Chapter 12A Chapter by Don MassenzioWe get some insight into Frank's back story and why he left his former life behind.Jacksonville has many barbecue restaurants, both
chains and small independent joints. Frank's favorite was Mona's, a tiny shack
near his trailer. He stopped in and ordered three barbecue beef sandwiches with
a side of Mona's signature cheese tater tots. He put the brown bag on the
driver's seat and made the short drive to Nancy Rafferty's Veterinary Clinic.
Nancy had a small house behind the clinic and, since it was now after hours, he
decided to drive around the back to the house. When he pulled in, Nancy was
sitting on the front porch on a comfy looking chair with a familiar looking
black dog by her side on a dog bed. At the sight of Frank, Lucy's ears perked
up and her heavily sedated tail wagged slowly. "She looks a bit too comfortable here with you", Frank
said as he walked to the porch. "The sedative helps her look comfortable, but we have
engaged in some bonding. She's a great
girl", Nancy said. "Takes one to know one", Frank said clumsily,
regretting what he said as soon as it came out. "I brought dinner", he said, trying to recover. "Well, it's not the new seafood place, but it smells like
BBQ from Mona's which is good any day", Nancy said. "Guess I'll have
to settle for what I can get". Frank settled into the chair next to Nancy with Lucy in between
them. As he dug through the bag to
distribute the food, Nancy poured him a large glass of sweet tea. Calling iced tea in the south "sweet
tea" is an understatement. Sugar was
added to this tea to the saturation point.
Frank unwrapped a sandwich for Lucy and set it down in front of her. She
sniffed it, then explored it with her tongue and finally began eating it with
her tail wagging in rhythm with her chewing.
Frank handed Nancy her sandwich and relaxed in the chair with a heavy
sigh. "Tough couple of days, Mr. Detective?" Nancy asked. "Just full of surprises", Frank said. He filled Nancy in on some of the general details of the recent
events of the case. She was a good listener. When he finished, she said, "Frank, I'm
not sure how you do it. You get involved
in the lives of your clients and help them clean up their messes while you have
the police and others trying to sabotage your efforts". "It does make life interesting, but sometimes working on
the problems of others helps you put your own issues aside", he said, not
sure why he was revealing this much of himself. "Frank, I know you're carrying some sort of burden from
your life up north. You know I'm here for you when you're ready to talk about
it", Nancy said looking deeply into Frank's eyes. Frank exhaled, took a sip of his tea and said, "I think I'm
ready to talk about it with you. You
deserve an explanation for my behavior toward you". Nancy sat back and Frank began to tell her his painful story. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Frank was born and raised in Syracuse, NY. He was second generation Italian American and
grew up in the mostly Italian north side of the city. He lived in a two family house that was over
100 years old. Frank, his brother, and
his parents lived upstairs. His grandmother, mother to nine children, among
them his mother, lived downstairs. He
had a very large family which resulted in fond memories of holidays and family
events. In his family, everything
revolved around food. If there was a birth, a death, a marriage, a graduation,
a christening, or a confirmation, there was food. If you were happy, have some food to
celebrate. If you were sad, food could
cheer you up. His grandmother was a
magician in the kitchen. Everything she
made was organic before anyone knew what organic was. Learning to cook was a mandatory task for
him. Frank's father was a police officer. He was well-regarded in the community and had
excellent instincts as a cop. Being an Italian cop in the late 70's was
interesting based on the preconceived notions of Italians that had resurfaced
as part of the popularity of the Godfather movies. Contrary to the stereotypes, Frank's father
was a clean cop. He had no ties to
organized crime and was not on "the take". Frank also had two uncles that were policemen on his father's
side of the family. His mother's side of
the family was a bit more colorful. His father's family was originally from the
Northern, blue-eyed, blond-haired part of Italy. His mother's family was Sicilian. This
difference was a bit deal when the families came together for his parents'
wedding in the 60's.The Northern Italian Rozzani family looked down upon the
Sicilian Scarpino family in a similar fashion that Indian castes look down on
the "untouchables". The Rozzani counted police officers, business
owners, and priests among their ranks.
The Scarpino's were swarthy and drove big black cars in from such places
as Rochester, Buffalo, and Utica. There
sources of income were shady at best.
This was especially true of the Rochester contingent which was headed by
the patriarchal oldest brother, Louie Scarpino.
