by Jeff Siebold
Clive and Sally were sitting around the low coffee table, listening.
“Straw man means a person in a position of power, but without substance or authority. Kevin’s not calling the shots,” said Zeke. “He’s sort of a human cut-out.”
“Did you talk with him?”
“I did,” said Zeke.
“Well, tell us,” said Sally, a bit breathless and seemingly excited.
Marilyn Monroe, thought Zeke. He said, “Kevin supposedly set up the distribution channel in Little Italy; he moved in on Larosa’s operation when George got sick several years ago. His name and fingerprints were all over it. Everyone Oscar talked with either heard it was Kevin, or saw Kevin as somehow personally involved. There didn’t seem to be much of a question.”
“But...?” said Clive.
“George said that Kevin didn’t have the juice to pull it off, so he figured Kevin had to be working for someone else. This was way above his pay grade,” said Zeke.
“What did Kevin say?”
“Well, we went round and round at first,” said Zeke. “But eventually, he saw the wisdom of filling me in.”
“He did?” asked Clive. “Subtle leverage. You can be pretty convincing.”
“So what came out of that?” asked Sally.
“Well, Kevin said he’d been approached several years ago to act as a figurehead and direct the distribution of the prescription drugs. They were being stolen from a drug manufacturer through somebody’s brother who worked there. It’s called ‘Prescription Drug Diversion,’ and it’s a big deal.”
“So Kevin and a handful of his people received the drugs and saw to it that the UPS boxes full of the pills were shipped to the distributors, and that the money found its way back up the chain via PayPal,” said Zeke.
“He did this on his own?” asked Clive.
“No, he said his contact within the organization was a guy by the name of Dylan Jones. Since Jones was his only contact, he assumed Jones was the real boss. Kevin needed the extra money, and said it was an easy buck. He ran it from the office and sometimes when his wife thought he was out playing baseball. In fact, they actually used sports venues as places to meet with his people, and for the distribution. Then they’d prepare the UPS packages to get the drugs out to the street level distributors.”
Sally nodded and made a note. “We’ll run down what we can find about Dylan Jones.”
“Once Kevin got involved, he said he began to realize that this thing was a lot bigger than he thought. They were moving hundreds of thousands of dollars a month through the organization. They were very serious, and it quickly became a well-oiled machine,” Zeke said. “But after the cops busted the college kids last year, Kevin said he got scared. He tried to quit, but they threatened to kill his daughter.”
“Carrie,” said Kimmy.
“Right. So he planted the seed about Southern California. One of the college boys’ families had moved to L.A. and disappeared off the grid. When Kevin saw how the organization responded to that, he realized it was a possible escape route. At least to keep Carrie safe.”
“What about Beth, his wife?” asked Clive.
“He didn’t seem as concerned about her,” said Zeke.
“Hmm,” said Clive. “I suppose we need to find this Dylan Jones, then.”
“I think we should,” said Zeke.
* * *
Kimmy hung up after the briefing, and Sally left to research Dylan Jones. Clive Greene moved to his stand-up desk, and was looking through a file, and Zeke sat nearby in a comfortable chair.
“How did it go with the Harts?” asked Clive, not looking up.
“Pretty well,” said Zeke. “The Harts are shaken up, but I think we can get to the bottom of it...the phone call and the dog.”
“And protect Mrs. Hart?” Clive asked.
“Sure,” said Zeke absently.
Clive was dressed casually, wearing gabardine slacks and a light wool sweater under a Saxony Tweed shooting jacket. There was a large leather panel, supposedly to help protect from the shotgun recoil, sewn to the right front shoulder. He took his glasses off and looked at Zeke.
“I know that look,” said Clive. “Let’s have it.”
“OK. The Harts seem like nice people. They have a nice home and they’re polite and probably even kind. But we all put the best of ourselves out in front. We want people to see us as we want to be seen, not necessarily as we actually are.”
“Sure, everyone does that,” said Clive.
“So lets look at the facts alone. Strip it all down.”
“OK,” said Clive, standing at his desk, glasses folded in his hand.
“No one heard the phone call except Angela Hart.”
“That’s true,” said Clive. “It would be unusual otherwise.”
“I agree.”
“But?” said Clive.
“It was a very odd call. What would be the point of it? To scare her? The content was very vague. ‘We can have you any time we want.’ Odd,” said Zeke.
“Why bother with that call at all, then?”
“But the dead dog is something else,” said Zeke. “Other people were involved, and the dog is now gone. It was a real event.”
“You’re questioning the motivation of that event? Thinking there’s something else going on here?” asked Clive.
“I am,” said Zeke. “I’m thinking that the Harts haven’t been completely honest with us about what happened.”
“How so?” asked Clive.
“In this case, it seems more like omission than direct lying. Things were missing when we interviewed them,” said Zeke.
“Like what?” asked Clive.
“Well, for example, when someone evil invades a woman’s private space, her home, most women feel violated. Sort of like a rape. They realize that they were powerless to stop the intruder, and they’re left with a feeling of...well, being vulnerable.”
“OK,” said Clive.
“But I didn’t get that from Angela Hart. She told me that she’s been mad about the intruder. Angry. Not feeling violated or vulnerable, not what I’d expect.”
