The Oxygen Murder by Camille Minichino Read Free Book Online Page A

and check into ozone crime inNew York State. I had no problem finding a seat with a computer terminal, and near a window so I could watch for Lori.
    Not the sexiest of offenses, crimes against the environment would probably never draw television audiences of millions of people. Nevertheless, unlawful disposing of hazardous waste, the transport and illegal use of CFCs, and the transport of endangered species were crimes with widespread impact. Looking at the mass of numbers that made up NASA’s charts of data, though, I couldn’t blame the average citizen for his glazed-over look when the topic came up. We needed more simplified information and more big-picture discussion, I decided.
    Finally, I located a site with descriptions of recent violations. I was pleased to scroll through cases that resulted in criminal action.
    A White Plains businessman who made millions by selling ozone-depleting gases on the black market was sentenced to six years in prison and ordered to pay three million dollars in restitution. The latter penalty meant simply that he had to forfeit his eight-thousand-square-foot mansion in Connecticut.
    The man’s accountant was also found guilty, on charges of complicity in tax evasion, and sentenced to four years and a fine of two hundred thousand dollars, which he probably covered by selling a couple of his cars.
    I thought of Lori’s “neither too much nor too little” theme: In the upper atmosphere, CFCs create a hole, and the result is too little ozone, exposing us to damaging UV radiation. At the earth’s surface, too much ozone is a respiratory irritant and harmful to health, especially the health of children and the elderly.
    I did a search for employers found in violation of ozone exposure limits in their industrial environments.
    In the past year, water-treatment plant personnel and employees of a welding company had been victims of overexposure to ozone. Another company had failed to provide protective gear when the PEL—permissible exposure limits—couldn’t be met.
    I started to list the names of the guilty parties until I realized that the people Amber and Lori were threatening to expose probably hadn’t been caught yet. What I really needed were the oxygen files. Ha, what a good title for a best-selling spy thriller, I thought.
    I drummed my fingers next to the keyboard for a minute, gazing back and forth at the interior café surroundings and the street outside for inspiration. The light shades and the counter in the café had a modern, burnished-metal look. The cappuccino rivaled the best I’d had; the croissant was fresh and flaky. The people passing in front of my window—here a head of neon green spikes, there a long, silky fur coat—seemed much more heterogeneous than any slice of the population of Revere.
    All that stimulation gave me an idea. Maybe the oxygen files were out of reach for the moment, but Tina Miller, Amber’s employer, would have PI client files—and her place wasn’t a crime scene.
    Click, click, click.
    Within a minute I had an address and a phone number for the agency. Lori entered the café just as I wrote down the information.
    I made a quick plan to walk to the agency—not that far away, on West Fifty-seventh Street—after Lori left and before Rose and Matt were available again.
    My vacation had become busier than my regular life.
     
    Lori took a seat and looked around the café with approval.
    “How’d you find this? I thought I knew all the hot spots.”
    “An eighteen-year-old concierge advised me,” I said.
    “Cool.”
    Lori grinned, improving her drawn appearance only slightly. She had on a black jacket with quilt stitching and a different lacy scarf from the one she’d worn the first evening. This wrap was red and orange, with bits of fluff throughout. I’d seen the same style on many young women in New York, and I was positive Rose would buy a couple before she left. Maybe she’d be the one to move the new look northeast to Boston and