by Jeff Siebold
“What’s their situation?” asked Clive.
“It looks as if the girl’s there by choice,” said Zeke. “And we’re not babysitters. So I’ll pass the information on to Carrie’s mom and get my focus back on the murders. I thought there might have been a connection between the murders and the kids’ disappearance, but after talking with them I don’t think so.”
“Are they safe?” asked Clive.
“It’s too complicated to tell,” said Zeke. “I’m starting to see some connections between people that we didn’t see before, but we don’t have enough information to determine exactly who’s influencing whom and in what direction.”
“Indeed,” said Clive.
“So we stay with the primary mission,” said Zeke, “which is to find the motivation behind the murders and relay our findings to George and Oscar.”
“Right, but they weren’t totally forthcoming with us, were they?” asked Clive.
“No, they weren’t. But they’ve had a lifetime of keeping secrets, of not talking too much. I don’t think they thought there was any connection between their business dealings and the murders.”
“So we’re back to Kevin McCarthy,” said Clive. “He was the last one who gave us any useful information. Where do we go from there?”
“We find Dylan Jones,” said Zeke.
* * *
Zeke stood on the porch and knocked hard on the wooden door. Then he stepped back to wait. It was raining lightly, and he could smell the damp ivy that was clinging to the green bricks and climbing toward the second floor of the old house.
“Oh, hi,” said Catrin Davies, smiling as she opened the front door. “Come on in.”
“Thanks,” said Zeke. “Summer shower,” he added, looking out at the street.
“Yes, I saw it from the library,” she said. “I was reading.”
“Makes sense, you being an English teacher,” said Zeke. “What were you reading?”
“Here Be Dragons,” said Catrin. “I’m thinking of including it in the curriculum next year.”
“The Welsh Princes Trilogy,” said Zeke.
“Very good,” said Catrin, looking back at him, delighted. She almost clapped her hands, and then she led him down a hallway and deeper into the house. The library was a small, comfortable room on the left side of the hall toward the back of the structure. He followed her inside. Except for an expansive window, the entire room was lined with floor to ceiling, hardwood bookshelves. There was a ladder attached to an upper shelf that looked as if it could roll around the room, providing access to out-of-reach books.
Her copy of Here Be Dragons was opened with the cover up on a chair. She picked it up and sat, her index finger holding her place.
“Please sit. How can I help you today, Mr. Traynor?” she asked with a smile. There’s the sparkle, thought Zeke.
“Well, a couple of things,” he said as he sat on a nearby, matching chair. “You asked to know if we found Carrie and Seth.”
“Yes?”
“We did. They’re in Los Angeles,” he said. “Both alive and well.”
“Oh,” said Catrin. “Good.”
“They went to the West Coast because Kevin McCarthy encouraged them to go,” he continued.
“Carrie’s dad? He encouraged her to go there with Seth Gordon?” she asked.
“That’s what he said. He was protecting the kids,” said Zeke.
“How do you know that?” asked Catrin, composed but tilting her head, looking doubtful.
“We arrested McCarthy for selling drugs. He’s a part of a group that’s been dealing in illegal pharmaceuticals,” said Zeke.
“Oh, my,” said Catrin.
She was wearing a tailored brown skirt that fell to a point between her knee and her ankle, and a crisp white blouse with short sleeves that buttoned above her elbows. Her shoes were practical brown pumps, and around her neck was a ‘Heart of Wales’ pendant. Matching earrings hung from her pierced ears.
The room smelled of raspberry and French vanilla.
“Yes,” said Zeke. “He was apparently running the operation, getting the drugs and distributing them. We caught him because of a rumor about his involvement – a whisper, actually. But it turned out to be true.”
“Oh!” said Catrin. “Where in L.A. are the children?”
“They were staying in a hotel when I found them,” said Zeke. “But I believe they’ve moved to an apartment near the USC campus.”
“Well, I hope they’re OK,” she said.
“There’s one other reason I stopped by,” said Zeke.
“Yes?”
“What can you tell me about your stepbrother, Dylan Jones?”
“We weren’t very close growing up,” said Catrin. She closed her book and placed it on the small table between them. “Dylan was six years older than I, and our parents didn’t marry until I was ten. By then he already had his own friends.”
“Did you have any other siblings?” Zeke asked.
“Dylan has an older brother, Luc. He was already out of the house when my dad married their mom,” she said.
“You said your parents died in an accident,” Zeke said. “When was that?”
“Several years ago. Six, to be exact.”
“You said it was caused by a drunk driver,” said Zeke.
“I did,” said Catrin.
“Where was that?”
“Near Philadelphia,” she said. “They were coming back from the airport.”
“Does Dylan live around here?” Zeke asked.
“In Overbrook,” said Catrin, “over toward the city.”
“Are you two close now?”
“Not particularly,” said Catrin. “I’m more of the academic type, I guess. Dylan is more boisterous, more outgoing. He was very popular in school.”
“Did he go to Brecknock, too?” asked Zeke.
