Ardmore Green

by Jeff Siebold

  She paused and thought. “Seth Gordon...that was on her tattoo, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Zeke. “Seth Gordon forever.” They were quiet a moment, reflecting.

  George wheezed. “That’s Roger Gordon’s son, right?” he said. “Roger’s in real estate.”

  The room was silent for a moment while everyone thought. Kimmy shifted in her chair.

  “Southern California,” said George. “Susie told me that the girls wanted to vacation in L.A. sometime, maybe go to college out there one day.”

  “Did the girls say where they were interested in visiting?” asked Zeke. “In L.A., I mean.”

  “I know they wanted to be near the ocean,” said Carol. “They talked about Venice Beach and Malibu and places like that. But I think they were just names they’d heard on TV. Like 90210, you know? Why are you asking?”

  “According to Seth’s sisters, he and Carrie took off west a couple days ago in his Saab.”

  “So she’s OK?” asked Oscar.

  “We think so,” said Zeke. “They’re just on the move.”

  * * *

  The small blue car sped along on its journey west. They had agreed that the priority was distancing themselves from Ardmore as quickly as possible, putting at least a mile between them and the Main Line for every minute they drove.

  Seth was intent on driving, while Carrie was playing with her iPhone, looking at SnapChat and Instagram, and watching MTV videos. Occasionally, she’d snap a picture through the car window. But for its almost fluorescent color, the ara blue Saab blended with interstate traffic. Seth grunted and braked as the car in front of him switched lanes abruptly, and then he fell in behind it.

  “How long have we been driving?” Carrie asked.

  “A day and a half,” said Seth. “It’s 10:30 in the morning. Minus the sleep stop in St. Louis, we’ve been driving for about twenty hours.”

  They had started the trip after midnight two days ago. Seth drove all night and well into the next day, taking meth to stay awake. They stopped at a hotel in Indianapolis around noon, and Carrie stayed in the car while Seth went to pay for a room. But it was too early to check in, so Seth bought an energy drink and took another pill and drove some more. At three thirty the second day, they checked into a roadside hotel, a Best Western east of St. Louis, and slept.

  Back on the road, now, Carrie was fidgeting.

  “Are we getting close to California?” she asked.

  “Not really,” said Seth. “It’ll be a few more days. But at least we’re out of Ardmore. You’re safe, now. They won’t find us.”

  “We’re both safe,” said Carrie. “I’m hungry and I have to pee,” she added.

  “Yeah, I need some gas. We’ll stop at the next McDonalds,” he said.

  “I like Burger King better,” she said, pouting a little, bored.

  “OK, Burger King,” he said.

  * * *

  They were sitting in the businessman’s car, parked in the far corner of an empty parking lot. The night air was humid and oppressive.

  “Just so we’re clear, I won’t tolerate failure,” said the killer.

  “I know,” said the businessman. “You’ve already convinced me. No need to threaten anymore.” He sounded a bit defeated, deflated.

  “Cheer up. You’re making money,” said the killer. “Things are back on track, and you’ll be fine. Just keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

  “What about the drugs? Is it still on tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Sure. Like normal.”

  “Same time, same place?” he asked, confirming.

  “Yes.”

  He took a deep breath. “OK.”

  The killer said, “Just remember what happened here, and keep the pills locked up. No need to hurt anyone else.”

  “Hurt? You shot them, and they’re dead now!” he said, appalled.

  “That’s how it usually works,” said the killer. “I couldn’t afford to take the chance. They threatened us. They wouldn’t have kept it secret, you know.”

  “I thought they were trying to get money for a road trip...” said the businessman.

  “There’s only one solution to blackmail,” said the killer. “They would have blown up the whole thing.”

  “OK,” said the businessman.

  “OK what?”

  “OK, I’ll get the pills ready for tonight. And just to the Philly dealers, no one local.”

  “It’s safer that way,” said the killer.

  “I know.”

