The Secrets of Ethan Falls

by J. W. Lucas

  “You know, that’s what Mandy talked to me about. I guess it is time for me to take back control of my life like you both are saying. I’ll call them this afternoon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have something I want to do for Mandy.”

  I went looking for Mandy and found her in the Great Room sitting on the piano bench. She had been on the phone and I saw her end the call as I walked in. She had a worried look on her face.

  “Hey, Hon, are you okay? You look sad.”

  “That was my mother on the phone. I called her to tell them my good news, and she’s happy for me, but then she told me they saw something on the news about two men trying to kill Judge Moran at the hospital and now she and Hansel are scared out of their minds that you’re involved in all of that. They want me to go up to Stowe and stay with them.”

  I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t see this coming. Before I could speak, Mandy took charge.

  “Daryl, I’m staying here with you and the Morans, where I’m safe. I’m thirty-five years old, single, I just got my MBA, and in three short weeks, I know that I’ve met the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. I love my parents, but it’s time that they faced reality and deal with it.”

  “Mandy, I know a lot of people will think we’re crazy, but I feel the same way. I believe that we were meant to meet like this. Maybe if your parents see how we are together, they would understand.”

  “I don’t know about that. They’ve always been super protective of me.”

  “Okay, why don’t we invite them down here then? They can stay with you and the Morans until this is over. We have another guest suite.”

  “OH NO!! Are you crazy? You think I want my parents in the room next to me when I’m in bed with my boyfriend of three weeks? No way Jose!”

  “Okay. Then why don’t I book them a suite at the Red Lion? I’ll pay for everything.”

  “NO!” she said “They would never go for that. That’s like trying to buy them.” I thought fast, that’s what I’m supposed to be good at! “Okay then, tell them I want to host a dinner reception for you to celebrate your MBA. I’ll ask Bernie and Erik, and if the Judge is up to it, him and Lindsey. You can tell your parents that we’ve booked a room for them at the Red Lion for as long as they want to visit, and during the day they can come here and spend time with you.” “You would do that for me?” she asked.

  “Of course! We’re going to celebrate your accomplishment regardless, but I’d love to meet your parents and have them share in that.” She thought for a minute. “I’ll call them and see what they think. When would we do all of this?”

  “As soon as we can. Ask them if they can come down on Wednesday, we’ll go out to dinner on Saturday.”

  “But you’ll be working in Ethan Falls.”

  “I will, but the way things are working out I should be back here on Thursday, Friday at the latest.”

  “And by the way, you’ll be a busy girl. I talked to Lindsey about her helping you to set up the Foundation and she’s agreed to be our legal representative. I’m going to call my lawyer in Boston right now and break the news to him.”

  “Are you going to fire him?” she asked.

  “No, I’m just going to put the brakes on his gravy train. It’s about time I put my personal life before my work. And while I’m at it, we need to go into Stockbridge, there’s something I want to do.” “Wow! Where did all this new Daryl Richardson come from? And why the mystery?”

  “You’ll see! First let me call my lawyer.”

  I made the call and as I expected, he was shocked, disappointed, argumentative, counseling and damned frustrated when I told him that I wanted a complete statement of my net worth, stock holdings and where my money was invested. To be honest, it felt pretty good to be in control.

  I drove Mandy into Stockbridge and we pulled into my bank. “Oh, Lord! You’re not going to rob it, are you?” she asked in a deadpan voice.

  “No, no withdrawal, just moving some funds around and I’ll need you in there.” As we sat and waited for the bank manager I told Mandy that I was opening an account in her name. She started to question my sanity and believe me; this girl could be feisty when she wanted to be. I won’t bore you, but I won out, and she walked out of there with ten thousand dollars in her new account and a debit card issued on the spot. After about ten minutes into our drive home, she finally spoke. “Daryl Richardson, I don’t know whether to slap you in the back of the head or make you take a nap.”

