The Green Team

By Lindsey Taylor

Environmental activist Jeffrey Marx is a member of the Raritan-Delaware Watershed Commission, which was designed to control development in northwest New Jersey, but through a quirk of politics, can only charge fees on projects it approves. Despite his best efforts, Marx has been unable to block a single project in his years on the Commission.

When Marx collapses at a Commission meeting, the rescuers discover he was wearing a wire and the Commission members panic. Det. Arnold launches a murder investigation when tests show the organic milk Marx used for his fair trade coffee had been laced with all-natural poison. Arnold quickly finds Marx’s recorded conversations, which reveal Marx’s, and others, most important “green” was cold cash.

As the summer heats up, Arnold tries to navigate the twists and turns of both a corruption and murder investigation. His relationship with his girlfriend, attorney, French cook extraordinaire, and die-hard Yankee fan Melinda Devereaux, is also heating up. What will be more of a challenge, Arnold rounding up dozens of corrupt developers and politicians, plus nabbing a murderer, or New York City native Melinda adjusting to Arnold’s farm-raised family?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindsey Taylor
• Release date: Aug 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301700486

Lindsey Taylor

Lindsey Taylor is an attorney in northern New Jersey.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The members of the Raritan-Delaware Watershed Commission emerged from their conference room where they had been holding their pre-meeting executive session and walked one-by-one into the meeting room, followed by the Commission attorney and the Commission’s Executive Director. Waiting in the audience section were the three applicants and their attorneys whose development projects under consideration at that meeting, reporters from two local weekly newspapers, and an officer from the Morris County Sheriff’s Department, just to make sure nothing got out of hand, as it sometime did.

The Raritan-Delaware Watershed Commission was created ostensibly to protect the watershed and environment in the area running between the Raritan and Delaware Rivers in northwest New Jersey. As originally envisioned, it would be an independent commission, whose members were appointed by the governor, which would have to approve any new building, from adding a family room to a subdivision or office park, in Sussex, Morris, Warren, and Somerset Counties, to ensure that the projects would have minimal or no environmental impact. In order to protect the commission from the whims of the legislature, revenue to run the commission was to be generated from application fees for projects.

The original plan immediately came under attack from both Republicans and Democrats. Republicans didn’t like it because they didn’t want anyone to stand in the way of development. Democrats didn’t like it because all of the five members were subject to appointment by the Governor. That was fine for the moment, since the governor was a Democrat. On the other hand, the governor, Jake Desidorio, the dandy of the South Jersey political establishment, was, pretty much by acclamation, a bonehead.

Desidorio was a brilliant campaigner and was elected governor with 63% of the vote. However, as soon as he took office, the wheels fell off the bandwagon. In his inaugural speech, lamenting the drop in New Jersey’s population since the last census, he promised to sell every state building and use the proceeds to provide a subsidy to welfare mothers to have more babies. Before the speech was over, his press secretary explained that this was a typo in the governor’s copy of the inaugural speech and that what he meant to say was that he wanted to put welfare mothers to work cleaning state buildings. Welfare rights groups and Tea Partiers picketed the inaugural ball that evening. His administration went downhill from there.

By April of his first term, Desidorio demonstrated a knack for taking, and backing off, positions, and making, and breaking, so many promises that no one, Democrats, Republicans or the public, trusted anything that came out of his mouth. His popularity ratings were hovering around 20% when a Facebook friend downloaded and distributed photos of the governor, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and boots, astride his stripper girlfriend, known behind her back as the First Bimbo. That sent his popularity with feminists and fundamentalists even further into the toilet.

Still, with an election a year away, his campaign skills, along with a desire to let Desidorio go down in flames to teach him a lesson, kept the Democrats on the sidelines, so it was looking pretty clear that the next governor was going to be a Republican. That being the situation, the Democrats didn’t want a Republican appointing all of his cronies to the Commission for the next four years, which, as far as they were concerned, would defeat the purpose of having the Commission in the first place.

To try to salvage something, the Democratic and Republican leaders in the legislature reached a compromise. The Commission was increased from five to seven members, so there would be more patronage to go around, with three being Democrats and three Republicans, with the governor appointing the President, all of them serving four year terms, so the governor would always have a chance to pick a President. In a flourish of bipartisanship, the revised bill flew through both houses of the legislature and was signed by the governor, with much hand-shaking and back-slapping.