Uncle Louie owned a night club.
Although business at the club seemed light, with a small, but select
clientele, Uncle Louie always seemed to carry huge rolls of bills primarily
made up of hundreds. He lived in a large
house that was part of a compound where several of his children also had homes. This blend of families was difficult for both sides. Frank's father, in particular, was subject to
unreasonable scrutiny due to his wife's family origins. There were many in the police department that
assumed Frank's father, Francis, had mob ties.
Francis Rozzani did all he could to overcome this perception including
volunteering for organized crime investigations. In spite of his spotless
record and talents, Francis Rozzani never rose above the detective rank. Though he would never admit it, this was
likely due to his wife's colorful family. As Frank and his brother Michael grew up, it was apparent that
they would follow in their father's footsteps and become police officers. Michael was five years older than Frank. He
attended the police academy and became a rookie cop as Frank was entering his
sophomore year of high school. Unlike
his brother and the rest of his family, Frank was the first in the Rozzani clan
to attend public high school. His shift away from Catholic school came as a
result of his parents move to the suburbs when he was 13. His grandmother, along with many of her
contemporaries, had passed away. The charm of the Italian north side of
Syracuse was disappearing as the population became more homogenized. Frank had two life changing experiences in high school. The first was around music. Like many Italian boys, Frank had taken
accordion lessons. He was drawn, however, to the baby grand piano in his
grandmother's living room and began to transfer what he had learned on the
accordion to the piano. He listened to
his grandmother's recordings of Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Perry Como, and
Dean Martin, and was drawn to the chord progressions of the standards that they
sang. These songs were written in the
1930's - 1960's by such masters as Gershwin, Porter and Van Heusen. This music
spoke to Frank and he quickly learned to play the songs by ear. This love for standards was private to Frank until he entered
high school. He was walking the halls one day when he heard the music he loved
coming from a piano in one of the practice rooms in the music section of the
high school. He looked through the glass
of the practice room door and saw a stocky man making incredible music come
from an old studio piano. Frank
immediately noticed the conflicting image of the squat looking man with
fingers, that looked like over-stuffed sausages, flying across the keys with
the sound of "Here's that Rainy Day" coming out with chord
progressions that he had never heard before, but wanted to hear more. Suddenly, the music stopped and Frank was a bit too slow ducking
out of the window before the pianist spun around on the old-fashioned piano
stool to see who was watching him.
"Did you need to use the room?" the man asked in a gravelly
voice. He had a round face with an attempt at a beard, wire framed glasses, and
eyes with a glint of mischief as he tried to sound authoritative. Frank had the
feeling that he had just encountered some type of musical leprechaun. "No sir. It's just, the music...the way you play it...I've
never", Frank stammered. "You like what you heard?" the leprechaun asked. "Yes sir", Frank said. "Do you play?" the man asked. "I do, but not like you sir. The chord progressions are so
different than what's on the recordings", Frank said. "What recordings?" the man asked. "Sinatra, Bennett, Como..." Frank said. "Those guys diluted this music. I'm playing it the way it
was meant to be heard", the man said. "Sir, can you teach me that style?" Frank asked. "You're Italian, right son?" the man asked. "Yes sir", Frank answered tentatively. "Well, I'm Irish. Tommy O'Neill is my name. I teach music
lessons to brass players and run the jazz band here", the man said. "It's nice to meet you sir, but what does any of this have
to do with me being Italian?" Frank asked. "Your mom can cook, right? My price for teaching you my
technique is food from your mom. I might be Irish, but I hate Irish food. Italian food is my favorite. Meet me here on
Thursdays after school and bring something tasty", O'Neill said with a
fully mischievous smile. So Frank met with O'Neill every Thursday throughout
high school and his love and proficiency for jazz piano was born. The other life changing event for Frank in high school was when
he met Sarah. They shared an English class starting in his junior year and he
knew he had met the love of his life the minute he saw her. It took him the better part of his junior
year to convince her that she felt the same, but when she fell for Frank, it
was totally and completely. They dated through the rest of high school and afterward, as
Frank attended the police academy and Sarah attended LeMoyne College for a
degree in Business, the stayed in love and planned for their future. Frank
earned extra money playing in bands at night and on weekends and Sarah was
