Our Honored Dead (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 4) (28 page)

“It’s a surprise.”

“Of course, it’s a surprise—that’s just the point; I’m trying to guess.”

“No guessing.”

“No guessing?
What?
How about a hint?”

“No hints.”

“Montauk?”

“No.”

“The Hamptons?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No!”

“Ooo, I’ve got it—the North Fork, wine country.”

Gus snickered. “Nope. Why would I take you to the wine country if you can’t drink?”

“I don’t know, why would you tease me with a guessing game when you know that I hate it?”

“It doesn’t seem as if you hate it.”

“Well, I do.”

“I think you’re enjoying it.”

“I’m not,” I said with a silly smile on my face.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

“Fine. I just want you to know that there’ll be no sex tonight.”

Gus snorted. “Yeah, good one.”

We got off the LIE and headed south on the Sagtikos Parkway. We were at least an hour from the East End of Long Island, so Montauk, the Hamptons, and the wine country were off the table. “I’ve got no clue.”

“Fire Island.”

I smacked his arm. “What? You told me just like that?”

“We’ll be there in ten minutes—it’ll be hard to keep it a secret when you see the ferry boat.”

“Thanks, that sounds really nice.” We had been there before and had a great time. I just hadn’t remembered the directions. I gave him a peck on the cheek. “BTW, sex is back on my agenda.”

“Big surprise.” Gus rolled his eyes. “I don’t know; I’ll think about it.”

I snickered.

We sat on the upper deck while the ferry made the trip from Bayshore to Fire Island. The sun was intense, but the breeze was sublime. I put on my Ray-Ban’s and allowed the ocean breeze to intoxicate me. I began to feel happier and more at ease.

So much had happened since the conclusion of our investigation that I had not had time to fit all of the pieces together. With this case, as with many others, I could only hypothesize about the case elements, which could not be supported by physical evidence. I understood the motivation for Babocci’s crimes the instant I dropped to the floor in Sonellio’s hospital room. I used my hands to break my fall so as to protect my baby. As Babocci had said, “I did it for my boy.” All he wanted was happiness for his son and to protect him from any more pain the world might inflict upon him—Tom Babocci had already suffered so much. For the criminally insane, the definition of happiness takes on an entirely different meaning. In his mind, his son Tom would never have the opportunity to live a happy life as the head of a family. So his father provided one for him.

The ballistics test run on the slugs recovered from the bodies of the Jacoby family matched Babocci’s gun, but they did not match the slugs taken from the bodies of Michael Tillerman’s family. Babocci may not have killed the Tillermans, or he may have used another weapon. Either way, he was able to convince a severely depressed Michael Tillerman not to report the murders to the police and managed to make him believe that he could help him bring his family back to life. Somewhere between grief, depression, and an overwhelming amount of mind-altering medication, Michael Tillerman snapped. He allowed himself to believe that if he killed four Jewish people he could bring his wife and children back to life. He did exactly that—he killed one for each of the four earth elements: earth, air, fire, and water. In reality, he was nothing more than a hapless accomplice in Babocci’s plan—Tom Babocci had paid a heavy price for coming to the rescue of an Israeli family. I could only speculate that Babocci was following ancient law: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—four dead Jews to take the place of the family his son had liberated back in Iraq. Had Tom not saved them, he would have been on the first transport truck and would not have fallen prey to the Iraqi sniper. Tom Babocci’s future would have been completely different.

The basement room in which Babocci had committed suicide was located under the adjacent dry cleaning store. Babocci owned both stores and leased the upstairs area to the dry cleaner. He retained the basement and used it for, shall we say, his more creative endeavors. Among the many items recovered and analyzed by the crime scene team were large saturation tanks, pressurized vats, compressors, and vacuum equipment, which Babocci used to plastinate his son, the Tillermans, and three members of the Jacoby family. Plastination is a mummification technique in which body tissues are saturated with silicone. It prevents the body tissue from decaying. The technique is widely used to prepare specimens for teaching hospitals and medical schools. Although we could not find evidence that Babocci received formal training in plastination, he was quite an accomplished artisan and would have had little trouble teaching himself the technique. The chemicals used in the process have a terrible odor. I suppose that the perchloroethylene used in the dry cleaning process masked the smell of chemicals in the basement.