Two weeks after bill establishing the Commission was passed, a reporter at the Newark Star-Ledger actually read the entire bill and noticed that, when all of the amendments were made, the sentence stating that the Commissions expenses were to be paid from a 1% fee on the cost of projects was changed to a 1% fee on the cost of approved projects. The change created a situation where the Commission would have no money to function (and protect the environment as originally desired) if it rejected development projects. When the story on this change was published, no one seemed to know how this change made it into the bill, nor could anyone offer an explanation on why no one noticed the change.

In order to placate environmental groups, a red-faced Desidario appointed Jeffrey Marx to as one of the members to the Commission. Marx was the president of New Jersey Citizens for Environmental Responsibility, and a major Democratic fundraiser. Known, not always affectionately, as Mr. Green, he ostentatiously drove a Toyota Prius to every meeting, and championed the latest energy saving or environmentally friendly technology, whatever it might be. He loudly, and almost always unsuccessfully, opposed any project which was not sufficiently environmentally friendly to suit him. Marx was championed by environmental groups, despite his failure to stop any development projects and was generally denounced by developers, and, with a sufficient amount of drink, by his fellow commissioners, as a sanctimonious pain in the ass.

The next gubernatorial election did not go as predicted for Desidario. It was worse. The Republican candidate, J. Francis Worthington IV, ran on a Restore Dignity to New Jersey platform, and, without taking a position on much of anything else, held a 20-point lead in the polls for most of the campaign. Desidario managed to put a stake through the heart of his campaign two weeks before the election while making a campaign speech two Sundays before election day at an AME church in East Orange,

The speech was intended to be a kiss-and-make-up event with two local pastors who Desidario had been butting heads with for years. As he was leaving after the speech, over what he didn’t realize was an open mike, he said to his driver, Get me the hell out of here. I can’t stand those people. When he heard his words over the church’s sound system, he said Oh, fuck and hurried even faster out of the church. The those people he was referring to was the two pastors, but each succeeding explanation/apology made it sound more an more like those people were African-Americans generally. Having alienated his last bastion of support, Desidario managed to do what no other gubernatorial candidate had done in New Jersey history, lose every county, including Democratic sure-things Hudson, Essex and Camden Counties.

As the terms of the members of the Commission expired, each was reappointed to their posts, except for the Commission President, who was intended to be the Governor’s selection. Worthington selected James Putricello, a Dartmouth fraternity brother. When Marx was reappointed, Worthington’s press release for the event praised Marx’s dedication and enthusiasm for environmental causes. In reality, Worthington thought Marx was a nut, but since he had proven so ineffective at pushing his agenda, reappointing Marx was a harmless way for Worthington to demonstrate his support for protecting the environment. All of the public statements on Marx’s reappointment ignored the fact that, except for requiring a few homeowners to use LEDs in their landscape lighting, he had failed to require any environmentally conscious features in any project, much less stop any projects in the Commission’s jurisdiction.

* * *

Commission President James Putricello called the meeting to order. He took the roll for the benefit of the taping system, which recorded the proceedings of the meeting. Approval of the minutes for the last meeting was moved and seconded. He then called the first applicant.

As the attorney for the first applicant began his presentation, Marx, seated two chairs to the left of Putricello, took a large gulp from his coffee mug. He immediately gave the mug a strange look, as if something did not taste quite right. He began sweating and his breath became short. Commissioner Shirley McDonough, seated to his left, asked Is everything OK?

Before Marx could answer, he collapsed onto the floor, noisily dragging his coffee mug and the applicant’s papers to the floor with him. The applicant’s attorney stopped his presentation and the other commissioners rushed to Marx’s aid. McDonough began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and Commissioner Gordon Cummings, who was seated on Marx other side, began to apply CPR. The sheriff’s officer called for an ambulance on his radio.

As Cummings place the heel of his hand over Marx’s heart, he felt something small and hard under Marx’s shirt. He opened the shirt and taped to Marx’s chest was a small microphone, attached to a wire which was taped to his abdomen and ran to a small metal box clipped to his underwear. He’s wearing a fucking wire, Cummings exclaimed.