always there to listen, often with text books in tow. The day Frank graduated from the Academy, he
proposed to Sarah at the celebration afterward. This surprised no one, but
delighted everyone. Sarah and Frank were soon married and moved into a two bedroom
townhouse near LeMoyne. Sarah finished her degree and went to work for a family
run accounting firm. Frank worked his
way up through the police force to the rank of detective. Their marriage was a very strong, happy one. The endured through
the death of both of Frank's parents and through the shooting of Frank's
brother Michael. He was shot and killed during an armed robbery the he tried to
stop while off-duty. Michael's death hit Frank especially hard as he viewed his
older brother as a role model and a hero. Sarah and Frank welcomed two children into the world. Michael, named for Sarah's late father, and
Lilliana, named for Frank's maternal grandmother. Life was wonderful and then
one day, it changed and would never be the same again. Frank and Sarah had just moved into a new home. The kids were
getting older at seven and three and they needed more space. They moved into an old, beautiful home in the
Irish Tipperary Hill area of Syracuse. Frank took a couple of days off and it
was time to go back to work. When he
came into the downtown police station he was immediately summoned to the
captain's office. Frank saw his partner, Bob Kingsley, but there were two
dark-suited men in the office that he didn't recognize. He did, however, know
FBI agents when he saw them. "Hello Frank", the captain said. "Come in and
take a seat". Frank sat down and waited for whatever mundane task the FBI had
determined the local police could handle. "This is Special Agent Ashburn and Special Agent Thompson.
They are here to ask for our help on an important case. You two have some
availability so I'm assigning it to you. Agent Ashburn, would you like to
elaborate?" the captain asked. "Thank you captain. Gentlemen, have you ever heard of a
company called Lackawanna Specialty Services out of Buffalo?" Ashburn
asked. "Don't they own the Price Choice supermarket chain?"
Frank asked. "Among other enterprises, yes detective", Ashburn
answered. "For the past five years, we have suspected that Price Choice
has been a front for laundering money from other non-legitimate LSS
holdings. We have an inside man who has
had access to the books and we now have enough evidence to file charges. Our
inside man has turned one of the store managers and now we need to offer
protection to him. The manager is going to be a key witness when we go to
trial. We don't want anything to happen to him. We will put him into witness
protection along with his family after the trial". "So the alleged mob connections to LSS are true?"
Frank asked. "I thought that was just an urban legend". "Organized crime has changed over the years, detective.
It's gone mainstream into traditional business. There is still, however, a
propensity to evade taxes and launder money. We have had success bringing down
the remnants of organized crime using racketeering and tax evasion charges.
Gathering evidence for these crimes takes time and often involves long-term
undercover work focused on turning those on the periphery of the organization
that have access to the evidence without realizing it.", Ashburn said. "So that was the case with this store manager?" Frank
asked. "Yes. He's been with LSS for 15 years. He finally had
enough and became tired of looking the other way. We need him to stay safe for
the next two weeks and we need you gentlemen to guard him in the safe house we
have set up south of town". "Why can't the FBI babysit this guy?" Frank asked. "The FBI is already spread very thin on this case. We can't afford to use two additional assets
when there is a more than adequate local presence that can supplement our
ranks", Ashford explained. "So you're outsourcing to us to save money. Meanwhile we
have cases piling up", Frank interjected. "Frank, we have a responsibility to cooperate with federal
authorities in matters like this", interrupted the politically motivated
captain. "Is that understood"? "Yes sir. Understood", Frank relented. Frank and Kingsley left the captain's office with instructions
to pick up their charge from the Embassy Suites hotel at Carrier Circle on the
east side of Syracuse. When they arrived, they went to the room number they
were given and knocked. After a short wait, the room door opened and a large,
dark-suited FBI agent filled the doorway. "Let's see some ID", he
said, trying to sound intimidating, and succeeding. Frank and Bob handed over
their badges and the door opened for them to enter. In the living room section of the suite,
another large dark-suited agent with an ear piece stood drinking a cup of
coffee. Seated on the brown sofa bed
watching television was a small, unassuming man with a brown buzz cut wearing
khakis and a flannel shirt. He looked nervous and out of place. "This is Ernie Linden, the manager of the Prime Choice
store in Camillus", Agent one said. "He is packed and ready to
go". "OK", Frank said. "Let's move it out. Bob, can
you bring the car around to the side entrance and I'll walk out with Mr.
