boy, but I don’t plan to be a growing girl,” she said with a smile.

Mike was about to dig in when he looked up and said, “Oops, almost forgot.”

He got up and went into the kitchen, returning with two fresh bottles of Yuengling, and placed one in front of Patty.

Mike tasted the potatoes first and then nodded his head.

“These are terrific.”

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No, really, these are great.”

“Well, your eggs are good, too.”

They ate much of the rest of their meal quietly. Finally, Patty pushed her plate away although it was still loaded with food and said, “Whew, I don’t know who we thought we were feeding.

That’s a lot of food.” She took a sip of beer.

Mike continued eating while Patty watched him for several minutes. When Mike finally had enough to eat, he picked up his beer and leaned back in his chair.

“That was a lot of food,” he said raising his eyebrows. Mike finished his beer and got up. “Would you like another?” he asked, holding up his empty bottle.

“No, I’m still working on this one,” Patty said, picking up the plates from the table.

Mike cleaned the dishes in silence as Patty cleared the table.

When all of the dishes had been cleaned and the frying pans were drying in the dish drainer, Mike stood back from the sink and saw that Patty was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him, her arms crossed and tucked under her breasts.

“What?”

“Okay, Mike. You’ve either been talking to me all night about trivial and meaningless things or hardly talking at all. I have a feeling this isn’t what you meant when you said you needed to talk. It’s time for you to talk with me. Come on.”

She held out her hand and took his, then led him into the living room. She turned out all of the lights except for one and sat on the sofa. Mike stood in front of her as if he had no idea what to do next.

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“Come here,” she said, patting the sofa.

Mike sat down and started to put his arm around her.

“No,” Patty said, pushing his hand from her shoulder. “We’re going to talk, nothing else. That’s it, just sit next to me. If you don’t want to look at me while we talk, that’s okay, but let’s just sit and talk. Nothing more.”

Mike looked at her and after a moment of silence said, “Can I kiss you?”

“Mike, am I going to have to slap you?” she said.

“Please?”

“Ugh! Michael, no. Talk means talk.”

“We’re going to talk, not make out. Take your time getting started if you want, but why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“Can I at least hold your hand?”

Patty thought about that for a moment and shook her head as if she was about to say no. “Okay, but I’m not going to let that lead anywhere.”

She reached over and held his hand, keeping it between them, not on either’s lap. They sat for several minutes quietly, their fingers locked together like a pair of thirteen-year-olds.

Patty did not say another word and waited for Mike to begin.

After a long pause Mike said, “I don’t know where to start.

I’m twenty-seven years old and have everything ahead of me. I don’t want to sound like a whiner, but I feel totally out of sorts.”

Patty looked at him and said, “What do you mean, out of sorts?”

“Just that, I don’t know. It’s stupid. I should be on top of the world. I have a great job, I’m starting to make it in the world on my own, I own a car and am paying my bills. Shoot, I make forty-two-thousand a year, can you believe that? That’s a lot of money. Also, I’m sitting with the prettiest girl in northeast Pennsylvania, you’d think I’d be happy.”

“Thanks for the compliment, but you’re still not going to kiss me,” she replied.

“Very funny. Do you know the DA, Sheehan, offered me a job yesterday? Can you believe it? He offered me the position of

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Chief of the Luzerne County Environmental Crimes Unit. That’s a big deal.”

“Okay, Mike, so far it all sounds pretty good to me, so what are you unhappy about?”

“Well, I have this very uneasy feeling I’m being used. I know I think pretty highly of myself, but Sheehan’s Deputy offered me a job without hardly interviewing me. He also offered me a huge salary, ninety-thousand. I think the DA only makes around one hundred. Doesn’t that seem odd?”

“I don’t really know how these political jobs work, but if you say so. Is that it?”

“My mother is another thing. I know where this is headed with her. I lost my Dad years ago, now I’m about to lose my mother.”

“I get that. I watch people lose relatives all the time. My folks are gone and all I have is Katie and a few aunts and uncles. Of course, I also have my sister Linda in Denver,” she said rubbing his arm with her free hand.

“That’s the thing I should feel the unhappiest about, and I do, but I think it’s more than that. Today, I may have screwed up my big case. I let some idiot, a guy named Flynn, talk me into going with him on a tour of a bunch of sites and the next thing you know we’re trespassing on a property. I may have really screwed this up. The chief counsel, Prince, told me this is it, it’s do or die.

I have this terrible feeling I may have just screwed myself.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked.

Mike spent the next fifteen minutes talking about the case, trying to explain it in layman’s terms. When he finished the summary, Mike let go of Patty’s hand and leaned forward, putting his chin on his hand. “It’s more than that, though. I just feel unsettled. Like I’m heading on a long voyage somewhere, only no one told me where I’m going or what to pack. I don’t know if I’m taking a jet or a bus. It doesn’t make sense and I feel like I’m whining.”

He intentionally did not say anything about their relationship, but he noticed Patty had folded her legs under her, leaving her flats on the floor, and turned her body to face him better.

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“Am I whining?” he asked.

“A little. Look, I’m not a counselor and I don’t think you need a shrink anyway. I hate to say this Mike, but I think you’re just doing a lot of growing up right now and maybe an awful lot is happening all at once. I don’t know anything about your case.

Honestly, while I get medical terms and conditions, anything with the law makes my head spin. You can forget about politics.

I don’t trust any of them—politicians, I mean—so I just don’t follow it. I understand this is a huge deal for you, but maybe you have a senior person you should talk with when you get back to Harrisburg. If that’s what’s bothering you, I expect one of the guys you work with will help you figure that out.”

Mike nodded while she talked.

“It’s not too much, Mike. You can handle it. Look at me. I’m a single mom, never married. How do you think that plays with the conservative tongue-cluckers around here? Right after high school I had a baby and a string of crummy jobs waitressing, McDonald’s, cleaning, you name it, to put myself through college. Somehow, I managed to get my RN—it wasn’t easy, but I did it. Trust me, I don’t make anywhere near what you do, but I’m getting by okay. Plus, I have Katie. She’s everything to me and I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Yes.” “Now I really do feel like I’ve been whining,” Mike said, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, we all need to do that from time to time.” Patty paused and looked at him. “Let me put my arms around you.”

Mike looked at her and drew his face close to hers.

She gently placed her fingers on his lips. “I told you no kissing, Mike.” Mike rolled his eyes, but did not persist. Patty put her left arm around him and then she laid her right hand on his shoulder. “Just sit here with me, baby. I think you need to be hugged.”

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Mike sat with Patty like that on the sofa in his parents’ house as a clock ticked quietly from somewhere in another room. He rested his head on her shoulder and enjoyed her warmth. From deep within his mind he recalled another time, maybe in middle school, he sat on that very sofa hugging a girl. He wanted to kiss her, too, but they never did. A long time went by and Mike had no idea whether it had been ten minutes or an hour. He dozed while Patty held him. Finally, Mike lifted his head. Patty’s blue eyes were fixed on his and they looked at each other without uttering a word. At that moment, Mike was as happy as he had been in a long time and feelings he had rarely known stirred within him.

Finally, in a whisper, Mike asked, “Can I kiss you?”

She smiled at him and shook her head as if she were about to say no and then whispered, “I give you permission to kiss me.”

Mike smiled and his face slowly approached hers and their lips brushed several times before they gently pushed together.

Her lips were the softest of any he had ever kissed.

They kissed for several long minutes. Then Mike slowly broke it off and began to stand. Patty stood too and they pressed their bodies firmly together, kissing again while they stood in the living room.

Without saying a word, Mike held out his hand and Patty took it. Silently they walked from room to room turning out the lights.

Patty’s shoes remained under the sofa. When all of the lights on the first floor had been calmed and it was dark, they started up the stairs. As Mike led the way, he kept his hand behind him and Patty held it. At the top of the stairs, Mike motioned with his hand toward an open door to one of the bedrooms, the only one with a light burning.

“Could you shut the door?” she asked.

“Why? We’re all alone.”

“I don’t know, I just feel better with the door shut, that’s all.”

Mike quietly shut the door to his room. He took one of Patty’s hands and leaned forward to embrace her. She gently touched his arm, pushed him back a few inches, and slowly

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peeled off her green turtleneck sweater. Underneath she wore a black bra which contrasted with her pale skin. She reached around and unfastened it, dropping it on the floor. Her large pale breasts were covered with goosebumps from the chilly air and her nipples were erect. Patty put her arms around Mike and he held her tight.

With a free hand, Mike turned out the light on top of the dresser, leaving on only a small reading lamp. They kissed as they reclined on his bed. *** As the lights went out in the bedroom, across the street a man sat in the passenger seat of a white Chevrolet. He made a note in his notebook.

20:35: MJ and PD arrive at MJ house in Prius, PA plate: DGL 4013.

10/3—0115: Lights out in MJ house. MJ’s Prius still in driveway. House under constant surveillance. Did not observe anyone else enter or leave MJ house. Assume MJ and PD still in house.

The writer, a black man with a medium build, Detective Wallace, turned to the driver, “Gotta hand it to him, our boy’s a stud.”

“A shame we don’t have eyes or ears in there,” replied the driver, a tall white man with a military-style haircut, Detective Black. “Well, what do you say we get a cup of coffee? I have a pretty good feeling no one’s going anywhere for a long while.

We can hit that Turkey Hill store down the hill and be back in ten.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The driver made a leisurely U-turn and drove toward the mini-market.

As the white Chevrolet slowly headed down the hill, a blue Ford that had been parked about a quarter mile away followed slowly behind. It rolled to a stop in front of Mike’s house. The

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driver noted the Prius in the driveway. The house was dark. Then he glanced at his watch, made a mental note of the time, sped up, and continued down the street.

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27 5:05 a.m., Sunday Mike was half-asleep when he felt the blanket slowly being pulled over his shoulder and up to his chin. The movement tickled his bare shoulder, which had become chilled in the cool air of the room. Patty was tucked in behind him, her warm body curled exactly as his, and she hugged him with one arm under his pillow. After she was done pulling on the blanket, she laid her free hand gently on his shoulder as if to lend it some warmth.

He lay in bed quietly for a moment then turned to face her. She was looking at him, her blue eyes dark in the room’s gloomy light.

“Good morning,” Mike whispered.

“Hi,” Patty gently replied.

“What did you do with the covers just now?”

“I was laying here awake for a while, thinking. Then you moved and they came off your shoulder. I didn’t want you to be cold—it’s freezing in here.”

“Yeah, the thermostat goes down to maybe fifty-five degrees at night. Sorry, it’s pretty cold.”

Patty pressed her naked body against his, locking her leg over his legs and pulled the cover up over their heads with her free hand. Then she put her palm on his back and said, “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

Mike wasn’t sure if she had closed her eyes, but he thought he could see her smile in the darkness of their cocoon. Patty 161

seemed to fall back asleep quickly, but Mike lay in the darkness looking at her and stayed awake for a long while. As they held each other close, he wondered how serious this was becoming.

Finally, Mike dozed with his face pressed against her hair smelling her gentle scent. *** Patty took a shower while Mike got dressed in his room.

He was tying his shoes when, over the sound of the shower, he heard his cell phone ring. He grabbed it and choked a bit when he saw the name: Sherry Stein.

“So, I bet you’re in bed right now with your Wilkes-Barre wife and your five kids,” she said. “Did I wake the missus?”

Mike looked out the door toward the bathroom. The shower was still running. “No, I’m up. What do you…why are you calling?”

“Nice, I worry about you all weekend and you ask me why I’m calling. How was your weekend?”

“Um, quiet. How about yours?”

“Well, I’ve been alone all weekend and all I could do was think about you last night. I woke up early this morning and I finally decided to call you at your parent’s home because I had to ask you something.”

“Really?” Mike asked.

“Really. Look, did you have that interview on Friday? Listen to me, try to keep our talk to a minimum if you get what I mean,” she said.

“I don’t really get what you mean, but yes, I did have that interview. It went really well.”

“Did you meet the boss?”

“You mean Shee—” “Christ Mike, didn’t you hear what I just said?” Sherry said cutting him off.

“No, I did not meet…the boss, he’s on…a business trip.”

“Okay, so you met with someone at his company?”

“Yes, his number two,” he said.

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“How did it go?”

“Actually, they offered me the job.”

“Really? That quickly? Just like that?” she asked.

“Did it occur to you I may be that good?”

“What did you tell them? Did you take the job?”

“No, I told them I’d call on Monday.”

“Mike, do me a favor. Listen to me please, because I’m only going to say this once. Please trust me on this, call them on Monday and turn down the job. I can’t tell you now, but I can tell you why when we’re together, but don’t get mixed up in this.

Please.” Sherry said.

Mike did not answer immediately.

“Are you still there?” Sherry asked.

“Yes, okay, I trust you. I’ll call them on Monday and turn it down.”

“Good. Trust me, Mike, you’re doing the right thing.” Sherry paused a moment, “When will you be back in town?”

“Later today.”

“Call me. Promise?”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Goodbye. I’ll see you when you’re back in town,” she said.

“Okay, goodbye.”

He hung up the phone.

“You promise what?” Patty asked.

Mike had been facing the window and he jumped when Patty spoke. She stood in the doorway wearing a large white towel she held closed with her hand. Her shoulders were still red from the hot shower.

“It’s early, just barely eight o’clock. Who called?” she asked.

“Oh, no one, my brother,” Mike said pausing for a moment.

“He knew I was going to be leaving soon and wanted to get me before I headed back to Harrisburg. He wanted me to promise I would call him in Chicago if Mom’s condition changed.”

“Oh, that’s nice you two talk like that.” She walked into the bedroom, leaned into him, and kissed him holding the towel close to her body. She smelled clean, like the soap she had used a few minutes earlier.

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“I’ll be ready in a couple of minutes. I’m done with the bathroom if you need it,” Patty said, smiling.

She took a pile of her clothes into the bathroom to get dressed. Mike shut his eyes and shook his head. *** “Well, got you home at nine o’clock, just like I promised,” Mike said, pulling the Prius up in front of Patty’s apartment and setting the parking brake.

“Can you come by later today after I pick up Katie?” Patty asked. “Maybe this afternoon? I’d like you to get to know her.”

“Honestly, I’m headed over to the nursing home to see my mother and then I’m going to head straight back to Harrisburg. I haven’t been there since Wednesday and I’m scared to see what’s on my desk. I know this will be a busy week. I think there’s a decent chance I’ll be back up here later this week, though.

Maybe then? I really want to get to know Katie, too.”

Patty put her hands around his neck and sighed. “Okay, just be sure to call me, okay?”

“Of course,” he said, embracing her.

They kissed a long, lingering kiss and then Patty slowly let go and opened the car door. Mike watched her walk into her apartment. As he prepared to put the car into gear he heard a banging from the apartment window. It was Patty. she waved at him and he waved back. Mike saw her in the window looking after him as he drove away. *** Mike found his mother in her wheelchair next to a table in the dining room. A nurse had placed a bib around her neck and she stared at a plate of cold scrambled eggs in front of her.

Most of the other residents had left the dining area and only a few stragglers were still sitting around the tables. A large color television blasted away in a corner. Mike sat down in an empty chair.

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“Hi Mom, it’s me,” he said.

His mother looked at him and said, “Stevie? It’s been a long time since you’ve been here.”

“No Mom, it’s me, Michael.”

She looked at him as though he had just spoken to her in an extinct language. Mike watched her expressionless grey eyes for several moments. He surveyed her tray and saw that she had eaten no more than a bite of her eggs and virtually nothing else.

“Would you like some more food? You’ve hardly eaten anything today. Here, let me give you some eggs.”

Mike placed a small amount of eggs on the tip of her fork and held them up to her lips. She did not open her mouth. Finally he said, “Come on Mom, you need to eat. Won’t you eat just a couple of bites?”

He touched her lips again with the eggs and she opened her mouth, not to eat, but to scream.

“Get that away from me! You’re trying to poison me!” she shrieked. Mike looked around and saw that some of the residents, and several people passing by the dining room, were looking at them.

His mother held her lips together, shaking her head back and forth and Mike was forced to put the fork back down on the tray.

Mike sighed and said, “Okay Mom, maybe you’ll eat some lunch later this afternoon.”

He sat with her in the dining room. Meet the Press was now on the TV and she stared at the show. After nearly half an hour, a weekend nurse whom he barely recognized offered to take his mother back to her room. He walked with them as the nurse pushed the wheelchair, then he kissed his mother on the forehead before he left for the day.

As he walked through the hallway, he could see the Sunday visitors were beginning to arrive. He could tell which ones rarely visited as they were either overly tentative with their homebound relatives, whispering or shouting, or acting in an awkward and unnatural way. There were a few of the residents who, while old, seemed to be in fairly decent shape and appeared to be having happy meetings with their families. They sat in the lobby 165

near the front doorway in sofas and chairs while grandchildren and great-grandchildren played tag around them. To Mike, the nursing home represented illness, despair, and death and he could not wait to leave. He sighed and walked to the door hating the place and what it represented. When he was outside, he took a deep breath of fresh air, as he always did to clear his lungs of the smell of antiseptic, urine, and old age, and then headed to his car.

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28 9:30 a.m., Monday Mike arrived at the office early on Monday morning. He managed to clear most of the previous week’s email, mail and memos on Sunday afternoon, but still had a stack of calls to return and files to go through. He worked nonstop for about an hour and a half until his secretary, Sandy, brought him his mail.

“We don’t see much of you anymore,” she said.

Sandy was wearing tights and a clingy, long-sleeved T-shirt.

Mike had been in many law offices over the past two years, both large and small, and he had never seen any secretary at one of those places wearing anything other than slacks, maybe a skirt. The secretaries at DEP and other state offices seemed to wear whatever they wanted. Things had gotten so bad in the summer Prince had to issue an edict requiring secretaries and female lawyers to wear blouses with collars and skirts or long pants since some of the secretaries had taken to wearing haltertops and shorts. In order to be evenhanded, he mandated male personnel also had to wear suits or shirts with collars and long pants.

“I think there’s a pretty fair chance I won’t be here much of this week, either. I haven’t seen Roger yet, but I have a feeling he’s going to send me somewhere.”

“Well, nice knowing you.” Sandy laughed as she handed him a stack of mail.

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Mike flipped through the mail and immediately tossed into the trash can the credit card applications, continuing legaleducation brochures, and other junk mail. He had one or two letters from law firms on cases he had been handling before the spill and he opened those with a brass letter opener with a small bull on top that years earlier his mother had found for him at an antique shop. He glanced at the letters and set them aside for later.

The largest piece of mail was a big manila envelope with no return address. The label was typed and the stamps were postmarked from New York City. Mike turned it over and saw no markings on the back of the envelope. He used the letter opener to rip it open, reached in and pulled out a small sheaf of papers.

The papers were photocopies of hazardous waste manifest forms. Some of the forms were from Big Bill’s. Some appeared to be the transporter’s manifest forms listing destinations in Ohio for disposal of the waste. As he read them, he realized he had never seen any of these forms. He recognized the name of the disposal facility in Ohio as one of the bigger hazardous waste disposal operations. So far as he knew, it was a legitimate operation. Several other manifest forms indicated hazardous waste had been picked up at Big Bill’s Truck Stop for disposal elsewhere. This included motor oil that was contaminated with solvents and other solvent wastes from cleaning car parts. None of it was particularly toxic, although it was considered hazardous and had to be manifested and disposed of properly. These forms were completely filled out and indicated the waste had been disposed at a disposal facility in Idaho.

That’s odd, Mike thought. McClatchy has sent his waste an awful long way for disposal. Why didn’t he send it to Ohio like everyone else?

Mike opened the envelope and peered within, seeing no other papers that had been sent to him anonymously. He gathered up everything and headed to Roger’s office. Roger looked up from the phone and waved at him to take a seat. A few moments later Roger said goodbye and hung up.

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Without exchanging pleasantries, Mike immediately began, “Have you ever heard of Idaho Falls Hazardous Waste Disposal, Inc.? Look what I got in the mail today.”

Mike handed the envelope and papers to Roger.

“You got this today?” Roger asked, glancing through the papers.

“Yes, no return address. I guess I’ve received anonymous mail before but never anything that amounted to much. How about you?”

“It all depends on the case. Sometimes there are disgruntled employees who get their hands on papers and send them to us when they know there’s a problem we missed or that’s being hidden from us. Sometimes there are whack jobs out there who send you hundreds of sheets of paper that don’t amount to anything. In their minds they think they’re Deep Throat and they’re going to bust a case wide open. More often than not, they send us papers that are meaningless. I suspect we get some from DEP employees who don’t want to go through the normal channels. Every now and then, though…” Roger trailed off as he studied the papers.

“Look at those manifest forms,” Mike said. “Some are for other companies that have nothing to do with Big Bill’s. That crap was serious toxic waste, which was sent to Ohio. Big Bill’s, on the other hand, has mildly hazardous wastes he’s sending all the way to Idaho. Do you believe he spent all that money to mail his crap across the country?”

Roger clicked on this keyboard until a Contacts card appeared. He glanced at it and then punched some numbers on his phone.

“Charlie? It’s me, Roger Alden. Have you ever heard of a place called Idaho Falls Hazardous Waste Disposal, Inc.?”

Roger held the phone between his head and shoulder and used both of his hands to look at the papers.

“Uh huh, okay, see if you get back to me this morning,” Roger said goodbye and hung up the phone.

Roger looked at Mike and said, “That’s Zelinsky. He’s going to check and see what he can find. He’ll go online and also call 169

someone at Idaho’s DEP. Headquarters has access to a database and can check that too. It’s probably still too early for anyone to pick up the phone in Idaho so he’ll try later this morning and get back to us.”

Roger told Mike he would get him when Zelinsky called.

Mike returned his office and jogged to his desk when his telephone rang.

“Jacobs.”

“I thought I cured you of that, Mike.” It was Sherry.

“Hi, I was going to call you later today, I didn’t get back until later than I planned from Wilkes-Barre.”

“I was beginning to wonder. I’ve just about convinced myself you have a wife and six kids up there in Wilkes-Barre.”

“Last time you thought I had five.”

“You must work fast.”

“Not on my salary,” he replied, thinking about Patty.

“Did you do that thing we talked about yesterday?” she asked.

“Not yet. I promise I’ll do it later today.”

“Okay, because it’s important.”

“I’ll call them as soon as I hang up.”

“Good. So, are you interested in having some dinner later this week? I want to prove to you I can cook.” Sherry said.

“I have a feeling this is going be another one of those weeks.

We’ve got some stuff going on and I think I may have an away game, maybe as early as tomorrow.”

“You’re not trying to run away from me, are you?” Sherry asked.

Mike thought this would be a good time to break it off with Sherry, then decided he didn’t want to do that over the phone.

“No, really, I think Roger will probably have me back in Wilkes-Barre later this week, maybe New Jersey. All the hot spots.”

“Well, it looks like it’s going to have to be tonight then. Why don’t you come over to my place at six and I’ll make dinner?”

Mike paused for as long as he could, wondering if he should just tell her now or wait until he saw her.

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After a moment, Sherry said, “Mike?”

He convinced himself he would talk with Sherry that night.

He would be strong. Sherry would understand. Sure, they’d had a steamy little relationship, but they were just friends. “That sounds great. I’ll come over at six.” *** When they were done talking, Mike hung up and sat at his desk, looking at the wall. After several minutes, he took a slip of paper from his pocket, picked up the phone and dialed the number. He was put through to Tim Wilson at the DA’s office.

“Mr. Wilson? Hi, it’s Mike Jacobs.”

“Mike, hey buddy, the DA and I are looking forward to some good news from you. So, what’s the word?”

“I’m really sorry, but I’ve thought it over and over in my head and I’m going to have to pass. Your offer, Mr. Sheehan’s offer, is really terrific, generous and all that, but I’m just not ready to come back to Wilkes-Barre. I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then Wilson said, “Mike, you’re making a bad mistake. You should be up here with us.”

“I’m sure I’m going to regret this, but I’ve made up my mind.”

“Can’t we do anything to change your mind? Maybe a little more money? We have a discretionary fund.”

“Mr. Wilson, you’re not making this any easier, but my mind is made up. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Mike. Goodbye.”

Wilson hung up abruptly and Mike stared at the phone. *** Wilson picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory.

“The dumb-ass turned us down. What now?”

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He listened.

“Okay, we have it covered.”

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29 12:30 p.m., Monday Mike was still behind his desk when Roger knocked on his door and waved frantically. Mike followed Roger back to his office in time to see Roger pick up the receiver from his desk.

“Okay, Charlie, that’s very interesting. What do you say we take a road trip to Bayonne tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest? Hang on,” Roger said and then put his hand over the mouthpiece.

“Mike, are you available to head up to Wilkes-Barre with me tomorrow? Charlie’s going to set up a meeting with the New Jersey DEP inspector in Bayonne.”

Mike nodded.

“Okay Charlie, we’ll be up there around ten. We’ll plan to stay for a few days.”

He hung up the phone and held up the papers Mike had left with him earlier that morning.

“This place, Idaho Falls Hazardous Waste Disposal? It doesn’t exist. Idaho has several hazardous waste disposal facilities but this one is pure fiction. Let’s plan on spending a couple of days in Wilkes-Barre and Bayonne and see if we can’t pin down the hauler and whether or not Big Bill is involved in this.”

“Let’s do it.” ***

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At a few minutes after six, Mike knocked on Sherry’s door.

He had changed into his jeans, a cotton sweater and a sport coat.

After several long minutes, Sherry appeared wearing a black skirt, black nylons, and an oversized burnt orange sweater. She smiled and said, “Long time no see. Do you want to kiss me hello?”

Mike laughed and said, “No, I mean yes, of course.”

Sherry looked at him a little funny and Mike leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, but she put her arms around him and aimed for his mouth. She held him behind his back for a long moment and kissed him deeply. Mike thought momentarily about Patty and then banished her image from his head.

“You know I missed you,” Sherry said.

“Me too,” Mike replied.

“Did you do that thing? Make the call I asked you to make?”

Sherry asked.

“Yes, and I’ve been kicking myself all day about that. I hope you have a really good reason, because I put a lot of trust in you.”

“You trusted me?”

“Yes, why not.”

“Let me show you something,” she said taking him by the hand and leading him through the living room toward the back of the apartment.

Mike was very unsure about what might happen next. He did not smell any food cooking and her dining room table was covered with papers, an open bottle of white wine, and a single glass.

Concerned, he asked, “What happened to dinner?”

“Oh, I got busy, so I decided to take you out to dinner. Is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Look at this. These are the 1099s for Sheehan’s wife’s charity. Look, they’re claiming income and expenses of like 500K and look at this, here is the financial statement for the same year. They show income and expenses of less than half of that.”

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She shuffled through another file and pulled out a paper.

“Maureen Sheehan is the Executive Director, one of only two employees, the other is a secretary. They don’t break down salaries here,” she declared pointing at some numbers on a page, “but the line for administrative compensation shows total wages of only $45,000.”

“Not much, but it’s charity work. Have you looked at the DA’s tax return?” Mike asked.

Sherry raised her narrow eyebrows and said, “You mean the man who’s running against the governor? Why that could be considered a flagrantly political investigation. He’s not under investigation.”

While she spoke she reached down into her Coach briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope. She opened it, gently pried out a packet of paper, and showed him the top page. It was the DA’s most recent tax return.

“So far, everything checks out. He files separately from his wife and lists his compensation as district attorney as his total wages. He has a little extra income from a couple of apartments he’s owned for years in Wilkes-Barre, a pension and some stocks, but his income is average at best.”

“But I thought you said they had something like two million in income from this North East Fund.”

“That’s the allegation, but we’re still trying to figure that out.”

“So, what are they doing with the money?” Mike asked.

“They say they’re distributing it. They claim the money goes to a number of organizations, volunteer fire departments, parks, schools, and get this, the library and community center in places like your hometown, Old Hills. According to the financial statement, they’re only getting around five to ten thousand dollars each. I feel like we’re on the verge of nailing the wife, but we’re not there yet. She’s not the Big Kahuna, anyway.”

Suddenly, Sherry put down the papers, stood up from her chair and placed her mouth on Mike’s. She kissed him passionately for nearly a minute. Mike did not resist and his arms found their way around her.

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They finished and Sherry stood up. Mike looked up at her from his chair and said, “What was that all about?”

“I just felt like kissing you and I didn’t feel like asking your permission. You did the right thing. I can’t tell you how good it makes me feel that you trusted me.”

Mike smiled and then looked at his watch. “What about dinner?”

“Come on, let’s go.” Sherry slipped on her leather jacket and took him by the hand.

They walked several blocks toward downtown Harrisburg to a restaurant in a converted fire station. As they entered, Mike said, “Oh, I’ve been here before.”

“Yes, it’s pretty nice…for Harrisburg.”

Walking through the bar to the restaurant, Mike saw someone he thought he recognized sitting by herself at the bar. It was Nicky Kane wearing a skirt, her face made up, her hair freshly styled. Mike thought she looked pretty. He stopped at the bar and caught her eye.

“Hi, Nicky? Nicky Kane, right?” he said.

She looked at him a moment and finally smiled, “Mike, my fix-up Yom Kippur date.”

“Right. This is my friend Sherry Stein,” he said as the women shook hands. “Are you alone?”

“No, I’m waiting for someone and she’s running a little late.”

Mike looked at Sherry and then said, “Do you want to join us?”

“No, that’s sweet. I’m sure my friend will be here soon.”

The bartender, a woman in a white blouse and black skirt approached and asked if they wanted a drink. Mike took another quick look at Sherry and ordered a beer. Sherry ordered a glass of white wine.

“Okay if we keep you company for a few minutes?” Mike asked.

“You should ask your date,” Nicky said laughing and looking at Sherry.

“Yes, Mike, you should ask your date,” Sherry said, smiling at Nicky. Then, turning more serious, she said, “We’d love to sit with you.”

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They sat on stools waiting for Nicky’s date and chatted.

Nicky talked about the details of her job for the Corporation Bureau in the Department of State. She worked in the division that processed requests for information on companies doing business in Pennsylvania.

After about twenty minutes, Nicky looked at her iPhone and said, “Okay, you’ve both been way too nice to me. I’ve officially been stood up and I’m not going to intrude on someone else’s hot date. It was very kind of you to keep me company so I didn’t have to sit here by myself.”

As Nicky stood to leave, she said, “You’re both very sweet.

Let me know if there’s anything I can ever do to help you.” She pushed two business cards across the counter.

As she turned toward the door, she placed a hand lightly on Sherry’s shoulder and leaned into her ear. “You know, you’ve got a great guy here. One of the good ones.”

Sherry and Mike looked at each other and smiled. They found a table and the waitress handed them menus. Mike decided at this point to delay telling Sherry anything about Patty. Instead, he looked at her and said, “No cocktails tonight, I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“That’s okay, me too,” Sherry said. Then, looking at the waitress, she added, “we’ll just have a bottle of this Cabernet Sauvignon,” pointing to an inexpensive red on the list.

“You want to tell me about that cute girl, Nicky?” she said lightly after the waitress left.

Mike told Sherry the story of his dinner at the Kane residence, smiling awkwardly when he told her Nicky was a lesbian.

Sherry shrugged. “You grew up in a small town and really were sheltered, weren’t you? Well, I’m glad she’s gay,” she exclaimed. “Otherwise I think I’d have a real fight on my hands.”

Then she giggled as the waitress poured the first glass of wine.

As they drank, Sherry said, “Okay Mike, I told you all about my case, now tell me about yours.”

Mike looked around to make sure no one sitting close would be able to overhear them. Then he told Sherry about the investigation. He talked all the way through salad, the appetizer, 177

the main course and two bottles of wine. Sherry was remarkably quiet, listening and asking him questions every few minutes.

When dinner was over, Sherry insisted on paying, then they strolled back to Sherry’s apartment with her holding his arm as they navigated the brick sidewalks. At Sherry’s door, Mike did not make any movement to enter.

“Why don’t you come in and I’ll make you some coffee?” she said with a smile.

“No, I really have to get home. I have to be up early tomorrow, Roger and I are driving to Wilkes-Barre, so…” “…In other words, you’re going to leave me at the door?”

She pushed out her lower lip and pretended to pout.

“Well, how about if I see you when I get back from WilkesBarre?” Mike said stoically.

Sherry made a face and said, “I get a good-night kiss, though, don’t I?” Mike leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Before he could pull away though, Sherry placed her hands behind his neck and gave him first one and then several little kisses on his mouth. While they stood in the chilly October air, Sherry ran her hands through Mike’s hair and pulled her body close to his.

Mike responded to all of the kisses, kissing her back. At some point, Sherry maneuvered her hand up Mike’s sweater and she gently rubbed his chest as she kissed him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

“I really have to get home. I’m leaving for Wilkes-Barre at eight tomorrow.”

“Then I just have to get you out of here by seven, don’t I?” She took his hand and gently tugged on it. After a moment, he stopped resisting and followed her into the apartment. Sherry pushed the door closed, double locking it in one motion before she turned out the porch light. *** At 7:50 a.m. Mike stood at the door of Sherry’s apartment getting ready to leave. Sherry had thrown a short silk bathrobe 178

over her nude body that barely covered her butt. She had loosely tied it at the waist as she walked him to the front door. Although they had been naked all night, Mike noticed the robe was very clingy and revealing.