McDonough stopped her mouth-to-mouth, and said, Holy shit, he is wearing a wire.

At that point, all of the commissioners’ attention was focused on the recording device. From a number of different voices, there was an Oh, my God, I wonder who he’s working for and We are in deep shit, all for the benefit of the record, while their fallen colleague lay on the floor. The sheriff’s officer rushed over to take over the CPR, while one of the applicants tried mouth-to-mouth. Seven minutes after the officer called in, an ambulance arrived at the scene and the paramedics took over. By that time, there was no pulse, no blood pressure, no breathing and Marx’s pupils were unresponsive. One of the paramedics said, He’s dead, while another called in Marx’s condition over his radio.

Marx was dutifully loaded onto the gurney, a sheet pulled over his head, and taken in the ambulance to Morristown Memorial Hospital, for an official pronouncement of death and an autopsy.

Chapter 2

The next morning, Det. Elias Arnold, known to everyone except his parents as Arnie, knocked on the door of Lt. Dennis Walsh’s office in the Morris County Prosecutor’s Office. You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?, he asked. Walsh was in charge of the Prosecutor’s Office detectives. Arnie handled murder investigations in the Office.

Yeah, come on in and grab a chair, Walsh said. Arnie sat in the chair across the desk from Walsh. I need you to look into something. Did you hear about Jeffrey Marx?

Yeah, I heard he like died of a heart attack at a meeting, and something about that they found a wire on him when somebody was doing CPR, Arnie replied.

That was the first report, Walsh explained. I got the preliminary autopsy report first thing this morning and it wasn’t a heart attack. He was poisoned. They don’t know exactly what with yet, but they’re running some toxicology tests and those should be back by the beginning of next week.

Arnie whistled. I wonder if the poison had anything to do with the wire, Arnie puzzled.

Well, that’s your job to find out. Walsh handed Arnie some papers and a clear plastic bag with a wallet, an iPhone, keys, some loose change and the recording device Marx had been wearing. There’s a search warrant for Marx’s condo in Morris Plains and his personal effects. I want you to go over to his place and check things out. You should be able to get in with those keys.

What’s this? Arnie asked, pointing to the recording equipment.

Marx was wearing a wire when he died. They found it when he collapsed and somebody started CPR.

Think the wire had anything to do with why he was killed?

That’s number one question on the to-do list. Anyway, as soon as I heard about the wire, I sent a sheriff’s officer to guard the place, just to make sure that, you know, nothing, umm, found its way out the door before we, or whoever Marx was a snitch for, could check things out. Nobody’s been in or out of the place since out guy has been there, and it didn’t look like anybody let themselves in with a brick.

Any idea who was running Marx?

That’s kind of a weird thing. As soon as I heard about the wire, I figured it was the FBI, so I called them, to see if they might want to take this thing over. Anyway, I talked to a guy who said he’d ask and see what he could find out. He called me back after a couple of hours, so I was expecting their usual BS about how they can’t comment on anything or confirm or deny that Marx may or may not have been involved in an investigation that may or may not have been taking place, blah blah blah, which, of course means that he’d be working for them. Anyway, he says he asked around there and at the DEA and whatever F’ing government agencies he talked to, and tells me straight out that Marx wasn’t doing anything with any federal agency.

Any chance it was the AG’s office?, Arnie asked.

Pffft, Walsh said. Yeah, I called them too while I was waiting, on the long shot that they might be doing something. The New Jersey Attorney General’s office generally left political corruption investigations to the FBI. This wasn’t because they were necessarily in favor of corruption, or didn’t have the manpower, but for practical reasons. While they were civil servants, most people who rose high enough in the Attorney General’s office to investigate political corruption cases got to that position because they knew somebody who could potentially be the target of an investigation. Likewise, much of the clerical staff got their jobs through connections. The simple truth was that there were so many possibilities for leaks, it wasn’t worth the trouble to try to mount an undercover corruption investigation. They said they didn’t know anything about it either.

Well, this is going to be interesting, Arnie said. How about this? Since the condo is secure, and the Commission office isn’t, what if I were to swing by the Commission office first and see if I can pick up anything he might have eaten or drunk, before word of what happened gets out?

Good idea.