  “Consider it a graduation gift. My preference is the nap, but let’s wait until tonight.”

  When we got back to the house, I placed a phone call to Kaitlyn Mason at the Medical Center. I told her that I had a Federal search warrant for the bullets that were removed from Judge Moran.

  “A Federal search warrant?” she asked for clarity.

  I told her yes, that I couldn’t go into details, but asked that she contact her security department to make them aware that I’d be in with the warrant tomorrow afternoon. She agreed.

  I called Damian and told him I needed his electronics techs to be in Bellington early Wednesday afternoon. He said he’d make the arrangements for them to meet me at my hotel. I reminded him that I would pay for their rooms and this time he didn’t argue with me.

  We had dinner around six-thirty, and to my surprise, Judge Moran said he felt up to joining us in the dining room. Lindsey and Mandy had cooked a turkey breast, homemade gravy, mashed potatoes, carrots and fresh biscuits. The meal was excellent, and I thought to myself that I’d been eating better with Mandy in my life than I had been for the past two years.

  After we ate the ladies cleaned up, and the Morans retired to the master suite for the Judge to rest and watch TV. Mandy and I had an after-dinner drink in the family room. A little after nine Mandy turned to me and said, “Daryl, you were acting a little weird today, talking about taking control of your personal life, giving me all that money. Do you have a premonition that something bad is going to happen to you?”

  “No, it just dawned on me after what you said about your parents being worried about you. I want them to get to know me, know that you’re safe, and see that we’re happy and content with each other.”

  “I love you Daryl, but somehow I think your mind is in Ethan Falls. Just promise me that you’ll be careful.”

  “I promise, let’s go to bed.” As we walked to our bedroom, I must admit that in my mind I was already introducing myself to Horace Greene MD and his helper Farhan.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On Tuesday morning I was up at six, and by quarter to seven was in the kitchen having coffee and toast with Mandy. She was quiet, and I knew she was worried. I was ready to leave the house after a long hug and kiss from my girl. Her eyes were moist, and the tears were building, but she held them back.

  “Hey! Everything will be fine Honey. This is how I make my living,” I said in as convincing a tone that I could muster.

  “But it doesn’t have to be,” she responded, and this time her hug was begging me not to go. I told her that I would call her when we’re finished with the warrant service, kissed her on her forehead, and headed out the door.

  I drove to the hotel and dropped my luggage in my room and went down to the lobby and booked two adjacent rooms for Damian’s techs. The desk clerk didn’t ask any questions and made the arrangements quickly.

  I went out to the parking lot at eight-thirty and about ten minutes later I saw three cars pull up, led by Jon Michaels. His two drug agents looked like I thought they would; jeans, long hair, scruffy beards, and muscles upon muscles. The third car brought the FBI support. Jon introduced the two FBI agents, and the lead Agent, Tommy Barden, asked to see the warrant for the doctor’s office. After a quick once over he said that because they were Federal warrants, his boss wanted him to lead the raid as he called it. I agreed, and we headed out with Jon riding with me.

  “On our way up here, we drove through Hamilton and saw Capt. Merrill and his team staging about a mile out of
town,” he said. “And Daryl, there were another five or six Trooper cars and the Emergency Services Unit van on the side of the road before that. It looks like they’re anticipating a war.”

  Michaels continued. “Daryl, the word is that your Federal office in Boston emailed some documents over to our US Attorney on Monday. One of my undercovers heard that Jacob Meisner and his team of lawyers were typing up arrest warrant applications all day, something to do with the jail and a bail bond company. You know anything about that?”

  “No Jon, I don’t. That’s a surprise. My boss in Boston did some research for me and found out that a bail bond company up here, Freedom Bail Services, is a sham. They’re not licensed or backed by an insurance company. I wonder if that’s what this is all about.” Damian Costigan hadn’t said anything to me about giving info to the Vermont office, I thought, and I was more than surprised.