Linden". "Sure thing, Frank", Kingsley replied. Frank walked the frightened manager out through the side door
and helped him into the back seat of their unmarked Ford Crown Victoria. "Mr. Linden, how does it feel to be so popular with the
FBI?" Kingsley asked as Frank got into the front passenger seat. "Actually, I've never been so scared in my life. I can't
wait until all of this is over. I wish I could go back to being a simple store
manager. I'm no hero. My family is
already in witness protection. I just want to see them again", the small
man in the back seat said nervously. Frank felt sympathetic toward the man. "We are here to protect you and see you through this. Your
testimony will put some bad people in jail and then you can get on with your
life", Frank said reassuringly. "Where are we going, anyway?" Linden asked. "We are going to a location between Lafayette and Tully.
It's a town house near a series of cross-country ski trails. Since it's summer,
the place will be deserted", Kingsley answered. "The feds checked it
out and picked the location because it is so remote and impossible to approach
without being seen". "Great", Frank said. "Out in the middle of
nowhere with you guys while my family is at home". "At least you know where your family is and that they're
safe", the back seat passenger said making Frank feel guilty, but nervous
for some reason. Frank wasn't sure shy he felt this way, but he couldn't shake
the feeling. Later, he would find out why. As they passed out of the city and down I-91 south, Frank
started thinking about his own family. His wife Sarah had been disappointed
when he took this assignment, but she knew when she married him that the life
of a cop's wife would be a roller coaster ride. She was proud of her husband,
though. He was a good husband and father to Michael and Lilliana. Frank
reflected on this duty. Protecting a federal witness was usually dull, but
important work. The man they were in charge of didn't think of himself as a
hero, but his testimony was going to take down a major group of players in
organized crime. Frank's father would have been proud. As they took the Lafayette exit on 81 and turned onto Route 11,
they began to pass through rolling grass-covered hills. These hills were busy
during the winter months with skiers headed to some of the small but popular
ski resorts in the Central New York Snow Belt. After five miles, they slowed
and turned left sharply onto an inclined driveway. It was quite dark and the
one spotlight near the end of the driveway was out. In the glare of their headlights, they say a brown two-story
townhouse with a large wooden deck in the front. There were no lights on in the
house and it looked quite abandoned. "Frank", Kingsley said as he
brought the car to a stop, "Why don't I go in and look around before you
bring Mr. Linden in?" "That's probably a good idea", Frank said. As Kingsley unlocked the front door and entered the townhouse,
Frank tried to use the radio to check in at headquarters. Because of the
distance from downtown and the remote area they were in, he only heard static
on the radio. He looked at his Blackberry and barely had a signal. He would
have to hope it was enough of a signal to check in by cell phone. As he punched
in the number, he was surprised by headlights that swung up the driveway and
pulled up close behind the Crown Victoria. Instinct kicked in and Frank yelled,
"Mr. Linden, get down". Just as they both hit the floor, the back
windshield exploded in a hail of bullets. Whoever was shooting was standing
directly behind the car. The car was still running so Frank slid across the
seat, threw the car into reverse and stomped on the gas. By sheer luck, the
shooters did not have time to move from their spot in between the cars and
ended up pinned between the bumpers. Their lower legs were shattered. Frank
took advantage of the moment and, after telling his passenger to stay down, he
exited from the car, using its metal body for cover, and crept to the back. What he found were two very large men in dark suits moaning in
pain from their shattered legs. Their guns had flown from their and out of
their reach on impact. The trunk of the Crown Victoria had popped open, so
Frank grabbed some plastic zip ties and quickly secured the men ignoring their
cries of pain when he secured their ankles. He then retrieved their guns. With the men now secured, Frank's next
problem was finding out where his partner was. Kingsley had not come back from
the house, even after the sound of gunfire. Frank needed to go into the house
to potentially help his partner in case he had been ambushed inside. He also
needed to ensure the safety of his witness. His only course of action was to take
Linden into the house with him. He couldn't leave him out in case the two men
that shot at them had re-enforcements on the way. "Mr. Linden. I need you to follow me into the house
sir", Frank instructed. "I need to check on my partner, but I can't leave
you out here alone". "That's OK detective. I don't want to stay out here
alone", Linden answered nervously, still quite shaken. "One question, sir", Frank asked "Have you ever
used a gun?" At this question, Linden smiled. "I teach a gun safety
course, officer and I'm a trained military marksman", he said. "Well in that case..." Frank said as he handed Linden
one of the guns he retrieved from the shooters with a full clip of ammunition. Frank and the store manager quietly crept up the stairs to the
deck. Frank opened the door and found Kingsley just getting up from the floor
rubbing the side of his head. "What happened, Bob", Frank said to his partner. "I don't know", Kingsley said in a dazed voice.