* * *

Arnie first drove to the Commission office just off Route 10 in Dover. It was on the second floor of a three-story office building owned by a Mt. Olive town council member. Arnie showed his badge to the receptionist, explained he was investigating Mr. Marx’s death, and asked to speak with whomever was in charge. The receptionist asked him to take a seat, which he did. Within two minutes, another woman, who Arnie judge to be 50ish, in a dark blue pants suit, came out.

Hello, Detective. I’m Jane Wycesenoski, the Executive Director of the Commission. What can I do for you? The Executive Director ran the day-to-day operations of the Commission and trying to keep the office running smoothly. Wycesenoski had a Masters of Public Administration from Rutgers. She also just happened to be the wife of the accountant for a Republican Assemblyman from Somerset County who bailed the Assemblyman out of a nasty IRS audit.

Thank you, ma’am. I’m from the Prosecutor’s Office. I just wanted to ask a few questions this morning. Would it be possible for you to show me where Mr. Marx died? Arnie’s politeness had been drilled into him by his mother, growing up on a farm in rural Warren County. He had also discovered that it served a practical purpose, since people were a lot more likely to give him what he wanted, and sometimes volunteer more, when he asked politely.

Certainly. Right this way, she said. Wycesenoski led him from the reception area through two double doors into a large meeting room. There was a curved dais across the back of the room with name plates in front of each seat and four rows of chairs in the audience area. There were U.S. and New Jersey flags behind the dais, a New Jersey seal on the wall and Raritan-Delaware Watershed Commission in chrome letters around the seal. As she lead Arnie through the room, she asked, You’re from the Prosecutor’s Office? Is there something going on? I thought Jeffrey died of a heart attack.

Just a few routine questions, ma’am, Arnie explained.

Wycesenoski led Arnie behind the dais. Jeffrey collapsed here, pointing to where Marx collapsed the previous day.

Do you know whether Mr. Marx ate or drank anything prior to the meeting? Arnie asked.

Well, we put out bottles of water for all of the commission members, but Jeffrey’s wasn’t opened yesterday. If he had anything to eat, it wasn’t here. He had a cup of coffee before the meeting, because I remember him bringing the cup in with him.

Do you know whether he brought it with him, or get it here, or what?

He made it here. Wycesenoski let him through a door behind the dais into a smaller conference room. Pointing to the corner of the room, We have one of those one-cup-at-a time coffee machines. He made himself a cup.

Arnie examined the setup for the coffee machine. There were four boxes of single-serving plastic containers, House, Hazelnut, Decaf and a Green Tea. Which did he have? Arnie asked.

Oh, he wouldn’t drink any of those. He brought his own. He just had to have . . . what did he call it, organically grown, non-exploitive coffee, that was ‘hands off’ to everyone else. They’re here in the fridge. Wycesenoski showed Arnie a small refrigerator beside the coffee station. Inside the refrigerator was a small box labeled Green Joe containing single-serving plastic containers of coffee. Beside the box was a quarter-full pint-sized milk bottle labeled Missalaca Farms Organic Low Fat Milk and a box of packages of raw sugar.

Were both of these Mr. Marx’s?, Arnie asked.

Yes. He insisted on bringing his own. He refused to drink what we had here for the office.

May I take these please?

Sure. I guess.

Arnie took a pair of latex gloves and a clear plastic bag out of his coat pocket. He put on the gloves and put the box of coffee, milk and sugar into the plastic bag, making sure not to spill the milk. He then went over to the coffee maker and opened up the tray for used coffee packages. He fished out two Green Joe containers and put them into another plastic bag. When he was done, he took out a pad, wrote out a receipt for the items, and gave it to Wycesenoski.

Did Mr. Marx have his own coffee cup, or did he use the Styrofoam cups on the coffee station? Arnie asked.

He used his own. He would always complain about how the foam cups were filling up landfills and would still be there after we were long gone.

Could you show me please?

Wycesenoski opened a cabinet over the coffee station and showed Arnie Marx’s coffee mug.

Was this washed since yesterday? Arnie asked.

I’m sure it was. We have the cleaning people pick up any dirty dishes, etc. and wash them at the end of the day. If we didn’t, with some of the people here, there’d be science experiments.

May I take this also? Arnie asked.

You might as well.

Arnie put the coffee mug into another plastic bag and wrote out another receipt.

