Secret Ingredient
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Mark Filman adjusted his satin blue tie with one hand and gripped his briefcase harder with his other. Taking a deep breath, he entered the Ossario Family Butcher’s Shop. The overpowering scent of slaughtered animal flesh overwhelmed his vegan sensibilities, and he wondered if any retainer would be worth his job. But the law firm of Westin, Chandler and Montgomery had offered him double his normal rates to do his audit on site. With one kid just starting college and the other a senior in high school the promised fees were too enticing to pass up. So, there he stood before a display case of various dismembered animal parts instead of his neat clean office that smelled of copier paper and hand sanitizer.
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The man behind the counter wore an apron with splatters of blood and other stains that Mark did not want to know the source. Mark pulled out his business card and held it out to the man, who stared at it as if it were toxic or about to explode. Mark feared this would be a hostile situation. Divorce cases could get so messy, and he swore he’d never get involved in another one. But the things money made you do.
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“I’m Mark Filman. I’ve been retained by your wife’s attorney to do an audit of the business to ascertain the value. My understanding is that your attorney was notified and agreed to my coming here to review your books and get a feel of the general operations for my evaluation.” Mark said. The man continued to stare at him with a bewildered expression so Mark continued, “If you have changed your mind about cooperating, we can let the attorneys take this matter to court to determine when and how I conduct the audit.”
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The man blinked several times and muttered, “What?”
“You are Mr. Ossario, Tiago Ossario?” Mark asked.
“No,” the man said and continued to stare at Mark and the business card.
After several very uncomfortable seconds Mark asked, “Is Mr. Ossario here?”
“Hey boss!” the man yelled behind him, “some lawyer is here for you.”
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“Actually, I’m a forensic accountant. I…” Mark stopped as the man was no longer paying attention to him and went back to his job of stacking cuts of meat in the display case.
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A moment later a shorter but stout man in a slightly cleaner apron emerged through swinging double doors behind the counter. After wiping his hand on a dish rag, the man extended his hand to Mark and greeted him with a bright smile.
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“Olá Bom Dia! My friend,” the man said as he grabbed Mark’s hand and shook it vigorously. “You are the inspector yes. The one who is going to prove to my wife that my humble business is nothing really.”
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“I’m a forensic accountant,” Mark corrected trying to wrestle his hand back. “I’m here to look over the business records for the past few years, tapes, invoices…”
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“Yes, yes everything the avocados requested is in the office. Come back, I show you everything. I am a book open for you to read,” the man said releasing Mark’s hand and opening his own wide as if in illustration of his openness.
Mark was relieved to be led down a hallway to the left of the counter and away from the double doors. He could hear the sounds of a power thump and crunch behind them which he could only imagine the whacking of a very large cleaver on dead meat.
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The hallway was dimly lit by a single bare bulb that dangled on exposed wires hanging from a hole in the ceiling. Mark made a mental note of what had to be a building code violation. He knew from the wife’s attorney that she claimed this business made tremendous amounts of money demonstrated by the family’s extravagant lifestyle. She was demanding a great sum as her community property share. No surprise that Mr. Ossario claimed the business was barely making ends meet. Typical in divorces. Truth was what Mark was paid to discover.
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At the end of the hall, Mr. Ossario opened a door to the office, which was a glorified broom closet. A desk was crammed into a small space along with a swivel chair pressed so close to the wall that movement was impossible. The desk was covered with shoebox size containers overstuffed with receipts and miscellaneous papers. The little open area of the room was occupied by a pile of file boxes that nearly reached the ceiling.
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“All you ask for,” the man said with a wry smile. “You want some coffee or water maybe?”
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“No thank you Mr. Ossario,” Mark said as he wriggled his way behind the desk.
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“What Mr. Ossario, I am Tiago. No, Tico, my friends. And you are my friend. Call me Tico,” the man said and slammed a beefy hand on Mark’s shoulder. “You let me know if you need anything, anything at all.”
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“Thank you Mr…” Mark stopped as the man’s face frowned, “Tico. I will let you know.”
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Mark grabbed the closest box to him and started thumbing through the papers. The dates ranged from 2008 to the present in no particular order and appeared to be for everything from plumbing expenses to purchases of spices. It was what they referred to in Mark’s business as a dump job. The enemy asks for documents you give them enough documents to choke on. There were some that would just take the easy road and go by the accounting records and tax returns and not bother trying to match receipts. Mark, however, had a reputation of being overly meticulous and digging deep.
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As the door slowly shut, Mark gave an exaggerated sigh as if distraught for the benefit of the butcher. In actuality Mark was suddenly at ease. He relished organizing and piecing together documents like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Some dump jobs were just vindictive to make life harder for the opposing party’s expert. Some were plain bad bookkeeping. Most were attempts to hide something. Deep in his gut Mark was sure the smiling gregarious Tico Ossario was the latter.
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The job wasn’t going to be completed in a day. It took three just to organize the receipts and statements in the various boxes provided. Mark came to the business for a few hours each day. In addition to going through the books, he monitored the daily cash register sales to establish a pattern of average income to match it to the previous history of income.