"I came in and somebody hit me in the head and knocked me out". Frank explained the action that had taken place outside and left
Linden with Kingsley to sweep the rest of the house. "Which way did they go, Bob", Frank asked. "I don't know. Didn't they come out the front?"
Kingsley asked. "No", Frank said. "They either found another exit
or are still in the house somewhere". Frank walked through the living room and found the back door
which was still secured with a keyed deadbolt. He found the stairs and
cautiously went up to the second floor to check out the two bedrooms and
bathroom that were up there. All of the
rooms were empty. As he came down the
stairs, he saw his own footprints in the dust on the old dark hardwood floors.
At that moment, he came to a realization of the situation. He only saw his own prints.
If someone besides Kingsley had been in the house and had escaped out the back,
he would see more prints in the dust and the door would have been unlocked. By
the time he realized the situation, he also hoped that it wasn't too late.
Kingsley and Linden were no longer in the living room. He raced out the front
door and his worst fears were confirmed. He first saw the two gunmen that he
had secured laying on their backs with bloody wounds spreading across their
shirts in the glare of the headlights. What he saw next rocked him to his core.
He saw his partner, Bob Kingsley, standing over the kneeling witness who was
obviously pleading for his life. "Drop it Bob!" Frank said. "I can't do that Frank", Kingsley said in an uneven,
detached voice. "Bob, this is not what you want to do. Your career will be
over", Frank said. "Not necessarily, Frank", Kingsley said. "Now
hear me out. Some very important people want this guy dead. Those same people
have offered to help me out with a little gambling debt if I make sure he
doesn't testify. You messed it up, Frank. You should have let these guys shoot
him. Now I have to do it". "No you don't, Bob. We'll get you help for the debt. I've
saved a little and..." Frank started. "I owe over $100,000, Frank, with interest compounding
daily. The people I owe money to are the same ones that want this guy
dead", Kingsley said. "Now listen to me Frank. I'm going to tell you
the story of what happened here tonight. When we got here, we realized these
guys had followed us. There was a shootout and they were killed by me while you
protected the witness. Unfortunately, a stray shot got him and he died
tragically before he could testify. Isn't that a great story, Frank?"
Kingsley asked, sounding more mentally unstable by the minute. "There is a problem with story, Bob", Frank said.
"It did not happen that way and I will never say that it did". "That's unfortunate, Frank. That changes the details of the
ending", Kingsley said as he turned toward Frank. He was holding one of
the dead man's guns and was going to shoot Frank with it. Just before he pulled
the trigger, the store manager shoved Kingsley's arm enough that the shot went
wide missing Frank. Frank's shot,
however, did not go wide. Kingsley fell dead along with the mob shooters in the
glare of the headlights. Frank had killed his partner. He should have seen this coming.
Looking back on the night's events, Frank realized that the signs were all
there. Kingsley seemed unusually nervous. He also seemed anxious to check out
the house on his own which was not the usual protocol. He had tipped off the
people trying to kill Linden. He had set him up. Frank was apparently meant to
be killed as well. Frank decided at that moment that he had better leave the area
with Mr. Linden and that he also needed to contact the captain for direction.