  “I don’t know. We should ask the agents with us if they know anything.” I said.

  Our three-car motorcade pulled up in front of Dr. Greene’s office a little before ten. I pulled Agent Barden aside and asked him if he knew anything about arrest warrants being issued for any of the Sheriffs.

  “I can’t discuss any Bureau business Mr. Richardson, you know that,” he said flatly.

  “Yeah, but we’re on the same team, aren’t we?”

  He looked at me and answered, “Look, my orders are to execute these search warrants for evidence in a murder case and for possible wiretapping at the Courthouse. That’s all I know. You ready to do this or what?”

  I didn’t bother to argue his point, and with him and his partner, I went into the doctor’s office precisely at ten AM. Jon Michaels said he and his detectives would cover the back of the building.

  The waiting room was empty, a nurse, and a secretary were at desks behind a counter. Agent Tommy Barden’s attitude didn’t surprise me; he was direct and authoritative when he announced that we were there with a Federal search warrant. The women looked shocked, and after a moment the nurse said, “I’ll get Dr. Greene.”

  We watched her go down a hallway and a moment later Dr. Greene appeared. He was a small man, and obviously very old as he shuffled his feet slowly, with his shoulders hunched over. His large thick eyeglasses were out of scale to the rest of his body.

  “You Dr. Greene?” Agent Barden queried. “We’re here with a Federal search warrant to seize any and all records of your post-mortem exam of Susan Peterson and any evidence from said exam that you may be holding.” He was reading directly from the warrant when a woman with two small kids came through the front door. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Agent Barden suddenly turn and start to reach for his gun inside his suit coat. I grabbed his arm to stop him and he pulled his hand away.

  “It’s okay Ma’am, just a little police matter, nothing to worry about,” Barden’s partner said. “We’ll be just a few minutes, please, have a seat.” Barden glared at me and my disgust with his drama was written all over my face.

  Suddenly, one of Jon Michaels’ undercovers burst through the front door and said “Mr. Richardson, we need you out back right now! You need to see this.” Before I could move, Agent Barden stepped in front of me and said “Richardson, you stay here with the Doctor,” and he walked quickly outside. His partner looked at me and shook his head. “I’m sorry Mr. Richardson, that’s how he is,” he said in apology.

  I asked Dr. Greene if we could speak privately and he escorted us to his small cluttered office. I explained that the Federal government had entered the Peterson murder case and that I was told that he had done an autopsy on Susan.

  “No,” he said, “I haven’t done an autopsy in almost fifty years!” I was taken aback by his answer, and asked, “Doctor, did you do any kind of post-mortem exam of Susan?”

  “I did. The funeral home and police brought her here and Detective Manning had me undress her so that he could take photos of her injuries.”

  I looked over at Agent Barden’s partner and I could see that his mind and mine were on the same track. “Doctor,” the Agent asked, “can you describe her injuries to us?”

  “I can do better than that, Son. After the police left, I took my own photos and did a thorough post-mortem exam. Let me get her chart.” He called the front desk on the intercom and a few minutes later his nurse came into the office with a manila folder and a small sealed cardboard box labeled “Sexual Assault Evidence.” The Agent and I both stared at the box. Dr. Greene produced six color photos of Susan’s body, three of which depicted her head and neck.

  “As you can see, she was beaten and strangled, but the cause of death was a broken neck. It’s all here in her chart,” he said as he slid the manila folder across his desk.

  The typed report looked very professional and after a quick glance I saw the heading “Specimens.” Dr. Greene had drawn Susan’s blood, performed anatomical swabs and fingernail scrapings. He may be an old- school doctor I thought, but he performed the exam by the book. I handed the folder to the Agent.

  “Dr. Greene are the specimens you collected in this box?” I asked.

  “Yes, I called Detective Manning and told him I had some items he might want to have, but he never came and took it.”

  “Doctor, did you speak personally with Manning or leave a message for him?”