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Unfortunately, the business did not appear to be very lucrative. There were four large supermarkets in the immediate vicinity that provide meat cheaper, and in Mark’s opinion a much cleaner atmosphere. While the business did meet basic health standards, Mark never found the place appetizing, but then again meat wasn’t his forte. Ossario’s Family Butcher Shop did have a bit of a following and was rather famous in the neighborhood for their fresh sausages.
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“The meats here so much better,” one customer had told Mark, “And the sausage, it’s like nothing I’ve ever had before. They so something special to it.”
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Tico was present that day and just smiled and said, “Ah, it’s our family’s special ingredient.”
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After two weeks, both attorneys were losing patience. Tico’s attorney complained that Mark had had ample time to complete his investigation and should not be allowed to continue to disrupt the normal business operations. The wife’s attorney was disappointed that there had not been any great reveal of a secret set of books revealing the true income. The Ossario family did have a certain lifestyle that was not consistent with the meager cash flow from the business, not according to the records Mark reviewed.
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When questioned about expensive purchases like a Gozzo 38 Cabin yacht he’d purchased the year before, Tico always had some excuse as to why it wasn’t such an extravagance. The boat had been sold to him by a friend with very easy terms, “Such a deal, cheaper than a used car.” The trips to Vegas, Portugal and the cruise through the Greek islands, those were paid for by loans or gifts from relatives. Tico produced notarized statements from Aunts and Uncles testifying to said loan or gift. Each one dated at the supposed time of giving the funds. Everything was very carefully and fully documented, which was in itself suspicious.
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Mark had inspected every section of the butcher’s shop. He hated going into the back room. A butcher’s block took up most of the space, and it was covered with grinders, knives, saws, and cleavers. The smell of blood and raw meat weighed heavy in the air. The primary meat locker was refrigerated by not freezing. It contained two sides of beef, large ham hocks, and various fowl hanging by hooks. There was a second unit, smaller unit for surplus meat so it wouldn’t go bad. It was opened and shut very quickly. Mark could not make out what hung on the hooks, but just the little exposure had chilled him to the bone, and he was glad to return to his little workspace.
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Though something nagged at Mark. He remembered his Aunt Martha who often hid things in her freezer. Often when she overspent Uncle Clarance would cut up all the credit cards. She would simply order new ones and hide them in the freezer until her next shopping spree. Mark was certain there was something in the alleged kosher freezer that might shed light on the source of extra funds.
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On the last day of his audit, Tico was less than friendly. Apparently, Mark’s welcome had worn thin. The man had just grumbled at him when he arrived and said something in Portuguese to the other employee who gave Mark a wicked smile.
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Turning to Mark, Tico said in English, “This is the last day. No more of this nonsense. I have busines…” Tico stopped and rephrased, “I have an appointment and will be gone till late. When I return, I do not want to see you.”
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Mark quietly went back to the little desk and piles of papers. He set up his laptop and reviewed his charts. In the two weeks he had managed to organize all of the files and receipts. Had he been hired by Tico as an accountant or bookkeeper, he could have considered his achievements a success.
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“Hey,” a voice pulled Mark from his thoughts. The taller skinny employee who ran the counter stood in the doorway. “I’m going to the coffee shop. Be back in a minute. I’m putting the closed sign out but listen if anyone comes in, tell them I’ll be back.”
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This particular employee often took breaks the minute the boss left. He liked to flirt with one of the baristas next-door. Mark nodded and waited until he heard the tinkle of the bell over the door to indicate the other man had departed. Carefully and quietly, Mark snuck into the front of the store. He glanced out the window to the empty sidewalk then quickly scurried around the counter and through the swinging doors. The back room was empty, and he tipped toed to the freezer.
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A little voice in his head laughed at him. What did he expect to find? Ledgers marked Secret Income. But another voice, Aunt Martha’s voice whispered check the freezer. Maybe there were bank accounts, or records hidden behind the frozen meat. If there was, Mark was going to send Aunt Martha a gift basket.
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Hurrying, Mark opened the freezer door, and bulks hung from hooks wrapped in brown paper. Mark scanned the interior for possibly a safe, or box. But saw nothing. Tentatively he stepped in to get a better look and knocked into one of the stiff frozen masses. It swung and turned slightly, and some of the paper surrounding it was ripped away.
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A scream froze in Mark’s throat as he saw a frost covered, blue, naked arm dangling out of the paper. Not a hoof. An arm. Fingers. Mark ran. He ran out of the freezer, out of the back room, out of the butcher shop. He even ran past his parked car. When his legs could no longer continue the pace he fell to the ground.
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His memory of the rest of that day was fuzzy. He must have called the law firm of Westin, Chandler and Montgomery because they are the ones that phoned the police. At least that was the way it was reported on the evening news. Mark had watched the television as if the story unfolding had not actually involved him. Red and blue flashing lights surrounding the little local butcher shop as a man in a bloody apron was handcuffed and led to a squad car. Images showed Tiago “Tico” Ossario being arrested outside a luxury hotel. Several suited men in the background were trying to avoid being caught on camera.
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In the following days, the news would add to the report of finding bodies in the freezer of a local business. After testing the meats, it was discovered that the sausages sold by Ossario’s butcher shop continued human tissue. Mark had uncovered the hidden source of income in Tico’s side job of body disposal as well as the family secret ingredient.