My guess was that Tillerman embalmed the bodies of his family before turning them over to Babocci. It was a horrific assignment. Babocci must have convinced him that it was necessary. Tillerman’s love for his family had to have been great in order for him to endure so much torment.

We also recovered the mold that had been used to fashion the four tablet-shaped pendants, which had been sent to the FBI. Here again I could only guess that at one time Babocci considered the possibility of setting up Tillerman for the four murders. Tillerman’s capture would have put an end to the police investigation. It certainly would have prevented Babocci from becoming a suspect. I could only surmise that his compassion for Tillerman ultimately prevailed, and he made good on his promise to reunite Tillerman with his family, if only in a manner that Babocci considered acceptable. Babocci never counted on Tillerman’s body being found—he and his family were to remain locked behind the painting forever. Tillerman had committed four murders and disposed of Bruce Jacoby’s body so that Babocci’s son Tom could replace him as the patriarch of a newly established family.

We found quantities of DMT, a fast-acting hallucinogenic drug and strychnine poison in that basement room as well as four urns marked with the Seal of Solomon. The plastination process made it impossible for the ME to check Tillerman’s body for the presence of the two aforementioned chemical substances, but I’m convinced that Tillerman was drugged and poisoned—
I mean come on, how else do you take down an hombre of that size?
I prayed that Michael Tillerman found his family before he died, if only by way of a chemically induced hallucination. Giacomo Babocci lost his wife during the previous Christmas season. Perhaps her death was the trigger that sent him over the edge. We would never know for certain.

The ferry slowed as we approached the dock at Ocean Bay Park. I wanted to feel that ocean breeze forever. I was happy that I had begun to feel more like myself. Gus began to pick up our gear. “How’s your arm?” I asked.

“Hurts like a mother,” he said. “I could go for one of those rocket fuel cocktails over at Flynn’s. You game?”

“Game on!” I said. I grabbed a backpack so that he wouldn’t have to lift anything with his injured arm. I glared at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

Flynn’s was just a short walk from the ferry. It was a popular place located right on the dock with an incredible view of the water.

The waitress was a pretty blonde, who wore an unbuttoned man-tailored shirt over a tiny bikini. She smiled at Gus as he approached. “Do you have a reservation?” she asked.

“Lido party,” Gus said quietly.

Lido party?

She checked her list and then looked up. “Everyone’s here.” She turned and pointed to a large table in the corner of the outdoor deck.

I turned and saw six smiling faces: Ma, Ricky, Ambler, and a very scantily clad Marjorie Banks, Damien Zugg, and yes, the brutishly handsome Nigel Twain. They waved to us and toasted us with their cocktails. I got choked up and started to cry. I looked into Gus’ eyes. “You did this for me?”

He had tears in his eyes as well. “I don’t want you to be sad anymore.”

I threw my arms around him. “How can I stay sad when I have you?” I kissed him on the lips. “I love you so much.”

Ricky rushed over and handed us two frothy cold cocktails. “Yours is a virgin,” he said, “for the baby.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes and gave Ricky a kiss. “Thank you.” I put my arm around him, and the three of us walked over to the table.

Ma was on her feet before we were halfway across the floor. She grabbed me and planted a giant wet one on me. We went around the table, saying hello to all our friends. “I can’t believe this,” I said.

“Bah,” Ma said in her feisty way. “And
I
can’t believe how long it took you to get here. This is my third drink—I’m sloshed. What took you so long?”

I looked at Gus, and we both slammed our left hands down on the table. Ma’s eyes bulged when she saw our gold bands. I glared at her, smiling and crying at the same time. “I told my husband not to speed.”

A resident New Yorker, Kelter often uses Manhattan and Long Island as backdrops for his stories. He has written four novels featuring street savvy NYPD Detective Stephanie Chalice: DON’T CLOSE YOUR EYES, RANSOM BEACH, THE BRAIN VAULT, and OUR HONORED DEAD.

BookWire Review wrote of the character, Stephanie Chalice, “Chalice’s acerbic repartee is like an arsenal of nuclear missiles.”

Early in his writing career, he received support from bestselling novelist, Nelson DeMille, who reviewed his work and actually put pencil to paper to assist in the editing of the first novel. DeMille said, “Lawrence Kelter is an exciting new novelist, who reminds me of an early Robert Ludlum.”

His novels are quickly paced and feature a twist ending.

For more information, please visit the author at:
www.lawrencekelter.com
, or contact him by email at: [email protected].