The Crown Victoria was still functional after the collision. He closed the
trunk and told Linden to get in the front passenger seat. He pulled around the
other car and headed north on Route 11 back toward Syracuse. He dialed his
captain's cell phone. Even though it was after ten, he knew that the captain
would answer. He carefully recounted to the captain what happened. He was
saddened by what happened, but also admitted to Frank that this explained why Kingsley
was so eager to volunteer for this case. He thought, at the time, that Kingsley
was trying to impress the FBI. The captain said he would call special agent
Ashburn to find out what to do, but that Frank should head back to headquarters
with the witness. Frank ended the call and eased through the intersection at
Lafayette road and turned back on to I-81 north. Just as he pulled on to the highway from the ramp, his
Blackberry rang. Expecting the captain, he looked at the phone and saw that it
was his home number. He knew that Sarah was having dinner with her sister and
that the kids were staying there for a sleepover with their twin cousins. Frank
deduced that she must be back home and was calling him to hear about his day
and to say goodnight. What a day it was. He answered the phone saying,
"Hello sweetie". A decidedly masculine voice that Frank did not recognize
replied, "Well, hello yourself, darling". Frank's heart sank. "Who the hell is this", Frank
demanded. "We'll get to that", the voice responded. "But
first, your 'sweetie' wants to say hello", the voice said. What Frank heard next caused rage to fill his entire body. He
heard his wife's voice let out a blood-curdling scream. Then the man's voice
came back on. "As you can hear, detective, we have someone you care about
in our 'protection' and you have someone we care about in yours. How about a
trade? Your wife for our beloved store manager", the man said. "You b*****d", Frank said. "If you hurt her, I
will find you and kill you". "No need for that, paisano (the Italian word for friend).
You give us what we want and we'll give you what you want. Just get here soon.
We are losing patience. That partner of yours turned out to be as unreliable in
this endeavor as he was with paying his gambling debts", the voice said.
Then the call ended abruptly. Frank was filled with confusion and rage. How could this have
happened? Just as he was searching for an answer, his Blackberry rang again.
This time it was the captain. "Frank, Ashburn wants you to bring the witness into the
station and the FBI will take him into protective custody", the captain
said. Frank cut him off and told him what had developed. The captain
sighed and talked to someone else in the room. "Ashburn says to take him
to your house and the FBI will move in and grab everyone", the captain
finally said. "What about my wife's safety?" Frank asked. "The FBI will not move unless they can guarantee her
safety", the captain replied. Frank did not feel good about the situation, but could not think
of any other options. He filled Linden in on the plan and headed for his house
in the Tipperary Hill area of Syracuse. When he arrived, he panicked at what he saw. There were black
sedans and SUV's with flashing lights all around his house. There were also
city police cruisers. Frank screeched to a stop and sprung from the car heading
toward his house. The captain and Ashburn intercepted him. "Frank, you don't want to go in there", the captain
said. "The hell I don't. My wife is in there", Frank said as
he broke free of the captain's grip. As he burst through the front door, everything became surreal.
For months after this event, Frank would recall bits and pieces of the details
in his dreams. One vivid, constant detail was the blood. There was blood all
over the tile floor in the kitchen, on the kitchen table, and the chairs. He
saw his wife's lifeless body hunched over the table. She had not died quickly
and painlessly. She had been tortured and had bled to death. Frank collapsed and everything went black. Frank later woke up on his couch to find the captain and Special
Agent Ashburn hovering over him. He had hoped he was waking from a dream until
he saw their faces. Then the reality crept in. "What happened", Frank demanded of whoever could
answer him. "Someone tipped them off, Frank", the captain said.