  Chapter 26

  “Detective Harrison, please,” Zeke said into the smartphone. He was sitting in a booth at a donut shop across the street from the Lower Merion Police headquarters, directly across the Main Line from the dumpster where Will Burns and Susie Lopper’s bodies had been found. The small space was occupied by freestanding tables and chairs, a few of which were populated by patrol officers.

  “Hold on, I think he’s here,” said the tired voice on the line.

  Zeke waited long enough to think he’d been forgotten, and the he heard, “Harrison here.”

  “Detective, this is Zeke Traynor. We met at Oscar Larosa’s house.”

  “Right. The parallel investigation. What are you finding?”

  “Well, I think we’ve accounted for Carrie McCarthy,” Zeke said.

  “Did she come home?”

  “No, she’s on her way to California,” said Zeke.

  “Isn’t she, like fourteen?” asked Harrison.

  “She is. She’s on the road with her boyfriend,” said Zeke.

  “How old’s the boy? Old enough to drive?”

  “He’s eighteen now,” said Zeke.

  “Oh, he’s in big trouble, then,” said Harrison. “The parents will kill him. They’ll call it kidnapping, crossing state lines with a minor, statutory rape...”

  “Probably,” said Zeke. “How’s the murder investigation going?”

  “Honestly?” said Harrison, “I don’t have much. I have the M.E. reports and the ballistics and crime scene photos, but nothing seems to be breaking.”

  “You have a couple minutes to talk about it?” asked Zeke.

  “Yeah, sure,” said Harrison. “Come on down and we’ll talk.”

  “I’ll be there in five,” said Zeke. “Let ‘em know out front that I’m coming.”

  * * *

  It actually took Zeke four minutes to walk from the table in the donut shop to the chair in front of Harrison’s desk. It would have taken less time, but he had to stop and ask the desk Sergeant for directions.

  “So this one runs away, too, but she doesn’t end up dead in the dumpster,” he said, as Zeke sat down across from him.

  “Heading to Cali,” said Zeke. “They’d talked about L.A., according to Susie’s dad.”

  “How would he know?”

  “The girls were close, Susie and Carrie. He said they wanted to vacation there together,” said Zeke.

  “Yeah.” Harrison made a note. “So both couples, these fourteen-year-olds and their adult boyfriends,” he stressed ‘adult,’ “wanted to go on a road trip. And the first couple gets killed before they could get outta town.”

  “Both shot in the heart.”

  “Said they had a plan to fund the trip, too. Maybe that didn’t work out for them,” said Harrison. He looked at Zeke and waited.

  “You said the M.E.’s report was in. Did it show anything we missed?”

  “No. Confirmed the time of death. Between 2 and 4 AM.”

  “How about the wire used to tie their hands?” asked Zeke.

  “Standard wire hangers, like from any dry cleaner,” said Harrison.

  “Ballistics?”

  Harrison sat still, looking at Zeke as if he’d asked a question and was waiting for his response. He stared at Zeke with no discomfort, unblinking for a long time, as if he were deciding how much to share.

  “They were .22 rimfire shells, both from the same gun, lands and grooves matches,
you know.”

  I knew that, thought Zeke. “Any idea what type of gun?” he asked.

  “No way to tell,” said the detective.

  “What about friends and family? Any jealousy or animosity? Gotta consider love or money, right?”

  “Sure,” said Harrison. “But probably money. Could have been blackmailing somebody, and maybe it turned out that they weren’t as smart as they thought.”

  They sat quietly for a moment.

  “Will’s mother was killed in a home invasion,” said Zeke. “A year ago. Seems like quite a coincidence...”

  Harrison looked at him, eyebrows raised again, as if he’d asked a question.

  “In Conshohocken,” said Zeke.

  “Yeah, I heard something about that.”

  “Was she shot?” asked Zeke.

  “I don’t know. Not our jurisdiction.”

  Zeke waited.