“I’m really going to be late,” Mike said, trying to break away.

“Are you sure you want to go just now?” Sherry said, running a hand along his arm.

“Yes. I have to get home, take a shower, and pack. Roger is going to throw a fit when I pick him up late. I don’t know what that inspector in Wilkes-Barre is going to say.”

“Okay, but it’s your loss. You’re already late, what’s another half hour?” Sherry said, putting her arms around him, holding him close, and giving him a long, luxuriant kiss.

Mike finally broke off the kiss, closed his eyes for a moment considering her offer and then forced himself to open the door.

He looked at Sherry standing at the door holding her robe together against her lithe body and thought for a moment she might flash him right there on Briggs Street. Instead, she slowly shut the door and Mike turned and had to think for a moment to remember where he left his car.

Through her front window, Sherry watched Mike walk away. As she stood at the window, she reached into a small pocket in her robe and pulled out a slip of paper. All it had on it was a phone number. After holding it for several minutes, she crumbled it up and walked to the bathroom. She paused at the bathroom door and smoothed it out. Then she went to her room and picked up her cell phone and dialed the number on the paper.

A man answered.

“7506,” was all that he said.

“Hi, this is Sherry Stein.”

“Do you have anything for me?”

Sherry thought for a long moment before she answered.

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30 11:10 a.m., Tuesday After parking in the back of the lot, Roger and Mike walked toward DEP’s Wilkes-Barre office. During the ride, Mike had talked with Roger about the unusual and threatening call he had received on Saturday. Roger suggested they deal with that when they returned to Harrisburg. As they drove, Mike felt he had to be honest about his lateness and confided in Roger about unexpectedly spending the night with Sherry, leaving out all of the details. Roger simply shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

As they approached the building, they stopped as a large semi-trailer backed into the loading dock of the first-floor warehouse. Inside, men waited to receive the cargo. Many of the men spoke loudly in Spanish.

They walked into the building and Mike looked at one of the workers and said, “Hola.”

The man, who was pushing a dolly loaded with crates, paused and looked at him. Roger looked at Mike, but said nothing. The elevator was out of order so they took the stairs to the second floor. Roger was out of breath when they reached the landing.

He turned to Mike and said, “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

“I don’t. I just felt like making that guy feel more at home.”

“Did you ever notice how much this place stinks?” Roger sniffed the air in the stairwell.

“Well, it’s even worse in the summer.”

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When they reached the top of the stairs, Zelinsky was waiting, ready to move. He looked serious and Mike thought he must have on his game face.

“It’s after eleven. You guys said you would be here 9:30, 10:00. There’s no way we can get to Bayonne in time to look at what we have to see. I called the New Jersey DEP inspector and he said we could postpone until tomorrow. We’re going to meet him at 8 a.m. sharp at a coffee shop outside of Bayonne.”

Zelinsky announced.

“Yeah,” Mike said slowly, “I…we got a late start.”

“Do you want to tell us about that late start Mike?” Roger said with a grin, raising and lowering his eyebrows.

Mike shook his head and Roger let it drop.

Zelinsky was carrying a box of files, which he handed to Mike. They went down the stairs and got into Zelinsky’s Jeep.

Mike took the back seat and noticed the Jeep was much cleaner than the last time he was in it.

“So where are we headed?” asked Mike.

“Down the street to a diner, to get some coffee,” replied Zelinsky.

They entered the diner and took the booth at the far end.

Zelinsky sat with his back against the wall and Mike and Roger sat with their backs to the entrance.

“I like this. I can see who’s coming in the door,” Zelinsky said. He looked at Mike. “What happened to your face?”

“What?” Mike asked, rubbing his face.

“There, on your neck. It’s all red.”

Roger looked at the hickey on Mike’s neck and laughed.

“Probably a shaving accident, eh Bud?” Mike rubbed his neck and sat sideways in the booth, “Yeah.”

They ordered coffees and Roger also ordered a donut. Mike looked over his shoulder at the busy diner.

“I’m surprised; business seems really good,” Mike said.

“Yeah. Near the highway, cheap, and perfect for a moneylaundering operation,” Zelinsky said.

“What, here?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, here or better yet, at Big Bill’s,” Zelinsky replied.

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“What do you mean? How would that work?” Mike asked.

“Pretty easy actually,” Zelinsky said. “Let’s say you have a business that generates a lot of cash from drugs, whores, guns, you name it. You can’t exactly deposit that in the bank or pay your creditors without Uncle Sam eventually figuring out you have no visible means of support. What are you going to do with all of that dough? So, you find a nice cash business, like this one, or Big Bill’s. The dirty money comes in to the bad guys.

Then they bring it to the laundry—a place like this one—and the owner of the laundry gets paid for his effort, maybe five percent of the cash. He then uses the dirty money for legitimate stuff like paying his mechanics or buying vegetables or gas. Who knows if he really sells ten donuts or a hundred? That fifty-cent donut you’re eating probably gets expensed at a dollar on his taxes.

It’s all cash. Because there’s a large volume of cash in a cash business, it’s not easy to distinguish the dirty money from the legitimate money.”

“Seriously?” asked Mike.

Roger picked up the response, “It’s really a pretty easy operation to run. You can do this with pizza shops, dry cleaners, diners, barber shops, markets, coal breakers, anything where cash is king. We may have a debit card economy, but businesses like this one are still mostly cash operations. Not to mention we’re only two hours from New York, so that makes it convenient for the New York boys.”

“You think that’s what they’re doing at Big Bill’s?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” replied Roger.

“What about the dumping?”

“Les said they pump the crap down the borehole right into the underground mine pool. This whole area is loaded with abandoned underground mines which lead to mine pools and there are plenty of boreholes. The boreholes go down to where the old mine workings are located. The mines are all abandoned now and have filled with water, but the mine workings are hundreds of feet down and are a perfect place for dumping whatever it is you want to get rid of.” Zelinsky said.

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“But no one is talking about what is going into the boreholes or who put it there. How are we going to get the information?

It’s not like anyone there is going to tell us they’re getting a delivery of di-methyl death,” asked Mike.

“Surprise inspection,” Zelinsky said plainly.

“Surprise inspection of what?” Mike asked.

“Big Bill’s Truck Stop. He has a DEP permit that allows him to store hazardous waste for up to ninety days. That would be his waste solvent, engine cleaner, and whatnot. There’s a clause in his permit that allows us to do an administrative inspection at any time during business hours to check the materials being stored and review any papers associated with the storage. Now that I have my attorneys with me, I figured you’ll make sure I do the inspection by the book. Right, counselors?” He asked looking at the lawyers.

Roger replied, “Well, we can’t take too many liberties but if there are three of us that will give us the opportunity to do a fair amount of looking around. Anything out in the open is fair game.”

“I figure we’ll park the Jeep at the far end of the gas pumps and take the long way to McClatchy’s office,” Zelinsky said.

“Then, I want to get a look at that area to the north side of the garage where Les Ballard said there might be a borehole. I drove by there yesterday and I definitely saw some fifty-five-gallon drums in that area. I plan to take samples of the contents of every drum to see what he has and whether he’s in compliance with his storage permit. If those drums are empty and if they’re sitting on plywood, like Les said, we’ll just have to move them so I can get my sample.” Zelinsky gestured rapidly with his hands as he talked.

Roger looked at Mike and said, “You’re quiet, that’s not like you.”

“Do you think McClatchy will be there?” asked Mike.

“Probably, he won’t head off to a bar or whorehouse until lunchtime,” replied Zelinsky.

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*** They drove through Wilkes-Barre on I-81 until they reached the Avoca exit. Then Zelinsky maneuvered the Jeep through Avoca and Duryea, past the boxy houses that crowded the street, arriving at Big Bill’s a few minutes after noon.

“Hey, you guys want to get a coffee and a donut before we check out Big Bill’s?” asked Mike.

“No, we’ll get lunch after the inspection. Maybe Bill will be so happy to see us he’ll treat us to the daily special.”

Zelinsky and Roger laughed nervously and Mike pasted a smile on his face. All Mike could think about was his unofficial inspection with Flynn just a few days earlier. He worried Big Bill would lose it when he saw him. Also, he thought about the gun Big Bill had strapped to his hip.

As they approached Big Bill’s, Mike saw about a halfdozen semis in the station gassing up or idling and several cars getting gas. Zelinsky parked his Jeep at the far end of the tarmac, beyond the gas pumps. From the back of the Jeep, he pulled out a covered metal inspector’s clipboard and a long duffel bag filled with sample bottles and rubber gloves.

“Here Mike, make yourself useful,” Zelinsky said without a smile as he handed Mike the duffel.

Mike noticed Roger had slipped a small camera into his pocket and had taken a portable Sony recording device out of his briefcase. The recorder was a little larger than a thumb drive.

Mike took the legal pad from his briefcase and shoved two pens in his shirt pocket.

The men strolled past the gas pumps and Mike noticed Zelinsky was carefully examining the pavement. There were a number of small manhole covers that had been painted blue, yellow, red and green, but they all appeared to be the fill pipes for the underground storage tanks that fed the pumps. Nothing appeared to be out of place, so the three men walked closer to the garage store. They stopped when they reached the edge of the pump area and the convenience store, where there was a small graveled yard. At one time there may have been grass growing 184

in it, but now there were just a few weeds surviving between the cold stones. Zelinsky intentionally walked onto the plot, kicking at the gravel as he went. Finding nothing, he looked at Mike and Roger and shrugged.

Mike knew from the meeting with Ballard that if his story was correct, the borehole was located on the other side of the building away from the gas pumps. A pickup truck was parked immediately in front of that side of the garage so there was no way they could nonchalantly walk into that area. He assumed they would inspect it after the impending confrontation with McClatchy.

The three men entered the convenience store. Nothing had changed since Saturday, except there were about half a dozen people milling around. Some appeared to be truckers who were looking at display racks on one side of the store. Two black men were placing snacks from a shelf full of pretzels and potato chips into a red plastic basket that said “Big Bill’s” on its side. Mike noticed that behind the counter, the same girl he had talked with on Saturday was there again today.

Zelinsky approached the girl and said, “We’re here to see Mr. McClatchy.” She started to call him on the intercom, but Zelinsky stopped her. “That’s okay. We’ll just go back and see him.”

Zelinsky led the way to the side door at the rear of the store and pushed through into the garage filled with vehicles and mechanics. Several of them looked up from their work, and two who were standing near the door nudged each other as the men approached. A large man with a goatee stood and turned from a pickup truck on which he was working and glared at Mike. It was Greg Domarski, a set of crutches leaned against the truck.

“My name is Charles Zelinsky. I’m with DEP and we’re here to see Mr. McClatchy.”

“Big Bill? What do you want to see him for?” asked a tall skinny man in mechanic’s coveralls standing next to a pickup truck.

“Official DEP business. Is he in his office?”

“You have an appointment? He’s pretty busy.”

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“No, I don’t need one. I’ll tell you what, we’ll just wait here until he’s available,” said Zelinsky.

“Why don’t you go see him. He’s in his office.”

Zelinsky, Roger, and Mike walked to a door with OFFICE written on it in stick-on letters. To the side was a glass panel.

McClatchy was behind a desk overflowing with papers, porno magazines, truck parts, and bags of chips. He was looking at a fold-out picture of a naked woman with unnaturally huge breasts.

“Is that him? Big Bill?” asked Roger.

“Either that or this guy ate him,” replied Mike under his breath.

Zelinsky rapped on the door and McClatchy slowly looked up from his magazine. After a moment, a large smile appeared on his round face and he waved the men in.

“What took you so long?” asked McClatchy. The men looked at each other. “You must’ve parked next to my gas pumps twenty minutes ago.”

“Mr. McClatchy, you may remember me, Charles Zelinsky with DEP.” Zelinsky pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to McClatchy.

McClatchy studied it and said, “Zelinsky? Sure, you’ve been here before. Who are your buddies, officer?”

“This is Roger Alden, he’s a DEP lawyer and this is—” “Mike Jacobs,” said McClatchy, finishing Zelinsky’s sentence. “Well Mike, I haven’t seen you in, what, two days? So glad you could make it back to my humble shop.”

Zelinsky and Roger turned and looked at Mike trying to remain expressionless.

“You boys do know Mike was here on Saturday, don’t you?” asserted McClatchy with a smile. “Were you able to find that can of oil you said you’re looking for?”

“Uh, yes, no problem,” Mike said quietly.

“And your buddy, Tom Flynn I believe, was he able to find…? Well, I’m not sure what he was looking for behind the trucks. I’m a little confused though, I thought he was fired from DEP a couple of years ago.”

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“That has nothing to do with why we’re here today,” Zelinsky countered trying to recapture the momentum. “We’re here to do an inspection of your storage of hazardous waste.”

“Sure, sure, just like it says in my permit.” He reached behind him into a cabinet and pulled out a battered and greasy file. “Here are all of my manifests and storage records and I’ll tell you what, officer, take a look at anything you want, I’ve got nothing to hide. You want to see fresh product, or are you interested only in the waste?” McClatchy got up out of his chair and pushed his hefty body past the men into the garage. Mike noticed he was not wearing a gun.

“Come over here boys, here’s a barrel of oil, 10W-30. The fresh product we use is located over here. We have your truck oil, transmission fluid, your 75W-90,” he said pointing to several barrels and large drums in the corner. “If you’re looking for the waste, that’s it over there,” he said pointing to three barrels sitting on a wooden pallet next to a truck being repaired. Over the barrels was a sign, HAZMAT STORAGE AREA, and under the pallet was a large plastic tarp.

“By the way, officer, since you have brought your lawyers here, I’ve invited mine. He’s coming up from Wilkes-Barre and will be here in about ten minutes. That’s okay, isn’t it? Oh, and another thing, I assume the counselors here have had their OSHA training and are wearing all of the necessary protective gear.” McClatchy was nearly giggling as he spoke.

Mike looked down at his feet and saw that he was wearing a pair of Rockports, not exactly protective, steel-toed shoes.

“Bill, let us do our work and then we’ll get out of your way.

You mind if I take some samples?” asked Zelinsky.

“Not at all, officer.” McClatchy pointed at one of his men, a sturdily-built black man. “Toughy here has some sample jars from our lab. It’s not that I don’t trust you officer, but, I guess… well, I guess I don’t really trust you. I think it’s best we split our samples so my laboratory can compare our results to yours.”

“Of course, I’m happy to split samples,” Zelinsky said grimacing.

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“One other thing,” McClatchy said, “smile.” McClatchy had a huge grin on his wide face.

“Smile? Why?” Zelinsky asked.

“You see that over there?” McClatchy said pointing to a camera in the corner of the garage. “Everything that goes on in here goes onto video. Sorry, Mike, I didn’t get that system at your dad’s place, but it’s a really good system nonetheless.”

“You video everything here?” asked Roger. “You don’t have our permission.”

“Yeah, sure I do. I’m sure you saw the sign near the entrance that says, Smile, you’re on Candid Camera. It was your choice to come in here.”

Mike closed his eyes and shook his head quickly. All he could think about was Flynn sneaking around the garage on Saturday and Mike chasing after him.

Zelinsky went from container to container drawing the samples while Toughy followed after him, handing sample containers to Zelinsky who divided the samples into his and McClatchy’s containers. Big Bill’s sample containers all came from a reputable laboratory in Scranton, Lackawanna Labs.

Mike and Roger attempted to snoop around, but Domarski kept fairly close and there was no way they could get past him quietly.

Meanwhile, McClatchy had returned to his office and made a show of reading his porno magazine.

At one point, Roger walked closer to Zelinsky to watch him take a sample and Domarski immediately closed in on Mike.

His eyes narrowed as he hissed, “Jacobs, are you screwing my woman?”

“Greg, we’ve got a job to do here and…”

“You screw my woman and I’ll fuck you up.” Domarski towered over Mike, his fists turning white as they clenched the crutches.

Mike looked for Roger and Zelinsky who were in the middle of collecting a sample, then looked at Domarski. “Greg, she’s not your woman. You’re married…to someone else.”

“She’ll always be my woman and Katie will always be my kid. Keep your goddamn Jew hands off them.”

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Domarski inched closer to Mike, very close, too close for comfort, seething as he held his wooden crutches like weapons.

Suddenly, Zelinsky was behind Domarski. He had finished collecting samples and said, “Okay, we’re going to take off.”

Toughy was still standing with him and said, “Whatever you say. I’ll tell Bill.”

Domarski backed away on his crutches and turned so he could watch Mike. Mike tried to ignore him, but found himself looking at Domarski from the corner of his eye every moment or so.

As the DEP men started heading toward the door, McClatchy caught up with them and said, “Leaving so soon? Is there anything else you want to see?”

“In fact, there is. I’d like to see what you have on the north side of the garage. Can we go over there?” asked Zelinsky.

“Why? All that’s there are a bunch of spare parts and junk.”

“Humor me. I’d like to see if any drums I saw over there contain anything.”

“No problem, officer. Toughy, why don’t you show these men around?”

They walked out of the garage and Zelinsky walked directly toward the fifty-five-gallon drums he had seen. They were rusted through and appeared to contain nothing more than rainwater.

As he looked around the yard, he saw a piece of plywood and pointed at it.

“Do you mind if I take a look under that wood?” He asked Toughy.

“Sure. Here, let me help you.”

Together, they lifted the plywood and Zelinsky saw the only things underneath it were worms and garbage. Zelinsky kicked at the dirt and found nothing out of the ordinary. The men looked around the area kicking at the parts and drums, but found no evidence of a borehole. As they walked back to the Jeep, a red Cadillac CTS pulled up in front of the convenience store and a heavy, middle-aged man in a three-piece suit got out. He immediately walked over to the three DEP men.

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“You got a search warrant you want to show me?” said the suit.

“Who are you?” asked Roger.

“Sol Roth, attorney-at-law,” he said, handing a business card to Roger. “Who are you?”

“I’m Roger Alden, supervisory counsel with DEP. This is Mike Jacobs. He’s also an attorney with DEP.” “You guys got badges, cards? You too,” he said pointing at Zelinsky.

They handed him their business cards. Roth read the cards and then looked at Mike, “Jacobs, I hear you were here on Saturday. Don’t you think a little professional courtesy might have been in order? Maybe a search warrant?”

“Uh, I was just stopping in to buy a can of oil,” Mike said quietly.

“Oil. Uh-huh, okay. I guess that entirely justifies your little illegal search of the premises—which we have on tape.”

“Look, Sol, McClatchy has a permit that allows DEP the right to conduct inspections at any time,” Roger said, stepping in.

“Any time during normal business hours and I believe the garage was closed when your young colleague here went on his tour with his buddy—the disgraced former DEP lawyer Tom Flynn. I’m sure you’re entirely correct, though, and I just can’t wait for you to make that argument at the suppression hearing.”

As he spoke, Roth could barely contain himself. He tugged at his vest which looked as though the buttons might pop.

“Well, I hate to break this up, but we’ve got to get going,” Zelinsky said, walking toward the Jeep.

“What? Another illegal search to do yet today?” Roth called after them. “Don’t let me get in your way, Mr. Zelinsky. Well, counselors, nice to meet you. We’ll run into each other again… soon.”

The three DEP men got back in their Jeep and began driving back to Wilkes-Barre. It was a full five minutes before Zelinsky broke the silence.

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“So help me God, Mike, if you screwed up my investigation I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

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31 5:30 p.m., Tuesday Roger and Mike sat in a bar outside of Wilkes-Barre. Mike gulped down half of his beer, while Roger sipped on a Scotch.

“Mike, I don’t know where to begin,” Roger said quietly.

“Don’t. That was the dumbest move I’ve ever made. I have no defense. I bumped into Flynn on Friday night in Old Hills and somehow he talked me into going with him for a drive on Saturday morning. Honest to God, I thought we would just drive around and look at some places he said were suspicious. I nearly shit myself when he went onto Big Bill’s property.”

Roger shook his head and said, “Flynn? That man is trouble.”

Roger looked at his young colleague, then said, “Look, Mike, let me figure out how to deal with Prince.”

“Another thing. That big mechanic, the one with the goatee and crutches…” Mike told him everything about Domarski and Patty.

Roger listened patiently and finally said, “Come on Mike, let’s get some dinner, I’m buying.” *** After dinner, Mike dropped Roger off at a motel as he had refused a room at his parents’ house. Then he drove to the nursing home and walked through the quiet hallways. When he entered

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his mother’s darkened room he saw Patty, wearing pink scrubs, leaning over his mother, stethoscope in hand. Mike watched, appreciating her careful, gentle manner. After a moment Mike cleared his throat and Patty turned around.

“Hi,” whispered Patty. “Your mom was really exhausted, so I gave her a small snack about an hour ago and then she said she wanted to sleep. She’s been very sleepy lately and I don’t like the way her chest sounds. She’s had this bad cough for the past two days. I called her doctor and he ordered that I increase her prednisone, I’m not sure how that will help, but,” she made a face and shrugged her shoulders, “he’ll be in here in a couple of days and we’ll see.”

Mike reached out and squeezed one of her hands in both of his. Then he leaned close to his mother. “Mom, it’s me.”

His mother’s eyes fluttered open, “Stevie? Is that you?”

Mike looked at Patty. “No Mom, it’s me, your other son Mike. I don’t visit you every day but I try to call you every day, remember?”

“That’s a good boy.” His mother weakly gripped his hand, closed her eyes, and fell back asleep, coughing as she dozed.

Mike stood with his mother for a moment until Patty touched him lightly on the shoulder and motioned with her finger to leave the room.

“Can you walk with me? There’s something I want to show you,” Patty said quietly.

“How long has she been like this? Coughing, I mean.”

“I came on duty yesterday and she coughed all day yesterday and today.”

They turned down a hall which Mike had not previously seen. There were several doors that were closed and none had any sign or nameplate.

“Come in here for a minute,” Patty said.

She opened a door and turned on a light. The room was filled with furniture. There might have been fifty chairs of various shapes and sizes. Small dressers lined one wall and other pieces were stacked one on top of the other.

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Patty shut the door, put her arms around Mike and gave him a long hug and kiss. “Are you okay? You look pretty horrible.”

“I’ve had better days. That thing we talked about on Saturday with Big Bill has come back to haunt me.” He decided not to mention Greg Domarski.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I really missed you.

I know this isn’t very professional, but I really needed to hug you.”

Mike smelled her hair as they hugged. Then they leaned back, holding one another, each studying the other’s face. Patty kissed him again with her soft lips.

Separating, Mike looked around and asked, “What is this room?”

“We call it the furniture store. Let’s say someone moves out—well, dies—and the family doesn’t want their furniture. It comes in here. When a new patient needs a chair or dresser for their room, we send the family in here and they can pick out whatever they want. It’s mostly chairs and small tables, some small dressers, whatever came out of a resident’s room, which isn’t much.”

Mike ran his hand over the top of a dresser and looked at the dust on his finger, “When are you off tonight?”

“Not until eleven, but then I have to get home. The babysitter.

Unfortunately.”

“I’ll be here for a few days, so let’s try to figure something out.”

They embraced and kissed again. Patty smoothed her scrubs and opened the door as two black women in pink scrubs, nurse’s aides, walked by. The aides looked Mike and Patty up and down and then put their heads together. Mike could hear them laughing quietly. He nodded at Patty and returned to his mother’s room where he sat for about half an hour watching her sleep and listening to her cough. Finally, he kissed her on her head and walked to the nurse’s station. Patty was looking at a chart. He put his hand on the counter and she pushed hers close to his, then placed her pinky over his.

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“I’ll see you later, Nurse Dixon.”

“Yes, Mr. Jacobs, have a good night.”

They looked at each other for a moment and then Mike turned and walked down the hall.

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32 7:05 a.m., Wednesday Mike, Roger and Zelinsky drove to Bayonne in Zelinsky’s Jeep. Zelinsky seemed to have gotten over his anger from the day before and explained to the lawyers he had a friend at the New Jersey Department of Environmental Protection who would show them around Bayonne. They pulled into a restaurant parking lot next to a Ford Explorer with the New Jersey’s DEP emblem on the door.

Sitting inside doing some paperwork was a man in jeans and a work shirt. Zelinsky rapped on the window. The man looked up, smiled, and got out of the vehicle. Zelinsky introduced Roger and Mike to Jose Ortega.

They all got into Ortega’s Explorer and, after talking for a few minutes, Ortega said, “We have a lot on our hands. I have to deal with a shitload of crap that gets dumped in sewers, the Highlands, the Pinelands, the river, you name it. I almost hate to say this, but if you have some crap coming into P-A- from here, then that’s just one thing less for me to worry about, isn’t it?”

“Seriously?” asked Mike.

“Nah, it all sucks. Look we’ve got a lot of legitimate haulers here. There are some rotten eggs too. But Jersey really has a bum reputation, don’t we?”

He turned onto Port Jersey Boulevard and then pulled up in front of a sign on a fence that read, “Bayonne Trucking and Cartage.”

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“We busted these guys two years ago,” Ortega said. “Now someone else has taken over and it seems like a legit operation.

Trust me, we check the manifests and drop in on these guys at least once a week or so unexpected.”

“Any chance someone is working off the clock?” asked Zelinsky.

“Sure. Happens all the time.”

A tanker truck pulled out of the driveway and they followed it down the road. Before he pulled off the boulevard, Ortega flashed his lights and the truck pulled over.

Ortega walked over to the driver. He walked the same way Mike had seen cops approaching a car they had pulled over, slowly, and a little sideways to minimize the target. The driver handed some papers to Ortega who looked at them for a few minutes and then handed them back. Ortega patted the truck door twice and walked back to the Explorer as the truck pulled away.

“Well, everything was in order. You don’t have to worry about that guy anyway, he’s on his way to the city.”

They followed the truck, then turned down another street and slowly drove up to another trucking facility. A quarter mile behind them, a white Chevrolet rolled out onto the road and followed them, keeping its distance. *** The phone in the hallway was ringing when Mike entered the house. He quickly turned on the hall light, dropped his briefcase, and grabbed the phone.

“Hello?” Mike said.

There was no answer.

“Who’s this?” Mike demanded.

Again, there was no response, just breathing.

“Okay, I’m hanging up!” Mike shouted.

“Mikey, you’re in luck,” said the caller. It was Flynn.

“Tom? What the…? Hey look, I’m a little surprised you would call me after the crap you got me into last Saturday.”

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“Aw, come on Mikey, it wasn’t that bad. At least you got a chance to meet Big Bill.”

“Jesus, Tom, I did an inspection with Zelinsky the other day at Big Bill’s and of course McClatchy recognized me from Saturday. You should have heard him,” Mike said.

“Look, you can’t make mashed potatoes unless you crack some eggs.”

“Just what I need, pearls of wisdom from Tom Flynn. Not to mention…oh, never mind.”

“Well Mikey, I’m going to ignore what I believe you intended as an insult since I think you’re irrationally mad at me. Frankly, I’m not sure why, since I gave you a much more entertaining inspection tour than that dimwit Zelinsky. I have something I want you to see.”

“Fine, call my secretary and make an appointment. I’ll meet you in my office in Harrisburg or Wilkes-Barre, whichever is more inconvenient.”

“Seriously, I have something you need to see and I’m not going to come to the DEP office where some Gestapo agent from Harrisburg will steal this from you. Trust me, this is going to be worth the trip.”

“Okay, if you have something to give me, why don’t you meet me at Sullivan’s? Or maybe that diner down the street from Sullivan’s?”

“No way, this is sensitive stuff and I don’t think I should be showing it to you in public.”

“What the hell is it?” Mike asked.

“Meet me at my house at ten a.m. tomorrow morning. I’ll show you.”

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33 7:30 a.m., Thursday As planned, Mike picked up Roger at his motel. They had breakfast at a nearby restaurant and Mike told him about the strange call he received from Flynn the night before.

“Do you remember I once told you about whack jobs?” asked Roger. “So far as I’m concerned, Flynn is a total whack job. He’s self-destructive, sanctimonious, and dangerous. He may have screwed up this entire investigation with that little unofficial inspection tour you took last week. Frankly, I’m more than a little disappointed you went into Big Bill’s with him.”

Mike looked down at the table and pushed his eggs around on the plate.

“That aside, Flynn thinks he’s the only one who cares about the environment.” Roger ran his hand through his mane of white hair. “None of us who are doing this job care about the environment any less. I could’ve gotten a job years ago working for one of the big Philly or Pittsburgh law firms, but I chose to stay here. The inspectors and permit reviewers we work with get paid crap and could easily make twice as much money working for an engineering firm or in-house with a company. But we all stay here because we care. Just because none of us are as reckless and foolhardy as Flynn doesn’t mean we care any less.”

“Honestly, I don’t like Flynn any more than you do,” Mike said. “He’s a gadfly and he thinks he’s the purest one among us. But, what’s that expression? Even a blind pig can find a 199

mushroom? What if he really has something worthwhile? If we don’t go over there, he might hang onto it just to spite us, or he’ll release it to Sheehan or some environmental group.”

“Mike, I’ve been burned by Flynn too many times in the past. If you want to follow that bait, go ahead. Just be back at the office by noon.”

After breakfast, Mike drove Roger to DEP’s Wilkes-Barre office where both of them worked out of a small conference room that overlooked the parking lot. Mike was annoyed by the photo of Congressman Flood presiding over the room.

“What’s the deal with the picture of Dan Flood? Wasn’t he convicted of bribery or conspiracy or something?”

Roger smirked. “Local folk hero. You’ve lived here long enough; don’t you get it?”

At a little after nine, Mike told Roger he was leaving for Flynn’s house. Flynn told him he was off the grid and his GPS wouldn’t work. Looking at the directions he jotted down the previous night, he drove out of Wilkes-Barre heading north on US 11. When he got close to Pittston, he followed the Susquehanna and continued north reaching Flynn’s property just west of Pittston, a stone’s throw from the Susquehanna River.

Flynn lived in a small house that looked like an old hunting cabin. It was set back about a hundred feet from the road, against a backdrop of dense woods. A wide yard separated the road from the front of Flynn’s house. It appeared to Mike as though no one had mowed the lawn all summer; the grass had collapsed into crop circles. As Mike drove up the driveway, he saw Flynn’s Isuzu pickup. Just to the side of the house a truck emblazoned with Kingston Oil Heat was delivering a load of heating oil. The driver sat in the cab, smoking a cigarette.

Mike banged on the door and waited in the chilly October air.

A huge stack of cord wood was arranged in front of the house.

He hadn’t seen a stack of wood that large since his Vermont days.

When the door opened, Flynn was wearing a pair of oversized cutoff jeans, a Grateful Dead T-shirt, and sandals.

Mike looked at Flynn and said, “Didn’t you notice that it’s fall?”

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“I’m hot-blooded. I thought you knew that.” Flynn replied.

“Okay, Tom, I’m on a schedule, do you want to show me this thing you dragged me up here to see?”

“Make yourself at home,” Flynn said pointing to an old sofa.

“What I need to show you is in the back.”

As Mike entered the living room, he noticed it was very warm thanks to a wood burning stove in the corner. Mike had to move a stack of newspapers in order to sit on the sofa. He surveyed the messy living room. Its only chair was a crummy looking brown fabric La-Z-Boy. He couldn’t miss the large gun safe against the wall and the disassembled rifle that sat on the coffee table in front of him, surrounded by rags, oil, and other cleaning tools. He was looking at the gun when Flynn returned.

“Pretty nice, eh?” Flynn asked. He put a folder on the coffee table next to the rifle and went over to the locker.

“Take a look at this.” Flynn dialed the combination lock and opened the gun safe which was full of rifles and shotguns. A shelf toward the bottom was reserved for handguns.

“What do you think?” Flynn asked.

“Are you planning for the Russians to attack? You must have, what, ten rifles and four or five handguns,” Mike said.

“Actually, I have twelve rifles and shotguns, including three semi-automatics, and six handguns. Five here,” he said pointing to the shelf, “and one here.” Flynn reached into a pocket of his cutoffs and pulled out a small .22, which he waved around.

“Nice,” Mike said unenthusiastically. “What are you, some kind of hunter?”

“Yeah, that and target practice and personal protection. Give me a choice between my Glock and a rubber and I’ll go with the 9 mm any day. Plus, it’s much less likely the bad guys will mess with you when you have an arsenal.”

“Well, your doomsday preparations are interesting, but that’s not why you brought me out here. You have something to show me?”

“Yeah, get a load of this. These are pictures taken during my surveillance of Big Bill’s over the past two weeks.”

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Flynn shoved the handgun back into his pocket and showed Mike a series of 8 x 10 photographs that appeared to be of Big Bill’s. While he was in the middle of laying the photographs in front of Mike, there was a knock at the door.

It was the oil delivery driver wearing greasy coveralls with a patch on his jacket that read Ed. He held a slip of paper in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Flynn talked with him for a minute and then the driver turned and went back toward the truck.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Flynn said to Mike, “I’ve got to check something with this guy. Just look at those photos.” Flynn went outside and shut the door.

Examining the photographs, he saw they were telephoto shots that had been blown up. As a result, the images were grainy. There were pictures of Big Bill and other people going into or coming out of either the convenience store or the garage.

Another half-dozen photographs were of a white panel truck parked in front of the garage. As he flipped through them, he saw nothing that advanced his investigation. Several minutes later, Flynn returned and Mike could see the delivery truck pulling away down the driveway.