"When the FBI got here, the front door was wide open and the lights were
on. They found Sarah. They never planned to keep her alive". "Who would have tipped them off?" Frank asked. "It had to be someone at headquarters that saw all of the
activity going on their tonight. I will find out, trust me", the captain
promised. "I hope for their sake that you find them before I
do", Frank said. "What about my kids? They're with Sarah's
sister". "They are safe at headquarters right now", the captain
said reassuringly. "And Linden?" Frank asked. "Safe in FBI protective custody thanks to you, detective
Rozzani", Agent Ashburn answered. "I am so sorry for your loss". "Sorry for my loss? Excuse me if I don't say 'you're
welcome'", Frank said bitterly. Just then, Frank's Blackberry rang. It was a number with a 716
area code. Buffalo, NY. Frank went white and pounded the green "talk"
button. "Detective Rozzani, I'm sure you're aware of what happens
when you don't follow instructions by now", the same voice from earlier in
the evening said menacingly. "You sick son of a b***h", Frank said. "You
killed her". "Sending in the FBI was not part of our arrangement",
the voice said. "You had to pay a price. You will continue to pay a price
if that little weasel, Linden, testifies". The phone went dead. Frank told the Captain and Ashburn what was
said. Ashburn responded. "We are prepared to take you and your children
into protective custody. New names, relocation, a fresh start". "Do you think these people will give up? It's hard to hide
when you're a single father with two small kids", Frank said. "I'm trying to give you an option. I know it doesn't begin
to make up for what happened here tonight, but it is a start", Ashburn
said. "I have a lot to think about", Frank said
despondently. The days following his wife's murder were especially hard on
Frank. Those directly responsible for the crime, although obviously tied to the
defendants in the trial for which Ernie Linden was going to testify, could not
be tied to her murder by any solid evidence. Although the murder was especially
brutal, the killers were meticulous about not leaving a trace of evidence to
tie them to the crime. Frank and his two children remained at a hotel under FBI
protection while the trial commenced. Frank convinced the FBI to let him attend
the trial every day. He wanted to sit in the gallery and see justice brought to
those responsible for Sarah's death even though the trial was for another
crime. He also wanted to face them to let them know he was not afraid. Throughout the trial, Frank watched the federal prosecutor go
through a staggering amount of evidence as he presented the case before Judge
David Peebles, the federal magistrate in the Central New York district. Frank
listened to the extremely damaging testimony of Ernie Linden. The former store
manager systematically covered the multiple improprieties he had witnessed
during his tenure at Price Choice Supermarket. Throughout his testimony he would
often make eye contact with Frank with a gaze that expressed both sorrow for
Frank's loss and reassurance that he would take down the defendants in this
case with his testimony. He delivered. The defendants were convicted of multiple counts
of tax evasion, money laundering, and racketeering. They were sentenced to
multiple consecutive prisons terms by Judge Peebles. The time in jail added up
to about 250 years. Frank was relieved that the outcome was favorable and that the
case was over. During the course of the trial, as he watched Linden, he came to
a difficult decision. His children were facing a life of looking over their
shoulder with their father. Frank had made long-term enemies with far-reaching
connections. They would not forgive and forget now that the trial was over. In
fact, their need to exact vengeance was now greater than ever. Although witness
protection would work for a while, Frank felt that the protection was
temporary. He felt that if he would separate himself from his children somehow,
they might have a chance at a normal life. He had come to a conclusion, and now
he had to follow through with it in spite of how painful it would be. On the day following the trial's conclusion, Frank met with
Special Agent Ashburn and the captain. He told them his decision and plan of
action. They were stunned at first, but soon realized the depth of his
conviction and that he was probably right. Frank had decided to terminate his parental rights to his
children freeing them up to start a new life with new names in a new family. He
then turned in his gun and badge and resigned from his position as a Syracuse
Police Detective. It was a job he could no longer perform based on his new life
situation. Frank said his goodbyes to his coworkers and rode with Ashburn to
the hotel where his children were still under FBI protection. His son was old
enough for a partial explanation. Lilliana, at only three years old, would
bounce back more readily. It was a painful and tearful goodbye, but in spite of
the unbearable pain, Frank felt that he had done the right thing. Frank then packed a small bag with some essentials, threw it
into his rusty Mazda protégé, and
started driving south. He intended to end up in Miami or the Florida Keys. He
drove straight through over the Georgia-Florida border and fatigue started to
overtake him. As he passed through Jacksonville, Florida on I-95, he saw a sign
for the Jacksonville Beaches. Something drew him in that direction. He headed
for the beach and turned north on A1A. He drove until he came upon a small, out
of place restaurant with the sound of good jazz and the smell of good food
emanating from it. By sure change, his relationship with the Sun Dog began.
That was three years ago. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Frank finished telling his story to Nancy. He could feel the
moistness in his eyes and the tightness in his chest. When he looked up at her,
her eyes were moist as well. "Frank, I can't imagine the pain you have gone through. I
am so sorry if I pressured you", Nancy said while squeezing his forearm. "It felt good to be able to trust someone enough to share
it", Frank said. "I appreciate you listening". "You are a good man, Frank; better than most", Nancy
said. "I will always be here for you". © 2013 Don Massenzio |
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Added on September 1, 2013 Last Updated on September 1, 2013 AuthorDon MassenzioJacksonville, FLAboutI'm a musician, writer, dreamer, not sure what I want to be when I grow up, but writing is definitely part of my life. more..Writing
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