  “I can request a copy of the file from the Conshohocken police.” He paused. “Unusual to have two family members killed like that.”

  “How did the bodies get in the dumpster? They weren’t shot there, right?” asked Zeke.

  “Had to be lifted in by someone,” said Harrison. “It looks as if the killings took place somewhere else, and the bodies were transported to Suburban Square.”

  “In a car?”

  “We don’t know, but probably the trunk of a car or a truck.”

  “Susie was small, right? Fourteen? What did she weigh?” asked Zeke.

  Harrison picked up a file folder and looked at it. “She was small for her age. Coroner says she weighed 91 pounds.”

  “How about Will?”

  “He was a little bit bigger. They weighed him in at 165,” said the detective.

  “Unlikely that one person could heft Will’s dead body up into the dumpster easily,” said Zeke. Could be done, but it would have to be a fairly tall, strong guy, and he’d likely get blood or body fluid on himself. Much easier with two working together,” said Zeke.

  “That’s what we think, two people.”

  “Which changes the complexion of the killings. They were most likely an organized effort, more than one killer,” said Zeke. “What else?”

  “The bodies were partially wrapped in plastic wrap. You know, that clear stuff painters use to cover floors.”

  “Makes sense. It would spare the vehicle,” said Zeke.

  Detective Harrison said nothing, just stared at Zeke, waiting.

  “OK,” said Zeke, “we think the other kids, Carrie and Seth, just took off, maybe to escape the situation or to get away from their parents. I’d guess that they’re on the road west right now.”

  “To Southern California, you said?”

  “Good possibility,” said Zeke. “Seth’s sisters feel like that’s where they’re heading, and they’re driving Seth’s car.”

  “Make and model?” asked Harrison.

  Zeke told him and gave him the tag number from memory.

  “I’ll put something out on the California angle, but you know that’ll be a long shot. We don’t really have a destination or a route they’re taking.”

  “I know,” said Zeke.

  * * *

  “How did it go with Detective Harrison?” asked Kimmy.

  “They don’t seem to have made much progress on the murders,” said Zeke. “I shared a few thoughts with him.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s putting a general ‘Be On the Lookout’ for Seth and Carrie, well, on the car, technically. But that’s a long shot. And he’s requesting the file on Will’s Mom’s murder last year. He called the Conshohocken police and asked for a copy while I was sitting there,” said Zeke.

  “Anything new factually?” she asked.

  “No, pretty much the same information that Clive shared with us. The gun was a .22 rimfire, one bullet in the heart. Shot from over five feet away, then the bodies were somehow transported to the dumpster in the middle of the night.”

  “What’s your feeling about Will’s mother? Was she killed in a home invasion?” asked Kimmy.

  “That’s what we were told. I heard that from Oscar first, then from Chet Burns when we visited with him. But we didn’t get many details. The crime was never solved,” said Zeke.

  “Maybe we should drive up to Conshohocken and chat with the police up there. It’s only ten minutes from here, across the river.”

  “Sure. Let’s ask Sally to let them know we’re coming,” Zeke said.

  Chapter 27

  “How can we help you?” asked the detective. He was a large man with big, proportionate features that made him look like a giant.

  “We’re here to talk about Monica Burns death last year,” said Zeke. He introduced himself and Kimmy.

  The cop said, “I’m Jack Featherman, Conshohocken Police. I caught that case.”

  “That’s what we heard,” said Zeke. “Appreciate you chatting with us. We’re researching a parallel situation, and you may be able to shed some light on it.”

  “Does this have to do with the double homicide in Ardmore?” asked Featherman.

  “Yep. How did you know?” asked Kimmy with a disarming smile.

  “Are you kidding?” asked Featherman. “They haven’t had a murder there since, what, 2006, and all of a sudden we’ve got people tripping over themselves investigating. And reporters everywhere. I haven’t seen so much interest in this area since Obama visited a year and a half ago.”

  “Bet you’re looking forward to the Democratic National Convention next month, then,” said Zeke.