  “Oh yes! We spoke about this being the first murder that I could recall in my fifty years in Ethan Falls. He said not to worry about it that he would stop by when he was in the area.”

  I heard the Agent’s cell phone ring, and he quickly answered. A few seconds later he exclaimed “WHAT!?” I looked at him and he motioned for me to lean over to him.

  “Barden said they found a load of drugs and some pipe bombs in the house out back,” he whispered. “The State guys have someone under arrest and Barden’s calling for the bomb squad.”

  “WHAT?” I asked, speaking louder than I had meant to. I told the Agent to go out and make an assessment and let me know what was going on.”

  “What’s happening?” Dr. Greene asked, “This is all very upsetting to me.”

  “Doctor Greene, do you have an assistant, a man named Farhan?” “Yes, why?”

  “Do you know where he is right now?”

  “Probably in his apartment out back. He lives there.”

  “What’s Farhan’s last name?”

  “Hussein,” he answered. “Farhan Hussein. Is something wrong? Is he all right?”

  “Doctor, our search warrant includes the buildings on your property. My associates are telling me that they’ve found Farhan with some drugs and explosive materials back there. He’s been placed under arrest.”

  Dr. Horace Greene buried his face in his hands and shook his head. “This is a nightmare. I knew something wasn’t right the past few months, he hasn’t been himself. He comes into the office looking like he hasn’t slept. He told me that he’s been staying up at night studying.”

  “Studying what?” I asked.

  “For the medical boards. He was a physician in Iraq, and our country won’t recognize his degree because he lost his documents in the fighting over there. The man is brilliant, he told me he has two degrees, one in medicine and one in electrical engineering.”

  “And you believed him, Doctor?”

  “Of course. I interviewed him extensively. His knowledge of medicine is incredible. He’s been a blessing for me with my care, especially the people in the resettlement village. He speaks Arabic.”

  “How did you meet him?” I asked.

  “He just showed up one day. He told me that he had fled his country because of the war and found asylum in Canada. He immigrated to this country and needed work and a place to stay. I felt sorry for him and hired him as my medical assistant.”

  “Doctor, did he show you any credentials to verify his story?” “All he had was a passport and a picture of him when he was a medical student in Iraq. Have I done something wrong?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer and was literally saved by the
bell when my cell phone beeped and vibrated. I saw it was Jon Michaels calling me from out back.

  “Daryl, we’ve got a few hundred bags of heroin, about a half-pound of what’s field testing as fentanyl, scales, glassine bags, and what looks and smells like a meth lab in a workshop next door. We found six assembled pipe bombs and bags of gunpowder, nails and nuts and bolts. This guy is the one we’ve been looking for! Not only is he running a drug factory, he’s a bomb maker! This son-of-a-bitch is a terrorist Daryl!”

  “Okay Jon, I understand. I think that you should call Captain Merrill and fill him in. Let me know what he wants to do.” “Detective, or whatever I should call you, am I in trouble?” Dr. Greene asked.

  “I apologize Dr. Greene. My name is Daryl Richardson. I’m an attorney with the US Department of Justice. And to answer your question, I’m not sure. I have information that your assistant Farhan was giving narcotics to some of your patients at the resettlement center. Were you prescribing narcotic painkillers for them?”

  “Of course not! The most I’ve ever written for them has been Tylenol with codeine. I don’t believe what you’re telling me. This must be a mistake. I don’t want to answer any more of your questions until I call a lawyer. I’ve done nothing wrong,” he said excitedly.

  “Doctor, I understand. The warrant authorizes me to take possession of the original copy of Susan’s medical record as well as the specimens you collected.”

  “You can’t do that,” he protested. “Those are privileged physician- patient records.”

  “You’re mistaken Sir,” I said as I gave him a certified copy of the search warrant. “This was issued by a Federal judge and lists what may be seized. I’m taking the original file, but I’ll let your nurse make a copy for your files as long as I watch her doing it.”