“Hmm,” said Clive. “Anything else?”
“She didn’t ask the right questions,” said Zeke. “She never asked ‘Who would do this?’, and she never asked ‘Why? What do they want?’. I’d expect both from someone in her position.”
* * *
“UMass did a study where they found that 60% of the people lied in a short, 10-minute conversation,” said Zeke. “They averaged two or three lies each.”
“They did?” asked Clive. “I wonder why.”
“Interestingly, mostly women lied to make the person they were talking to feel better. Know why men lied?”
“I think you’re about to tell me,” said Clive.
“Mostly to make themselves look better,” said Zeke.
“Hmm. Do you think it’s Angela who’s changing the truth?” asked Clive.
“Or both of them,” said Zeke.
“So there may or may not have been a phone call,” said Clive.
“I think there was a call,” said Zeke. “And the Caller ID said ‘Out of Area,’ just like Angela said. That should be recorded in their phone log.”
“Right,” said Clive.
“But what actually happened on that call might be something different from what we were told.”
“Possibly,” said Zeke. “My next stop is to talk with team security at the stadium. I’ll check in with you later.”
* * *
“4273,” Sally answered by repeating the number Zeke had dialed, the last digits reversed.
“Hello, Thelma, I need your help with something.”
“Sure, can do,” said Sally. Zeke was calling from an unsecured line while driving to Redskin’s Stadium, FedExField, and therefore security measures were being applied.
“I’d like a credit check on Brandon and Angela Hart.”
A ‘credit check’ was their shorthand for a background check,
police records check, military history, employment history, school transcripts and several other things, including a credit check.
“They’re the clients,” said Sally.
“Yep,” said Zeke.
“OK, will do.” Then, in a wispy voice, Sally said, “Are you still seeing that brunette from Atlanta?”
“I am,” said Zeke. “Tracy Johnson.” He knew that Sally remembered her name. Her IQ was through the roof.
“Long distance relationship,” said Sally. “Those are tough.”
“Yep,” said Zeke. “Sometimes it is.”
“Most of them don’t last.”
“You’re right,” said Zeke.
“Well, I hope you’re enjoying it.”
“So far,” said Zeke, smiling to himself.
Chapter 40
“I’m Joe Jacobs,” said the man. “I’m in charge of team security.”
He was a large man, maybe 240 pounds and six foot five, Zeke estimated.
Joe Jacobs stood with Zeke in the home team’s locker room in the Redskins’ stadium. He wore a yellow windbreaker with “Security” printed on the back in capital letters. He had a walkie-talkie on his belt that fed an earpiece in his left ear.
Zeke had called the team’s management and received clearance to meet with Jacobs about the threats to the Harts.
“You know why I’m here,” said Zeke. “Brandon Hart and his wife received a phone threat, and then their dog was killed.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. That was bad. The dog didn’t do anything to anybody,” said Joe. His voice was a deep growl, an “Old Man River” kind of voice.
“You’d met the dog?”
“Yeah, sometimes Brandon would bring it with him when he came by. Not for practice, but for team meetings, or watching film and stuff. Dog was well behaved,” said Jacobs. He shook his head.
“Was there anything going on here, anything odd that may have been related to the Harts’ situation?”
Joe shook his head. “No, nothing out of the ordinary,” he said. “It’s the off season, so things are slower around here. There’s no game every week to get ready for. And the team isn’t traveling, so there’s more time for preparation and strength training.”
“Did Brandon tell you about the threat?”
“Yeah, we need to know what’s going on. This is a big investment we’re protecting, so whatever happens, on or off the field, the players are supposed to let us know.”
“What did you do about the situation?” asked Zeke.
“We opened a file and recorded the information. Passed a copy to the G.M.’s office and alerted my guys to watch out for anything odd, anything strange,” he said.
“And after that?”
“No, there was nothing else,” said Joe.
“Anything I need to know about Brandon?” asked Zeke. “Any problems or incidents?”
“No, not really,” said Joe, casually, looking around the locker room.
Now he’s hiding something, thought Zeke. “Temper?”
“Well, yeah, a lot of the players have tempers, though. That’s sort of normal for this business,” said Joe. “I’ve been around for seven years, seen a lot.”
“Did you play?” asked Zeke.
“Well, yeah, I was a walk on, but I got cut before the season started. Then got a job in security and worked my way up.”
“Tell me about Brandon’s temper,” said Zeke.
“Well, I shouldn’t have said that,” said Joe. “He’s alright.”
“But?”
“Well, you know, we’ve got a lot of egos hitting up against each other, here. Lot of pride.”
“Team pride?” probed Zeke.
“Um, yeah, but more individual pride. Testosterone, you know?”
“Did Brandon ever get violent? Any incidents we should know about?” asked Zeke.
“No, not really.” Joe was looking around the room again, acting vague.
“Who are his friends?” asked Zeke. “On the team.”
“Well, he’s a running back, so he hangs with the offensive line quite a bit. You know, out to dinner once a week in season, all you can eat on Brandon.”
“Any close friends?” asked Zeke.
“Sure, a couple. Brandon’s probably closest to a defensive guy.”