“What do you think? Those are killer photos, aren’t they?”

Flynn asked.

“I’m not getting it, Tom. I see a bunch of photographs of people and then all of these photographs of this truck. What am I looking at?”

“Are you blind? These are witnesses, some likely are perps, and I think this truck has something to do with the release.”

Flynn pointed at the pictures on the coffee table.

Looking at the pictures, Mike realized he had just wasted almost two hours on the round trip. He stood up and said, “Thanks Tom, this has been helpful.”

Mike started to leave when Flynn gathered up the photographs and shoved them into the folder. He held out the folder for Mike.

“You can take those pictures with you,” Flynn said. “I made duplicates. I’m pretty certain you’ll find your perp among the people in those photos.”

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Mike took the folder, said goodbye to Flynn and returned to his car. As he drove away, he saw Flynn in his rear-view mirror holding a rifle over his shoulder and walking behind his house.

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34 12:30 p.m., Thursday Mike found Roger and Zelinsky in the same diner where they had eaten breakfast the day before. The two older men had already finished lunch and were drinking coffee when Mike walked in and sat down next to Roger.

“Is this seat taken?” asked Mike.

“Depends, did your buddy come up with anything helpful?” replied Roger.

“Not exactly. He had a stack of pictures he took from his car window or maybe the donut shop of people going in and out of Big Bill’s. Also, he had pictures of a panel truck parked in front of Big Bill’s. Honestly, I think it was delivering potato chips. At the very least, he should have given me a picture of one of those big gas tankers filling up the underground storage tanks with gasoline. I don’t know why he dragged me out there.”

“I told you, he’s a whack job,” Roger replied.

“You went to Flynn’s house?” asked Zelinsky.

“Yeah, it’s a dump — tiny little cabin at the edge of the woods not far from the river. I don’t think he’s mowed the lawn in years.

Not to mention, he must be some kind of loony survivalist—he had enough rifles and guns to hold off the Russian Army. Also, he has both wood heat and oil heat. He was getting an oil delivery while I was there. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has thousands of cans of peaches and beef stew in the basement.”

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“I was out there years ago. Actually, I think that house was some kind of field office for a mining company,” said Zelinsky.

“They had them all over the place to service the mining operations, sometimes miles away from the main shaft.”

“Anyway, I feel as though we’re no closer today than we were two weeks ago trying to figure out where it was being dumped,” said Mike.

“Charlie, you must have some additional documents, something we haven’t seen before. Do you have anything that could point us in the right direction?” asked Roger.

“Maybe. Let’s head back to the office. I’ve got file cabinets full of stuff you guys can go through.”

When the men arrived back at the DEP office, there were several tractor-trailers lined up waiting to make deliveries at the fruit and vegetable warehouse. Mike parked his car and lingered a moment while the other two walked to the building. A truck marked Roman Farms, Glassboro, N.J. backed into the loading area. Something clicked in his mind. He took the steps two at a time to Zelinsky’s office. Roger and Zelinsky were in the conference room.

“I just figured out what we have to do. It’s not enough for us to look at the trucks as they leave Bayonne or to look at stacks of manifests. We haven’t found a single reliable witness who can tell us something worthwhile. Some of the manifests are crap and we’ll never know which ones are good and which are bad. I think we actually have to follow a loaded truck all the way from Bayonne to Pennsylvania. There are no hazardous waste disposal facilities anywhere near here. If we find a loaded truck on its way to Ohio, or better yet Idaho, and it makes a detour to Pennsylvania, then we’re in luck.” Mike said breathlessly. “All we have to do is follow the truck from Bayonne to Big Bill’s and bust him.”

“Slow down,” said Roger. “The problem is we can spend weeks following trucks that are making legitimate pickups and deliveries. We don’t have weeks, we only have about one week, maybe less.”

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“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s practical. You’d need an army of inspectors following a fleet of trucks. Someone would notice,” added Zelinsky.

“Actually, all we need to find is one truck that’s fully loaded and pulls out of Bayonne supposedly heading to Idaho Falls. We know there’s something screwy with that Idaho Falls disposal facility. That place doesn’t exist, so the hazardous waste in the truck has to be going somewhere. There’s got to be a huge expense in driving the truck. Better just to dump it as soon as you can and get back to Jersey. Why drive a load of hazardous waste all the way across the country if you can just dump it in Pennsylvania? That would require us following only a single truck,” Mike asserted.

“Kid’s got a good idea,” Roger said.

“The problem is state agencies don’t get the manifest forms until after the entire trip is complete. You know, cradle to grave, the manifest gets filled out by the generator, then the hauler, and then the disposal facility before it gets filed with the state.

Assume that everything was legitimate. If a load was leaving New Jersey tomorrow and was being properly disposed of in Idaho, I doubt New Jersey DEP would get the completed form back much before December,” Zelinsky said.

The three sat around the conference room table looking at the banker’s boxes and stacks of paper they had spread across the table. Mike was first to speak.

“What about your buddy, Jose Ortega? Maybe he has a contact in the hauling company in Bayonne.”

“I seriously doubt one of the midnight dumpers will tell Jose there’s a load of illegal hazardous waste heading for Pennsylvania,” Zelinsky said shaking his head. “And before you ask, if he stops every truck coming out of the gate, instead of stopping one or two trucks a week like he normally does, you can be sure the bad guys would know something was up and would change their plans.”

Mike shook his head and made a face. “You know, the problem is everyone is getting payoffs. The trucking company

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gets a huge payoff, the driver gets paid off, and the guy letting the dumping take place on his property probably is getting paid off. All that dirty money and these guys are getting away with murder. We get screwed all the time and our hands are tied.”

“What are you saying, Mike?” asked Roger.

“Maybe we need to think like them, the bad guys. What if Jose paid off a dispatcher or secretary to tell us when a dirty load is coming our way? I bet you it wouldn’t even cost that much money. Hell, he probably could convince the dispatcher he isn’t even violating the midnight dumper’s code of ethics. We know Idaho Falls doesn’t exist, but maybe the dispatcher doesn’t know that. For all we know, the dispatcher talks every day with a nice lady in Idaho who tells him everything was delivered as it should have been. A couple of weeks later, the manifest arrives in the mail or email and everything looks kosher. Jose wouldn’t even have to mention Pennsylvania and the dispatcher might think he’s doing a solid by telling Ortega the load is on its way to Idaho. The only way to get to Idaho from New Jersey is through Pennsylvania. The only information you have to get from the dispatcher dude is that a load of hazardous waste is on its way to Idaho Falls. He could give the dispatcher five-hundred bucks, maybe a thousand, for his trouble. You know what they say, no honor among thieves?”

“One thing is for certain, this idea will either never get approved or will take weeks to get approved. Prince would have to approve it, then the secretary, and probably the governor or his general counsel. Probably the same deal in New Jersey. We don’t have that kind of time.” Roger said.

Mike thought for a minute and then and said, “What if each of us chips in three-hundred-and-thirty-three dollars. I know that’s a lot of money, but it will provide us with a huge return on investment.”

Roger and Zelinsky looked at each other for several moments.

Finally, Mike said, “Are you considering it?”

“Actually,” Roger said, “I’m trying to decide whether the three of us would be breaking any laws if we did this. I’ll tell you

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what, though, I can’t think of any. Cops pay off informants all the time.” Roger looked at Zelinsky and said, “You think your buddy would help us?”

Zelinsky held his hand on his mouth for several moments before talking, then said, “Yeah, he hates these bastards as much as we do. One thing though, between my divorce and child support, it’s going be hard to find three-hundred bucks.”

“Okay,” Roger said to Zelinsky, “Tell Jose he can start at five-hundred bucks for the tip and go up to a thousand only if he has to. That’s only like a hundred-and-fifty, a hundred-andseventy-five each if he can get the information for five-hundred dollars. And, for Christ sakes, tell him to be discreet.” *** Two hours later, Zelinsky looked into the conference room where Roger and Mike were working. He entered and closed the door behind him.

“I talked with Jose right after our little meeting. Turns out the trucking company works a five a.m. to two p.m. shift. Anyway, he followed a secretary he knows there from Bayonne to her house in Elizabeth. He talked to her in her driveway and said he needed a favor. He told her this had absolutely nothing to do with the trucking company, but they were having trouble with the disposal facility in Idaho Falls. She said all she does is fill in the paperwork and doesn’t know anything about the places they haul the waste. He said all he needed to know was when a delivery was being made to Idaho and he needed to be sure no one knew they had talked. She was a little nervous about telling him, but he assured her it was okay, he worked for the state of New Jersey. He told her there was special state money— three-hundred dollars cash—if she helped and kept her mouth shut. Turns out just today she completed the paperwork for a delivery to Idaho Falls. The truck will be on its way a week from Monday at 4:00 in the morning. She doesn’t know how full it will be or whether it will be making any stops in between, but the arrangements with Idaho are set.”

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“That’s great,” Mike said brightly.

“Yeah, but it’s important we keep this to ourselves,” Roger warned.

“About that,” Zelinsky said. “I told Slaughter. In this office, he has to know.”

“Christ, do you trust him?” asked Roger shaking his head.

“He’s the godfather to my children.”

“You said godfather? Why am I not comforted by that?”

Mike said quietly. *** Mike and Roger went into the nursing home and Roger took a seat in the lobby. Mike walked into his mother’s room as a nurse’s aide was trying to feed her.

“How is she doing today?”

“She’s been quiet, Mr. Michael,” said the black woman.

“Hi Mom, how are you feeling?”

“It was a mistake.”

“What’s that? Is anything bothering you?”

“It was a mistake.”

“Aw Mom, don’t talk like that. Don’t you like it here?”

“It was a mistake,” she said.

“What was a mistake?” he asked.

“It was a mistake.”

Mike looked at the aide, who shrugged her shoulders.

While he was trying to talk with his mother, Patty came into the room. “That’s okay, Gertie, I’ve got Mrs. Jacobs from here.”

The aide put down the spoon. “I’ll see you later, Miss Estelle.”

“It was a mistake.”

After she left, Mike said to Patty, “Can I talk with you for a second?”

They went outside the room and Mike looked around furtively before giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “I have Roger here with me, he’s in the lobby. He wants to get back to Harrisburg and I have a ton of work waiting for me, so we’re heading back 209

as soon as I’m done here. I can’t make him sit here very long, so I’m going to have to get going in a minute. I can get back up here this weekend and I’d enjoy seeing you and Katie. Can we get together?”

“I’d love that. I’m off this Saturday, maybe we can do something together, the three of us.”

“That would be terrific.”

“And I think Katie would really enjoy sleeping over at her friend’s house again on Saturday night,” she said smiling. “So would I.” Patty reached out and touched her finger on Mike’s chest, then rubbed it back and forth twice.

Mike smiled at Patty until he heard his mother in her room coughing. “It was a mistake.”

“Um, that sounds fantastic, all of it. I have to see her for another minute, and then I really have to go.”

Mike squeezed Patty’s hands and went back into his mother’s room. She had fallen asleep with her head back on the pillow.

Mike kissed her forehead and then gave Patty a quick hug before he went back to the lobby.

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35 1:00 p.m., Thursday Sherry leaned over a stack of papers. Her elbow was on the desk and she held up her chin in her hand. She had stopped thinking about the case ten minutes earlier and was staring out the window toward the capitol, looking at the yellow leaves on the trees in Capitol Park. Without realizing it, she was thinking about Mike and looking forward to seeing him again.

She felt a tickle on her right shoulder, almost as though a fly had landed on it. She turned and was surprised to see Don Brown standing behind her with his briefcase in hand. He had touched her shoulder with a finger to get her attention.

“I’m sorry, Miss Stein, I cleared my throat two or three times standing outside your door, but you didn’t seem to hear me. I need to talk with you and didn’t want to scare you,” he said apologetically.

“Oh, that’s okay Don. I was lost in thought.”

She was wearing a short red skirt and a black top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore almost no makeup.

Her shoes were off and she was bare legged. Don caught a glimpse of her red toenails.

There was nowhere for a visitor to sit in Sherry’s office.

“Um, can we go somewhere? I need to show you something.”

Sherry slipped into her shoes and led the way to the conference room. Don noticed the piles of paper had grown since the other day. He sat down in a chair, opened his briefcase on the desk, and pulled out two files.

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“Okay Miss Stein, Sherry, here is the financial statement for the North East Fund. This is the one for four years ago you’ve seen a thousand times. Look here on page five, under income.

The income report indicates the North East Fund received a hundred-and-seventy-five thousand dollars in contributions.

Under expenses, there was a total administrative salary expense of forty-five-thousand dollars. Now we know Mrs. Sheehan’s secretary had taxable wage income of fifteen-thousand dollars and Mrs. Sheehan had thirty-thousand dollars.”

Brown took a small calculator and punched in some numbers.

“After you take out all administrative expenses that leaves approximately a hundred-and-twenty-thousand for contributions to organizations. In the appendix, they list a number of recipients of contributions totaling about a hundred-and-twenty-thousand dollars and all of these contributions are modest, in the fivethousand to ten-thousand dollar range.”

Sherry made a face as she looked once again at the financial statement. “Don, you’re right, I’ve seen this a million times, but nothing we found substantiates the allegations that millions of dollars have gone into or come out of the North East Fund illegally. We seem to be going around and around in circles.”

“Well, it occurred to me we couldn’t just ask Mrs. Sheehan since she wasn’t going to be all that cooperative, so I started to think about how else I could easily find information regarding large sums of money going into a charity like the North East Fund. Actually, last week, when I was looking through all of those obituaries, I saw pictures in the newspaper that gave me an idea. Honestly, I thought I would go crazy doing this, but I spent two full days looking at every page of the Wilkes-Barre and Scranton newspapers in the State Library for just one year.

Then I spent about half a day going through the local weeklies from Luzerne and Lackawanna Counties. Let me show you what I found.”

Brown opened another file that held copies of newspaper clippings. He pulled one out and showed it to Sherry. It was a photograph of the CEO of a large electric company standing with Maureen Sheehan next to an oversized check. They were 212

both smiling. The check was inscribed, Pay to the Order of North East Fund…$50,000. The clipping was from the same year, in March.

“Very generous of the electric company to help out local charities, don’t you think?” he said.

Brown pulled out another clipping, a relatively long article from the Scranton newspaper. The headline read Scranton Company Assists Local Charity and the article began, “Mountaintop Construction Company today announced it was making a contribution to the North East Fund of $100,000.

Maureen Sheehan, executive director of the fund, said ‘I hope that other local businesses follow the lead of this great company in helping to support the wonderful institutions of northeastern Pennsylvania.’” The article was dated June 20.

“This one is another benefactor from the neighborhood.

Again, very generous and between the electric company and this construction company, they have very nearly funded the North East fund for the entire year.” Brown smirked as he spoke.

Sherry studied the article as Brown pulled another clipping.

“Here’s another. I found this nice picture in the Moosic Weekly Advertiser. It’s from the week after July 4, which I think explains the bunting and flags. It’s a charming picture, don’t you think?”

The photograph showed Maureen Sheehan, wearing a blouse with a stars-and-stripes design standing next to an oversized check. With her was the president of Anthracite Land Partners, L.P., who was wearing a white suit and an American flag necktie.

The amount of the check was fifty-thousand dollars.

“But Don, those three checks total two-hundred-thousand dollars. That’s already more than the North East Fund claimed as income for the entire year,” Sherry said looking at the three clippings on the table in front of her.

Brown giggled. “Look at these, Miss Stein,” he said.

Sherry flipped through a dozen clippings of articles and pictures for the year. Total contributions identified in the press releases and articles were well over one million dollars.

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“If I understand this correctly, I think you found the evidence we’ve been looking for,” Sherry said. “All we have to do now is subpoena the bank records for the financial information from these outfits and we have the North East Fund dead to rights.”

“Sherry, I suspect if you were to lay a subpoena on the bigger banks in the area you would find even more money since not everyone wants to be in the newspaper. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting a subpoena for this evidence.”

Sherry spread all of the photographs and the annual report in front of her and thought for a minute while she scanned the papers.

“Let’s see if I have this all together now,” Sherry said.

“Someone, probably the DA or his handlers, solicits funds for the campaign. They cut a deal that enables the donor to give the funds to the North East Fund. The money goes into the North East Fund and becomes a tax-deductible charitable contribution, rather than a non-deductible political contribution.

Also, if there’s someone the DA would rather not have on his list of donors, let’s say a crook, he solicits them anyway, and they can also make a big, tax-deductible contribution to the North East Fund. The North East Fund declares only a portion of these proceeds and spreads some money around the region so no one suspects it’s a conduit for illegal campaign contributions.

Since the money is off the books, some of it gets turned into cash and illegal campaign contributions are made by a bunch of dead people, so they can keep it all looking kosher. Still, there has to be some way the North East Fund funnels money over to Sheehan’s gubernatorial campaign. Have you figured that out?”

“Well, the dead contributors help. Also, I’m pretty sure there is probably a string of fake companies the money goes through until it comes into the campaign,” Don replied. “Unfortunately, I’ve hit a brick wall with the Department of State. They’re telling me it’ll be weeks until they can pull all the corporate records we need. We need some corporate information before we go to the grand jury. That’s the missing link. The money must go to the fake companies, maybe to pay fake bills, to cover up the illegal campaign contributions. Once the money is in the hands of the 214

shell companies, they make donations using the names of dead people, so they can keep it all looking on the up and up. I’d say we should go to the AG to have him make the request, but I have a feeling someone might tip off Sheehan somewhere between here and the Corporations Bureau.”

Sherry thought, then her face brightened. She rummaged around on the table through some papers, finally pulling out Nicky Kane’s business card.

“Don, I have a contact over there. I’m pretty sure I can get the corporate documents a lot faster bypassing all of the formalities.”

“Great, then we can take the whole case to the grand jury in a couple of weeks. I think you’ve got it!” Brown said with a smile.

Without warning, Sherry leaned forward and hugged Brown around the neck, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Sorry Don, I had to do that,” Sherry said with a grin.

“Well, just so long as my wife doesn’t find out,” Brown said, touching his face and blushing.

Brown closed his briefcase and stood up. “We have a lot to do yet, but I think the really hard part is done. I think you should be ready to go to the grand jury within two weeks of getting the corporate information.”

Sherry stood up and held out her hand. They shook warmly and Don walked down the hall toward the elevator. As the elevator door closed, he put his hand on his jowly cheek where Sherry had kissed it and held it there for a long moment. *** Mike was back at his desk at 5:30 p.m. replying to emails when the phone rang. He reached over to pick up the telephone, and without thinking said, “Hello, this is Mike Jacobs speaking.”

“Finally! I think I’ve broken you of that bad habit,” Sherry said laughing. “So, were you planning on calling me today or were you going to make me wait a few days before you called?

You know that isn’t the way to endear yourself with the girls, Mike.”

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“Don’t you ever start a telephone conversation with hello?”

Mike asked. “In fact, I was planning to call you tonight after work.”

“Well, I couldn’t wait. I feel like celebrating and thought I’d take you out to dinner tonight.”

“Celebrate what?”

“This case I’ve been working on, we had a big breakthrough today. I want to get drunk and celebrate it with you.”

“I’d really like to go out to dinner with you tonight, but it’s come down to crunch time in my big case, too. Roger and I intend to move forward and we think there will be a lot of action over the next few days. Can I take a rain check?”

“Michael, I really want to go out tonight. Please?” she pleaded.

Mike had never heard Sherry talk like that and he considered whether he could spend the evening with her and still get his work done.

“I’m really sorry, Sherry, but I have to work late tonight.

I’d be happy to go to dinner another night to celebrate, maybe tomorrow, but I know I have to work until I can’t work any longer tonight. Can we get together tomorrow?”

“You are such a party pooper. I had such a good surprise planned for you tonight, too.”

Mike could only imagine, but said, “You mean you were going to tell me about your case?”

“That too.” *** At around 6:00, Jenny came into Mike’s office wearing her jacket and carrying an oversized handbag she used to tote papers.

“Mike, how would you and Sherry like to go out tonight with Tim and me? He’s just won a big case in Federal Court, so I’m taking him out to celebrate.”

“Sounds like everyone’s in a mood to party. Look, I’d love to do that. Sherry really wanted to go out tonight, too, but I just

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can’t do it. I’ve got too much on my plate. Can we go out another time?”

“Sure, but all work and no play…”

“If you knew the half of it. Another time, okay?” Mike said.

Jenny smiled at him and left. Mike continued working straight through the dinner hour without taking a break. He heard the few remaining lawyers as they drifted out of the office. The last one left around 7:00 pm. The cleaning crew left about an hour later.

Two hours after that, most of the lights were out in the office and the floor was mostly dark. The only lights that were on were his reading light and a light in the hall. During the two years he had worked in the fourth-floor office he had become accustomed to hearing the creaks and other sounds of the building. Tonight, the office seemed to have additional sounds he had not heard before.

The building in which the chief counsel’s office was located had offices on the lowest four floors and apartments that started on the floor above his. Mike assumed he never heard the upstairs neighbor because it was too noisy in the office during the day and because whoever lived in the apartment worked during the day.

Tonight, however, every now and again he heard the upstairs neighbor pacing around the apartment. The man, he assumed it was a man, walked heavily right above his head.

As he sat looking at the files on his desk, he heard a noise outside his office. It sounded like a door opened and closed somewhere nearby. Mike looked up from his work and heard nothing. He glanced back to his papers, then realized the light coming under the door of his office had changed. Looking at the bottom of the door he saw two shadows blocking the light and realized someone was standing outside of his office.

“Who’s there?” he demanded. “Is anybody out there?”

Mike heard nothing in response and quickly surveyed his desk for something to use as a club. He picked up a large geode crystal he had bought out west to use as a paperweight. He got out of his chair and, holding the geode, approached the door. He raised the geode over his head to crash down onto the intruder.

The door slowly opened.

It was Sherry.

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“You scared the shit out of me!” Mike burst out laughing.

Sherry looked at the rock in Mike’s hand and said, “Were you planning to attack me with that?”

“No, just defend myself.” Sherry wore her leather jacket over her short red skirt and black silk blouse. As always, she looked terrific. He put down the rock and they hugged warmly.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I was lonely and hungry and wanted company. Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not. How could I be mad at you? How did you get in here though?”

“You forget I’m a deputy AG, remember? I just flashed the guard my badge and a smile and he let me into the building.

All I had to do was chat with him for a minute or two and he escorted me right to the door of your suite and let me in. It was easy-peasy.”

Mike smiled and shook his head, then looked at what she carried. “What’s in the bag?”

“You said you wanted to have dinner with me sometime so I decided to make us a picnic.”

Sherry removed a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of jelly, and a plastic honey-bear container. Then she removed two bottles of Yuengling Lager.

“Hmm, looks like my usual dinner,” Mike said.

“I thought you’d like this.”

Mike looked at the containers and said to Sherry, “I know what the bread, peanut butter, and jelly are for. What’s the honey for? Do you put that on a peanut butter sandwich?”

Sherry didn’t say another word. She removed the small tab on the honey-bear. Then she squeezed some honey into her mouth, put her arms around Mike, and kissed him on the lips.

Mike did not resist and a moment later, the sweet taste of the honey entered his mouth. As they kissed, she turned and sat on his desk, pulling him toward her, pushing papers to either side as she settled back. She slid her legs around him and clamped them around his hips. Mike stroked her bare thigh almost to her hips when he realized she wasn’t wearing anything under her skirt. A 218

minute later, Mike’s pants were down around his ankles. They didn’t let up until they were side by side on the desk, panting and laughing. *** Wallace had been pacing the nearly empty apartment for hours while Mike was working quietly downstairs. He had unplugged the headphones, engaging the small speaker box, and heard nothing other than Mike flipping through papers and the occasional creak of his chair. Black had stretched his long legs out on a folding chair and fallen asleep.

After hours of hearing virtually nothing, Mike’s voice burst out, “Who’s there? Is anybody out there?”

Wallace flipped off the speaker and adjusted the headset over his ears. He turned up the volume on the headset and checked his laptop to be sure he recorded everything. After a minute, he slapped Black on the shoulder and, with a fiendish grin motioned toward the spare headphones. Black sat up and flexed his shoulders as he awakened, putting on the headphones. He broke into a huge smile and punched Wallace’s shoulder.

Wallace checked the laptop again to be sure they were recording the entire episode. Then the two men sat back in their chairs and listened to the laughing, grunting, and moaning in the office below their feet.

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36 9:05 a.m., Friday Mike entered the regional counsel’s office suite a little after nine in the morning. Sandy was behind her desk, wearing earbuds attached to her iPhone, as she typed a document. She glanced at him and nodded hello. Mike looked at the piles on the bookcase behind her and wondered if she would ever catch up with the paperwork. He glanced around the dingy office and noticed, as if for the first time, the boxes filled with papers stacked up against the scuffed walls and the ancient filing cabinets with their broken locks. He also noticed the worn, mismatched furniture that filled the room.

As he rounded the corner to his office, he saw the light was on. Roger was in his guest chair reading the New York Times. As Mike entered, Roger closed the newspaper and took a moment to very intentionally survey Mike’s office.

“Your office looks like shit. I thought mine was bad, but yours? I’ve seen actual pigsties, literally, the real thing, neater than this place. Tell me you know where every paper is located in this office. I’d love to hear you say that.”

Mike shook his head. Papers were scattered everywhere, on the floor, his chair, and all over his desk. There had been a semblance of order until Sherry had arrived last night. By the time he and Sherry left, however, it was a mess. Mike had hoped to come in early and straighten out his office, but he stayed over at Sherry’s and overslept. Roger stood up, “Come on, let’s meet in my office.”

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As Roger stood, he put his hand on Mike’s desk for a moment, then picked it up, immediately pressing his fingers together and pulling them apart.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“That? Oh, I think it’s honey,” answered Mike rolling his eyes. “I was here really late last night—working—and I had some peanut butter and honey sandwiches for dinner.”

Roger shook his head and, still rubbing his fingers together, took a detour to the men’s room to wash his hands. The two men then sat in Roger’s office.

“We still need more evidence to connect the dots. We have a game plan for getting the bastard with the tanker truck and we’re pretty sure we know how we’re going to do that. We’ve interviewed plenty of witnesses, including more than a few knuckleheads, yet I’m still not convinced Big Bill’s is the disposal site. We did that site inspection and, frankly, his operation isn’t all that badly run. He may be a dirty lying scumbag, but he seems pretty careful. Those drums of hazardous waste he had onsite were properly documented and stored. We have to build a better case and we only have a few days to do it.”

“I’m beginning to wonder myself,” remarked Mike. “Look, I want to go up to Wilkes-Barre again this weekend anyway.

Maybe I’ll stay up there for a few days next week and take Charlie and conduct some more witness interviews.”

“I agree. Okay, you head back up there and see if you can shake anything loose. I know Ortega in Jersey thinks he has a reliable CI, but for all we know, she’s a scumbag too. We need some independent evidence. I don’t want to put all of our beans in one bag. I hate to say this, it’s almost a month after this investigation began, but we still need a borehole and we need a dumper. Find the borehole, find the dumper.” *** Mike went back to his office and began cleaning it up. The papers he’d been working on before Sherry arrived were all over the floor. Over the previous weeks, he had carefully separated 221

some of them into piles on the floor, but they got pushed over when he and Sherry ended up on the floor after making love on his desk. All in all, he thought, the scene of the crime was a mess.

Mike sat at his desk trying to make order out of the chaos.

About an hour later, Jenny came in carrying a cup of coffee.

“What the heck happened last night?” she asked. “When I got to the office, I came in to see you and it was a total wreck in here.”

Mike shrugged and thought for a moment, then said, “Well, either Sherry and I made crazy wild love on my desk and the floor last night, or I was just working late.” He arched his eyebrows up and down.

“Yeah, right.” Jenny laughed and headed back to her office.

As he cleaned, Mike came across a pile of mail Sandy must have placed on the corner of his desk that morning. He found an order from the EHB on top of the stack and opened it first.

The order was for one of his other cases, setting a schedule for discovery. He put it on his calendar. He also received a letter from opposing counsel from Franklin County, which he quickly opened and laid on a new pile. Most of his mail any more was email, but he still received the occasional letter, especially from small-town lawyers who followed older ways of practice.

The final piece of mail was in a letter-sized envelope with no return address. This time, however, the envelope was addressed to him in longhand. Mike noticed the stamp had been postmarked in Old Hills and he opened it with his brass letter opener. Inside was a piece of paper that looked like it had been torn from a note pad. In the center of the paper someone had printed, in block letters: DEP—WATCH OUT! YOU’VE BEEN BUGGED! Mike examined the letter and looked at the inside and outside of the envelope. After a moment, Mike left the rest of his mail on his desk and took the envelope and letter with him to Roger’s office. Mike looked in and saw Roger was reading his email.

Roger looked up at him and said, “Yes?”

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Mike tapped a forefinger to his lips twice, then pushed the anonymous letter into Roger’s hands. Roger scanned the paper and looked up at Mike, startled.

Mike said, “Come on, let’s grab a cup of coffee. I could use some extra caffeine.”

They headed to the ground floor and walked past the small state snack bar run by a blind man and continued outside the building into the cool October air. Roger was still holding the anonymous letter and looked at it again, in the sunlight.

“When did you get this?” asked Roger.

“In the mail, just a few minutes ago. This is different than the other one. The first one had photocopies of manifest forms and was postmarked in New York. Whoever sent the first letter was careful to type an address label and made a point of mailing it from New York. Also, the first envelope had no letter or note.

This one, though, has a handwritten note. Both the message and address were written that way, almost as though the person wanted to be anonymous, but didn’t think through how easy this would be to trace. Also, take a look at the postmark.”

Roger looked at it and said, “Old Hills.”

They entered a restaurant located near the office and took seats in the corner. Mike faced the door.

“Do you think they bugged our phones?” asked Mike.

“Don’t have a clue,” replied Roger. “We have to assume it’s both our phones and our offices.”

Suddenly, Mike put his hand on his face, and mumbled, “Oh God!” “Yeah, whoever it is probably heard us talking about the case,” replied Roger.

“Yeah, that too,” muttered Mike looking down at the table running his hands through his hair.

Mike took a long moment to rub his eyes, while Roger surveyed his young colleague, not uttering a word.

Finally, Mike asked, “Who do you suppose did this? The feds? Big Bill?”

“I can’t imagine the feds would have bugged us. You and I have done nothing wrong so there’s no reason they would focus 223

an investigation on us. If they wanted our cooperation, all they would have had to do is ask. I suppose it could be Big Bill, but then he’d have a lot more going for him than I ever imagined from a scumbag like that.”

“Do you think we should report this?”

“God, part of me is telling me to report this immediately to Prince. I’m afraid if we did that though, the entire investigation would be shut down and we’d never catch the SOB who dumped the crap in the mine tunnel. Let’s hold off at least for the weekend.”

They drank their coffee for a few moments without talking.

“You said you’re going up to Wilkes-Barre this weekend, right?”

Roger asked.

“Yes, there are plenty of hard-copy documents up there to review and I want to see if I can get in some more interviews.”

He paused for a moment and added, “Also, I want to see my Mom.” Then Mike paused again and finally confided, “Also, there’s this girl I’m kind of seeing in Wilkes-Barre and I kind of have a date with her this weekend.”

Roger pursed his lips, “What about that girl in the AG’s office? She’s very pretty.”

“I’m kind of seeing her, too.”

Roger leaned across the greasy Formica table and nudged Mike’s shoulder with his fist. “Way to go, Killer.”

“Actually, it’s very, very complicated,” Mike said, shaking his head. “I never intended to date more than one girl at a time and this just happened. This never happens to me. Frankly, it’s out of control. I feel very bad about it. I haven’t been dishonest to either of them, but I haven’t been honest either.”

“I believe you, I never had more than one girl at a time when I was single and that was plenty complicated. Now, I have one wife, one daughter, and one son and that’s very complicated. I can’t imagine having two girlfriends at one time.”

“I never said they were girlfriends. I really like both of them, they’re so different and both like me a lot. I wish I’d met them at different times, not the same week. If this were any other situation, I think either one could be my girlfriend, and now I’m 224

seeing both of them and having this horrible fear I could lose them both. In a way, I think I’ve already screwed this up with both of them. I don’t know what to do.”

Roger took a moment to respond. “Are you sleeping…?”

“Yes,” Mike said without waiting for him to complete the sentence.

Roger looked at him. “This is way out of my league, Bud. I think you’d better make up your mind or you may be right.

It’s pretty clear this is kind of serious with both of your ladies, so unless I’ve judged you completely wrong, you had better straighten this out quickly—and the right way—while you’re at it.”

He sipped his coffee, then continued. “Look, while you’re in Wilkes-Barre checking out what’s behind door number two, plan on staying up there a few more days next week to do as many interviews as you can. For now, let’s be very careful using our phones and very careful talking about the case in the office.

I’ll come up to Wilkes-Barre on Monday morning and we’ll interview as many people as we can next week to try to pin down the location of that borehole. Maybe you can call Zelinsky from the payphone in the lobby.”

“Any chance the payphone is bugged? Mike asked.

“Probably not,” Roger replied.

“But not definitely?”

“Probably.”

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37 10:30 a.m., Saturday Mike arrived in Wilkes-Barre early on Saturday morning but did not drive to either the nursing home or his parents’ house. Instead, he found himself driving around Wilkes-Barre.

