Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT BROADCAST
We waited until 12:40 a.m.
Lucardi’s warehouse radio could receive shortwave signals.
Tommy’s pattern was simple once I stopped thinking like an adult.
As children, those numbers corresponded to notes on an old harmonica scale Tommy invented because he was too impatient to learn music properly.
Now they pointed to frequencies.
At 12:43, we found static.
At 12:46, a voice.
Male.
Speaking ordinary weather reports.
“Cloud cover north of Cape May…”
Nothing strange.
Walter sat rigid.
Lucardi watched him.
At 12:49, the announcer repeated a phrase.
“Harbor visibility remains limited.”
Then again.
Three minutes later.
Same exact wording.
Tommy’s rule came back.
When a sentence repeats for no reason, count the spaces.
I had forgotten that one until then.
He used to encode answers in newspaper headlines to annoy me.
I grabbed a pencil.
Counted intervals between repeated phrases.
I wrote letters.
H.
K.
E.
N.
N.
E.
T.
T.
It made no sense.
Lucardi looked over my shoulder.
“Try one off.”
I shifted.
G.
J.
D.
M.
No.
Walter was sweating.
I saw it.
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not.”
The announcer continued.
Another repeated phrase.
We counted again.
This time the letters formed:
P.
I.
E.
R.
Then:
Lucardi stood.
“Pier 46.”
Tommy’s last location.
Then came one final sequence.
Locker 219.
Walter bolted.
He made it three steps before Lucardi’s men caught him.
He fought harder than he had in my apartment.
“Let me go!”
Lucardi walked toward him.
“What’s in locker 219?”
Walter said nothing.
Lucardi’s voice stayed calm.
“What did Tommy leave?”
Walter’s face twisted.
“You think you’ll find paper.”
“What is it?”
Walter laughed once.
“A dead man.”
Silence.
I felt my stomach drop.
“What?”
Walter looked at me.
“Your brother didn’t die at the pier.”
The room disappeared around me.
“What did you say?”
“He was alive when they took him.”
Lucardi went still.
Not surprised.
That was the part I noticed.
I turned slowly.
“You knew.”
Salvatore looked at me.
“You knew Tommy wasn’t dead at the pier.”
“I knew the report was false.”
“Then where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
I stepped toward him.
“You stood at his funeral.”
“Yes.”
“You let me bury an empty box.”
His voice lowered.
“I was told Thomas died in federal custody two days later.”
“By who?”
He hesitated.
There it was again.
The dangerous missing layer.
“By my contact.”
“What contact?”
Lucardi looked at Walter.
Walter smiled.
“Now we get to the good part.”
I turned back.
“Who?”
Salvatore said the name reluctantly.
“Special Agent Edwin Vale.”
I did not know it.
Walter did.
His smile widened.
“Tell her the rest.”
Lucardi’s jaw hardened.
Walter leaned toward me.
“Vale was the government man Tommy trusted.”
I looked at Salvatore.
“And?”
“And Vale was also the man who told Lucardi your brother was dead.”
Walter laughed.
“You called the wrong gangster, Clara.”
He looked at Salvatore.
“But Tommy trusted the wrong federal agent.”
Suddenly the story changed again.
The dangerous man may not have been Lucardi.
May you like
Or Walter.
Maybe the man with the cleanest badge had been the most dangerous of all.