  Featherman rolled his eyes. “You don’t even want to know,” he groaned.

  “We’ve been hired to investigate the motivations for the killings in Ardmore,” said Zeke.

  “Who’s your client?”

  “The girl’s family,” said Zeke. “They want to know what happened, why she was executed.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Featherman. “And then they can go after the killer, right?”

  “Don’t know about that,” said Zeke. “But I don’t think so. Her dad’s pretty sick, he’s dying of cancer. Her uncle is a paraplegic who lost his legs in the military. Not exactly a hit squad.”

  “Yeah,” said the cop neutrally.

  “But the more we talk with people, the more Monica Burns’ death seems to come up. Can you tell us how it went down?” asked Zeke.

  “Sure, mainly because my Chief told me to help you out,” said Featherman. “So I don’t mind. We’re paid by the hour here.”

  “Well, tell us what happened,” said Zeke.

  Featherman’s black hair was cut too short on the top of his head, and shaved on the sides. With his hard features, it gave him the look of an eastern European thug. He looks like he’s from Croatia or Serbia, thought Zeke. His face was pock-marked.

  “Well, it was pretty straightforward, actually. There was a robbery at the Burns’ house. The husband was at work, and the wife was shopping. Their son and daughter were in school. It looked to us like the robbers were in the house when the wife came home.”

  “That’s quite an escalation, from robbery to murder,” said Zeke. “Unusual.”

  “Yeah, we thought so. But it fit with the evidence. According to the husband, there was missing jewelry, and some cash was gone. A handgun they kept in the closet was also taken.”

  “How did she die?” asked Kimmy.

  “She was shot in the chest,” said Featherman.

  “With the Burns’ gun?” asked Zeke.

  “No, another gun. Smaller caliber,” said the detective. “Their gun was a 9mm— a Glock, I think he said. The husband,” he added.

  “I’ve seen their home,” said Zeke. “It doesn’t look like a great target for a robbery. It’s small and old and in a working class neighborhood.”

  “Right, I know,” said Featherman. “They didn’t look like they had much money.”

  “So how was the body found?” Zeke asked.

  He looked at his notes for a moment. “At around 3:
45, when the boy Will came home from school, he found her dead on the bedroom floor. Rough day for the kid.”

  “You checked out the father, I presume?” asked Zeke, knowing the answer.

  “Sure, it’s almost always a friend or relative, right? But this guy had a good alibi. He was in a meeting with six other teachers when it happened. After lunch, from about 2:30 until about 5 in the afternoon.”

  “He still seems pretty broken up about it,” said Zeke.

  “Yeah, we saw that, too.”

  “What about before 2:30?” asked Zeke.

  Featherman shook his massive head slowly. It made his black hair move like a hairpiece. “Sh was shopping with a girlfriend until about 2:15. Clothes shopping. It took her fifteen minutes to get home.”

  “Suburban Square?” asked Kimmy.

  Featherman looked at the file. “No, discount stores. They went to Marshall’s and a couple of thrift stores in town here.”

  “So someone broke into the house in the middle of the afternoon and was robbing it when Monica Burns got home from shopping. And they shot her when she entered the house.”

  “Well, not when she entered the house. Her body was found in the bedroom, so she had to walk in the back door, through the kitchen and dining room, and down the short hallway to the master bedroom. Then she was shot.”

  “Where were the shopping bags found?” asked Zeke.

  “On the bed.”

  “And her body?”

  “On the floor, on her side. Like she fell against the bed and rolled onto the floor.”

  Chapter 28

  “It seems pretty odd to me,” said Kimmy. “Why would you go from burglary to murder? Talk about upping the stakes. And anyone in the neighborhood might have seen the killer.”

  She and Zeke were sitting in a wooden booth in a cheesesteak restaurant down the street from the Conshohocken police station. Across the street was a Presbyterian church built of stone and stained glass, looking like it was over a hundred years old.