Something in the investigation was not right and he felt he had to start over. He wanted to look at everything fresh, from the beginning.

Mike drove methodically over the streets he once knew so well, up and down the hilly corridors of Wilkes-Barre, past the neat, boxy homes that lined its streets. After he found the DEP office, he drove north out of the city, following the Susquehanna River and avoided the highway. He drove past the place where the two kids had been found, along a lonely stretch of highway where the entire river was visible at a glance from the overlook next to the road. When he arrived in Pittston, he again drove slowly through town, past the stone church that had served the funerals of the men who had died in the tragic mine disaster and the houses that lined the road, just feet from the street.

He slowed the car when he neared Flynn’s house and stopped at the end of the driveway. Peering down the narrow lane, beyond the crop circles in Flynn’s front yard, he saw Flynn’s Isuzu pickup was not in the driveway. Mike considered his options for a minute, then put the Prius into gear and slowly drove down the driveway. He called Flynn’s name as he walked

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toward the house. No response. Wood smoke curled from the chimney. Again, he noticed the huge stack of firewood piled up, cord after cord. Junk was piled in the yard, much of it antique iron equipment. Behind the house was an area set up for target practice, with stacks of hay serving as a backstop, and a bull’seye target with lots of bullet holes pinned to the hay bales. He surveyed the tree line but saw no sign of Flynn. Then he got back in his car and drove the short distance to Pittston.

Driving down the tired streets of Duryea and Avoca, Mike surveyed the small white houses with their grey asphalt roofs.

These were towns that were supposed to have been helped by the North East Fund, but it didn’t appear that any significant money had been spent there. He drove north through Moosic until he reached Scranton. Mike circled the downtown and then took Keyser Avenue toward Old Hills.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Dunkin’ Donuts shop across from Big Bill’s. He went inside, ordered a coffee and donut, and sat at the window where he had sat with Flynn, facing Big Bill’s, and slowly sipped his coffee. Mike noticed the truck stop was busy for a Saturday morning. After about a half hour, he had seen enough and drove home.

When Mike arrived at his parents’ home, he brought in his bags and picked up the mail from the foyer floor. He sat in the kitchen separating the bills from the junk and dialed Patty on his cell phone.

Katie answered.

“Hi, this is Mike. Is your mom there?”

“Maybe,” she giggled. “Is this Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yes. You should call me Mike.”

“My mom says I should call you Mr. Jacobs,” she responded.

Then she laid down the phone and called Patty. Mike could hear her shouting, “Mom, it’s Mr. Mi…chael Ja…cobs.”

Mike waited and could hear Patty talking to Katie.

“Hi, Mike. I hope Katie didn’t annoy you,” she said.

“Are you kidding? She’s terrific. Am I still taking you and Katie out this afternoon?”

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They made arrangements for one o’clock. Mike told Patty he would go to the nursing home first and then pick them up for their outing. He hung up and prepared to finish going through the mail.

A moment later the landline rang. Mike assumed it was Patty and he quickly picked up the receiver.

“Hi, you!” Mike said, smiling as he answered the phone.

For a long moment, he heard nothing from the other end of the line.

“Hello? Patty? Who’s this?”

A man’s voice, Mike struggled to recognize it, began speaking. “Is this Jacobs?” said the voice.

“This is Mike Jacobs. Who is this?”

“Leave Big Bill the alone. You were warned to stay away from Big Bill’s. Do you think your friends can protect you? You were told before to stay away from that place, now you’ll see what happens when you don’t listen.”

The line went dead. Mike tapped the hook several times and all he heard was the dial tone. He looked at the telephone receiver as if the plastic could provide him with an answer and finally hung up. Mike immediately called Roger, but there was no answer. Then he went to the door and stepped onto the driveway. Walking to the street, Mike looked up and down but saw no sign of life.

Back in the house, Mike finished straightening up, made sure the front door was double-bolted, got into his car, and drove to the nursing home. *** Patty had Saturday off since she had worked the late-night shift on Sunday, so he did not expect to see her. He said hello to the nurses and several of the old folks in the home as he made his way to his mother’s room. When he got there, she was seated in a wheelchair, covered with a blanket. Mike kissed her. She looked up blankly and coughed.

“Hi, Mom. How are you feeling today?”

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Her eyes seemed to focus on him and she said, “Not bad. I feel pretty good today.” She coughed again.

“Have you had lunch yet?”

His mother shook her head as she coughed, so Mike pushed her to the dining room and spent an hour helping her with lunch.

He decided this was the new normal and he would have to get used to it. After lunch, he pushed his mother to the television room and lined her up with the other residents in front of a large color TV. He kissed her goodbye, told her he loved her, and went to his car. *** At Patty’s apartment, Mike knocked on the door and Katie opened it. She shook hands with him very formally. When Patty came to the door, Mike made a point of not embracing her in front of Katie, but did give her a quick kiss on the cheek. He noticed Katie watching them intently.

“Did you remember to wear something warm you don’t mind getting dirty?” Mike asked.

“Yes, we did. We’re both wearing jeans and sweatshirts,” replied Patty.

“Can you finally tell us where we’re going, Mr. Jacobs, I mean Mike?” asked Katie.

“Okay. I’m taking you to the Pioneer Tunnel Coal Mine in Ashland. Your mom tells me you’ve never been there before.”

“You’re taking me to a coal mine?” asked Katie.

“Yes, I’ve heard it’s really interesting. I think you’ll have a lot of fun there, too.”

They climbed into Mike’s car and drove to Ashland where they spent the next couple of hours on a guided tour exploring the old abandoned coal mine. Mike had been in several mines as part of his regulatory responsibilities with DEP, but had never been in one aimed at tourists. He smiled at the shtick, but it gave him an opportunity to think long about the men—they were usually men—who bravely toiled in the darkness of the mines. At the same time, he felt a claustrophobia he had never 229

experienced before. He was not unhappy when the tour ended and he saw daylight.

Afterwards, they found their way into the gift shop and Katie bought a plastic sheriff’s badge.

“Here you go, Mike. This is for you, since you don’t have a badge,” Katie said.

“Thank you, Katie,” Mike said, holding the badge up to the light. “I’m sure this will come in handy when I catch some bad guys,” Mike said as he winked at Patty.

They found a restaurant outside of Ashland and Mike was able to sweet talk Patty into letting him ruin Katie’s dinner by buying her a late afternoon ice cream. They were back in Patty’s apartment around 5 p.m.

Patty made Katie take a shower since she was going to sleep over at a friend’s house. Patty and Mike talked as they sat in the living room.

“She really seems to like you,” Patty said smiling.

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Actually, it’s not like I haven’t dated in the past eight or nine years, but I’ve never introduced any of those guys to Katie.

You’re the first and I’m glad she really likes you.”

“I really like her too. She’s very smart and sweet and pretty… just like her mom.”

Looking at the bathroom door to verify the shower was still running, Patty got up from her chair, went to Mike, leaned over and gave him a deep kiss. She sat down next to Mike and kissed him again. As she slid her hand behind Mike’s head, they heard Katie turn off the shower and call out to Patty.

Patty shrugged, patted Mike’s chest, and walked to the bathroom. She called from behind the closed door, “I need to help Katie with her hair, Mike. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

Mike sat on the sofa looking at framed photographs on the coffee table. There were several of Katie at different ages and a really beautiful picture of Katie and Patty. He saw an old picture of Patty and a woman who looked like an older, dark-haired version of Patty whom he assumed must be Patty’s sister in Colorado. Patty must have been no more than twenty years old 230

in the photograph. After looking at the pictures, he got up and looked at Patty’s CD collection, propped against the side of an old stereo. In the CD player was the Detours album by Sheryl Crow. Mike looked at the album cover, noting it contained the song, “Love is Free” and decided this must be Patty’s theme music. On a table near the phone, he saw some brochures for Colorado and for other places out west, too. Katie, draped in towels and laughing, came out of the bathroom. She ran to her bedroom and closed the door.

“How’s it going?” asked Mike.

“Well, let’s just say Katie has an active imagination. All she can do is talk about you—and us. There’s no doubt you’re a hit.

When she’s done getting ready, do you mind if we take her to her friend’s house together and then come back here so I can get ready for our date?” she asked.

They drove to Katie’s friend’s house in Dupont. Katie hurried to the front door with Patty trailing behind and Mike, carrying Katie’s small bag, taking up the rear.

The door to the small row house opened before they could knock and a girl about Katie’s age peered out. She and Katie hugged and laughed when they saw each other and ran inside together. A moment later, the mother, a short, plump, darkhaired woman came to the door and chatted with Patty for several minutes. Patty introduced her as Jill and Mike stood next to Patty in the doorway, refusing the offer to come in and get comfortable. Finally, Patty said they had to go. Mike noticed Jill did not shut the door, but stood in the doorway, watching them.

“I must be more interesting than TV,” Mike said when they got back into the car.

“Then let’s give her something to talk about in church on Sunday,” Patty said leaning over, putting her arms around Mike’s neck and giving him a long kiss on the mouth while her friend gaped from the house.

When they got back to Patty’s apartment, Patty leaned over and kissed Mike on the cheek. “How about if I go inside and get ready for our date? You want me to drive over to your place, or do you want to come back in about an hour or so to pick me up?”

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They arranged for Mike to pick her up at 7:30. He went back to his house, showered, changed, and knocked on her door at exactly 7:30.

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38 8:30 a.m., Sunday Mike opened his eyes and turned his head. Patty was inches away, her blue eyes open and her hair a golden puddle all over the pillow. She wore only Mike’s flannel shirt against the cold night air of the house. As he awoke, she smiled and whispered, “Good morning.”

Mike stretched his arms and slid a hand under the pillow, then reached around her and held her mostly naked body close to his. “Good morning to you.”

“You know, Mike, I could get used to this,” she said as a tear escaped from an eye. She quickly rubbed it away, but another followed. Mike covered her face with small kisses, initially avoiding her lips.

Mike and Patty’s gentle kissing steadily became more intense until it culminated in passionate and animated lovemaking.

About an hour later, Mike was in the kitchen wearing the flannel shirt and jeans and making breakfast while Patty was upstairs taking a shower. He walked onto the stoop outside the front door into the chilly morning air. Down the street, he saw a white Chevrolet slowly make a U-turn, but it was too far off to see who was inside.

Mike and Patty had agreed they did not want Katie to see the two of them together first thing in the morning. Mike drove Patty back to her apartment to drop her off before Patty went to retrieve Katie from her friend’s house.

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“I had a great day with you yesterday and an unbelievable time last night,” Patty said as they sat in the car in front of her apartment. She held Mike’s hand as she prepared to say goodbye.

“Don’t forget this morning,” Mike said. “Hey, I’ll see you later today when I come to visit my mother at the nursing home.”

“No, I work the late-night shift tonight, not the afternoon shift. I’ll be there from 11 p.m. until 7 a.m. Let’s figure out a way to see each other during the day tomorrow.”

They embraced and kissed, then Mike watched Patty until she closed the door to her apartment. Then the curtains parted and Patty waved to him from inside. *** Mike spent the morning and early afternoon taking care of chores around the house he had ignored over the past several weeks. When he was done cleaning and raking the leaves from the yard, he went inside and undressed to take a shower. Patty’s mild fragrance lingered on his flannel shirt.

He arrived at the nursing home close to 4 p.m. and found his mother in her room, watching the small color television he had bought for her.

“Mike, it’s so nice to see you. I don’t think you’ve been here for a while,” his mother said.

“Sorry Mom, I was here yesterday. I have good news, though, Stevie will be here in about a week. He’s been very busy in Chicago with his congregation, but he’s scheduled time off to come and visit with you.”

“That’s nice, but wasn’t he just here the other day?”

Mike smiled at his mother. Then he sat in the guest chair for nearly an hour, reading his emails on his iPhone and listening to her cough while she watched television. He was happy, however, that he was able to maintain a semblance of a conversation with her. Finally, a nurse, Audrey, came into the room and announced it was time for dinner.

“Mom, Audrey’s going to take you to dinner. I’ll try to get back here sometime tomorrow for a little visit.”

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“That’s okay Stevie. I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, mom.”

Mike shook his head and hugged his mother around her neck.

He drove back to Old Hills and found his way to Sullivan’s.

He recalled it was open on Sunday night, as it served food in addition to alcohol. When he entered, he saw there were almost no patrons and one of the few people in the bar was Bonnie, the bartender, who stood behind the bar arranging lemon rinds in a small bowl.

Mike took a seat at the bar. “Hi, Bonnie.”

Bonnie leaned forward and said, “Why don’t you sit in that booth over there, hon?” She nodded with her head toward a corner booth.

Mike made a face, got up from the barstool and took his seat at the booth, facing the front door. A few minutes later, she came over with a draft Yuengling Lager and leaned her head close.

“Did you get it?”

Mike made a face. “What?”

She looked around and leaned closer. “The thing.” then she put her mouth next to his ear and lowered her voice until it was barely audible. “You know, the letter.”

Mike thought for a second and then quietly said, “That was you?”

“Yeah… please keep it down.”

“How did you know we’d been bugged?” Mike whispered.

“I told you, people say things. We had some customers here, two guys one white and one colored, right after you were here last and they were talking to each other. I know those guys work for the DA. I was no more than five feet away making a whisky sour and heard them as plain as day. I remembered what you said and decided to send you that note.”

“Thank you. That was very brave. By the way, where did you get those manifests?”

“The what? I don’t know what you’re talking about—I’ve never seen any manifest.”

“Then you didn’t…”

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“Look, all I sent you was one letter. Do me a favor, don’t talk about it anymore.” Then, raising her voice, she said, “So, hon, what can I get you?”

Mike ordered a hamburger and fries and sat in the corner with his back to the wall as the Sunday crowd filtered in and out.

After dinner, he went back to the house and looked at a stack of papers from his briefcase. At 10:30, he stretched and turned out the light. Before he climbed into bed, he pulled apart the blinds and looked as far as he could down the road to see if there were any cars in the street. Seeing none, he reclined in his bed, spending a long time thinking before he fell asleep.

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39 2:50 a.m., Monday Estelle Jacobs could not breathe. Alarm and fear flashed through her clouded mind. Everything was dark and she could not open her eyes. Her husband, Mort, came to her. “Breathe, come on Essie, breathe,” he said in a calm voice.

She felt enormous pressure on her chest and face and she could not move her arms. Estelle saw her parents—she was a little girl and her mother sat on a chair by the side of a glistening lake. Her father was in the water with her, holding her up, teaching her how to swim. “Don’t forget to breathe!” She tried to take a breath, but no air would come. Terror raced through her body and intense pain erupted in her lungs.

She saw Stevie and Mike, they were young. Stevie was dressed up for his Bar Mitzvah. Mike wore a child-sized suit and was five years old. He was crying, she did not know why.

He always seemed to cry. She held Mike and stroked his dark brown hair in the shul in Wilkes-Barre as he whimpered, while Stevie chanted the haftorah. She was so proud; her children were beautiful. The pain in her chest had become a deep burning sensation like her chest was on fire.

Mort stood next to Stevie at the front of the shul while he chanted from the Book of Prophets, only now Mort had stopped smiling at Stevie and was yelling at Estelle, “Breathe!” There was no breath in her. The pain in her chest had become unbearably intense and everything grew dark. She furtively looked for Mort 237

and now he stood in front of her, the way he looked when he was twenty-five years old, slim, a full head of dark hair, beautiful.

Mort’s arms were outstretched. “Come to me, Sweetheart,” he said melodically. Somehow, she managed to free her arms from their shackles and she raised them and embraced her husband in an everlasting hug.

Finally, she took a deep breath. The air was fragrant and warm, like lilacs on a late spring night. *** It was nearly 3 a.m. and Patty was due to make rounds to all of the resident’s rooms in a few minutes. At this time of the morning, she liked to look in on everyone every two hours or so, unless a doctor ordered medication or if she had orders to check blood pressure at a particular time. Belinda, a nurse’s aide, sat behind her in the office filling in some paperwork and another aide, Lisa, was in the break room.

Down the hall she heard a fire door open—not a sound she expected to hear. She glanced around. Belinda was still in the office filling out papers. Patty walked around the nurse’s counter and, looking down the hallway, watched the fire door close. She walked past the rooms of residents who snored and moaned in their sleep, opened the fire door and saw nothing out of place in the darkened lobby. Although the lights had been turned low for the night, everything appeared secure. She walked to the front door of the nursing home and tried the entrance. It was locked. Nevertheless, as she looked around the lobby, she felt her skin crawl as if she was being watched. She walked back through the fire door toward the nurse’s station. She thought she heard a door open and close somewhere in or near the lobby. She doubled back and checked again. All was quiet. It felt colder than it had a few moments earlier and she thought there were some leaves on the floor that had not been there before. Working the night shift—the staff was directed never to call it the “graveyard shift”—gave her the creeps.

When she got back to the nurse’s station, she called to Belinda, “Have you seen Lisa?”

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Belinda looked up from the paperwork. “She’s in the break room.”

Patty walked to the break room and looked in. Lisa was drinking a cup of coffee and reading a magazine. “Have you been in here the whole time?”

“Just the last fifteen minutes. I get a fifteen-minute break.”

“No, I mean, have you been sitting in here for your whole break?”

“Yeah, I got here at 2:45 and my break is up in about two minutes. Why?” “It’s nothing. I just thought I heard the fire door open and close.” Patty said.

“Maybe someone went for a walk.”

Patty thought for a moment and realized not all of the residents needed wheelchairs and walkers. Some could get around on their own and they were permitted to walk in the hallways at night, so long as they did not disturb the other residents.

“Okay. I’m going to start my check of the residents.”

Patty pushed a cart with a stack of charts and medications as she quietly went from room to room. She entered each one and looked at each resident, not turning on the lights, but using the dim illumination from the hallway. She did not want to disturb anyone unless it was necessary, so if they appeared to be breathing normally, she made a comment on the chart, noting the time she made the bed check, and moved on.

All was quiet at Mike’s mother’s room. Patty was glad Mrs. Jacobs wasn’t coughing, and wondered if her lung condition had cleared up. Patty listened carefully for a breath, watching the luminescent dial of her watch. After twenty seconds had elapsed, she turned on the small light over the bed and looked at Mrs. Jacobs. Her hair was neatly splayed across the pillow and her hands were at her sides. Her skin had softened and the wrinkles seemed to have disappeared. Patty knew that look. Quickly, she felt for a pulse, then took the stethoscope from her pocket and listened for a heartbeat. There was none. *** 239

Mike’s cell phone rang six times before he awoke. He glanced at the clock. It was 3:30.

“Hello?” he said, his voice gravelly.

“Mike? It’s me, Patty.” Mike could hear that something was wrong.

“What? What is it? My mom, is she okay?”

“Mike, she’s, she’s passed.” Patty started crying. “Oh, God, this is terribly unprofessional of me. I’m so sorry.”

Mike sat up in bed as tears formed in his eyes.

“What happened? How did it happen? She didn’t seem terrible last night.”

“I don’t know. I went in to look at her a little after three and it looked like she was sleeping. I checked her and she was dead.

Her body was still a little warm, so it must have happened within the hour or so before I got to her.”

“Did you do anything? CPR?” “No, she was DNR. Your mother had a living will and you and your brother both countersigned the order. I’m so sorry. Can you come in?”

“I’ll be right down.”

He hung up the phone and dialed a number in Chicago. Steve answered.

“Steve? It’s me.”

“Mike? Is everything okay?”

“Mom died, Steve. A little while ago. When can you get here?”

“Jeez, it’s what 2:30?” It sounded as though someone in the room was talking in Steve’s ear. Mike figured his sister-in-law, and Steve whispered to her as he talked to Mike. “I’ll need to do a few things here first thing in the morning. I suppose I can get a flight out of O’Hare and be there in the afternoon. Do you want me to make the arrangements? What’s the name of that funeral home, the Jewish one?”

“Rosenberg’s. I helped Mom to prearrange a couple of years ago.”

“Look, Mike, I’ll call there now and talk with the funeral director. It’s the least I can do, you’ve been such a good son.”

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“Uh, thanks. When will we have the funeral?”

“According to Jewish law, it should be as soon as possible, I’d say tomorrow, Monday I mean, but I don’t want to risk not getting there in time. I’ll tell them to schedule it for Tuesday.

I’ll call the Rabbi in Wilkes-Barre, too, when it’s daylight, after morning services. I have this under control.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “By the way, how did she die?”

“I don’t know, I’m still at the house. I’ll be heading over to the nursing home in a few minutes.”

Mike hung up, quickly dressed and drove to the nursing home. When he got there, he noticed the residents’ doors had all been closed and all the lights were on in the hallway. Two nurse’s aides stood outside his mother’s room.

“I’m Mike Jacobs. Can I go in?”

“Just a minute, the doctor is in with her now.”

“And Patty, Patty Dixon?”

“She’s the RN. She’s in there too.”

A couple of minutes later the door opened and a young doctor Mike did not recognize came out of the room. He wore a white jacket embroidered with Seth Guberman, M.D., Our Lady of Grace Hospital—Wilkes-Barre over green hospital scrubs.

“Are you the son? Michael Jacobs?” the doctor said, walking up to him.

“Yes. My mother?”

“I’m sorry for your loss. It looks like she died between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. I’m putting down she died of heart failure. I see from her chart the poor lady had a lot of issues, Creutzfeld-Jakob Disease, aortic stenosis, probably pneumonia, other pulmonary issues. Any one of those could have killed her, but it looks like her heart just stopped beating. I really don’t think there’s anything suspicious.”

“But she was only seventy years old, she didn’t seem ready to die.”

“I’m sorry Michael. With her conditions, sometimes it just happens.”

Mike thought for a moment. “Why did you say you didn’t think there was anything suspicious?”

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“Oh, the nurse, Dixon? She said she thought someone may have been roaming the halls. I see absolutely no evidence of foul play and it’s my medical opinion all of her medical conditions just caught up with her. It’s a simple case of heart failure in a very sick elderly woman. Look, we’re short-staffed at the hospital tonight and I have to head back to Grace. If you want to talk with me more about this, you can call me in the hospital until five tonight.”

The doctor handed Mike a business card and left, carrying a medical bag.

Mike watched him walk down the hall and then tapped lightly on the door. Patty had cleaned up the room around his mother and had removed the nasal cannula and turned off the oxygen. His mother was in bed with her hands crossed on top of the sheet. She appeared peaceful and it was clear Patty had arranged the body so she looked as natural as possible after the doctor’s examination.

Patty’s eyes glistened. “Mike, I’m so sorry.” Tears ran down her face as she talked. “I’ve seen so many residents die, I never get like this,” she wiped her eyes on the back of her wrist and smeared her mascara. She put her arms around him. He hugged her for a moment and his eyes watered, but he did not cry.

They stood quietly looking at his mother. Mike noticed her left hand.

“Her ring. Her wedding band is gone,” he pointed.

“Was she wearing it here?” Patty asked.

“Yes, she always wore it, even here.”

“When was the last time you saw it?”

Mike thought. “I can’t honestly say. It’s not something you even think about.”

Patty put her hand on Mike’s shoulder, “I’ll be sure to talk with the nursing home director. It may be in the safe or she might have lost it weeks ago. I’m sorry. I hope there’s a good explanation.”

After another quiet minute, Patty said, “Do you want to be alone with your mother?”

She left him and he sat with his mother until the men from the funeral home arrived about an hour later. As he left the room, 242

he looked hard at the nurse’s aides, then watched them enter the room and shut the door. Patty put her hand on his shoulder.

“Mike, I just told them I’m going home with you.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll be all right.”

“No, it’s not okay and it’s not all right. I’m going to stay with you for a few hours. I’ve seen a lot of families go through this and I think I know you. Right now, you need someone who cares very deeply about you to be with you.”

Mike did not resist and Patty followed his car back to the house on the hill in Old Hills.

Neither noticed the white Chevrolet that followed from a safe distance behind. *** Mike and Patty talked for a long time on the family sofa until his tears came freely. As the sun rose, the last thing Mike recalled, before he fell asleep was Patty holding him and rocking him gently. She hummed a song as she cradled him in her arms.

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40 9:30 a.m., Monday Mike slept fitfully, as disturbing images of miners dying in a water-filled coal mine invaded his dreams. Oil dripped from boreholes onto corpses. A bell rang.

As his eyes opened and he slowly awoke, he realized he was in his bed, fully clothed, although his shoes were on the floor, and the telephone was ringing in his mother’s room. The sun was streaming into his bedroom and he glanced at the clock and saw it was 9:30. He heard someone in the kitchen talking and realized Patty had answered the phone. He stayed in bed for several minutes as he lay in the bed and listened to the lyrical sound of her voice as it rose and fell. He heard her say goodbye as he made his way down the stairs.

She was in the kitchen with her back to him, stirring a bowl of pancake mix, a frying pan heating on the stove. When she heard him, she put down the spoon and threw her arms around him.

“How are you doing this morning?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve been better,” he replied. “Did you get me into my bed last night?”

“This morning, actually. Mostly you did it yourself. I just made sure you didn’t stumble.” Patty held him around the waist but leaned back so that she could look at him. Mike rested his head on her shoulder and held her quietly.

“Did I hear you on the phone a little while ago?”

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“Yes, that was your brother—he seems very nice. He said to say he’s taking a flight from O’Hare this afternoon and will be flying into Newark around five. He already has arrangements with a limo service, so you don’t have to worry about getting him. He hopes to be here by eight.” Patty paused for a moment.

“He told me to tell you the funeral is scheduled for ten tomorrow morning.”

“Did he happen to tell you where it will be held?”

“Yes, I think he said it would take place at your old school. I think that’s what he said.”

Puzzled, Mike looked at her for a moment and then said, “Shul. He said it would take place at our old shul. That means synagogue in Yiddish.”

“Oh, that makes more sense. He also said to tell you all of the arrangements have been made, including the death notice in the Wilkes-Barre newspaper. The obituary will run tomorrow morning. He suggested you might want to call any people you want to be certain are at the funeral.”

“Which cemetery? Did he say?”

“Ohav Zedek Cemetery in Hanover Township.”

“How is it that you know the cemetery but you did not know the word shul?”

“You forget, I work in a nursing home. I have quite a few former patients at Ohav Zedek.”

“Look, I think I’m okay for now. I’m sure you have a lot of things to do yourself. I have to call my office and make phone calls to friends and relatives. I really like having you here, but I have so much to do. Why don’t you get back to whatever you need to do and check in with me later?”

“Well, I’m not leaving until I eat breakfast. You can have some with me if you want, but you’re not throwing me out until I’ve eaten.”

Mike smiled for the first time that day. He helped Patty make the breakfast and they ate quietly in the kitchen looking at each other and hardly saying a word.

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41 9:30 a.m., Monday Sherry sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair in the office of Kenneth Johnson, her boss. Johnson had spent the last five minutes finishing a telephone call, his back to her, while she waited for him and wondered why he had summoned her. While he talked, she could see he was looking at the memorandum she had submitted to him on Friday. The report was heavily marked up with a red pen and Johnson had scrawled notes across the page and in the margins. She watched the back of his head, bald like a monk’s, his pale scalp flecked with brown splotches, and listened as he talked solicitously on the phone.

Johnson hung up but did not immediately turn to face Sherry.

After another full minute, he slowly and deliberately swiveled his chair around and pointed his body, but not his eyes, toward Sherry.

“Sherry, let me be blunt. This investigation is over.” Johnson looked at Sherry’s memorandum as he talked, glancing at her only occasionally. His double chin wobbled as he spoke.

“What? I don’t get it, Kenneth,” said Sherry loudly. “We have Maureen Sheehan dead to rights. She’s going down. I have Gerald Sheehan red-handed, too. I think we’ve proven they have a money machine and they’re committing a variety of crimes— fraud, tax evasion, election code violations.”

“Well, let me tell you what you don’t have—proof. What you have is circumstantial evidence. No one has actually 246

testified he’s using the names of dead people to launder money to Sheehan’s campaign as you aver in your memo. For that matter, you don’t even know the district attorney is aware of any of this. If it even exists, this could be a scheme cooked up by his campaign manager, maybe some overeager campaign worker in a storefront office in Scranton. “ “That’s unlikely,” Sherry said, bristling. “I haven’t even taken this to the grand jury yet. I’m pretty sure after we get the papers from the banks and spend a little time in front of the grand jury, we’ll have a solid case built on reliable evidence and witnesses.” She did her best to contain her growing anger, but her voice cracked. She could feel her eyes water. A voice in her head commanded her to control her emotions. It told her to stop acting like ‘a girl.’

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I talked with Schwartz about this on Friday afternoon after I got your memo. The AG himself shut down this investigation. We’re not going after the governor’s biggest political opponent a month before the election.”

“Kenneth, what? You went to the AG on my case and you didn’t even tell me? You didn’t back me up or give me a chance to explain my case?”

“The case is over. I have no other way of saying it. The case is done.”

It took every ounce of resolve within Sherry to keep from bursting out in tears or swearing at her supervisor. She swallowed hard to keep from crying.

“Here’s what I want you to do,” Johnson continued, still looking at her memo. “You can spend the next couple of hours straightening up and cleaning out your case files. I want all of the ROIs, memos, files, and photocopies boxed up in banker’s boxes.

All of that stuff is going to off-site storage. Any handwritten notes should be shredded.”

“Just like that?” Sherry managed to ask.

“Just like that.”

Sherry glared at Johnson, furious, an angry tear forming at the corner of her eye as he continued to look at the memorandum.

Finally, Johnson said, “There’s one more thing. I’ve been told to 247

tell you, you’re reassigned to tax fraud. You seemed to have an ability for that anyway.”

Sherry looked at him, her eyes glistening. “What about Don Brown, my investigator? Is he moving to Tax Fraud too?”

“Actually, no. Don is going to retire at the end of the week.

He’s way past retirement age anyway. The chief of investigations is talking to him now.”

Johnson continued looking at the memorandum as if it held a secret code. He turned the pages over and over, not daring to look at Sherry. “My secretary will be down this afternoon to oversee shipping off the boxes to our storage facility. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you it would be a huge mistake, even a crime if any of those files disappeared.”

“You mean you’re burying my investigation in the Raiders of the Lost Ark warehouse and you’re threatening me? Thanks for having my back.”

For the first time, Johnson looked at her directly. “Don’t get smart with me. You’ve been here what, two years? You’ll probably move in another year or two. I’ve been here for eighteen years. This is my career. When the AG tells me to close an investigation, I close an investigation. You understand that, Ms. Stein?”

Sherry stood and glared at him. She refused to be bowed.

She turned and stormed from Johnson’s small office deliberately leaving the door open. The tears did not start in earnest until she had left the room and had shut the door to her office. *** Don was waiting for Sherry in the conference room. Her tears had mostly stopped, but it was obvious she had been crying. He instinctively pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. They sat facing one another, the door firmly shut.

Don waited for Sherry to speak. “Were you just with the Chief?” Sherry asked, her voice filled with emotion.

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“Yes ma’am, I was told the investigation was over about the same time you were being told. If you ask me, this stinks to high heaven.”

Sherry slouched and wiped her eyes and face with the handkerchief. Don ached to reach across the small divide that separated them and comfort her in his arms.

“What did they tell you?” she asked.

“It’s over. Everything is over. It looks like I’m retiring at the end of the week. They’re giving me off the rest of the week, though, to warm me up for retirement, I suppose.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“No, I’m not okay with that. But I’m 64, have a pension and wife to protect, and no choice in the matter,” he said harshly.

They sat quietly for a moment until Sherry said, “What do you think really happened here?

“Between you and me, we’ve both been doing this by the numbers, reporting up the ladder. I know you’ve been telling your boss and I’ve been advising the chief every step of the way of this investigation. It’s not like either of them were surprised with the direction this took. One thing I’ve heard: I know the AG and governor are close. Word is the AG likely will run for governor as soon as Miller’s term runs out and he’s looking for Miller to help him. If I had to guess, I’d say the governor himself killed this investigation.”

“Why? Won’t this investigation and prosecution only help Miller?” Sherry asked.

“Normally, yes. If I had to guess though, I’d say someone in here has ties to Sheehan and Sheehan found out about our investigation.”

“So? If Sheehan knew, then he found out he’s screwed. What can he do about that?”

“Well, if we have something that could nail Sheehan to the wall, then Sheehan has to have something big on the Governor.

He’s rumored to be not all that pure himself, despite his public image. It’s a kind of Mexican standoff. Let’s say Sheehan has some information on Miller that would ruin his chances to be elected or run for higher office—you know he’s being talked 249

about as a vice-presidential candidate, even presidential candidate. He’s got to stay clean and he’s got to win this election first, or he’s done. If I had to guess, I’d say neither man wants any of whatever they have on the other to get out. There’s probably some kind of truce, so neither this or whatever Sheehan has on Miller sees the light of day.”

“Mutually assured destruction,” Sherry said.

“What?”

“You know, ‘MAD,’ the reason they say neither we nor the Soviets ever nuked each other during the Cold War. Neither would do it to the other because no one wants it done to them.”

Don stood and started packing up his boxes. After several minutes of silence, Sherry asked, “Don, did you keep an extra set of documents?”

He looked up at her. “Why do you ask?”

“I just want to know if you have an extra set of the key documents here, tax returns, newspaper articles, obituaries, 1099s, all of that.”