“No, he went to public school. He was in high school when our parents married, and he didn’t want to switch to Brecknock for his senior year. So he went to Lower Merion High. Why do you ask?”
“Just interested. His name came up recently. I thought I’d ask since I was here already.”
“Well, there’s not much to tell,” said Catrin. “My dad owned a chain of dry cleaners, and over the years he bought the buildings they were in and became wealthy in real estate. My mom died of cancer when I was seven, and a few years later my dad married Dylan’s mom. They met at church, I think. Sadie was her name. She was a kind person, and she was always very nice to me.”
“What does Dylan do now?” asked Zeke.
“I’m not sure,” said Catrin. “For a while he owned a bar and restaurant called The Olive or Twist. He knows everybody and he’s good with people. I think he may still own it.”
“Did you help him name it, being an English teacher and all?”
“No, it was already named that when he bought it,” she said. “We really do run in separate circles.”
“Has he been in any trouble with the police?” Zeke asked.
“He was,” said Catrin. “He spent a year in jail for robbery. But it was when he was twenty, many years ago.”
She’s relaxed and calm, thought Zeke. Comfortable with these questions. Giving me honest answers.
“The reason I’m asking is that Kevin McCarthy brought Dylan up in conversation,” said Zeke.
“In conversation?” asked Catrin.
“Well, during the interrogation,” he said.
“Oh,” She said.
“As his source for the drugs,” said Zeke.
“Oh,” said Catrin again, taken aback. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“I do,” said Zeke.
“Well, I wouldn’t have expected that,” said Catrin. “That surprises me.”
Chapter 44
“I don’t care about that,” said the killer. “I think I need to tie up the loose ends.”
The businessman was silent for a moment on the other end of the line. “But they’re all the
way in California,” he said. “They can’t hurt us.”
“I’m sure they know too much,” said the killer. “They probably talked with the Burns kid. They were close.”
“Who was close?” he said.
“Will Burns and Seth Gordon. They were always hanging around together and with the High School girls.”
“Yeah, but with the Burns boy’s death, surely they got that message. That’s why they’re three thousand miles away.”
“Maybe. But Will Burns threatened to expose us if I didn’t give him money to travel. Lots of money.”
“I know. But really, the kids are gone. They don’t have any reason to cause trouble,” he said.
“If they do, or if they show up here, we’ll deal with them. Just like the others.”
* * *
“I’m thinking there’s another way to go at this,” Zeke said to Clive. They were sitting in The Queen Vic, one of Clive’s favorite pubs on H Street near downtown Washington. Zeke was sipping a black and tan from a pint glass etched with the pub’s name, while Clive tasted his Boodles Gin and Tonic. It was late afternoon and the sun outside was bright, but the inside of the pub was dark and comfortable. Two large TV screens over the bar were showing the Chelsea-Liverpool soccer match.
“All right,” said Clive, distracted. The server, a young blonde girl with pigtails, brought a plate of Devils on Horseback and set it on the table in front of Clive.
“Try some,” said Clive. “Bacon-wrapped dates with mango chutney. It’s scrummy.”
“Maybe in a minute,” said Zeke. “The quantity and availability of the prescription drugs seem like they could be a problem. It would be difficult to fill the demand that they’ve built up.” He took an appetizer from the plate.
“There are only so many places you can get that type of compound, right?” asked Clive.
“Well, most people can’t make it. The raw product is highly monitored and not readily available,” Zeke continued. “There are just a few primary sources for prescription drugs,” he said.
“Stolen?” asked Clive.
“Yes, stolen from a family member, usually. Or left over from a prior illness. Or obtained from pharmacists or physicians somehow. There’s also a percentage that come from what they call ‘doctor shopping,’ which is visiting several doctors with symptoms that might warrant prescription medicine, until you find one who will give you the drug.”
“Right,” said Clive.
“There’s a percentage that comes from personal visits overseas, usually the Caribbean or South America, when many of these drugs are legal,” said Zeke. “But none of those sources seem like a sustainable distribution channel.”
“A sustainable distribution channel...” said Clive, checking the score of the soccer match.
“But based on the volumes that Kevin McCarthy was describing, I don’t think those sources would be reliable in any extended time frame,” said Zeke.
“Where else could they have come from?” asked Clive.
“It seems like, for this quantity and regularity, it would have to come from a steady source. A warehouse or a manufacturing facility, maybe. Or a logistics operation,” said Zeke. He thought for a moment. “Or a wholesaler.”
“Lots of places to look,” said Clive.
“Yes,” said Zeke. “And although those sources are pretty carefully monitored, it’s possible that one of them could leak, given the right person in the right position.”
“Or people,” said Clive. “Very much so.”
* * *
Brandon Hart’s smart phone rang. He looked at the screen, saw the incoming caller identified, and set the phone on the kitchen counter, face down.
“Sorry,” he said to Angela. She was standing across the counter from him, beginning their dinner preparations. On the counter between them were green and red peppers, two tomatoes, a basket of freshly made linguini, and a jar of Newman’s Own spaghetti sauce. There was also a cutting board with a large kitchen knife lying on top.