“Who’s that?” asked Zeke.
“Guy named Coffey. Bruce Coffey. They hang together,” Joe said.
* * *
“The team security guy was holding something back,” said Zeke. “He got vague and started looking at the exit when I asked about any other incidents with Brandon.”
Kimmy nodded. She was sitting across from him in Kathy’s Café, a small coffee shop off the Georgetown Pike, not far from the Harts’ home in Great Falls. Zeke had come directly from his visit with Joe Jacobs at FedExField.
“I’m relieving Carla at the Harts’ in thirty minutes,” said Kimmy, looking at her watch.
“OK, good,” said Zeke. “How’re things going there?”
“Very quiet. No sign of any trouble at all.”
“Do you have any more information about Zoe? The dog’s neck was broken,” said Zeke.
“Yes, but Angela doesn’t like to talk about that,” said Kimmy.
“I guess the dog was like a member of the family, then,” said Zeke.
“Well, they don’t have any kids, it’s just Brandon and Angela. So yeah, the dog was family, from what I can see.”
“Think about it, though,” said Zeke. “How hard would it be to break a German Shepherd’s neck? How would you do it?”
“That dog was, what, between sixty-five and ninety pounds, right?”
“Yes, but they’re very quick, and intelligent,” said Zeke.
“So you’d do it from a distance.”
“Either with a catch pole or a net, if you didn’t want to get bitten,” said Zeke.
“A catch pole...that’s a long pole with a rope on one end, right? You loop the rope around the dog’s neck, and you can keep him at a distance?” asked Kimmy.
“Right. But once you caught him, you still would need to get close to break his neck. And you’d be risking some serious scratches or bites,” said Zeke. “Unless you were wearing heavy gloves and heavy clothing.”
“That’s true,” said Kimmy.
“I can’t imagine someone walking around Great Falls with a catch pole, a protective jacket and heavy work gloves. Seems like they’d stand out,” said Zeke.
“They would,” said Kimmy, thinking.
“And there’s the question about access to the back yard,” said Zeke.
“Not an easy thing, either,” said Kimmy.
“So what’s an alternative?” asked Zeke.
“Well, someone could have shot the dog with a tranquilizer dart, then killed it.”
“Or thrown it some meat with drugs in it to put it to sleep,” added Zeke.
“Yeah, that would avoid the need for the catch pole and gloves,” said Kimmy.
“Right,” said Zeke. “We can check for tranquilizers, but it typically takes thirty to forty minutes for a tranquilizer to take effect. Seems like a long time to wait around.”
He thought. “Another option?”
“Yes,” said Kimmy. “It could have been someone the dog knew. Someone he recognized.”
* * *
“Angela, I have a couple more questions about the incident with your dog, Zoe,” said Zeke.
Angela said nothing, but Zeke could see her eyes begin to tear up. She nodded slightly.
“Was there any evidence that the dog ate anything or was fed before she died? Did the Animal Control officer say anything to you?”
“No,” said Angela.
“Was there a necropsy done on her?” asked Zeke.
Angela looked at him, still teary. “No, they said that the cause of death was a broken neck. They weren’t looking for anything else.”
Zeke nodded. “Any sign of food around the body? Any meat or dog treats?”
&nb
sp; Angela shook her head. “No...”
“Any vomit?”
“No,” she said.
“Do you have information about the Animal Control officer? A name and phone number?” asked Zeke.
“I do. It’s in here.” Angela turned toward the kitchen. Zeke followed her.
Angela opened a drawer, riffled through it for a moment and took out a business card. She turned back to Zeke and said, “Here it is. Jonathan West was his name. He seemed like a nice man.” She handed Zeke the card.
“Thanks,” said Zeke. He looked at the card and handed it back to Angela.
“Do you want to take it?” she asked.
“No need,” he said.
Chapter 41
“Jon West here,” said a low, gravelly voice. There was some distant barking in the background. It sounded like a kennel, Zeke thought.
“Jon, it’s Zeke Traynor calling,” he said. “I’m investigating the death of the German Shepherd, Zoe, at the Harts’ home last week.”
“Yeah, the football player. That was a shame,” said West. “Who are you with? The cops?”
Zeke told him.
“Yeah, sure,” said West. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what you found when you got to the house,” said Zeke.
“Well, the dog was out back, near one of the sliding glass doors by the entertainment area. It was dead. Its neck was broken. Wait, let me grab the file,” said Jon West.
A few moments later, he was back on the line. “Yeah, I took some pictures before we moved her. SOP, in case there was animal abuse or something.”
Standard operating procedure, thought Zeke.
“What did she weigh?” asked Zeke.
“Says here, eighty pounds,” said Jon.
“Was there any sign of poisoning?” asked Zeke. “Vomit or unfinished food that could have contained something deadly?”
“Dog died of a broken neck,” repeated the Animal Control Officer.
“I’m sure,” said Zeke, engagingly. “I was curious about how someone got close enough to do that to an eighty-pound dog.”
“Hmm. Good point. I didn’t see any sign of anything like that, though. I’m looking at the pictures I took, and, no, I don’t see any food or vomit around the dog.”