“Well, if I did, wouldn’t that be the property of the Office of Attorney General, counselor?” he asked.

“Yes, I suppose it might be. Then again, they might also be public records and owned by the people of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.”

“Well, if you put it that way, every investigator I know worth his salt has a copy of the file he’s working on.” He reached down next to his chair and patted his briefcase.

Sherry looked at him with a fierce expression and burning eyes despite the trails of tears and smeared mascara. Don looked at her tenderly, realizing his middle-aged fantasy was over in so many ways. After the next few moments, they would part forever.

“I keep my handwritten notes in my safe where they will remain. What I have in here are the copies of the records, financial documents, newspaper clippings, and whatnot. This is the basic stuff of this case—no notes or anything else that could come directly back to you or me. Copies of all those months of research are here in the file folders. Any other decent investigator 250

could take this and reconstruct my investigation in a couple of days.”

“I’d like…” Sherry began.

“Miss Stein…Sherry,” Brown said. He placed his forefinger across her lips and cut her off before she said anything further.

He held up his hand. “Would you excuse me? I’m not as young as I used to be and I have to go and visit the men’s room. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

As Don prepared to leave the workroom, he placed his ancient briefcase and on top of the conference table, propped it open, and pointed to the file folders that had been neatly stacked and labeled. He smiled at Sherry and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. *** Sherry waited until she heard his steps fade down the hallway, then she looked at the folders inside the briefcase. They were neatly arranged, exactly as Don had described them. Labels on the files were written in the orderly way an accountant would do it: Case 17-127, 1099s.

Case 17-127, Financial Statements.

Case 17-127, Obituaries.

Case 17-127, M. Sheehan, tax returns.

Sherry slipped the files out of Don’s briefcase and shoved them into hers. She closed his briefcase and waited for him to return. *** Before they parted, Don and Sherry briefly hugged, the way a father and daughter might. He turned and walked out of the conference room.

Sherry sat in the room thinking for many minutes. Finally, she picked up the telephone in the conference room and dialed a local number.

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“Cullen,” a man said answering the phone in a sharp, military style.

“Tim? This is Sherry. Sherry Stein.”

The assistant U.S. attorney’s demeanor softened. “Well Sherry, nice of you to call. To what do I owe this honor? Is Jenny pestering you about that friend of hers at DEP?” “No, it’s not that. I need to see you today. Can I see you this afternoon?”

“Sounds serious. Unfortunately, I’m due in court in a few minutes and will be tied up all day. Can we get together tomorrow? I should be free by lunchtime.”

“Okay, I guess it can wait until then. Do you mind if we get together somewhere other than Harrisburg though? Maybe in Hershey?”

“Are you afraid Jenny will see us together?” Cullen laughed.

“Not Jenny, but please don’t tell her I called you when you see her tonight.”

They arranged to see each other in a quiet restaurant about twenty miles away. *** When Sherry returned to her office, there were several email messages of phone calls in her email inbox. She had a call from her mother, one from an attorney in another case, and four from Mike. *** Roger sat on the sofa in Mike’s family’s living room. He had spread papers from the investigation on the coffee table and was working from them as he talked. Mike sat in the chair across from Roger with a file on his lap and a legal pad on top of the file.

“Mike, I feel terrible having to go over the case with you so soon after your mother’s passing. I know what it’s like to lose a parent. Are you sure you’re okay doing this?” Roger asked. He 252

absentmindedly ran his hand through his thick white-grey hair.

“I’ll be fine. I really appreciate your coming to the house to do this,” Mike said. “As word has gotten out, Mom’s phone has been ringing off the hook. I wanted to head into the WilkesBarre office today, but that would have been impossible.”

“I think I have what I need in order to conduct the interviews you and Charlie were going to do over the next few days. We’ll be at the funeral tomorrow, but in the afternoon, Charlie and I will be starting the next round of witness interviews.” Roger paused, then said, “Are you planning to take off the full seven days?”

“No, I’ll be taking off a couple of days while my brother is here. He’s going to head back to Chicago on Thursday and will finish the full shiva out there. When he goes back to Chicago, I’m going to get up from shiva.”

“Look, I know you’re less religious than your brother, but you shouldn’t cut off your mourning period just because of work. It’s very easy to get caught up with work and forget what’s truly important,” said Roger.

“Thanks, I appreciate that, but this is best for me.”

As they talked, the front door opened and Patty walked in.

“Did you know there’s a fruit basket sitting on the step?” she asked from the foyer. She carried two bags of groceries, holding them in front of her. Roger immediately realized who she was and stood up from the sofa, smiling broadly. Mike introduced them and took the grocery bags.

“You’re Mike’s friend from Wilkes-Barre?” Roger said, almost blushing. “He talks about you a lot.”

“Well, I guess we’ve been seeing a lot of each other when he’s been up here.”

“I don’t blame him,” Roger said, winking at Patty. “I can see why he sees you, but I’m not sure what you see in him.”

Patty accepted the kidding and chatted with Roger for another couple of minutes while Mike took the groceries into the kitchen. Finally, she said, “Okay Mike, I have to get home to Katie to relieve the babysitter. I’ll be back here tonight after dinner when I can meet your brother.”

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Patty extended her hand toward Roger and he received it warmly, holding it in both of his. She turned and gave Mike a quick kiss on the cheek as she left.

“She’s beautiful,” Roger said as the door closed, letting out a whistle. He paused as they listened to Patty start her car. “Man, you’re in some deep shit. Has it occurred to you that both of your girlfriends are likely to meet each other over the next few days?”

“Well, neither one is my girlfriend,” Mike said with a straight face. “They’re both just friends.”

Roger patted Mike’s shoulder and shook his head. “Right.

Look, I’m getting ready to take off. Is there anything else?”

“There’s one more thing. I think I told you Patty works in the nursing home where my mother was staying. She told me something weird happened there early this morning.”

Mike proceeded to tell Roger about Patty’s suspicions and all of the details of phone calls he had received over the previous weeks.

“That makes me very uncomfortable,” said Roger. “I’m glad I talked with Prince this morning about the anonymous note you received about being bugged and that conversation you had with the bartender.”

“You did? I thought you said it might be best not to talk with the chief counsel.”

“I thought about it over the weekend and realized I had to tell him. He told me to proceed as if nothing had changed, only to be careful about what we said in our offices. I’m not sure how he’s going to deal with this, but it’s no longer our problem. It’s his.”

“Well, that takes a weight off my shoulders too.”

“I’m going to talk with Prince this afternoon. Let me run this past him and see how he reacts. It may just be jangled nerves, or it may be worth pursuing, but you leave it up to me. Look, tomorrow’s going to be a dreadful day for you. Don’t worry about any of this for now. I’ll circle back to you tomorrow night and fill you in on what’s going on.”

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Mike extended his hand as the older man left, but Roger put his arms around his younger colleague and slapped him several times on the back.

“Don’t forget what I said about taking your time getting back to work,” Roger said as he stood next to the door. “One more thing. Patty? Sherry? You’re running out of time, Bud.”

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42 5:30 p.m., Monday Mike heard the limo pull into the driveway. He said goodbye to a cousin in New York on the telephone and hung up. By the time he got to the door, his brother was there with a suitcase and a garment bag getting ready to open it with his key. This was the first time he had seen his brother in months.

“Stevie, welcome home.”

“I’m glad to be home, even if it is different.”

They hugged, slapping each other on the back. He noticed another fruit basket on the steps, picked it up, and carried it inside. He set it on the dining room table with the three other baskets delivered earlier in the day.

“Where are Sarah and the kids?”

“They’ll be here late. We wanted them to finish the day in school and she had a lot to do before coming to Wilkes-Barre.

They won’t be here until after eleven.”

“Can I get you something? A drink?”

“Thanks, no. I think I just want to walk around the house for a few minutes.”

Steve took off his coat and walked through the living room, kitchen, and dining room and back to the small den at the rear of the house. Mike waited on the sofa. He noticed his brother seemed to have a bit more paunch than the last time he had seen him at the beginning of the summer.

“It’s strange. Nothing has changed in the house since I was here last, but it all feels so different,” Steve said as he settled into 256

the chair across from the sofa. He looked at his brother, “How was she? I mean at the end.”

They talked for close to an hour about their mother and her various maladies. Mike did not mention Patty’s suspicions.

Finally, Mike said, “We ought to eat. I have food here and can make something.”

“I didn’t know you could cook,” remarked Steve.

“I’ll let you decide whether I can cook after you’ve eaten dinner.”

Mike made an omelet and potatoes, which he divided as he had done for Patty. They sat at the kitchen table eating their food and talking about relatives while they ate.

“You’ll have to remind me, how is this going to work tomorrow?” Mike asked.

“Well, unfortunately, I do this, funerals that is, maybe fifteen times a year. It’s been a long time since I’ve been one of the mourners, though. Tomorrow morning we’ll go to Rosenberg’s and sit with the mace, that means body, until close to 10:00 a.m.

Then they will roll Mom into the chapel. Rabbi Berkowitz will chant a couple of prayers and deliver the eulogy. I told him I would like to make a few remarks and he told me if you were interested, you could also make some remarks. Do you think you want to do that?”

“Let me think about it. Right now, I’d say no.”

“Okay. After that, the pallbearers will take Mom to the hearse and we’ll drive to the cemetery. I asked the rabbi to allow the mourners to fill in the grave with dirt after the funeral is over. He said they don’t normally do that at this shul, but he was happy to accommodate us. Afterwards, we’ll come back here and begin sitting shiva. I’m hopeful we’ll have a minyan in the evening and in the morning. If not, we’ll drive to Wilkes-Barre so we can say kaddesh.”

“Are you still planning to stay here until Friday?”

“Yes, I want to get back to Chicago so I can spend the remaining days of shiva there. I have many friends and associates from the shul and community and would like to receive visitors there. We’ll take an early flight.”

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They sat quietly saying nothing for a moment. Finally, Steve said, “We never did finish that conversation you began a couple of weeks ago. Remember you said you were concerned because you were getting involved with a girl here in Wilkes-Barre and another in Harrisburg?”

As Mike answered his brother, he heard a car pull into the driveway. Mike stood and looked out the window. “Well, it looks like you’re about to meet the girl from Wilkes-Barre.”

“And I guess I’m to assume she doesn’t know about the girl from Harrisburg?” Steve asked.

“You always were the smart one in the family.”

There was a tap at the door and then Patty came in, wearing jeans and a sweater, holding a large basket of fruit.

“This was sitting on the porch step,” she said as she walked through the door.

“Hi, Patty, why don’t you put that on the table with the others? I’d like you to meet my brother Steve.”

Patty came into the kitchen, kissed Mike on the cheek and held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, I’ve heard such good things about you.”

The phone rang and Mike got up to get it. While he was on the phone, Patty and Steve talked.

When he got back, Steve turned to him and said, “Mike, you told me how pretty Patty is, but you didn’t tell me how wonderful she is.”

“I think I told you she was both pretty and wonderful,” Mike said.

“Enough boys,” she said.

The three of them talked into the night. *** Steve’s wife Sarah and their sons arrived close to 11:30 p.m. while Steve, Mike, and Patty were still talking in the living room. The taxi was already pulling away when Mike opened the door and let them into the house. He hugged his sister-in-law and shook hands with his nephews. Then Mike introduced Sarah to Patty.

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“Sarah, why don’t you sit down and relax for a few minutes while I get the boys into bed?” asked Steve.

“After that trip, I’m happy to take you up on your offer, dear,” she replied.

Mike picked up the suitcases and took them up the stairs as Steve herded the boys to a spare bedroom on the second floor.

Patty and Sarah sat in the kitchen.

“How about if I wait here with you while they take care of things upstairs?” Patty asked. *** Sarah sat on a chair and took a good look at Patty.

“You said your name was Patty?”

“Yes, Patty Dixon. I was a year ahead of Mike in high school.

Actually, my sister was in Steve’s class.”

“Well, I’m sure she must be as pretty as you.”

Patty smiled and shrugged.

“You know, it’s funny. One of the things Steve told me about was the fact there were so few Jewish girls in his high school class. He told me his father and mother encouraged him to join a shul youth group in Wilkes-Barre so he could meet other Jewish kids.”

“I guess so,” said Patty. “Mike is one of the few Jewish guys I knew in high school and we hardly knew each other back then.”

“Were you a member of his shul in Wilkes-Barre by any chance?”

“No, we’re not Jewish,” Patty said laughing, “But at least I learned within the past day or two what shul means.

Sarah smiled at her. It was an ambiguous smile. *** Mike came down the steps and Patty got up as he came into the living room. “I really have to get going, the baby sitter is going to be furious.”

“Oh, does your husband work late?” Sarah asked.

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“No,” Patty said slowly, “It’s just my daughter, Katie, and me. I never married.”

Sarah grimaced and shook her head, but said nothing in reply. Then Patty and Sarah shook hands and Mike walked Patty to her car. He kissed her after she opened the door.

“I really appreciate you being here with me. As long as the last couple of days have been, then tomorrow and the funeral… well, I don’t have to tell you.”

“Mike, don’t thank me. I’m here for you.”

They kissed and hugged again, then she got into the car and drove off. Mike saw the curtain close and realized Sarah was watching them.

Steve came down the steps as Mike re-entered the house.

“Well, the boys are exhausted, they fell asleep before their heads hit the pillows.”

“Mike?” asked Sarah. “That Patty, she’s very attractive.”

“Yes, she is,” he replied, not knowing where the conversation was going.

“I didn’t know you dated shikses.”

“Uh, well…”

“You know, I can understand you’d be attracted to her. She’s blond and tall and large,” Sarah waved both hands over her chest, “but did it occur to you she might be using you? No father for her child? Stuck here in the middle of nowhere, looking for a way out.”

“Sarah,” Steve interjected. “I think Mike’s big enough to make decisions on his own. I’m sure he’ll do whatever is the right thing.”

“I just want to be sure he sees what’s going on. He may be overcome, or she might be using her body on him and he may not be aware of the reality of his situation,” she said looking at her husband. “Well, I think maybe your brother just doesn’t appreciate what he’s getting into,” she said, addressing Steve.

“Can I say something?” Mike asked as his brother and sister in law turned toward him. “Patty is my friend, she’s not my friend because she’s trying to use me or get a father for her daughter. I don’t think you should jump to any conclusions.”

260

The three of them stood in the hallway and said nothing for a moment. Finally, Steve broke the silence. “Sarah, why don’t you go up to our room. I’d like to talk with Mike for a few minutes if I could.”

Sarah looked at the two men and then headed for the stairs.

She turned back, shook her head and said, “Goodnight.”

After they heard the door to Steve’s bedroom room close, Mike and Steve went into the living room and sat down.

“Do you want to talk?” Steve asked.

“Not really.”

“Have you thought through this Jewish thing? You know what Mom and Dad would have thought. It’s pretty obvious what Sarah thinks.”

“How about you? You’re the Rabbi.”

“Officially, I’m opposed.”

“Unofficially, then?” Mike asked.

“Any chance she would convert?”

“Doubtful, the subject hasn’t even come up, but look, all we’re doing is dating. I haven’t yet called her my girlfriend.

We’re nowhere near talking about anything like marriage. I told you she’s not the only girl I’m seeing.”

“About that…”

“It’s complicated.”

“And the other girl?” Steve asked.

“Jewish. But that’s not serious either.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what you mean by ‘serious.’” Steve said softly, “I saw you spend a difficult day with a young woman and it’s pretty obvious to me strong feelings are at play here. Of all the people who could have been with you, Patty was here with you all day today and it’s clear there’s a special bond there.

I saw the way you looked at each other. Over the years I’ve learned to tell when someone cares about another person in a special way.”

“You think Patty has feelings for me?”

“I don’t know. I was talking about you.”

Mike stared at his brother blankly. “Uh, that took me by surprise.”

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“Your other lady friend, the Jewish girl?”

“Sherry.”

“Sherry. Any chance she’s going to make a shiva call?”

Mike put his hand on his face and rubbed his eyes. “Now that you mention it, yes. A very good chance.”

“Well, it’s lousy timing, but you probably only have a very short time to sort this out.”

“What would you do?”

“Look, I married the first Jewish girl I met in New York.

Before that, I never dated two girls a year, let alone two at the same time. I’m not the best one to ask. You need to decide what’s really important to you and sometime between the funeral and whenever Sherry gets here, you have to decide what you’re going to do. No one can do this for you. Look, Mike, I know you’re a good man, you need to act like one.”

“Is that the kind of advice you give your congregants?”

“All the time.”

Steve got up and hugged his brother, slapping his back. “I’m exhausted. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, you should get some sleep.”

Steve took a quick walk around the house, then went up the steps. Mike sat on the sofa for a moment then turned out all of the lights on the first floor, before returning to the sofa. He sat in the dark for a long time before he went up the steps to his boyhood room.

262

43 6:01 a.m., Tuesday Mike slept fitfully, awakening early. He opened the front door to look out onto the autumn landscape. The sky was overcast and gray and rain spit intermittently. He made a pot of coffee and waited while his brother’s family awoke. His nephews came downstairs first, asked for the television and then disappeared into the den until the funeral.

The rest of the day happened as if in a dream. Driving to the funeral home. Sitting in a small room with his mother’s casket.

The well-wishers filing in. The rabbi. Steve’s speech. Something he had not planned for: the rabbi instructing him to rip his shirt as a sign of mourning. The drive to the cemetery. The casket being lowered into the grave and covered with dirt.

Mike noticed workers from DEP—Roger, Zelinsky, Slaughter, Prince and Jenny had made the trip from Harrisburg— friends from high school, neighbors, and family. It was as though they were fuzzy images in an Impressionist painting. Patty was there during the service, but did not sit near him. She hugged him warmly more than once though and he was grateful she was there. Sherry appeared to be a no-show.

The family returned to the house in the early afternoon and, in accordance with Jewish tradition, family members served Mike and Steve a meal. Then throngs of people began to arrive and the house rapidly filled. It was overwhelming.

263

*** In Bayonne, Theresa DeSanctis, the secretary for Bayonne Trucking, picked up a paper on her desk that her boss, Vince Castratorio, had dropped off a few minutes earlier. She looked at it and dialed a number from her contacts list.

“Hello, may I speak with Mr. Green?” she asked.

“Yeah, you got him,” a man’s voice replied.

“Mr. Castratorio asked me to call to tell you the delivery will be on Monday morning.”

“Monday.”

“Where do you want it delivered?”

Mr. Green paused. “I’ll call you on Saturday and tell you then.” The man paused as if thinking. “Time?”

“Well, the truck will be leaving here at 4 a.m., so however long it takes to get to you, Mr. Green.”

“Thanks,” the man said and hung up without awaiting a further reply.

DeSanctis hung up the phone and quickly glanced around the room. Her boss was in his office with the door closed talking on the telephone. She reached for her pocketbook and pulled out a business card.

“Theresa,” a voice boomed out from Castratorio’s office.

“Come here.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Yeah, Vince?”

“I need ten copies of this,” he said and handed her some papers.

After she was done making copies, she put them in a folder and placed the papers on Castratorio’s desk.

Twenty minutes later, Castratorio headed for the door. “I’ll be back in an hour,” He said.

Theresa waited ten minutes after she saw his Cadillac pull away, then she dialed the number on the card.

“Mr. Ortega? This is Theresa. We talked a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

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“Can you meet me at my house, like we did before? At 5:30?”

“Of course. I’ll see you then.”

She hung up and looked around the empty office. Her armpits were soaked.

265

44 9:01 p.m., Tuesday The phone rang in the kitchen but the sound could barely be heard over the din of the well-wishers. Patty was in the foyer and looked around for Mike or Steve, but could only see Steve and he was stuck behind three or four family members who had trapped him in the corner of the living room. She did not see Mike. Patty headed for the kitchen and made her way past one of Steve’s sons who was pouring Coca-Cola into a plastic cup, spilling some of it on the table. She reached the phone on the sixth ring.

“Hello?” she said and then thought to add, “Jacobs’ residence.”

There was a long pause, then a woman on the other end of the telephone line said, “Hi, uh, is Mike there?”

“He is,” answered Patty. “Honestly though, there are so many people here right now I don’t know where he is. I was in the living room a minute ago and he’s not there.”

“Oh, I wanted to talk to him. I called his cell, but he didn’t answer. This probably isn’t a good time. I suppose it can wait.

Could you tell him his friend Sherry called?”

“Of course, I’ll tell him when I see him. Anything else?”

“Tell him I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it for the funeral, but I was caught in Harrisburg on some business and just couldn’t break away,” Sherry said.

“Okay, I’ll tell him.”

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“Also, one more thing, would you tell him I’ll try to make a shiva call tomorrow. If I can get to Wilkes-Barre, I’ll do my best to make it up in the afternoon, but I may not get there until tomorrow evening. How late are they sitting?”

“The rabbi said until nine, but it’s already that now and there are still a lot of people here,” Patty replied, looking at the crowd in the living room.

“Well, I’ll try to be up in time to make a shiva call tomorrow.”

Sherry paused, “By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Patty, I’m Mike’s friend Patty.”

“Thanks, you be sure to give him my message, okay?”

“I will,” Patty said.

“Goodbye,” they said simultaneously. *** Both women hung up and both thought exactly the same thing at the same moment, “Who was that woman?” *** An hour later, the crowd was mostly gone and Patty saw Mike talking with some friends they both knew in high school.

She waited until they shook hands and left the house, then she walked up to Mike and put her arms around him as he closed the door, hugging him from behind.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll say. You know, part of this reminds me of a wake and part of it reminds me of a viewing,” she paused then added, “without the body, of course.”

Mike laughed. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Let me start cleaning up…” Patty said reaching for some plates on the coffee table. “…Only if you let me help…”

“Sure. By the way, did your cell phone ring?”

Mike looked, then said, “I had the ringer off all day.”

267

“Did you hear the house phone ring before?”

“Yes. Someone got it or it went away.” Mike replied.

“No, I got it.”

Mike was picking up some dishes and did not look up. “Uhhuh,” he said.

“It was someone named Sherry. She said she’s a friend of yours from Harrisburg.”

Mike’s head snapped up. “Uh-huh.” His throat thickened.

Patty studied his face. “Anyway, she said she was stuck in Harrisburg today on business and apologized for missing the funeral. She said she’d try to make it up here tomorrow afternoon for a shiva call.”

Mike swallowed hard. Then he shrugged and said, “Okay, that’s nice.”

He went back to picking up dishes while Patty looked at him for a long moment without saying anything.

268

45 10:29 p.m., Tuesday Zelinsky’s cell phone rang. He looked at his watch and saw it was almost 10:30. He put down his beer and answered it.

“Hello.”

“Charlie, this is Jose. Sorry I’m calling so late.”

“That’s okay. What’s going on?”

“My CI just came through. This is going down on Monday.

The tanker is pulling out of Bayonne around 4 a.m. It should be up your way by seven.”

“Where? Big Bill’s?”

“My CI said the location hasn’t been decided, so I won’t know that until Saturday, but I’ll call you and let you know as soon as I find out.”

“How confident are you in this information?”

“Totally. This is the real deal. My CI is completely reliable.

Will you guys be able to handle things on your end?”

“Absolutely. Let’s talk tomorrow and we can coordinate, but we’ll have it completely under control here. Thanks, man. I owe you.”

“Nah, just catch the bastards.”

They hung up. Zelinsky went to the refrigerator and took the last beer from the six-pack he had been drinking all night.

He walked back through the small, nearly empty apartment—he still had not emptied the packing boxes—and sat on his chair drinking the beer and smoking a cigarette.

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Finally, he picked up the cell phone and dialed a number.

“Hi, it’s me. Look it’s going down on Monday.”

He listened.

“Okay, we’ll be ready to deal with it.”

270

46 6:30 a.m., Wednesday Mike awoke to a tapping at his door. It was Steve.

“Let’s go, little brother. Time for minyan.”

“What? Now?” “Yes, we decided not to have a minyan at the house, remember? We have to get to the shul by 7 a.m. sharp.”

Mike quickly dressed and the brothers drove to the shul in Wilkes-Barre. They were greeted warmly by the other members of the congregation. The rabbi asked them if they wanted to lead the service and Steve agreed to lead. Steve began wrapping tefillin around his arm and head, in preparation for the morning prayer service. Mike did not have any tefillin, so he had to use a loaner set from the congregation. He noticed they were old and assumed, correctly, they had belonged to a deceased member of the minyan.

His brother led the service, all in Hebrew, quickly and authoritatively, like the rabbi he was. Mike recalled enough of the Hebrew and the service to be able to follow along and say the Kaddish prayer at the right times. *** They returned to the house for breakfast and were surprised to see two cars in front of the house. Two men from the community who had not attended the funeral the day before 271

erroneously heard a service would be held in the house. Mike and Steve greeted them and sat in the special low shiva chairs the funeral home had dropped off for the brothers—mourners sat in those chairs during the entirety of the shiva. After sitting with the neighbors and talking about their mother and the local gossip for half an hour, the men finally left and headed to work.

Steve checked the door and unlocked it as it is customary for visitors simply to enter the house without knocking or ringing the doorbell during shiva. Patty arrived about a half hour later and knocked on the door. As Mike explained the custom to her, additional visitors arrived and Mike returned to the low chair and the conversation with the well-wishers. Patty cleaned up the breakfast dishes and from time to time sat with the family in the living room.

The house was quiet for a few minutes around 11 a.m., so Sarah took the boys to a nearby park to run off a little steam.

Steve took a large folio book down from a shelf and opened it on the coffee table in front of him and began to read. “Mike,” he said holding a finger on the page. “When you were in the Seminary, did you get a chance to learn Pirke Avos, Ethics of Our Fathers?”

“Yes, in fact…”

“Do you remember Hillel, our great sage?”

“Of course.”

“Here’s something I learned a long time ago. When I opened the book, it fell open to this page, so I thought we might re-learn it together.”

Mike decided not to argue with his well-intentioned brother.

Steve started rocking a little on the small shiva stool, then read out loud in a sing-song voice, first in Aramaic and then he translated immediately into English. “Our great sage Hillel used to say, ‘in a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.’”

“Do you understand?” Steve asked.

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Repeat it.”

Mike looked around. The room was empty. “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.”

272

They discussed this brief homily from the Talmud for several minutes until there was a tap at the door.

Patty, who had been in the kitchen putting together lunch, opened it letting in Roger and Charlie Zelinsky.

Both men had been at the funeral and Roger had already met Patty, but Mike made introductions.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Roger said uncomfortably to Mike and Steve. “Uh, Mike would it be okay if we talked a little about business? Somewhere quiet and out of the way?”

Mike excused himself from his brother and Patty and led Roger and Zelinsky to the den, just behind the living room.

“What’s going on?” Mike asked.

“We got word, last night from Ortega, the inspector from Jersey. Looks like it’s going down,” Zelinsky replied.

“Really? When?” Mike asked brightly.

“Monday. He said he got a tip from his CI.” “Great! We needed a break. Did he say where?”

“Not yet. He needs to confirm the location.”

Mike looked at Roger, “So what happens next?”

Roger nodded at Zelinsky. “Charlie?”

“Well, DEP doesn’t have a stakeout vehicle, so we borrow one from the state police. It’s a white panel truck, regular plates licensed to a fake company in Philly. We’ll get top-flight surveillance equipment, video, audio, the works. The staties will back us up. We set up a camera, film the deal going down, then bust the bastards, all of them. DEP does have a mobile lab. It doesn’t have all the bells and whistles of a full laboratory, but it will tell us enough to know if we are dealing with hazardous waste. Should be fun,” Zelinsky said without smiling.

“What time is all of this happening?” Mike asked.

“We think the tanker will leave Bayonne at around 4 a.m.

We should be in position at Big Bill’s by 5, 5:30. We figure the delivery will take place around 7 a.m.” *** As the men talked, Patty sat quietly in a chair next to the open entryway to the den, listening.

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47 9:45 p.m., Wednesday Mike anxiously looked at his watch. It was 9:45. He could not believe his luck that the day was almost over and Sherry had not yet arrived at his house. Patty was still in the kitchen washing dishes and he prayed she would leave soon. If Patty left in the next few minutes, he might be able to avert the disastrous confrontation he feared. He picked up the remaining dishes from the living room and brought them to the kitchen.

Patty smiled at him. “More dishes? I didn’t realize people ate so much at a shiva house. That does it, tomorrow I’m buying us more paper plates.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get the rest of these. I don’t want to keep you from getting home. I mean Katie, the babysitter.”

She turned off the water and dried her hands on a dish towel as she leaned against the sink. Mike set the plates next to the sink and Patty put her arms around him. They hugged for a long moment.

“You’re not getting rid of me so quickly. Is it okay if we sit for a little while in the living room and talk? I have so many questions and I really want to learn all about your traditions.

With all of the people here today, I hardly saw you,” Patty said as she hugged him.

Mike sighed and glanced at the clock. He respected her too much and could not—would not—throw Patty out of his house.

He quickly thought as he hugged her and realized he had to say 274

something and had to do it now, while he still had the chance.

“There’s something I have to tell you. It’s important,” he said as she squeezed her hips next to his.

“Sounds heavy Mike, maybe you should wait awhile, at least until after you’re done sitting shiva. You know, they say never to make any big decisions until at least a year after someone close to you has died.”

Mike looked at the clock and knowing time was short said, “Patty, I really care about you.”

“I really care about you, too, Mike.” She smiled at him.

Mike paused for a long moment, looking into her blue eyes.

He took a deep breath and said, “It’s more than that.” He pursed his lips for a moment and studied her face. “I think I love you.”

She looked at him, cocked her head and then said softly, “Mike, you just be quiet now. You have too much going on with your mother and the investigation and I don’t want you saying anything you might regret later.”

Mike pulled her closer and said, “I don’t regret this. I really love you.”

Patty looked at him and her lips formed a smile, they pressed their lips against each other’s in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Maybe I should tell you how I feel about you, too,” Patty said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I mean, after all, it’s not fair that only one of us is opening up to the other.”

Patty paused and smiled at him, her high cheeks rising. “I love you, too. There. That’s the first time I’ve said that to anyone other than Katie in ten years.”

Mike could hear a car pulling into the driveway. He pulled his face back a few inches from Patty and told her, “Don’t ever forget what I said, please.”

Patty looked at him quizzically, let go of the embrace and looked toward the door. “Who’s that? I thought shiva was over at nine?”

“There’s one more thing,” Mike began saying. “It’s important I tell you this…”

Patty walked toward the door as it first cracked open and then swung until it could open no more.

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Mike’s words died on his lips. Sherry was standing at the door, dressed in a short Calvin Klein leather skirt, Donna Karen silk blouse and her leather jacket. As she stepped through the threshold, she pulled a small suitcase on rollers behind her.

Sherry looked at Patty and then looked at Mike standing behind her.

“Hi Mike, I’m so sorry about your mother,” Sherry said.

“I wanted to be here for the funeral, but I’ve been stuck in Harrisburg for days meeting with the U.S. Attorney’s Office and FBI.” She let go of the suitcase, brushed past Patty and put her arms around Mike. Without pausing, she put her lips on his and kissed him hard. Then, holding him around the waist and pressing her hips against his, she pulled her head back a few inches and said, “I missed you. All I could do was think about you. I feel so bad for you.”

Mike kept his eyes open while they embraced, watching Patty, as Sherry hugged him. Patty’s expression was one of surprise and confusion. Finally, Sherry stood back from Mike just a few feet from Patty and he looked at the two women standing before him. Sherry, petite, gorgeous and dark, looking very much like the rich girl she was, and about two inches shorter than Patty even in her leather boots. Sherry’s black hair curled around her shoulders and her small face was tilted anxiously toward Patty.

In deference to Mike’s sitting shiva, Patty was wearing a J.C. Penny corduroy skirt and pumps, although Mike knew she’d be happier in her jeans and flats. Patty, pretty in her cotton Walmart turtleneck, which accentuated her slim waist and large breasts was nearly as tall as Mike. Her blond hair was pulled back and her pink, wide face now had several furrows along her brow, and the smile from minutes earlier had disappeared into an anxious expression that seemed to ask, “Who is she to you?”

“Um, hi, I’m Patty, Patty Dixon. I think we may have talked on the phone yesterday,” Patty said holding out her hand.

“I’m very sorry,” Mike croaked, his throat dry, almost in a whisper, “this is really bad form. Sherry, this is Patty Dixon.

She’s a good friend from Wilkes-Barre…” Mike paused as he 276

desperately attempted to finish the introduction. “Patty was my mother’s nurse.”

Sherry looked relieved and held out her hand to the pretty and curvy blond woman. *** Sherry thought to herself, “blond, sweet face, big boobs, Nordic good looks, any man would be drawn to her. I wonder…”

“Hi, I’m Sherry Stein. I guess I’m also a good friend…” she paused for a moment and looking directly into Patty’s eyes intentionally announced, “I’m Mike’s girlfriend.” *** Sherry quickly shook Patty’s hand and then dropped it.

“Mike, where’s your bedroom? Since it’s so late, I decided just to stay over with you and then head back to Harrisburg in a day or two. I want to unpack and hang some clothes in your closet before everything I have in here gets wrinkled.”

Sherry pulled the suitcase toward the steps.

Mike looked at Patty and could see the tears welling up in her eyes. Patty took her sleeve and quickly wiped her face.