Detective, what’s this all about? Wycesenoski asked impatiently.

That’s what I’m trying to find out, ma’am. Arnie took off his gloves, put them back into his jacket pocket, and walked back toward the reception area.

You’ve been very helpful, thank you, Arnie said, as he stopped by the reception desk. Arnie shook Wycesenoski’s hand and said, If I need anything else, I’ll let you know.

Sure, no problem, Wycesenoski said, with an up-to-something look on her fact, as Arnie walked out the door.

* * *

Back at the Prosecutor’s Office, Arnie took the items he got at the Commission offices to the crime lab. He asked the technician to test the milk and the coffee cup for poison, dust the milk container, and test the coffee containers and sugar to see if they had been tampered with. He picked up the keys to Marx’s condo from the property room, then called the Prosecutor’s Office’s electronics guru, Jimmy Magic Fingers D’Antonio to accompany him, to take care of any alarm, and for assistance with Marx’s computer or any other electronic devices he might need to examine. Fingers got his nickname from the way his hands moved over the keyboard to solve computer problems, and because, at least according to gossip among some of the women in the office, and according to Fingers himself, he gave the best back (and whatever else) rubs of anyone in the Office. Arnie then swung by the Sheriff’s Office to ask Jason McDonough, a uniformed Sheriff’s officer who he had worked with before, to assist with the search and taking inventory. On the way over, Arnie explained what had happened and as much as knew about the case.

The investigators arrived at Marx’s townhouse in Chester just before 11 a.m. They introduced themselves to the officer guarding the home. Arnie showed him the search warrant and told him that he could take off. He carried with him a large soft-sided square suitcase resembling a gym bag, which held his equipment. Arnie opened the front door with the key, and they heard a timing beeper from an alarm counting time until the PIN was entered. Fingers bypassed the alarm within 20 seconds.

Can you reset the PIN on that? Arnie asked.

Sure, no problem. It’ll take me a couple of minutes, though, Fingers said.

Arnie dropped his bag by the door and took out latex gloves for all of them. After they put them on, Arnie gave McDonough a pocket digital camera to photograph anything he might find and took one himself. The officers began their search. The house was noticeably cool in contrast with the outside.

Hey, Arnie, McDonough asked, What are we looking for?

Not exactly sure, Arnie answered. Anything that might look like it could have to do with the murder, or anything suspicious. They say he was poisoned, so be sure to look for something he could have eaten or taken that could do the trick. You take upstairs and I’ll take downstairs, and Fingers. . .

Yo! Fingers said from the next room.

We’ll give you a yell if we find something we need your help with, Arnie said.

Got it, Fingers replied. Let me finish this and I’ll give you a hand.

Sounds good

Arnie decided to move front-to-back through the townhouse, so he started in a room just off the front foyer, which looked like a living room. The focal point of the room was a 50-inch plasma TV on the back wall, with a large sofa and two recliners in front of it. He looked through the books, which were an eclectic mish-mosh of scientific ecology books, environmental doomsday books, health and exercise books, art books, classic novels and popular paperbacks. There were a number of liquor bottles on a dry bar beside the near the book shelf. He took the top off each and took a whiff, but none smelled unusual. He passed the thermostat. The air conditioning was set for 68 degrees. So much for Mr. Energy Savings, Arnie thought.

As Arnie was finishing looking through the living room, McDonough called from upstairs, Hey, Arnie. You gotta come check this out. Rather than continuing downstairs, Arnie grabbed his equipment bag and walked upstairs, with Fingers a step behind. As he heard his two companions coming, McDonough said, In here, and they followed his voice into one of the bedrooms. In a closet, McDonough had found two shoe boxes filled with cash.

Holy shit, Arnie said.

Man, oh man, Fingers added.

That’s what I said, McDonough explained.

Well, let’s mark it and bag it, and we’ll count it when we get back to the office, Arnie instructed. McDonough took two large clear plastic bags out of the gym bag, puttin one shoe box into each bag. He marked the outside of the plastic bags and noted the two boxes of cash on the inventory form on a clipboard he had also brought in the gym bag. Let’s be sure to look everywhere, Arnie added. You remember that Congressman who had money stashed in his freezer.

Arnie took the two plastic bags downstairs and placed them by the front door. He took the gym bag with him and continued his search