“Who was it?” she asked.
“Coffey,” said Brandon. “Probably wants to get together and play golf or something.”
Angela smiled a quick little smile. “Maybe,” she said.
“Not long before the season starts, you know,” said Brandon. “Gotta get some golf in before then.”
“Sure. You should call him back and set something up,” she said.
* * *
“Sorry, man, I was in the kitchen with Angela when you called,” said Brandon. “What’s up?”
“I got the word from those Vegas guys,” said Coffey. “We need to get together.”
Bruce Coffey was 6’ 7” and 255 pounds of muscle. He played tight end for the Redskins. He had fierce eyes and a thuggish attitude, like someone just out of jail and not worried about going back.
“Golf tomorrow morning?” asked Brandon.
“Yeah, sure,” said Coffey. “Where do you want to play?”
“I’ll get us a tee time at River Bend,” said Hart. “I’ll text you the time.” River Bend Country Club was Great Falls’ nicest private membership club.
“Good, we need to talk. Just you and me.” Coffey ended the connection.
* * *
“You know, it bothers me that someone made the effort to gain access to the Harts’ property and then never entered the house,” said Zeke.
“True,” said Clive. “Seems like if you got that far you’d want to go inside. Even if just to prove that you could do whatever you chose to do.”
“I’m also wondering how someone got close enough to Zoe to break her neck.”
Clive thought for a moment. “She was a trained attack dog, right?”
“Brandon said that she was trained, yes. As a police dog. They bought her for security,” said Zeke. “But security from what? They live in a secure home in one of the safest places in the country.”
“Did they have a bad experience? Did something happen to Angela that makes them afraid?”
“It could be something in her past. It could be something they’re protecting themselves from,” said Zeke. “A threat that’s known to the Harts, but not to us.”
He paused and thought for a moment.
“They acted oddly when we talked about investigating the motive of the attack,” he said. “Like they wanted protection for Angela, but were surprised that we’d try to get to the bottom of it all.”
“So it’s possible that they’re involved somehow,” said Clive.
“If it’s a part of a larger situation. The phone call and the dead dog are like pieces to a bigger puzzle. We may only be seeing a small part. Maybe just the part that impacts Angela,” said Zeke.
“If that’s true, it would mean that Brandon has knowledge of a larger scheme. Or they both do,” said Clive.
They were sitting at a small table at the Elephant and Castle, a British-themed pub and restaurant in downtown Washington, DC, not far from The Agency’s offices. From his seat, Zeke could see the front entrance to the building. Clive was casually positioned where he could watch the rear and service area. The server had brought them each a black and tan, and they were sharing a plate of hummus and naan.
Clive tore a piece of the flatbread and dipped it in the hummus.
“So in the universe of professional American football, can we narrow down the source of likely threats?” asked Clive, when he’d finished chewing.
“Well, unless it’s personal, like a family situation, there are drugs, lots of money and sex floating around, prostitution and adultery. Also gambling is a big consideration. You’re looking at a well-oiled machine. The NFL grossed over seven billion dollars last year, and that kind of money opens a lot of doors in a lot of areas,” said Zeke.
“But as usual, love or money likely figures into it. They’re the underlying motives for a lot of things like this.”
“So...?” said Clive.
“If it is about love, I’d lean toward jealousy or revenge,” said Zeke.
�
�Hmm,” said Clive, thinking.
“So, knowing what we know, I’d probably narrow the motivation for Angela’s threats down to money somehow. Or something to do with an angry partner or a jilted lover. His or hers.”
“That’s all sixes and sevens,” said Clive.
A messy situation, thought Zeke. “It often is,” he said.
Chapter 45
“Here, sit on this chair,” the girl said.
“What for?”
“I want to sit on your lap, you know, facing you,” she said. She was naked, now, except for her socks, and she was obviously high from the pills Seth had given her.
He sat down.
“No, you need to take your jeans off first, silly.”
Seth stood and unzipped his pants. Then he sat again. She climbed right up in his lap.
“I knew I wanted to be with you from the first time I saw you,” she whispered in his ear. Then she licked it lightly and laughed. “I’m so ready!”
She arranged herself, settled a bit, and then moaned in his ear.
Go with it, he thought. He could feel the Molly he’d taken kicking in. Everything felt mellow and nice.
“Damn, you’re good, Lizzy,” he said. “I’m glad I came by.”
“I’m glad, too,” she said.
* * *
“Where were you?” asked Carrie.
“Went out to score some more oxy,” said Seth. “I told you that.”
Carrie pouted. “You’re always going over to see that girl, Lizzy,” she said.
“No, I went to see Jack to get some more magic pills to sell,” said Seth, looking away and trying to sound indifferent. “We need the money.”
As yet, a week into their new California residency, Carrie had not been able to find a job. Most of the places she applied required that she be sixteen years old. The shadier establishments weren’t hiring. Illegal immigrants had taken all of those jobs.
“Why didn’t you apply anywhere today?” asked Seth, thinking that he’d like to get her out of the apartment for a while.