“I have to go,” Patty said holding her emotions in check as best as she could. She grabbed her purse and down vest, swung open the front door and hurried down the steps.

Mike quickly looked from Patty to Sherry and then said to Sherry, “I’ll be right back.”

He rushed down the front steps and caught up with Patty in the lawn in front of the house. “Patty, Patty, wait!”

Mike placed a hand on her shoulder and she pushed it off with her hand. As she did, she turned her face and Mike could see the tears were flowing freely now.

“Patty, please, I can explain.”

She said nothing and kept walking. Mike had to jog in front of her to talk to her.

Patty stopped when Mike stood directly in front of her.

“Your girlfriend? She’s your girlfriend?” Patty said loudly. She 277

crossed her arms under her breasts as she shivered in the chilled October air. “What does that make me? The girl from back home you’re screwing? I don’t believe this.”

“Patty, I’m sorry,” Mike said in a small voice. “Things happened so fast, I never expected to have a relationship with you or Sherry. Please don’t go away like this.”

“What do you want me to do? Come back inside and have a cup of tea with you and your girlfriend before you two say goodnight to me and get naked on the bed you’ve been screwing me in?”

Patty had stopped in front of her car and was fumbling in her purse for her keys.

“Please, I want to talk this out with you. You mean so much to me.”

“Are you going to tell me you love me again? I haven’t told a man I love him in ten years and I told you five minutes before your girlfriend walked into the house. How stupid am I? I let you meet Katie and let her think there was something special about you.”

“Patty, I love both you and Katie. I’m so sorry. I want to explain, to make it up to you somehow.”

Patty suddenly stopped shivering, looked directly into Mike’s eyes and firmly and unequivocally said, “Don’t ever say you love Katie or me. Stay away from me and stay away from Katie. Now, get out of my way.”

Mike stepped back from her Honda and watched Patty as she got in, slammed the door, and sped off down the hill. Mike watched as the car made the turn at the end of the road, then he began slowly walking back to the house. The door was open and Sherry was there scrutinizing the entire scene.

Mike dreaded what he knew was about to happen. He walked up the stairs and shut the door, walking past Sherry. She followed him into the living room and stood in front of him as he sat in a low shiva chair.

“That Patty, did you say she was your mother’s nurse? She seemed very emotional for a nurse. Look, I could hear your conversation with her and it sounded like there was more there than just your mother. What’s going on? What is she to you?”

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Mike covered his face with his hands and then ran his hands through his hair, looking at the floor. He looked up at Sherry, her dark eyes were smoldering.

“She’s my friend,” Mike said quietly.

“Your friend…” Sherry paused and pressed her lips together, “and you’re sleeping with her?”

“Why do you ask? Does it matter? I thought you were all about having a good time? No commitments.”

“Seriously? You thought all I wanted from you was a good time? You never thought I had feelings for you? Do you think I did what I did with you just to have a good time?”

A single tear rolled out of Sherry’s eye and trailed down her face which she quickly rubbed away. Sherry turned and found her suitcase next to the stairs and pulled it to the door.

“You’re an asshole, Mike, and a shit, you know that?” She paused as she pulled the suitcase over the threshold, “I’m sorry about your mother,” she muttered under her breath.

With that, Sherry dragged her suitcase down the steps to her small BMW, heaved the bag into the back seat and drove off.

Mike watched as the car disappeared down the street and then he shut the door. He looked around the quiet house and went back to the living room. He sat on the low shiva chair and covered his face with his hands.

“What have I done?” he said aloud. *** Near the end of the street, in a white Chevy, Detective Black looked at Detective Wallace after Sherry sped past their car.

“Shit, that was Stein, did you see her face?”

“Yeah, almost as mad as the other one, Dixon. What the hell?”

“It’s never a good idea to get your ladies together.”

“Christ, I actually feel bad for our boy.”

“Right. I don’t think he’s getting any pussy tonight.”

The men laughed loudly and Wallace looked at his watch and made a note in his book.

279

48 1:30 p.m., Thursday Sherry scowled at the telephone on the corner of her desk.

She had not unpacked after moving from the Charitable Trusts Division to the Tax Division and her new office was smaller than the broom closet she had occupied the week before. At this point though, she really did not care about the office or the work she was expected to do and her work had piled up. Since moving offices, she had neglected to open the mail that was sitting in the in-basket on her desk. At last count, she had over three-hundredand-fifty unopened emails. She didn’t care.

After studying the phone for many minutes and debating in her mind whether she should place the call, she picked up the receiver and dialed the number she had written on a piece of paper she had been keeping in her wallet. A man answered the telephone and they arranged for her to meet him in his office that afternoon.

As Sherry left her office in Strawberry Square, she told her secretary she had a doctor’s appointment and would be back in a couple of hours. Then she drove her BMW across the Susquehanna River on the Harvey Taylor Bridge and through Camp Hill’s commercial district. Eventually, the stores and malls gave way to countryside. She found the exit and turned down several roads until she arrived at a nondescript, three-story office building. Sherry found it odd the office had no nameplate; rather, the only indication she was at the right place was the 280

suite number on the door: 205. She turned the handle and was surprised to find the door was locked. She looked at her watch, checked the slip of paper, and contemplated what to do next. A moment later, she heard the lock being worked from inside the office and the door opened.

The man who answered the door was tall, fit, and silverhaired. Sherry estimated he was in his early fifties. He wore a blue, three-piece business suit and simple, striped necktie.

“Sherry Stein?” the man asked.

“Yes…” she replied.

“And you are alone?” he said looking behind her.

Slowly, this time, Sherry replied, “Yes.” “Then I am Greg Friedrich,” he said without smiling as he held out his hand.

Sherry shook his cold hand and glanced around the office.

The furnishings were spare, cheap, and minimalist. The reception area held several chairs and a desk, but no art or other decoration.

Nothing was on the receptionist’s desk except a telephone and computer. The only people in the office, it appeared, were Sherry and Friedrich.

Friedrich pointed toward a small office beyond the reception area and Sherry started toward it when she heard him lock the front door behind her with a key. She quickly looked at the door and then at Friedrich.

“Sorry, I’m very security conscious,” he said with a grin.

Sherry entered the private office, which was in shadows despite the fact it was early afternoon. The shades were drawn.

This office also had bare furnishings, just a gunmetal colored aluminum desk, a chair behind the desk, and two metal guest chairs with black fabric seats. Friedrich motioned toward the guest chairs and Sherry sat on one close to the door. Friedrich closed the door to the room and again locked it. This time she said nothing, but Friedrich, knowing what she was thinking, shrugged and smiled a thin smile.

“So, Ms. Stein, after so many telephone calls we finally meet.

I was disappointed you seemed to lose my telephone number after our first call several weeks ago. I left you many messages 281

on your cell and at the office. You never did reply to my most generous offer. It’s not often the governor agrees to help a young lawyer find a job at a world-class law firm.”

“I had my reasons,” Sherry replied.

“Can you share them with me?”

“No.” “But I am correct in understanding you now will share any inside information you have regarding DEP’s investigation?” As he awaited an answer, Friedrich opened the top drawer of the desk and removed a legal pad and fountain pen. He proceeded to tear off a single sheet of paper and placed the pad back into the drawer. Then, he unscrewed the cap of the pen and looked at Sherry, his pen poised to write notes as Sherry talked.

“No, you are not correct.”

Friedrich looked startled. “I’m surprised. I thought you were coming here to give me the information we needed,” he said as he replaced the cap on the pen.

“Then you don’t know me,” Sherry replied. “I came here today because I wanted to see you and tell you to your face you can tell the governor I want no part of his deal. If he wants someone to whore for him to get information, he’ll have to go to Third Street and find someone there.”

Major Friedrich was a man who very rarely heard the word ‘no’ and his face turned red when Sherry berated him. “Well…”

“This meeting is over,” Sherry said and she stood up and went to the door and tried it, but remembered immediately it was locked.

Friedrich stood up and quickly approached Sherry. He stood inches from her in the small office and, even in her heels, he towered over her by a foot. He placed his hand in his pocket and Sherry held her breath. Then he removed the key and unlocked the door. He opened the outside door as well and Sherry hurried into the hallway. She drove onto the highway not slowing down until she was doing ninety, and didn’t feel safe until she was miles away from the remote office. *** 282

Sherry opened the door to her apartment. It was dark and quiet. She tossed her keys on a plastic tray by the door and dropped her purse and briefcase next to her sofa as she kicked her heels off. Looking around she noticed everything appeared to be in its place. She immediately went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and looked at the open bottle of wine. Then she opened the freezer and pulled out a bottle of vodka. She filled a water glass and put the bottle back in the freezer.

On her way back to the living room, Sherry pulled off her skirt and stockings and kicked them to the floor. She sat on the sofa in her blouse and underwear with a blanket covering her legs and drank the vodka. She flinched as she swallowed every gulp of the strong, clear liquid. The only noise in her apartment was the sound of her own breathing and the occasional sound from the street. A dog barked continuously until a man yelled at it. Car doors slammed nearby. She thought about everything and nothing. Eventually, she put down the glass. The last thing she saw was her reflection in the TV.

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49 6:30 a.m., Friday The limousine idled in the driveway and Sarah and the boys were already in the back seat. Mike stood next to his brother by the front steps of their childhood home.

“I guess we’re going to put the house up for sale, right?”

Steve asked.

“Yeah, there’s no reason to keep it any longer,” Mike agreed.

Steve paused for a moment. “It looks like things with your lady friends didn’t go too well…”

“That’s an understatement.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to try my best to apologize, I have feelings for both of them, but I don’t think I’ll ever repair either of those relationships.”

“Remember what we learned the other day?”

“Yes, so far I haven’t exactly lived up to Hillel.”

Steve placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder and patted it.

“What about work?”

“Well, I’ve been sitting shiva now for four days and I think I’m going back to work. I guess I’m ready.”

“Don’t rush it. It would be great if you could see this through for the entire seven days.”

Mike shook his head. In accordance with tradition, the brothers had not shaved since the funeral and Mike looked at Steve’s face and noticed his beard was coming in with large grey 284

splotches. Mike’s beard was also beginning to fill in although his was entirely brown.

The brothers looked at each other, not knowing exactly what to say. Finally, Steve broke the silence and said, “You’ve done a lot of growing, little brother, but when it comes to women, you still have a long way to go. I’m telling you this because I love you.”

“I know. I don’t disagree.”

“Look, what you did for Mom, no one will ever forget that.

I think you may still have a chance with your women friends.

You have to be completely honest with them, though, no holding back. It may not be too late.”

“You really think so?”

Steve shrugged.

“And my job?”

“Well, I specialize more in human relationships and the relationship between a person and God. I know you care very deeply about the job, your colleagues, the environment. I think the job will take care of itself.”

From inside the car, Sarah pushed the button on the window, but said nothing after it was rolled down. She just looked at her husband and raised her eyebrows.

Steve looked at his wife. “Looks like it’s time to go.”

The brothers exchanged a warm hug. “You should plan on coming out to Chicago for Passover.”

“I’ll do that,” Mike said, smiling at his brother. He slapped the trunk of the car twice and the limousine slowly pulled away down the driveway.

Mike watched the limousine as it made the turn down the hill and he stood looking at the woods across the street.

“Where do I begin?” Mike said to no one. *** Mike walked down the familiar hallway at the nursing home to the nurse’s station. The aroma of breakfast mixed with the stench of urine and antiseptic. He recognized several of the nurses and patients and smiled at them as he walked 285

down the hallway. He was stopped twice by nurses who offered condolences. Finally, he waited at the desk for a nurse to emerge from the office. He recognized her as Audrey, who had been at the nursing home for as long as his mother had been there.

“Hi, sorry to bother you,” Mike said.

“It’s no problem, Mike, I’m so sorry about your mother. She was a lovely woman,” Audrey said.

“Thank you, I appreciate all that you and the others did for her.” Mike paused, then said, “I was wondering if you knew when Patty Dixon would be coming on duty. I was hoping to talk with her about something.”

“Oh, I guess you haven’t heard. Patty resigned from the staff yesterday. She gave notice, very quickly packed up, and was out of here in a matter of minutes. I never got a chance to say goodbye to her.”

Mike was shocked. “Really? Do you know where she’s going to work?”

“No, I have no idea. One of the other nurses said she was moving to Colorado or Utah or somewhere out west. She has a sister there or something.”

“Do you know when she’s leaving?”

“Sorry, we weren’t close. I really don’t know.”

Mike thanked the nurse and jogged to his car. As he slowed down in front of Patty’s apartment, he saw a U-Haul truck parked before her front door. Attached to the back of the truck, with a tow bar, was Patty’s Honda. He could see the truck was already full of Patty’s furniture and belongings.

Mike got out of his car and sprinted to the front door. Patty came out carrying a laundry basket full of towels. When she saw him, she shook her head and continued toward the back of the U-Haul.

“Patty, I need to talk to you.”

Patty tried to ignore him as she shoved the laundry basket on top of the sofa in the back of the truck.

“You’re in my way. I’m running behind schedule…”

“Are you really moving to Colorado?”

“It’s really none of your business, but yes, I’m going to move in with my sister and plan to work in a nursing home in Denver.”

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“What about Katie?”

“She packed up her stuff last night. I’m picking her up at school on the way out of town.”

“So, just like that, you’re leaving?”

“Look, I don’t owe you any explanation. Whatever it is we had, we’re through.”

“You’re right, Patty, you don’t owe me anything.” He paused and looked at her face, noticing the bags under her red eyes. “I have to tell you something. I was going to tell you about Sherry the other night, but I couldn’t…I’m a coward. Then I just ran out of time. Everything I did was wrong, I did you a terrible wrong.

I’m so sorry. the other day, when I told you I loved you, I meant it.”

Patty stopped loading the U-Haul and looked at Mike.

Don’t say that, don’t ever say that. Don’t even think it. How can you say you love me and sleep with that other woman—that, Sherry—too. How could you?”

“It’s complicated and doesn’t make any sense.”

Mike placed a hand reassuringly on Patty’s shoulder and Patty angrily pushed it off.

“I’m a very uncomplicated woman. I love Katie more than anything, anything. I only need one thing from a man and I actually allowed myself to think you were the special man I was looking for. Now I know I can never have that from you or any other person. I don’t know if you get it or ever will, but this is over.”

Tears streamed down Patty’s face and she wiped them from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Mike was nearly crazed with sorrow and love.

“Patty, I’m so sorry…”

“Please don’t ever call me again, don’t try to find me, I don’t ever want to hear from you.”

She hurried past him and closed the front door to her apartment.

Mike took a deep breath and slowly began walking from the truck. In the corner of the truck, he saw a crate piled full of stereo equipment and CDs. On top was a Sheryl Crow album.

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50 1:30 p.m., Friday Roger, Zelinsky, and Slaughter were in the small conference room in the DEP office in Wilkes-Barre when Mike tapped on the door and then opened it without waiting for a response.

They had been making arrangements for the bust and had papers spread across the table when he walked in. The men immediately saw the agony in Mike’s eyes.

Slaughter stood up and extended his hand. “Mike, I’m very sorry for your loss. You have my condolences.”

Mike limply shook his hand and barely uttered, “Thank you.”

“We’re in the middle of planning for Monday. Can you join us?” Roger asked.

Mike nodded.

Slaughter and Zelinsky looked at each other and Slaughter said to Zelinsky, “Charlie, can I show you something in my office?”

The three older men glanced at each other then Zelinsky replied, “Sure, George.”

They left the room and Slaughter closed the door behind them, motioning with his head toward Roger.

“Mike, you okay? I mean, if you don’t mind me saying so, you look like shit. Maybe you’re coming back to work too soon.”

Mike looked up from the floor and sat down. “I’m okay. This isn’t just about my mother. Look, I really screwed something up. Patty and Sherry—it was the worst-case scenario. They met 288

before I could talk with either of them and it was bad. It’s over, I mean with both of them. God, how stupid could I have been?”

Roger looked at his young colleague. “Is it too late to fix this? Maybe with one of them? I’m not sure I know which one you want to be with.”

“I’ll never fix this with either of them and it really doesn’t matter which one I want to be with. You don’t fix something like this with someone you’ve hurt. What a jerk I am. Asshole.”

Roger thought for a moment and then said, “Well, I don’t think you’re a jerk or an asshole, maybe a little naïve, a little in over your head. Frankly, you may not be the stud you think you are,” Roger said smiling. Mike did not respond. After a momentary pause, he continued, “Maybe you can’t get back together with them, but can you get some closure? Maybe just being honest with them might be good for you and both of these girls, uh, women.”

“I tried to talk with Patty, but she’s taking off for Colorado, she’s probably gone by now, and she made it clear I was not to contact her. So far as Sherry is concerned, I don’t know. Between shiva, this case, and my screw-ups, I haven’t had a chance to try to contact her.”

“I’m sorry about Patty. She’s a sweet kid and I really like her. But look, you should at least try to reach out to Sherry and make this right. Call her and apologize if nothing else. That’s worth a lot in my book. It may sound trite, but you ought to do something to make this right with these women.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Mike. You’ll have to figure that out. But you’re a good man and I know you’ll do the right thing.”

Mike looked at Roger and nodded.

“Let me see what George and Charlie are up to and let’s get back to work, okay?” *** The men worked the rest of the afternoon, lining up the state police backup, the surveillance vehicle, the laboratory truck, and 289

making numerous other arrangements. A large aerial photograph of Big Bill’s had been taped to the wall over congressman Dan Flood’s photograph and the men spent hours strategizing over the best way to handle the activities of the upcoming days.

As the men began wrapping up for the evening, Slaughter stood up and cleared his throat. “Someone’s been shitting in my back yard. I intend to beat the man when we get him, and I intend to get him.” He looked at each of them. “I’m proud of our team. You guys have done a great job. If anything happens, you can be sure of one thing—I’ve got your back.”

The other men nodded at each other and, unexpectedly, Slaughter hugged each one.

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51 9:00 a.m., Saturday On Saturday, Mike arrived early at the synagogue in WilkesBarre so he could say the Kaddish prayer. The prayer was recited at the very beginning of the service and then again at the end.

Mike thought this was a clever way to make sure mourners were in shul for the entire service. The shul barely had the required minimum of ten men, so, in fact, he was needed to enable the congregation to proceed. Over the next nearly three hours the numbers increased substantially, but at 9:00 a.m., his attendance was noted.

In the several days he had been attending services, a number of the regulars of the congregation had gone out of their way to attempt to befriend him. Rabbi Berkowitz, who was an older man, was very kind and treated him gingerly. Mike appreciated the attention.

Mike noticed that while at the beginning of the services just enough men were present to make a minyan, later, women and families began joining the congregation. Since this was a Conservative synagogue, men and women sat together, although the service was conducted in a very traditional, almost Orthodox, manner. This was not surprising as, until perhaps twenty years earlier, the synagogue had been Orthodox.

As the time crept toward noon and the service ended, several of the regulars sidled over to Mike to make sure he was ready to say the Kaddish prayer and warned him it was coming up. He said 291

the prayer and noticed several of the men stood relatively close to him to answer the appropriate responses at the appropriate times. When the service ended, the congregation went into the nearby social hall for refreshments and Mike followed them in.

Finally, Mike saw the Rabbi. “Rabbi, would it be okay if I went back into the shul and sat for a few minutes? I’d like to be by myself for a little while.”

“Of course, Michael. The lights are on timers, so they should be going off any minute, but feel free to sit. It should be light enough to see.”

Mike entered the sanctuary from a side door and sat in the emptiness for many minutes examining at the walls and the ornamentation of the ancient synagogue.

He opened the prayer book and searched until he found Pirke Avos, then found the passage he had learned with his brother.

He read it again and concentrated on the words his brother had learned with him: In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.

Eventually, Mike got up and left by the side door. He noticed the refreshments had been cleared from the hall and none of the congregants remained in the synagogue. He walked into the cool air and late afternoon sun. *** Mike spent the remainder of Saturday afternoon working with Roger and Zelinsky preparing for the delivery of the hazardous waste at Big Bill’s. Mike’s task was to obtain administrative search warrants so there would be no questions about any searches. Also, arrangements had to be made and coordinated with the state police, not the easiest thing to do on a weekend.

Roger handled the state police, but was compelled to call Mac Prince who called Secretary Capozzi at his home. Capozzi spoke with the commissioner of the state police and after that, things seemed to go more smoothly.

Zelinsky spent most of the day arranging for vehicles and technical back-up support. The mobile DEP laboratory was 292

relatively easy to obtain, once they found the home telephone number of the head of DEP’s Division of Laboratories. After telling the others he had done this before, Zelinsky nonetheless had difficulty with the state police in obtaining access to a proper surveillance vehicle. Finally, he talked with a friend of his at the local barracks and the arrangements were made.

At 6 p.m., Roger and Mike headed back to his home. Roger had agreed to stay at Mike’s house for the weekend and he took a spare bedroom. Roger immediately went to his room to go over his case file, leaving Mike to himself. He opened the refrigerator and was surprised to see he only had a single beer left. He opened it and sat at the table next to the telephone. Finally, he picked up his cell phone and dialed a Harrisburg number from memory.

The phone rang five times and Mike was about to hang up when it was answered.

“Sherry? It’s me, Mike. Can we talk?”

“Not really. I don’t have a whole lot to say to you.”

“Okay, then please let me say just one thing,” Mike said and he paused as he realized he had forgotten the words he had memorized all day. “I just want to say I’m sorry. I’m a jerk and you’re terrific. You’re smart and beautiful and fun and what I did to you was unconscionable.”

Sherry said nothing for a long few moments. Finally, Mike said, “Sherry?”

“Mike, I appreciate the apology, but that doesn’t begin to undo the hurt you’ve caused me. I don’t even know where to begin. Did you think what we had was only about having a good time? A little fun? That’s it?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. Look, I’m an idiot. I didn’t realize how good I had it with you. I really didn’t intend to get involved with two women at the same time…”

“About that, what’s her name? The nurse, Patty? Were you with her because you thought she wanted to have a good time too? How long have you been seeing her?”

“Look, this is not going to go well if we continue this…”

“Mike, I honestly was beginning to think of you as my boyfriend. I think I have a right to know about the other woman.”

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Mike closed his eyes and shook his head. Then a voice inside him told him to be a man. “I’ve known her for a long time, since high school. I hadn’t seen her again until recently when my mother went into the nursing home. Before I met you, I asked her out for coffee. The first time I took her out was the same week I met you, before, well, before our date. Things just developed very unexpectedly and in a very short time, I was in way over my head. It was just easier not to say anything to either of you…”

“So, she didn’t know about me until…”

“That horrible night.”

Sherry paused. “Are you still with Patty?”

“No, that’s over, just like I assume this is over. I’m so sorry.”

“Are you sorry for me? For Patty? Or for yourself?”

“I suppose all of us. Look, I really mean this. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize. I wish there was something I could do to make this up to you.”

“I want to hit you,” Sherry said.

“You want to hit me,” Mike said as a statement, not as a question.

“Yes, I want to sock you in the stomach.”

“Seriously? If you want to hit me, I could arrange that…”

“No, you idiot, I don’t really want to hit you, do you think I’m twelve years old?”

“I’m confused.”

Sherry paused a moment then said, “Mike, I enjoy having a good time in the company of men. I like having a drink or two. I suppose I flirt a bit and maybe you got the wrong impression of me because the person who I am is not the person you thought I was. Just because I enjoy having a good time doesn’t mean that’s all there is to me. I really liked you and I honestly thought there was more to our relationship than just having a good time. I was completely faithful to you while we were dating and I guess I just assumed you were going to be faithful to me. I don’t think you know how much I cared for you. I’m not taking any blame, but if I did anything wrong, it was that I didn’t express myself more verbally. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

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“I think so. Look, I don’t ever expect we’ll get together again—I totally screwed that up. I would appreciate the opportunity of seeing you so we can talk about this some more and maybe get a little closure for both of us.”

“We’ll see,” Sherry said. “Give me a little while to cool off and then call me in a couple of weeks and I’ll see if I can tolerate seeing you. Goodbye Michael.”

She hung up. He looked at the phone and then at his watch.

Finally, he tapped on Roger’s door and the two of them went to Sullivan’s for dinner. They spent the whole day together on Sunday preparing for the bust.

295

52 10:00 p.m., Sunday Sherry sat in the plush leather guest chair waiting for her host to turn back toward her. The office was dimly lit and stank of cigarette smoke both new and ancient. She was surprised her host smoked so much as she had never heard of him smoking and had never seen any pictures of him smoking. His handlers had done a marvelous job of keeping the secret, like Obama. She wondered if it was true this man kept a girlfriend on the side.

Somehow, his indiscretions stayed out of the public eye.

Finally, Governor Miller swiveled his chair to face her. He held a slip of paper in his hand, which he laid on the desk.

“Ms.” (he pronounced it ‘Mizz’) “Stein, how is your father these days? I haven’t seen him in months.”

“Fine, Governor, he seems to be doing well.”

“Be sure to tell him I asked for him the next time you see him, will you?”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad you took my call and agreed to come to my office on a Sunday night. It’s very important we talk. It occurred to me that perhaps you needed to talk directly with me instead of through intermediaries. What we need from you is very critical.”

“Well, I’ve made up my mind…” Sherry began.

“Look, I can’t begin to tell you how disappointed I was when Major Friedrich reported to me you refused his last overture to help our confidential investigation. Your information would have 296

proven quite useful and I expect that I, and the Commonwealth, of course, would have benefited greatly from it,” the governor said. His expression was flat.

“I have no reason to disagree with you, Governor, but I never understood why you couldn’t just ask Secretary Capozzi or Mike Jacobs for this information.”

“Well, Ms. Stein,” the governor said, smiling solicitously, “let’s just say there are people who might have access to my request for that information if it came through the normal channels, so it was important for me to obtain it through the back door.” He smiled continuously, but his eyes wandered between her face and her chest and her legs.

Sherry shifted in her seat. After receiving a call from the governor’s secretary on her cell phone a couple of hours earlier, she had changed out of her jeans and put on a knee-length skirt, the most conservative in her wardrobe, and, stupidly, a sweater with a scoop neck. Just the very top of her breasts were visible, but it seemed the governor’s eyes locked on her chest and legs.

She wished he would look away so she could shift the sweater slightly upwards, but he never took his eyes off her.

“I’m not sure I entirely understand…”

“Well, don’t worry your pretty little head off, it really doesn’t matter, does it?”

Sherry sat quietly while the governor reached for a cigarette and held the pack out toward her. She shook her head. He smiled, pulled one out with his lips, and lit it. He inhaled the smoke very deeply and blew it out the side of his mouth toward the floor.

“You still could be enormously helpful to me. I’ve heard through the grapevine you probably have the information I need and I heard a thing or two about what you had to do to get it. I think perhaps you’ve been wavering, maybe out of a misguided sense of loyalty, but I prefer to think you’ve been covering all of your bases, so to speak, keeping your options open. I admire that in a lawyer.”

“Well,” Sherry said, blushing, “It wasn’t exactly like that, I—”

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Miller waived dismissively. “Don’t think about it, you did what you had to do. I remember everything about people and take care of my friends…and enemies.”

Sherry said nothing, but as she sat in the guest chair, she began to get angry. What had he heard exactly? What was he accusing her of having done?

“Look, I’ve made a call to an old friend of mine in Philadelphia. You’re familiar with the firm of Worthington, Kleer, O’Malley, and Cohen?” The governor asked.

“Of course. That’s the best litigation firm in Philly,” she replied.

“One of the oldest too. I’m not sure this is true, but I was told the term Philadelphia Lawyer originally referred to lawyers at Worthington, Kleer.”

Sherry nodded. She felt sick to her stomach.

“I did some checking around and know you did a great job at the AG’s Office and have no hesitation recommending you.

After you agreed to our little meeting, I called Brad O’Malley at home and set up an interview for you on Tuesday morning.

It’s not really an interview.” Miller chuckled. “He knows of my keen interest in you, so I’m confident you’ll be starting there the following week. Just think, a week from tomorrow, you’ll be a litigation associate at the finest litigation firm in Philadelphia.

An office overlooking City Hall, your own secretary, the works.”

Miller smiled. “The only thing is this interview is contingent on you sitting down again with Major Friedrich tonight and this time telling him everything you know about Jacobs’ investigation.” *** The governor, a former appliance salesman, knew how to close. He decided not to give her a chance to say no—he could tell she was wavering. She was this close to a job she desperately wanted. A mediocre law student, an okay deputy attorney general. There was no way she would qualify for a job at such a prestigious law firm on her merits. It would cost her next to nothing at this point to get it. All he had to do was get her 298

moving in the right direction and keep her moving. She would consent without even realizing it.

He felt the same rush he felt when he got Mr. and Mrs. Lardass to buy the biggest, most expensive washer and dryer for their double-wide in the woods after they came in saying they were just looking. Miller picked up the paper he had laid on his desk and looked at it. On the paper was typed Bradley O’Malley, Esq., an address in a fancy office building in Center City Philadelphia and a telephone number. Below that was typed, 9:00 a.m., Tuesday. The paper was plain and bore no engraving, nothing to trace it to the Governor’s Office. The governor slid it across the desk, but not quite far enough. She had to lean over a bit to read it. He admired the view of her cleavage as she took the paper.

“One more thing Mizz Stein—may I call you Sherry?—I have a fundraiser reception on October 25 at Worthington, Kleer just before the election. O’Malley is hosting and I’m going out to dinner with him and a few high rollers at that expensive restaurant on top of Liberty Place immediately afterward. I’ll call and tell him to invite you to the reception,” Miller paused, “and the dinner as my personal guest. Just think of the contacts you will begin to make. I’d love to mentor you. You’ll be there, of course?”

Without waiting for a response, the governor stood and held out his hand, “Well Sherry, Major Friedrich is sitting outside of my office and he’s ready to talk with you right now. This really can’t wait and I’d hate to have to call Brad O’Malley to tell him your interview is off. So, may I assume our arrangement is back on?”

He came around his desk, leaned over, and quickly hugged her, his hand lightly grazing, then squeezing her butt. *** Sherry felt like she was ready to die. The bile rose in her stomach and it was all she could do to keep from puking. She wanted to run screaming from the office, but she stood politely 299

and smiled at the governor as she backed away from his grip.

Dear God, this was the governor. No one would ever believe her. *** Miller knew he could not let her think, just react. She was moving in the right direction and if he kept it moving, she would be telling Friedrich everything in the next couple of minutes.

This was becoming more delicious for him by the second as he anticipated gaining the information Sherry had and the potential for companionship—and more—from this attractive young woman. Who could turn down the plate of sweets, one piled on the other, that he had offered?

He held his hand toward the door as he reached for the knob.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and let it slide down her arm.

“Wait, wait a minute, Governor.”

He froze.

“You want me to tell you what Mike may or may not have told me? Well, anything he told me he said in confidence. He told me as a friend, as a confidant, maybe as a fellow prosecutor.

I still don’t get why you need this from me, rather than asking Mike for it, but anything he said to me he told me in confidence.

He didn’t tell me anything so that I could relate it to Major Friedrich, you, or anyone else. You’re asking me to sell out and betray my friend and I won’t do that.”

Miller had seen this happen before, the pen was in Mr. Lardass’s hand, Mrs. Lardass desperately wanted the new washer and dryer with the chrome and fancy settings, the contract was ready to be signed, and suddenly his brain catches up with the enormity of the expense he was committing to. Get him to sign the paper, we can work out arrangements later.

“Ms. Stein—Sherry,” the governor said, smiling. “I’m not asking you to betray a friend. I’m asking you to help the Commonwealth, your employer. As of this moment, you’re still a prosecutor, a deputy attorney general. I think you have an obligation to provide information of a crime to your boss. Think of me as your boss’s boss. I’ll tell you what, I appreciate your 300

sense of loyalty and your concerns. Let’s do this: Why don’t you meet with Major Friedrich now, I’ll tell him to keep it short. You can answer some basic questions. I promise not to use any of this information, so you can just sleep on it tonight. If you decide to change your mind tomorrow, you can do so and we’ll just drop this. That’s not so horrible, is it?”

“Yes…” Sherry said.

The governor smiled at his masterful salesmanship. He was warmed by the sublime satisfaction of closing the deal.

“That is horrible,” she continued. “I won’t do this, I won’t sell out my friend and I won’t give you any information. This meeting is over. I’d like to leave.”

The governor blinked. Mr. Lardass had set down the pen and was telling his wife they were going. He knew they would never again sit in his office.

“All right, Ms. Stein, if that’s what you want. I think you’re going to regret this.” *** The governor’s smile had evaporated. As he talked, his yellow teeth hardly seemed to move as his lips opened and closed, radiating stale cigarette smoke.

As the door opened, Sherry saw Major Friedrich get up from a chair across the hall and she wanted nothing more than to run from the Governor’s Mansion. Friedrich kept his distance, waiting for her to leave the office. She saw the governor shake his head and Friedrich nod once in response.

“By the way, I’ll be talking with my good friend the attorney general first thing tomorrow morning. Have a pleasant evening…

Ms. Stein.”

She felt his eyes on her ass as she walked from the office.

She wished she wore a longer skirt. When she reached the door of the Governor’s Mansion, she glanced back at Miller’s private office. He was still watching her.

Friedrich held the side door to the parking area for her and said, “Good night, Ms. Stein. You know, I appreciate your sense 301

of loyalty, as misplaced as it might be. I get that. It comes at a terribly high cost though, but you’re a big girl, so I expect you know that. Good night.”

He closed the door and Sherry shivered in the chilly October air. It had nothing to do with the temperature.

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53 6:15 a.m., Monday The driver, a tall skinny man in coveralls everyone called Pancho, positioned the old, red oil tanker with the Kingston Oil Co. logo exactly where he had been told to do so by Big Bill.

He parked next to the garage, between the cement-block wall and the fence. The noise from the highway was plenty loud for Pancho’s ears and his rig, which he idled, added to the din. He hopped out of the cab, his old Red Wing boots crunching into the cinders and coal refuse of the parking lot. He slammed the door.

Pancho glanced around and surveyed the scene. The rig was maybe two feet from the side wall of the garage. About twenty feet from the front of the rig was a fence and, beyond that, Interstate 81. On the other side of the garage were the fuel islands and the parking lot for the truck stop. He noted that Big Bill’s was cruddier than most truck stops but didn’t care. He only wanted to make the delivery and get out.

He’d delivered there before, but Pancho noticed the access road was a too quiet stretch of Pennsylvania state highway.

A deteriorating strip mall sat catty-cornered from Big Bill’s.

Across the street was a Dunkin’ Donuts shop. There were only a handful of cars parked in the lot this early in the day, including an old van and a blue Prius in front of the donut shop. ***

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Inside the van were two inspectors from DEP’s Waste Management Bureau, and two lawyers. “Christ it’s hot,” said Zelinsky, sitting in front of a crackling television monitor. He reached over and flicked a switch on a small fan for the hundredth time, but it would not go any faster. “This piece of shit van the state police gave us is worthless. The equipment is ancient.” He looked at Slaughter as he spoke.

“You guys following the World Series? I think the Cards will beat the Brewers. Anyone following it?” Slaughter was addressing Roger, who was sitting on a metal suitcase in the back of the van and Mike, who has hunched on the floor.

“I lost interest when the Cards crushed the Phillies,” Roger said, winking at Mike.

Zelinsky shushed them as they saw an old, red tanker truck with the Kingston Oil Co. logo slowly drive down the highway, directly past the van. It reached Big Bill’s and pulled into the lot, disappearing on the other side of the garage.

“Here we go. Finally. Look sharp, we need to make sure we get this on video,” said Roger.

“I don’t know what the story is with the video,” replied Zelinsky as he turned a dial. “It keeps cutting in and out.” The monitor crackled and went blank for a moment before coming back to life. Zelinsky smacked the monitor on the side. Slaughter shrugged at Zelinsky and fruitlessly turned some dials.

Mike kneeled in the back. Although it was cool outside, Zelinsky had insisted they keep the windows closed so no one would overhear them as they whispered to each other. With four men in the van, they were sweltering.

“Guys, we’re going to need a clear shot of him with the hose in the borehole if we’re going to be able to get a criminal conviction of Big Bill.” Roger said, “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“Yeah, let’s run over to the 1970s and Radio Shack and get some video gear that actually works in this wreck,” growled Zelinsky.

From their vantage point in the van, all they could see was the tanker truck had pulled into the parking lot. They assumed it 304

was making a delivery of hazardous waste to a borehole at Big Bill’s. At this point, if they pulled over the tanker, they might be able to get the driver and the owner for illegal transportation of a hazardous waste, but the state inspectors wanted to nail Big Bill for illegal disposal, risking a catastrophe, violations of Pennsylvania’s hazardous-waste and Clean Streams laws, and a variety of other offenses. Until they could verify the tanker was pumping into the borehole, however, they could only get the trucker for illegal hauling. Big Bill would probably walk.

Zelinsky picked up a walkie-talkie from the small counter next to the monitor. “This is Tree-Hugger One calling Trooper One.” He hated the handle the cops assigned to him.

A few moments later the speaker came alive and a voice replied curtly, “Trooper One.” “We’ll be needing you any minute. You in position?”

“Negative. I got called out to a domestic in the township.”

Zelinsky looked at the other men in the van for a moment, then said, “Trooper One, what the hell? You were assigned to us.”

“Sorry, Tree-Hugger One, my sergeant said otherwise. I can be back in about thirty minutes, so long as I don’t have to arrest anyone.”

“Damn staties don’t take any of this hazardous-waste shit seriously. What now?”

“Just get it on tape,” said Roger. “The state police can pull this prick over anywhere between here and Jersey.” He shook his head and looked at Mike who rubbed his forehead with his hand.

Slaughter watched Zelinsky as he fiddled with the video equipment. “I think the problem is this remote hookup to Mike’s car in the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot,” he said.

He was referring to the remote video camera that was pointed at Big Bill’s from the side of Mike’s car Mike parked at the Dunkin’ Donuts at 5:00 that morning. They decided to use one of their personal cars to avoid suspicion from anyone at Big Bill’s who might notice a state car parked across the street.

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The video screen flashed back on and they could see the driver of the tanker walking around the building and entering the garage. “What’s he doing?” asked Mike.

“Probably telling Bill he’s there and getting the okay to begin pumping,” whispered Zelinsky.

With that, the monitor blinked white and then the screen went blank.

“Fuck!” shouted Zelinsky. He went to the front of the van, sat in the driver’s seat and looked out the front window. He could see the driver slowly walking toward the truck.

Zelinsky returned to the work station, turned the receiver unit around and furiously pulled out cables and replaced them.

“Shit, I bet it’s that damn transmitter in your car. Shit, shit, shit!”

Mike looked on helplessly. “What can I do?”

Zelinsky and Slaughter ignored him and whispered furiously to each other as they fiddled with wires. The driver now was out of sight on the side of the garage.

“Look, that’s a residential delivery truck,” Zelinsky replied.

“He may be carrying four to five-thousand gallons and they usually pump up to sixty or seventy gallons a minute. At that rate, it should take about an hour or more to unload the tanker.

Worse comes to worst, we’ll walk over and take some pictures from the street.”

“Yeah, but that’s just a tad dangerous, don’t you think? I mean, they’ll probably see us and we don’t have any backup.

Last I checked, you guys weren’t permitted to carry guns,” Mike replied.

Slaughter and Zelinsky glanced at each other.

Zelinsky looked back out of the window toward Big Bill’s garage. He saw a tall, rangy looking man and a short, incredibly fat man, Big Bill, come to the door. The tall man pointed toward the van they were sitting in and, judging from his arm movements, he seemed to be excited.

“Shit, we were just made,” Zelinsky said and turned to look at the monitor which was still blank. “We’re screwed—they’ll never do this again.”

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“I know,” Roger said slowly as he thought. “Mike, do you think you can get to your car and video this with your phone?

Just walk over there and see if you can take a few pictures.”

Mike nodded and opened the back door of the van. “I’ll be your eyes. You’ll probably need another prosecutor, but I’m not letting the SOB get away with this.”

Mike walked quickly toward his car, staying close to the Dunkin’ Donuts. He ducked behind some parked vehicles when he saw more men coming out of the garage and pointing toward the van.

He hoped they would be preoccupied with the van and not notice him until he was able to get a few minutes of video. He walked as nonchalantly and as rapidly as possible and covered the fifty yards in a few seconds. When he was across the street from the garage, he could see someone was yelling at the Hispanic truck driver who now jumped from the cab to the parking lot. Mike stooped behind his car, pivoted, held up his cell phone, zoomed in on the truck, and started videoing. He got a shot of the hose where it entered the building, shots of the driver handling the nozzle, and several shots of the tanker and the license plate. Mike could see the tanker nozzle entering a ground-level window and could see the fill pipe was inside the building, behind the glass. It was not in the ground. He finally realized why they had never found the borehole. Across the street, the men finally noticed him and were starting across the street in his direction.

The truck driver furiously moved levers on the back of the truck and pulled the hose out of the fill hole before the tanker finished pumping. Mike continued videoing and caught liquid still pouring out of the nozzle as the driver reeled in the hose. A moment later, a large man in jeans and a sweaty work shirt with the sleeves cut off was in front of him, blocking his view.

“What the hell are you doing? Who the hell are you?” screamed the man.

“I’m Jacobs, DEP. Get out of my face!”

“That’s private property. You have no permission to take pictures of private property. Give me your camera. I don’t care who you are, you’re not authorized to take pictures here.”

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Three large mechanics surrounded Mike. He looked for Domarski, but didn’t see him.

“Touch me, you assholes, and I’ll add assault and battery of a commonwealth official to your charges. Back off!”

“You heard him, back off!” It was Zelinsky with a 9 mm handgun and an ID card. “I’m with DEP, state inspector.”

“DEP? Fuck you,” said the first man. “You shitting me? You ain’t no cop.”

Zelinsky pivoted from man to man, not knowing where to point his gun. Suddenly there was the sound of someone cocking a handgun. It was Big Bill with a .44 Magnum revolver aimed directly at Zelinsky.

“Look, the man said you ain’t no cop. Put that shitty little piece on the ground,” Bill said in his loud, whiney voice.

Zelinsky looked down the barrel of McClatchy’s gun and slowly laid his on the pavement. One of Bill’s men grabbed the gun.

“Now you, Jacobs, hand over that phone.”

Mike hesitated. Behind Big Bill, he could see the red tanker truck swerving out of Big Bill’s parking lot and driving down the street like it was a sports car.

Mike held the phone closer to his body. One of the men put his hand out for it, grabbing Mike’s arm. In the distance, Mike could hear police sirens. They sounded incredibly far away.

Without warning, there was the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked hard. Everyone froze. “Don’t!” It was Slaughter. “McClatchy, I’ve got your big fat heart in my sights.”

“The fuck?” said Big Bill. “Where are you?”

From behind a car in front of the Dunkin’ Donuts, Slaughter rested the barrel of a ferocious looking shotgun, a Mossberg 500A, on the hood of a car. “Drop the pea-shooter you fat asshole. If you move or even think of turning toward me, or if your finger twitches, I’ll drop you and three or four of your guys.

Mike, you just walk off and we’ll catch up with you in a few.”

Roger was right behind Slaughter, crouching as low as he could get. The sirens grew closer. Mike slowly pushed through the crowd of angry men. A cold sweat trickled down his back.

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McClatchy’s gun could do some serious damage and he knew Big Bill would argue he thought he was being robbed and Mike wouldn’t be surprised if the DA was in his pocket. When he cleared the group of men, he walked around the building to the back of the donut shop.

Finally, three state police cars converged on the parking lot.

From a loudspeaker in one of the cars, Mike heard a trooper command all of the men to put their guns down and get on the ground, face down. From behind the donut shop he watched the staties disarm everyone and put all of them, including the DEP guys, in handcuffs.

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54 9:30 a.m., Monday The state troopers had everyone, including the DEP men and Big Bill’s employees, lined up. As the sergeant, a middle-aged black man, interviewed them, he told his officers which of them could be released and which were going to be booked. Mike stood next to Roger, watching as the troopers sorted through the workers. He looked up as he heard yet another police siren. This time, however, it was an unmarked Buick that drove onto the lot in front of the donut shop. The passenger door flew open and Gerald Sheehan, the District Attorney, quickly got out of the car.

He turned to Tim Wilson, his first deputy, who had been sitting behind him in the car, and Wilson adjusted Sheehan’s necktie and swatted some dandruff off his suit coat. Another passenger carried a camera bag and had two professional cameras slung around his neck. Almost immediately, he began snapping photographs of the District Attorney.

A second car, a white Chevy, pulled up behind Sheehan.

Detectives Wallace and Black jumped out, leaving the doors open and strode behind Sheehan where they stood like bodyguards.

Sheehan greeted the sergeant, smiled and slapped him on the back. “Nice work, Sergeant, but since you’re in my county, my men will take it from here.” More county cars, both marked and unmarked, entered the rapidly filling lot.

“Look, Mr. Sheehan, this is a state police operation and I can’t turn it over to anyone, even the DA.” 310

“Actually, you can and you will. Call your captain and you’ll see that it’s all been arranged.”

The sergeant hurried to another trooper and began yelling and gesturing in the direction of Sheehan as the county detectives and police officers relieved the troopers of their charges. While all of this was going on, Sheehan’s photographer continued snapping pictures of Sheehan. Mike watched as, for no apparent reason, Sheehan pointed in the direction of the sun while the photographer snapped several shots of his heroic pose. Sheehan then took off his suit coat and handed it to a chubby middleaged man in a suit, even though the temperature was only in the forties, and he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. When he was done, he nodded to his photographer who took several additional photographs. The man of the people to the rescue.

Two white vans slowly approached the parking lot. Mike recognized the driver of one as a DEP laboratory technician named Zack from the Bureau of Laboratories. Zack stopped on the parking lot at Big Bill’s. The other van parked behind the police cars. Mike and Roger went to the DEP van and told the driver to collect samples from the fill pipe and ground residue where the tanker had been pumping. In all the commotion, no one paid any attention to the DEP men.

The second van held two workers who jumped out of their seats and opened the back doors. Mike watched as they pulled a small podium from the back of the van and carried it toward the DA’s assistant who seemed to be directing things. While they carried the podium, a third man with a television camera got out and began setting up in front of the podium. Everything was arranged so Big Bill’s highway sign was directly behind the podium. The man in the suit had Black and Wallace stand behind the podium and the photographer lined up his shot while the other two men set up a small portable microphone and speaker.

The podium was adjusted several times and, finally, the DA moved behind the podium and waited for his cue. Black and Wallace stood behind Sheehan who looked straight ahead.

Speaking into the microphone, Sheehan said, “Citizens of Luzerne County, today I’m proud to announce the brave men 311

and women of the district attorney’s office have put an end to the despicable practice of midnight dumping right here in our backyard. We’ve begun making arrests for this crime and soon will have an announcement regarding the mine tunnel incident that took place in September. DEP and the other organs of state government under Governor Miller have utterly failed our citizens. Thankfully, the investigators of the district attorney’s office, with a small amount of help from the state police, have broken this case wide open. Behind me is Big Bill’s truck stop, where just moments ago my detectives arrested the midnight dumper himself and his associates.”

As Sheehan talked, the photographer took countless snapshots, the videographer filmed, and Sheehan continued to pose for the cameras. Mike noticed two or three reporters had appeared from nowhere, in addition to plainclothes detectives, making up the audience. He was flabbergasted.

Roger tapped Mike on the shoulder while Sheehan continued to talk. He pointed past Sheehan in the direction of the DEP laboratory truck. Zack was pointing at them and waving. Mike, Roger, Zelinsky, and Slaughter broke away from the crowd and crossed the street.

“What’s your preliminary determination?” Roger asked Zack.

“Well, I’ve run field checks for acid, phenols, alkalines, pH, you name it. The pH is normal and I’m getting no hits on these field tests.”

“So, what are we looking at?” asked Mike.

“Right now, I’d say No. 2 heating oil. That’s it.”

Zack held up a small vial which held a clear, tan-colored liquid. “I’m willing to bet the full lab analysis will show it’s heating oil and nothing else.”

Slaughter looked at the pipe behind the window and said, “This isn’t a borehole either. It’s the fill pipe to Big Bill’s heating oil tank.”

Zelinsky added, “You know, when we were here before, there was a truck parked over here and some planks of wood covering this. We must’ve looked in the wrong place.”

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“Well, if it’s just heating oil, then there’s been no violation of the law, right? This was just a routine delivery of oil,” Mike said.

Zack shrugged and Roger smiled and did his best not to laugh out loud.

Mike looked at Roger and shook his head. “Should we tell him?” he asked, nodding in the direction of Sheehan. The man of the people was still making a speech in his shirt sleeves.

“Shit no,” Roger said, trying to suppress his smile. “Let’s let him get in as deep as possible, then we’ll tell him.”

The DEP men stood next to Big Bill’s employees while Sheehan spoke and the photographers snapped away. As they stood in their group, Mike heard even more sirens. These were slightly different than the earlier ones and as the cars approached Mike noticed they bore U.S. government license plates. Two black Suburbans pulled alongside the road near Sheehan, while three other cars pulled in behind the flock of police cruisers.

One of them was a blue Ford. Four men quickly exited each of the new cars, all wearing FBI windbreakers. They moved toward Sheehan who glanced over his shoulder, annoyed by the disruption, but continued speaking.

“Hey, Roger, that’s Tim Cullen, the assistant U.S. attorney from Harrisburg,” Mike said, pointing toward the seriouslooking black man in a windbreaker with the words, “U.S. Attorney” printed on the back.

“Yes, I’d recognize that jarhead anywhere.”

The FBI agents walked purposefully to Sheehan, who paused mid-speech. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we’re being joined by our brothers in the FBI. Welcome my brothers.”

“Gerald Sheehan?” asked a large man in a windbreaker.

“Of course, Special Agent, you want to join me behind the podium?”

“Place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest.”

“What? What the hell? What’s the charge? Tim, get over here and straighten this out,” he shouted to his first deputy.

“Wire fraud, mail fraud, and tax evasion, among others. The magistrate will formally read all of the charges to you later.”

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The agents handcuffed Sheehan as Cullen read him his rights. Mort Fine stepped in and began screaming at Cullen.

Cullen nodded to another agent and Fine was promptly arrested and handcuffed. Then the FBI agents, county detectives, and state troopers began shouting and pushing. The employees of Big Bill’s and the DEP men, standing in groups just a few feet from each other in front of the garage, together quietly watched the spectacle of law enforcement gone awry.

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55 11:15 a.m., Monday Mike stood next to Roger watching the local police, detectives, state police, and FBI agents argue with each other.

They were close enough to hear the curses and the tense and angry words, but far enough that they couldn’t make out most of the discussions. From time to time, Mike noticed the whole group of officers and prosecutors turn to look at them and the other DEP employees.

“I have seen some screwed-up things in my career, Mike, but this tops them all,” Roger said under his breath.

“You mean this isn’t the way you’re supposed to close an investigation?”

Roger looked at Mike and shook his head. All this time, however, Mike had been thinking about the tanker truck next to Big Bill’s emblazoned with the Kingston Oil Co. logo. As the officers talked and argued, he thought the truck appeared to be a perfectly normal heating-oil delivery truck.

Mike looked at the others and asked, “Has anyone seen that psycho Greg Domarski here?”

The other DEP men shook their heads.

Something clicked in Mike’s brain and he looked at Roger.

“I’m going to be taking off for about an hour.”

Roger looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “Nice. You’re going to run off and leave me here to deal with this?” he said, holding his hands toward the commotion.

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“I’ve got a hunch about something. Look, I’m heading over to Flynn’s place—I want to check it out. If I’m not back in an hour, come after me.”

“Why? What do you think you’re going to find?”

“Probably nothing, which is why it’s a good idea I go by myself. Also, judging from what’s going on here, one of us probably has to stay and deal with it.”

“Thanks, bud. Do me a favor and try to be back in twenty minutes.”

Mike got into his Prius and turned on the ignition, waving at the cops who watched as he slowly pulled out of the crowded parking lot. He drove the short distance to Flynn’s place, slowed to a stop on the main road, and peered down the long driveway.

There were several vehicles parked near the house. One was Flynn’s beat-up purple pickup. Another, closer to the road, was a black Ford pickup. Next to the house, he saw a red home heatingoil delivery truck. Mike turned the car, slowly rolled down the driveway, and coasted to a stop behind the black pickup. He could see right away the pickup was new.

He did not observe anyone outside of the house. He quietly opened the car door and was about to get out when he realized things might take a turn for the worse and he had no way to defend himself. He looked around in his car and realized he had nothing he could carry as a weapon, not even a flashlight. He opened the glove box. In addition to the usual pile of papers, the only thing in it was the toy sheriff’s badge Katie had given him on the trip to the mine tunnel. He picked it up and slipped it into his pocket as he softly pushed the car door closed.

Mike silently approached the tanker truck. It was making another delivery of heating oil. It was odd that someone, even someone as wacky as Flynn, needed so much heating oil in October. When he was about twenty-five feet from the truck, however, he smelled the fumes. They burned his nostrils.

Whatever was going into the fill pipe was not heating oil. The meter on the back of the truck showed it had already delivered about three-thousand gallons. The tanker would soon be empty.

He looked at the nozzle and its attachment to the fill pipe and saw there was a small drip coming out of it. Someone had placed 316

an aluminum pan below the drip to catch residue and it held about a half inch of pitch-black oily gunk. The smell, so close to the tanker, was intense.

Mike looked around to make sure he was still alone. He backed away from the tanker and began to walk to the back of the house when he smelled cigarette smoke. Slowly and carefully, Mike peered behind the house and saw a short, tan-skinned man with a green baseball cap squatting against the wall. No one else was around. Whatever happened next would have to happen quickly and decisively.

Mike thought and realized if he was ever going to atone for himself, this was the opportunity. Whatever screw-ups he had caused, if he could break open the case, he would be redeemed.

He reached into his pocket for the badge, said a quick prayer and realized he had no idea what to do next. After a moment, he thought about an old movie he had seen recently on Netflix. Mike channeled Dirty Harry as he burst around the house, holding up the badge like a shield.

“DEP, put your hands up…motherfucker!” Mike barked in his deepest voice.

The man dropped his cigarette, looked around, and raised his hands.

“Against the wall, asshole! Assume the position,” Mike yelled in his best Clint Eastwood.

The man turned and put his hands against the wall of the house. Mike was astonished he complied. He roughly pushed him closer to the wall, then patted him down, more or less as he had seen it done on TV. “All right asshole, what’s your name? What are you doing here?” Mike demanded.

“Ricky, Ricky Veleo. I’m delivering the heating oil.” Veleo replied, looking over his shoulder.

“Bullshit. That’s not heating oil. What the hell are you delivering?”

Veleo shrugged and said, “Oil. I deliver the oil.”

“Where are you from?”

“Jersey, Bayonne.”

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“You drove all the way from Bayonne, New Jersey just to deliver heating oil? I don’t think so.”

Veleo started looking over his shoulder at Mike and his arms slowly started to sag. “You said you’re from the DEP? What’s that? Who else is with you?”

Mike quickly glanced around him and yelled, “Face the wall, motherfucker!” He put a knuckle from his fist into the man’s back. “I’ve got a team of agents and laboratory guys swarming the front of this place. Put your hands behind your back.”

Sweat dripped down Mike’s neck. Quickly, he looked around and saw some rope on the ground not far from Veleo. He grabbed it and tied Veleo’s hands together as tightly as he could.

“What the hell kind of handcuffs are these?”

“Hemp handcuffs, they’re the only kind DEP uses,” Mike said, hoping Veleo wouldn’t laugh.

He walked Veleo to an outdoor faucet and used the remaining rope to tie him to the pipe. He prayed the knots he had learned in Cub Scouts were strong enough to hold the man.

“Who else is in there?”

“A dude. I don’t know his name.”

“Stay here. One of the other agents will be back in a minute to transport you to the station for booking.”

Mike looked around and wondered where Flynn had gone.

He knew a toy badge wouldn’t do the trick and he hoped Flynn wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull a gun on him. Maybe he could talk some sense into him. Mike returned to the front of the house and banged on the door. There was some commotion inside.

Mike opened the door. The house was dark but warm. The wood stove had heated the small, cluttered living room. In front of him was a trap door that had been hidden under an area rug. The opening was about two feet square and the hatch was propped against the wall.

Mike looked down and could see an iron ladder attached to the rock wall descending into the ground until it disappeared in the darkness. Maybe twenty feet below him a flashlight flickered and he could hear the sound of someone climbing down the ladder.

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“Tom? It’s me, Mike. Come back up so we can talk.”

There was no response, but Mike could see him still descending the ladder. He considered his options. He expected Flynn was quite familiar with the underground shaft and knew it led to an escape route or a place to hide. He guessed there was a lateral tunnel close by and Flynn would use it to escape, but he had no idea where Flynn would exit. He looked around the room and saw three flashlights on the counter next to the shaft. He grabbed the largest one—a Maglight like the police use—and turned it on. It seemed to have plenty of juice. Just before he started for the tunnel, he took off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. A small voice inside him told him to wait, but another, louder voice told him to be a man. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head in disbelief at what he was about to do.

Mike put his foot on the old rusty ladder and tested it. When he was reasonably sure it could hold his weight, he slowly started down the shaft with the flashlight in his right hand. It occurred to Mike that if he fell he had no idea how far he would fall. As he began down the shaft, he felt claustrophobic, had vertigo, and was scared to death all at once. He steeled himself and, once he got over his fear of falling, he began climbing down quickly.

“Tom? It’s me, Mike. I’m coming down. Stop and wait for me, I want to talk,” Mike yelled. As he looked between his feet, he could still see the light flickering and moving below him.

Claustrophobia washed over him as he climbed down into the dark, narrow shaft. It smelled like rocks, dampness, and old sewer. A chemical stench punctuated the air. He tried to push the claustrophobia from his brain and descended the ladder as quickly as he could.

“Flynn! Wait up. Come on, it’s Mike. I just want to talk.”

As he continued his descent, he could see the light from the other flashlight casting an eerie glow against the wall of the shaft about fifty feet below him. He continued down the ladder and after a few minutes, realized the other light had stopped moving. Several minutes later, he was just above the area lit by the flashlight and could see there was an opening in the side 319

of the shaft. When he reached it, he looked in and saw a short, narrow passageway that led to a room no more than six feet high and perhaps six feet wide. Mike thought about Flynn’s gun collection and hoped Flynn was unarmed. His heart pounded.

“Tom? It’s me, Mike. Why don’t you come out of that hole?”

Mike held onto the ladder and listened. Nothing.

“Jesus, Tom, I’m coming in. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Mike stepped across the empty shaft through two feet of black void into the small chamber toward the light. He squeezed into a room carved out of rock and saw a flashlight leaning against the back wall. Suddenly, he heard a noise and saw something coming at him. He tried turning away from it a moment too late.

The lights went out.

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56 12:30 pm., Monday Roger sat in the passenger seat of the state police cruiser, which was travelling at seventy miles per hour down the back roads toward Flynn’s place.

“Jesus, Sarge, can’t you make this thing go faster?”

The sergeant, a lean black man in a uniform with military creases, did not smile and did not look at Roger as he spoke.

“Other units are ahead of me. What the hell was your friend thinking when he came out here alone?”

When they reached the driveway, Roger could see two state police cars were already there and troopers were out with guns drawn.

“Christ, I hope we’re in time,” Roger said under his breath. *** Mike awoke on the wet, rock floor of the small chamber, his head in his hands. He drew one hand away and saw blood in the semi-darkness. His eyes were blurry, but he knew someone was standing over him with a large black Maglight. It was Greg Domarski.

“Greg? What are you doing here?”

“Asshole, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Hey look, Flynn’s got to be nearby. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

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Domarski laughed. “Why would I want to get out of here?

Tom’s my partner, you dumb shit.”

“What? You’re working with Flynn?”

“You’re pretty smart for a Jew lawyer.”

Mike flinched, then looked around and saw he was in a small chamber carved out of rock. It smelled of stone, rot, perpetual dampness, and chemicals. Decayed wooden timbers held up the roof of the small cavern. There were shelves pushed against the walls, each one filled with cans and glass mason jars filled with food. A small cot was in the corner. The tiny enclosure was damp and dark but for the light of the two flashlights.

“Greg, look, I don’t know what this is all about, but maybe we can figure out a way to help you out of this with the cops?”

“Are you serious? After what we’ve done? No matter what, we’re going to prison for a long time. No way, lawyer-boy. I have a wad of dough I’ve made doing this and I’m out of here right after this job is over.”

“Hey man, what would Patty say?”

Domarski looked at him for a moment, then his lips curled from a snarl into a wicked smile, “You mean my assistant?”

Mike was thunderstruck. “What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, you dumb shit. You never figured that out, did you?

Patty was working with me.”

Mike shook his head in disbelief. “She worked with you and Flynn?”

“No, she worked with me. She was my insurance with Flynn.

I wouldn’t trust Flynn as far as I could throw him. As long as I was able to provide him with good intel, he didn’t care where it came from or how I got it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh? How do you think we knew you boys were planning a raid on Big Bill’s today? You and your buddies blabbed it at that wake thing you had at your house. Patty heard it all and good girl that she is, she reported it to me.”

“But why? I don’t get it. Why would she work with you?

Does she love you? Are you two still together?”

“I still love her, but my wife has a problem with me shacking up with Patty and, for now, Patty has been putting me off. The 322

only one Patty loves is Katie—our daughter—and all I had to do was serve her with papers said I was seeking custody. I met with her a couple of weeks ago and told her since she had no husband and was shacking up with you, a judge would have no problem awarding custody to me. Trust me, there are a lot of judges in this county who can be bought. I made it clear Katie would come and live with me wherever I took her and she’d never see her again. It was a piece of cake.”

“You, you wanted Katie?”

“Wanted Katie?” he laughed. “I couldn’t care less about her.

I wanted information and dough. I had a way of getting it from Patty. It worked like a charm. She couldn’t talk with you about it and had no one to turn to.”

“What about her sister?”

“Her sister?”

“Yeah, in Denver.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Her sister has been dead for five years.”

“What? Dead? But I thought…”

“Dead. Linda was a heroin addict. For five bucks she’d suck you off in the men’s room at Sullivan’s to get money to get high.

OD’d in California. It was big news around here, but then again, you live in the big city now.”

Mike said nothing for a moment as his mind reeled. He held his head in disbelief and pain. “Then you’re not with Patty?”

“Oh yeah, about that.” Domarski kicked Mike hard and he curled into a fetal position. “You fucked my woman? Fuck you!

Fuck you!” he screamed.

“Stop! Please!” Mike shouted, holding his side and head. “I thought you two were over.”

“Never. I’ll never be over her. I’ll be with her again as soon as you’re dead.” Domarski kicked Mike again. “You screwed my woman? I’m going to kill you!”

Domarski pulled a .22 revolver from behind his belt and pointed it at Mike. Mike covered himself and waited for the impact of the bullet as he cowered on the floor.

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Surprisingly, no bullet was fired. Instead, he heard the unmistakable click of another gun. Standing at the entrance to the small room was Flynn, a 9 mm pointed at Domarski.

“Greg, put the gun down,” Flynn said, almost in a whisper.

Domarski looked at him and slowly placed the gun in his belt behind his back.

“Tom, this asshole is going to rat us out. We should kill him.”

“I have plans for him, Greg. I think we need him for a little while yet.”

“I want to kill him.”

“Get the hell out of here and wait for me by the truck. I’ll take care of Jacobs and be up in five minutes.”

Flynn stood away from the opening and flipped the gun in the direction of the shaft. Domarski shrugged and then smiled at Mike as he squeezed past Flynn. When he reached across the shaft for the ladder, Flynn fired a single bullet into his back and pushed him in. Domarski grabbed at the black air and fell as if in slow motion, screaming as he bounced from wall to wall until he crashed into the rocky bottom of the shaft.

Flynn stood next to the shaft, peering down. Other than the sound of rocks tumbling in the blackness they heard nothing.

Domarski had been gone for about twenty seconds when Flynn finally said in his Yoda voice, “Screwed up all my plans you have.”

“Tom, what the hell’s going on?” Mike asked. “What have you done? What did you do?”

“Objection. Compound question, Mikey. You know better than that. Objection sustained. Rephrase your question counselor.”

“I drive up and see this tanker truck dumping shit into a borehole. Then I see you have some survivalist cave down here in the mine tunnel. You just killed your partner. What the hell is going on?”

“You smart DEP lawyer. Me think if you try, you figure it out.”

Mike paused and finally said, “You’re a legend, Tom. A freakin’ icon. All on your own, you shut down steel mills in 324

Pittsburgh, gas wells across the state, and half of the strip mines in Pennsylvania. I can’t believe you would be taking money so some assholes from Jersey would have a place to dump their shit. I can’t believe you just shot Domarski. What the hell?”

“You’re right, I am a legend. I deserved to be treated like one, too. After that SOB Governor of yours shit-canned me, though, I was persona non grata. I came within a millimeter of losing my ticket to practice. I couldn’t get work—not from those asshole enviros who said I was toxic, and not from any corporations who hated my guts for what I’d done to them. One day I get a call from some boys in New Jersey who said they needed a lawyer. A man’s gotta eat, right? Everyone deserves to be represented, even midnight dumpers. You learned that in law school too, right? Anyway, they paid pretty well and after doing some basic corporate legal work for them for a couple of months, they asked me if I wanted to make some real money.”

“But Tom, how could you do that?”

“Don’t judge me. In a couple of years, you’ll be working for some big law firm and even if you don’t let the bastards dump down some borehole, you’ll still be doing basically the same thing I’m doing.”

Mike shook his head. “I have no idea what I’ll be doing in a week, let alone a couple of years. One thing’s for certain, though, I would never do anything as horrible and dishonest as you’ve done.” *** In the small room at the top of the shaft, a large group of men tried to decide what to do. Several state troopers, Roger, three men from DEP’s Mine Rescue Squad, and some other DEP guys were huddled around the entrance to the shaft when they heard the shot.

“Someone has to get down there. Flynn may have shot Mike,” Roger burst out.

“I can get down there,” said Rocky Fischer, a member of the rescue squad.

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“No way, Rocky,” ordered the police sergeant. “You’d be dead meat as soon as you approached Flynn. He’s armed, dangerous, and willing to shoot.”

The men quarreled and their voices drifted down the shaft. *** Hearing their shouts, Mike looked toward the shaft and said, “What’s going on up there?”

“That would be your state police buddies.”

“How do you know?”

“I came down here when I saw the cruisers trespassing onto my driveway.”

Mike thought for a moment. “Tom, give me your gun and head up the ladder. When we get back to the surface, I’ll tell them you wanted to cooperate with their investigation. I’ll tell them Greg pulled a gun on you; it was self-defense. I’m sure they’ll go easier on you.”

Flynn laughed. Mike chuckled as if he got the joke.

“Mikey, that’s not going to happen. There’s no way I’m surrendering to them and getting locked up for years. Domarski, those dead kids, your mother, all that shit in the water. Even if they loved me, which they don’t, I’d still go away for decades. I have another idea.”

“My mother…?”

“Oh yeah, well, I suppose you have a right to know.”

Mike was in shock. “You?” “No, it was Greg. We wanted you to think it was Big Bill.

Sorry, but we probably did you a favor.”

“What?” Mike was shocked, not knowing what to do next.

“Get up,” Flynn said, pointing his gun.

Mike slowly rose to his feet, feeling light-headed. His side ached and his mind reeled.

“But if you don’t surrender, then...”

“Then I’ll go away and hide out. Do you remember when you were a baby lawyer, Mikey? I taught you to have a plan, and a backup plan, and a backup to your backup plan. No, I’m not going up the ladder. We have another alternative.”

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“What do you mean we?”

“Well, you see Bro, I don’t trust those nasty state troopers and their guns. I think I may need to keep you between the troopers and me.”

“I’m your hostage?”

“That’s such a negative word. Let’s say you’re my guest.

Now, move it.”

Flynn pointed his gun toward the shaft.

“What do we do when we get to the shaft?” Mike asked.

“Start heading down. In another sixty-four feet we’ll hit a lateral shaft. We follow that for a few thousand yards until we get to another escape shaft like this one. Then it’s up another ladder and out into the woods and fresh air.”

Mike paused, “No. No way. I’m not going down that ladder and I’m not going through some decaying old underground mine. Christ, if it hasn’t already collapsed down there it will the moment we get in it. It’ll be our tomb. I’m not going down there.”

“Then you’re not going back up, either,” Flynn said and he pointed his 9 mm directly at Mike’s head.

Mike looked at the gun and then toward the shaft. “Go to hell,” Mike said as he slowly approached the ladder. After he was just past Flynn, as he entered the narrow corridor between the chamber and the shaft, he put his hand over his head to protect it from the low ceiling when he felt a rotten wood support beam.

He gripped it and pulled as hard as he could. The ancient wood, decayed and splintery, broke off in his hand. He looked back.

The glow from Flynn’s flashlight made his face ghoulish in the nearly total darkness.

Suddenly, the ancient, decaying roof supports creaked and gave way. Before either of them could react, the wooden supports and roof rock fell into the chamber, trapping Flynn.

Mike blindly reached out and jumped into the darkness across the shaft, grabbing for the ladder. He held on as the ceiling crashed down behind him.

When the cave-in ended, Mike realized he had no flashlight and now was in complete and utter darkness. The top of the shaft 327

was out of sight, fogged up in dust, and seemed miles away. He hung onto the rusty ladder for several long minutes catching his breath.

“Tom? Tom?” he called softly after the crashing had ended.

There was no reply.

Mike felt something fly past his face. At first, he feared it might be a bat or bird, but he knew he was too deep in the mineshaft for that. Then he felt another, this time a small pebble bounced off his head, hard. A larger rock would kill him. The entire escape shaft, perhaps seventy or eighty years old, was starting to go and Mike was trapped 150 feet underground.

He thought to yell for the men on the surface, but feared yelling might cause more rocks to fall, so he started climbing in complete darkness. His hands gripped the wet, rusting rails of the ladder, and were cut by the rotten iron. In pain from the beating he had received, he climbed slowly at first, then more quickly as he tried his mightiest to suppress his fear.

Hand over hand in the pitch-black darkness Mike pulled himself up praying to reach the surface alive. When he neared the top, he saw light and heard the sound of voices.

“It’s me, Mike. Don’t shoot.”

He pulled himself to the top of the ladder and was helped to the surface by members of the DEP Mine Rescue Squad, state police, and Roger.

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57 3:05 p.m., Monday Rocky Fischer was tall and lean. He wore a light blue coverall uniform with reflective tape and an arm patch with the logo of DEP’s elite Mine Rescue Squad, a white hard hat with an attached electric lamp, heavy-duty knee pads, leather gloves, and clear plastic goggles. His name, “Fischer,” was stenciled on the back of his helmet. He had a collapsible aluminum rod he held like a swagger stick. His outfit was festooned with reflective tape and looked virtually the same as any underground miner’s with one exception: On his feet he wore rock climbing shoes.

Since he was not actually mining, he was more concerned with being able to scale the rock than deal with chunks of coal or roof rock hitting his feet.

Fischer was the best man on the squad and his captain decided he would go down first to see if Flynn or Domarski were alive or whether their bodies were recoverable. The rescue squad attached a harness to him and he checked his ropes and anchor three times to make sure they were secure. At the insistence of the police, he carried a 9 mm handgun concealed in a pocket on the side of his pants leg. Roger suggested if he shot Flynn, no one would mind, but Fischer did not crack a smile. Neither did Roger.

After checking the ropes and the anchor and talking with the other men in the squad, Fischer slowly rappelled into the shaft— the old ladder was too risky—and he listened to the radio on his 329

belt as the squad announced his depth. At a hundred-and-fifty feet, he slowed his careful decent and watched for signs of the safety chamber. He reached the top of the entrance at a hundredand-seventy-two feet below ground level.

“I’m at the top of the safety chamber,” he said quietly into the mic attached to his shoulder.

“Roger that. Proceed slowly,” the captain replied.

Fischer lowered himself another couple of feet and called out quietly, “Flynn? Tom Flynn? This is Rocky Fischer from Mine Rescue.”

Fischer listened and heard nothing except the occasional pinging of falling rocks. He carefully swung into the safety chamber and placed his feet on the floor of the entrance. He was not able to get into the room itself as the small passageway was clogged with rubble, but the ledge appeared stable enough.

From the entrance to the room, he looked in with his headlamp and then unhooked the powerful searchlight he had clipped to his belt. He saw that much of the roof had caved in. Rock, wooden timbers, and the remains of shelves and other gear littered the ruined space. Then he noticed the rubble had been disturbed.

Instead of a single pile, it looked as though the rocks and wood had been pushed aside making two piles where there should have been one.

“Tom? Tom, this is mine rescue. Are you in here?”

Fischer held in the key on his shoulder mic and said, “I don’t see him. I’m going to search the debris and see if he’s in here.”

“Roger. Keep an eye on the roof of that room. It’s got to be very unstable.”

Fischer pulled the aluminum swagger stick from his utility belt, extended it to its full length, and pushed it into the rubble.

After meticulously prodding and poking, he could find no sign of Flynn. He would not go beyond the entrance to the room, however, as he feared the ceiling would come down on top of him. After twenty minutes of deliberate probing, he slowly backed out of the room. As he watched his footing in the small passageway, he noticed a trail of blood leading out of the safety chamber. He followed it to the escape shaft and could see bloody handprints on the ladder, heading down.

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“Cap, I found no sign of Flynn in the safety chamber,” Fischer said quietly into his microphone. “I found blood and handprints though heading down the ladder. What do you want me to do?”

“Abort. Get back up here. It’s too dangerous. The team has been able to contact some old miners who worked in that mine and they say that much of the lateral shaft below you caved in some time in the 1950s and it’s probably full of water. Even if Flynn gets to the lateral, it’s too dangerous. This is on Flynn. We tried.”

“Roger that,” Fischer said. “What about Domarski’s body at the bottom of the shaft?”

“Leave it. It’s too dangerous. I’m afraid this old shaft is ready to collapse.”

“Roger.”

Fischer adjusted the ascender mechanism on the ropes to return to the surface and was about to begin climbing when he heard a sharp crack and froze. *** On the surface, the men said nothing. They listened to the crackling of the radio and the occasional conversation between Fischer and the captain. The room was packed with DEP men and state troopers, but it was as quiet as a viewing. They had no visual on Fischer and had to rely on his calls on the radio to know what was going on. He had been silent for several minutes. *** Fischer was sure he heard a shot from a small caliber gun, probably a .22. He turned his light in the direction of the noise and saw a pebble careen wildly down the shaft making a cracking sound like a small caliber gun whenever it hit a wall. He took a breath and shook off his nerves. Then he paused on the edge of the shaft and thought for a moment. He took off his backpack and removed the water bottle and food bars he had brought down 331

with him and removed an aluminum-foil emergency blanket. He set all of that on the rocky edge of the entrance to the safety chamber.

As he set the provisions on the floor, something between two rocks glinted and caught his eye. He reached down and plucked a gold wedding band off of the floor. He carefully dropped it into his cargo pocket.

After he emptied his pack of consumables, Fischer shined the searchlight into the abyss, checking the walls and tracing the light along the ladder until he could see no further. Even though he was doing the searching, he felt odd, like he was being watched.

“Flynn? Are you in here?” he said loudly without shouting.

“This is Mine Rescue. I’m fixin’ to leave. No one else is coming back down here and the entrance will be sealed after I get back up. If you’re down there man, speak up.”

Fischer listened as hard as he could but heard nothing. He turned off his searchlight and then clicked off his headlamp and stood on the edge of the safety chamber, listening and allowing his eyes and ears to adjust to the complete darkness. It was the blackness of a grave, he thought and shuddered. He waited for several minutes in the pitch-black shaft and was still listening when another rock careened down, narrowly missing him. With that, he flicked on his headlamp, hoisted his equipment onto his back, checked his ascender, and began scaling the rope, praying all the way the shaft did not cave in until he was back on the surface.

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58 5:00 p.m., Monday Sergeant Fowler and two detectives from the state police sat in a small room with Mike. They had been talking with him since he had been released from the hospital. Mike had bruises on his face and head and a broken rib, but otherwise was in decent condition. A can of Coke sat on the table and he sipped it from time to time. Fowler had asked Mike to go over the details of what happened in the shaft and Mike had repeated the story three times.

“Let me make sure I have this straight for my report, Mike, then you can go. After you tied up Veleo, you went into the cabin and saw someone going down the shaft. You thought it was Flynn, so you went down the shaft after him?”

“Right. Not the smartest thing I could have done, but I had no way of knowing how long you guys would take to get to Flynn’s place and I didn’t want him to get away.”

“Okay, you found your way into the safety chamber and someone knocked you out. When you came to you saw it was Greg Domarski. You knew Domarski from high school. You say he beat the crap out of you because you had been having—a relationship—with his girlfriend, Ms. Dixon?”

“Well, his long-ago, former girlfriend. Mother of his child, but estranged. I’m pretty sure he’d been stalking Patty. He was a total whack job, just like Flynn, but also a violent psycho, a loser.”

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“He then told you he and Flynn had organized this whole dumping thing?”

“Right. They were working with guys from New Jersey—he never gave me any names. Flynn clearly was the brains behind this, Greg was the muscle. I think he was planning to kill me, so he was taunting me. He flipped out and kicked me a number of times after he asked me about my relationship with Patty.”

“Did he say anything about Ms. Dixon being involved in any of this?”

A million thoughts raced through Mike’s head as he prepared to answer the question again, the same way he had answered it before. He paused just for an instant, looked the sergeant in the eye, and said, “Like I told you before, nothing. Not a word.

Frankly, I’d be shocked if she had anything to do with this. She hardly has anything to do with Greg now and they rarely talk.

Besides, I never talked to her about our investigation and I don’t think she would have had the opportunity to overhear anything.

She really doesn’t know anything about it.”

“Then you say Flynn and Domarski started fighting and Domarski said he was going up to turn himself in?”

“He didn’t use those words, but that was basically it. Flynn didn’t want him to do that. Just after Greg went past Flynn to head up the ladder, Flynn shot Greg and pushed him down the shaft.”

“That was when Flynn told you Greg had killed your mother?”

“Yes. I’m not sure why he did that. It may have been to torment me, or it may have just been he figured I’d be dead soon anyway.”

The sergeant nodded checking his notes. “After that, Flynn said he would use you as some kind of human shield, so that’s why he kept you alive?”

“Yes. He had his gun on me and he had just killed Greg and wanted me to go down the escape shaft with him to some lateral shaft below the safety chamber. As I started leaving the room, I don’t know what got into me, but as I walked out, I grabbed onto a wooden roof support and pulled it as hard as I could. Then 334

the roof came down. I thought Flynn was dead. Jesus, the whole thing just collapsed on him.”

Fowler cast a glance at the other detectives. “How do you suppose Domarski and Flynn knew enough about the bust to know about the timing of the bust and location? I mean, doesn’t it seem likely they had someone on the inside?”

Mike looked at the cops. “Beats me. There’s a lot of screwy stuff going on up here. Maybe it was someone in the DA’s office who tipped them off, maybe one of your guys. I doubt it was DEP, but you never know.”

The cops tried not to show any expression. “Do you know where Ms. Dixon is now?”

“No. Like I said, I had a really bad fight with Patty a week ago. It was a relationship-ending thing if you know what I mean.

I saw her as she was packing a U-Haul. I asked, but she refused to tell me where she was going. We didn’t part on good terms.”

“So, you’re not expecting to hear again from Ms. Dixon?”

“No. I never expect to hear from her again.”

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59 10:30 a.m., Tuesday The next day, Mike returned to the nursing home, he hoped for the last time. He walked down the hall to the nurses’ station feeling the pain of his broken rib and stiffness in his legs all the way. Audrey, the nurse he had seen the week before, was there.

“I need to talk with you,” he said quietly under his breath.

“Is there a place we can talk?”

Audrey looked around and told him to come with her into the nurse’s office. She shut the door behind them.

“Where is she? Where did Patty go? I know she doesn’t have a sister in Denver. Her sister is dead.”

“She’s gone. She told me if you or anyone else asked, I was to tell them Denver, but she never told me where she was going.

That’s how it works.”

“Why? Where could she go?”

“There’s a network of women who help other women to rescue themselves and their children from abusive husbands and boyfriends and start new lives. It’s completely secret. I’m not sure Patty even knew where she was going once she met up with them. She told me she would never call me, so I have no idea where she went.”

“What about the U-Haul? Couldn’t someone trace that?”

Audrey smiled. “Then they would trace it all the way to Hazleton, the U-Haul dealer there. She dropped the furniture off at another friend’s house between here and Hazleton and she and 336

Katie drove off in her car. Look, even if I knew where she was, which I don’t, I wouldn’t tell you. She’s gone.”

“But Greg’s dead. He can’t get her now. Maybe if she knew she would reconsider.”

Audrey nodded. “You know there were legal papers that were filed. Said she was an unfit mother. That kind of stuff doesn’t go away. It scared her. Greg found a scumbag lawyer to go after her—screwy things happen in this county all the time.

Also, there’s been talk that Patty may have been blackmailed to help him. I’m sure she’ll find out about this on the internet. Greg dead and all. I don’t think she’s coming home soon though.”

She looked at her watch, “Look, I have to get back to work.

I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”

Mike didn’t understand. He walked down the hall and exhaled and breathed in deeply as he left the building for the last time. He looked around hoping he might see some sign of Patty, but there was none.

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60 9:00 a.m., Wednesday Mike and Roger met in the small diner down the street from their office in Harrisburg. They took a booth and both ordered coffee and donuts. Mike looked around and waited until the waitress had walked away.

“What’s the score?” he asked Roger.

“The U.S. attorney arrested the DA, his campaign manager, and two of his detectives, those turds Wallace and Black. It turns out they were working off the clock for the campaign when they tapped our offices and were following you. Also, the DA’s wife Maureen, she was arrested by the feds too. I expect there will be more indictments soon.”

“All because of Sherry’s investigation?”

“That’s right, Bud. She and her investigator really pulled together quite a case. Handed it to the U.S. Attorney with a big bow on it. I hear the A.G. is furious. She’s a real hero.”

“What about Big Bill?”

“Prince and the Secretary finally were able to sell a referral to the governor, so now the AG is preparing to indict Big Bill and some of his guys on conspiracy, since they were totally in on this plot. Between you and me, the only thing holding up the criminal referral was Sheehan running for governor and now it’s not very likely he’ll win the election. The state police have in custody the one driver you arrested, that Veleo guy, and it looks like he’s going to sing to us to get a deal. You know, the AG 338

wants you and me to be deputized to work this case to criminally prosecute Big Bill and the whole gang of them. We’ll be special deputy AGs.” “I don’t know, my mother always said I was special.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ve earned it.”

“Any word about Flynn or Domarski?”

“Nothing. The mine rescue guys went above and beyond and Flynn is nowhere to be found. The working assumption is that he crawled out of that safety chamber of his and probably expired like the rat he is somewhere down in that mine. Mine Safety has been monitoring the mine and any known entrances since yesterday and they say it’s been caving-in continually for the past twenty-four hours. His body and Domarski’s will rot in that tomb. I understand they already started sealing up the entrance at Flynn’s place. I don’t even want to think about the possibility Mine Safety could be wrong and Flynn is still alive. Ugh.” “Roger, there’s one more thing. I didn’t tell the staties and I didn’t tell you yesterday…”

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like this,” Roger said, shaking his head.

Mike leaned close. “When I was in the mine, Domarski told me Patty tipped him off about the load of hazardous waste that was coming to Big Bill’s so they made alternative arrangements to deliver the hazardous waste to Flynn’s shack when they knew we’d be looking elsewhere.”

“Shit. Patty was in on this?”

“If she was, then she was blackmailed. That ass-wipe Domarski was so twisted he actually married his girlfriend so he could have leverage against Patty to take away their daughter Katie. Unbelievable. He felt a conservative or crooked judge in Luzerne County would likely award Katie to him if he was married. He told Patty unless she cooperated and fed information about the investigation to him, he would take Katie away from her.”

Roger exhaled and shook his head.

“There’s only one problem with that,” Mike said and lowered his voice even more, “Patty didn’t know the delivery was being made to Big Bill’s. Neither of us knew until Saturday, when we 339

spoke to Ortega and confirmed it was going to Big Bill’s. By then, Patty and I were not speaking, so there’s no way she could have overheard anything about the location. Big Bill and Flynn needed to know where we thought the delivery was going, or else the tanker truck could have delivered the load right to our surveillance van.”

“So why did Domarski tell you Patty told him that?”

“I think he was just tormenting me. He knew if he told me Patty was crooked it would agonize me. Believe me, he was right, until later when I realized there was no way Patty could have tipped them off—she didn’t know the real plan, so it couldn’t have been her.”

“I’m confused. Big Bill or Flynn knew where it was going since they made the arrangements with Bayonne. They needed to know where we thought the load was going, right? That way they could have the load of hazardous waste delivered to another location and the load of heating oil delivered to the stakeout.

How did any of them know what we knew?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about this. Ortega knew, but he didn’t have any relationship with the contacts in Pennsylvania and he sure as hell wouldn’t call Big Bill on the phone. He probably figured McClatchy’s phone was tapped and I can’t imagine he would have called him anyway. Of course, you knew…”

“Oh thanks. Now you’re considering me a suspect,” Roger said glumly.

“And ruling you out. We were together the whole weekend after we found out about the disposal site in the Wilkes-Barre office on Saturday afternoon. I would have heard you if you made a call to McClatchy or Flynn from the house, so I don’t think it was you. For the same reason, it wasn’t me. You would have seen or heard me talking with McClatchy or Flynn. The only call I made was to Sherry. Plus, I know it wasn’t me.”

“I’ve created a monster. Wait a minute, that leaves just two other people—Slaughter and Zelinsky. Which…”

“Do I think it is? Slaughter could have done it, but I just don’t see him doing something like this. He’s too proud, too self-important, too angry that someone would do midnight 340

dumping in his jurisdiction and make him look bad. He might gain some dough from this, but I’ve never heard him complain about money. Plus, you heard him say a couple of weeks ago he’s just a few years away from retirement. In addition to everything else, he’d forfeit his pension if he got caught doing something like this. I just don’t see Slaughter risking everything for this.”

“Zelinsky.” Said Roger.

“It’s got to be,” replied Mike. “He had the opportunity, the information. Charlie has the contacts with Flynn and Big Bill.

Even if he was worried about a wiretap, he’d know how to communicate with Flynn and Big Bill and tip them off. There’s another thing: He’s broke. Remember? When we were trying to come up with a thousand bucks between the three of us for the CI, he didn’t have three-hundred bucks? He’s divorced and his wife has taken him to the cleaners. He needed the money. I hate to say this, but it has to be Charlie.”

They sat in the diner letting their coffee go cold. Roger said, “You’re right. It had to be Charlie. Poor guy.”

“Poor guy? He screwed us, he screwed the Department, he helped destroy the river. Who knows what he did in all of this?

He probably was involved from the beginning and helped to kill those kids. For all we know, he dreamed up the entire scam.”

Roger looked at him and said, “You’re right. What am I saying? Let’s head right over to Prince’s office and then go to the AG and fill them in on this.” Roger paused. “You know there may be consequences.”

“I know. He was a part of our team. They may look at us.”

Roger shrugged. “We did nothing wrong. Mike, you did good here.” Roger paused and the two of them looked at each other for a long moment. “You’re a—what’s that Yiddish term?

A mensch?”

“Yeah, a man.”

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61 10:00 a.m., Wednesday, November 7 Mike lugged his suitcase and a large box of his belongings to his car, past the For Sale sign that had appeared that morning in front of the house. He paused and looked back at his family home. The house could use a fresh coat of paint. Someone else would have to do it, Mike thought. It was no longer his responsibility.

He looked at the newspaper. Directly below a banner headline, “Gov. Miller Easily Defeats Sheehan,” was a smaller headline: Disgraced DEP Inspector Shoots Self Zelinsky Was Accused of Conspiring in Mine Tunnel Deaths

Mike folded the newspaper and shoved it onto the floor of his car.

He drove to Ohav Zedek Cemetery and walked to his parents’ graves. He always thought it was creepy his mother had installed a “his-and-hers” gravestone after his father had died. At least she hadn’t had it engraved with her name, just the space, waiting for her to die. And now she was dead. Stevie said they should wait a year to have it engraved with their mother’s name and then have a formal unveiling. Mike didn’t see the point, but had no good reason to antagonize his brother.

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He looked down at the neat grave of his father, the grass trampled from the weight of his mother’s mourners, and the raw earth on top of his mother’s grave. Fischer, the Mine Rescue man, had produced the wedding band when he reached the top of the shaft and Mike recognized it immediately. His mother’s body had been exhumed at the end of October and the autopsy confirmed she had been suffocated. The coroner’s office was gentle with him and made every effort to minimize the additional grief he might feel from the exhumation and autopsy. Mike stood at the graves and looked at them for several minutes. He turned to walk away, then remembered the Jewish tradition of putting a stone on top of the marker. He thought back on his brief stay at the seminary and recalled the custom had something to do with an act of kindness for the dead by helping to complete the grave.

This was considered an ultimate kind act because it could not be repaid. He looked on the ground until he found two sharp and raggedy stones and placed them on top of the headstone above the family name: Jacobs. *** Mike stopped to gas up his car, then he dialed Roger.

“What’s up, Bud?” “Roger, I’m taking off for a while.”

“I know. Prince is stomping around here saying none of the rest of us had better decide we need time off for a ‘mental health’ break. I’m surprised he didn’t fire you.”

“Nah, he needs me. I’m his rising star environmental prosecutor. I’ll only be gone for two months, anyway.”

“Where are you going?”

“Well, first I’m driving to Philly to apologize as sincerely and contritely as I can to Sherry. Then I’m going to see if she wants to take off with me. I heard from Jenny and she still doesn’t have a job, so who knows? Either way, I hear L.A. is nice this time of year.” *** 343

As he drove back toward Wilkes-Barre, he recognized a road and decided to turn into the apartment complex where Patty had lived. He parked in his usual spot. The curtains were gone from the window. He saw a stepladder and some tools in the living room. It appeared the landlord was preparing the apartment for a new tenant. Mike looked at the window for several minutes thinking about the times Patty and Katie had waved at him from between the curtains. He fiddled with the radio looking for a Sheryl Crow song. Mike wondered for a moment whether he would ever hear from Patty and realized he would never hear from her.

He gave up on the radio and turned it off. Finally, he put the car in gear and drove toward the river. After several minutes of zigzagging through Wilkes-Barre, he found what he was looking for.

He found it ironic that Hollenback Cemetery was directly across from not one, but two hospitals. A worker in black work clothes was raking the leaves. He slowly drove along the curved lanes until he came to the top of a hill. Then he pulled to the side and parked with two wheels well onto the grass. He felt bad he was parking on the grass—on someone’s grave—but it was the only way he could allow other cars to get by on the narrow cart way.

Mike walked along a row of headstones glancing from grave to grave. He was fairly sure he was in the right area, but the graves he sought eluded him.

After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching up and down the rows of headstones, he slowly started back to his car and then came to a stop. In front of him was the grave of Cindy Battaglia. To her right was the grave of Peter Mason. Neither had a headstone yet. Both were marked only with a simple metal marker with a slot to slide letters in and out, so the markers could be reused after the headstones were laid.

Cindy’s and Peter’s graves were so close they were touching.

They were mounded with dirt in the traditional style, no doubt in anticipation that eventually the caskets would decay and collapse. The grass sod on top of the graves had turned brown in the chill November air.

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He stepped back from the graves, out of fear of standing on top of them. It was then he noticed the graves had a commanding view of the Susquehanna River. It was magnificent. The scene was idyllic with the river winding beneath the rolling hills of Wilkes-Barre. Mike imagined the two lovers, the pretty teenage girl with the blond hair and the sturdy high school wrestler, shoulders and hips touching, holding hands as they laid in the grass watching as the river washed peacefully by.

Mike found two large, rounded river stones and laid them near the metal markers, one for Cindy and one for Peter. He took a last look, then felt a chill pass through him. He slowly backed away, walked to his car, and drove from the cemetery. As he passed the gate, the worker with the long rake wearing the black work clothes paused from his raking. The gardener raised a bony hand and waved good-bye.

THE END

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Acknowledgments This is a work of fiction. There is no place in Luzerne County, Pennsylvania called Old Hills. I’ve taken great liberties with Luzerne County, Wilkes-Barre, and Harrisburg, Pa. DEP is semi-imaginary and has been fictionalized to fit this book. All of the characters are figments of the author’s imagination. If you think you’ve found a hidden reference to a place, company, or person, you are mistaken— please refer to the first sentence.

I am grateful for the assistance I received from many people in writing this book. My friends Harvey and Linda Freedenberg offered helpful and constructive advice on an early draft of the manuscript. Harvey’s encouragement to writers is unbelievably important to those of us who toil at a laptop late at night after our day-jobs. Linda was also one of my first readers.

Rachel Hartman, M.D., a dermatologist, provided valuable advice regarding the effect of hazardous chemicals on the skin and on human health. She knows entirely too much regarding this subject. Barry J. Hartman, M.D., her father, provided extremely helpful advice regarding medical conditions caused by hazardous chemicals, and the manner by which emergency personnel and doctors would treat someone who has come in contact with toxic waste. Lou Vittorio, P.G., assisted with advice on geology and mining.

I am indebted to the following individuals who provided significant help with the manuscript along its journey: Veronica Biegen and Irwin Richman were first readers, both of whom provided invaluable help, and I gratefully acknowledge their commitment and assistance. The Midtown Writers Group, a 346

writer’s circle that meets in Harrisburg’s Midtown Scholar Book Store, provided support and encouragement. In particular, thanks to Albert and Anniken Davenport.

I am indebted to Christpher Markley for his friendship and final proofreading of the book.

I gratefully acknowledge the effort of my editor, Jason Liller, who did a splendid job on the manuscript and my publisher, Cathy Teets, and the entire team from Headline Books, Inc. I could not have written this work without the encouragement and assistance of my wife Gail, who tolerated my nightly disappearing act, read much of the manuscript aloud, and accompanied me on a fact-finding trip to Wilkes-Barre. I’d be remiss if I did not mention Dina Burcat and Shira and David Sarfati, my daughters and Shira’s husband, who provided encouragement and advice along the way.

While I appreciate the generous advice and assistance of these people and probably a few others whom I have unintentionally left out, any errors or inaccuracies are entirely my own.

Finally, I would like to thank the men and women of Pennsylvania’s Department of Environmental Protection, who labor long and hard to protect the environment and the residents of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Often criticized, always underpaid, they are truly heroic, even if the day-to-day activities of DEP are hardly ever as exciting as portrayed in this work of fiction.

—JRB—

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Bonus chapter...

Mike Jacobs, Book Two

Amid Rage A novel by Joel Burcat

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1 November 25 “Let’s do it.” Freddie DiPasquale nodded at Sal Mateo and Wolfie. Mateo went to the den where they had broken through the sliding glass door and picked up two jugs of gasoline.

Sweat, urine, and fear permeated the living room. Every stick of furniture, the cheap painting on the wall, the framed photos of beaming kids and hugging parents, was knocked askew. Toy dishes carefully arranged on a child’s play table for a stuffedanimal tea party were scattered across the floor and ground into dust underfoot. The room was lit by a single flickering bulb from a lamp leaning against the wall. Until a half hour ago it had been covered with a shade. Now it cast long shadows across the walls and left the farthest reaches of the room in nearly total darkness.

Phyllis Stevens, had she been at home, would have been aghast that her tidy, country-style living room was in such a shambles.

She would also be dead.

Wolfie and Mateo poured the gas around the living room, on the rug, the sofa, and the easy chair.

“Not on the dude,” ordered DiPasquale. “All around him, but not on him.”

Marty Stevens, bound with electrical cord, made a noise from behind the duct tape that covered his mouth. His black and gray hair was disheveled and his face was bruised purple and red 349

from the blows he had received from DiPasquale’s gang. Half of one ear lay on the floor next to the chair and blood trickled from the gash in his head. Tears and blood and streamed down his face as he strained against the wire and tape that bound him to the chair.

“Gimme that.” DiPasquale yanked a jug from Mateo.

He poured a trail of gasoline from the living room to the hallway, then threw the plastic container back into the living room. Wolfie and Mateo stood with him in the hallway. They waited.

DiPasquale jammed his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a cigarette lighter. Before he flicked it, he surveyed the room. Stevens had been no match for the three men and their guns. It helped that DiPasquale lied so convincingly when he told Stevens if he let them tie him up they would just have a conversation. Or maybe Stevens was just stupid. Either way, DiPasquale’s only regret was that the wife and daughter were away—they were supposedly visiting Granny for the evening— so the job was not entirely a success. Stevens rocked in the chair, groaning from behind the duct tape. His eyes pleaded with DiPasquale.

“Do it,” Wolfie said hoarsely. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

DiPasquale flicked the plastic lighter.

“Inspector Stevens, the boss asked you nicely not to write up any violations. He even offered you a nice bonus—in cash— for the DEP picnic or your daughter’s Christmas fund if you played along. But no. You had to be some kind of Rambo, loner, self-righteous and all. This is what happens when you fuck with the boss. You were told to back off, but didn’t, so this is on you.”

Stevens stopped struggling and his eyes locked on the man who was preparing to kill him. DiPasquale bent over and touched the lighter to the trail of gasoline. The flame dashed across the room and up the walls.

As the room turned yellow and orange, the three criminals watched in ghoulish fascination until DiPasquale pointed to the door. “Move!”

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Wolfie and Mateo darted for the sliding glass door.

DiPasquale, however, lingered for a moment. He watched as the curtains took the flame, the fire seemed to have a life of its own. Stevens rocked violently back and forth, flames creeping up his pant legs. His face was ghastly, like that crappy painting DiPasquale had seen on TV. What was it? The Scream? Except Stevens couldn’t open his mouth. He sure did scream though.

The fire popped and toxic smoke filled the room. The place smelled of gasoline and fire and melting carpet and burning flesh.

DiPasquale smiled coldly at Stevens who moaned something incomprehensible from behind the tape, his eyes boiling in their sockets. All in all it was a job well done. *** An hour later, DiPasquale stood on the side of a county route in the crunchy browned-out grass, his ancient Carhartt jacket open to the chill air. He pushed buttons on the cheap burner phone he had bought earlier that day at Walmart and made the call.

A man answered. “Yeah?”

“Boss, it’s me.”

“So?” “It’s done. We delivered the Christmas package to your friend in the woods.”

“Good…”

Mateo, who had cracked open a bottle of Jack Daniels the moment they got back to the car, yelled, “Did you tell him? We set that DEP bastard on fire! We lit him up! Turned him into a s’more…”

Wolfie and Mateo slouched against DiPasquale’s dark blue Chevy Suburban. Both men smoked cigarettes and Mateo held the bottle by its neck sucking large gulps. Steam, smoke, and spit billowed from his mouth as he shouted.

Wolfie shoved Mateo hard. “Shut up Sal, you dumb asshole.

Hey, Freddie, he’s had too much to drink.”

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“Shut the hell up, both of you dumb fucks,” DiPasquale screamed. His saliva spewed into the wind as he held the phone away from his face. Then to the phone he said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Rinati. Sal and Wolfie are kinda juiced up.”

But the line was already dead.

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