Ardmore Green

by Jeff Siebold

  There was an urgent knock on the apartment door.

  “Great!” said Lizzy.

  She and Seth were lying on the open sleeper couch and smoking cigarettes. They were naked, but partially covered by the top sheet. The window air conditioner was cooling the room but made it hard to hear the television. The screen showed a courtroom and a TV judge extracting some form of misdemeanor justice.

  “Just ignore it,” said Seth, exhaling a billow of smoke.

  “Yeah,” said Lizzy. “OK.”

  The knock came a second time, but louder and more insistent.

  “I know you’re in there, Seth,” Carrie shouted. “Open this door!”

  “I’ll go out the back door,” said Seth, jumping up and pulling on his jeans.

  Lizzy grabbed her clothes to get dressed, too. “Just a minute,” she called. “Just a minute.”

  “You’d better open this door, bitch, or I’m calling the cops,” yelled Carrie.

  “You woke me up,” yelled Lizzy. “I’m getting dressed. I’ll open it in a minute.”

  “Where’s Seth?” asked Carrie. “I saw him go in your apartment.”

  “He left,” said Lizzy, pulling on a loose t-shirt. When she heard the kitchen door close behind Seth, she walked to the front door barefooted and said, “I’m not opening this door, Carrie. You’re crazy!”

  * * *

  “I need to come home,” said Carrie, again, crying into her iPhone.

  “I know, dear, I know,” said Beth McCarthy.

  “Can you send me a plane ticket, Mom?” she asked.

  “Yes, right away, honey,” said Beth, “I’m just glad you’re OK. Tell me again where you are, and I’ll arrange for your flight.”

  * * *

  “We have to do this in the right order,” said Zeke. He was talking with Kimmy again, sitting at an outside table at Katy’s Café and listening to the birds argue in the background about who got to sit on the highest limb. “We’ve got the right leverage, but we’ll need to apply it carefully.”

  “OK,” she said. Kimmy was standing beside the table and looking at her smartphone while tapping something into it occasionally, then leaning down to sip her chai tea. “Where to first, boss?” she asked.

  Everyone has secrets, thought Zeke. Some shared, some private.

  “Where’s Brandon right now?” he asked.

  “He’s home. Angela and Carla Simmons went grocery shopping. Carla’s pretty tired of the domestic duty, by the way,” said Kimmy.

  “It’ll be over soon,” said Zeke. He used his smartphone to call Brandon, spoke for less than a minute, and hung up.

  “Let’s visit Mr. Hart,” he said.

  * * *

  They pulled up to the gate and Zeke punched in the access code of the day. The gate swung open, admitting them, then slowly swung shut behind them. They parked under the porte-cochere, exited the car and rang the front doorbell. Nothing happened for twenty seconds, and then the door was silently pulled open by Brandon Hart. He paused for a moment, then said rather formally, “Come in.”

  They walked through the house to the kitchen where Brandon had been assembling a sandwich. Bruce Coffey, who was sitting at the island across from the cutting board, said nothing.

  “One thing about being big is that you’re always hungry,” said Brandon, with a nod toward the sandwich. He seemed preoccupied, aloof.

  “No, thanks, none for me,” said Kimmy.

  Brandon looked at her, and then went back to work, assembling. “Have you found out anything yet?” he asked.

  “We have,” said Zeke. “In fact, we know exactly what’s happening to cause all this trouble.”

  “What’s that?” asked Brandon with a small sneer. He didn’t look up from his work.

  “First, remember that we’re associated with the FBI, the Fed’s,” said Zeke, looking at both men.

  “Yeah, I know. So what?” asked Brandon, glancing up for a moment to read Zeke’s face.

  Zeke gave him a neutral stare.

  “So, point shaving is illegal, Brandon,” he continued. “It’s a federal crime because it’s interstate in nature, with Vegas gambling legal for the NFL games. Wire fraud and all that. And you’re both involved.”

  “What are you talking about, man?” asked Brandon.

  At the same time, Coffey said, “No way! You’re crazy!”

  “No, I’m not. I spoke with your ex-wife, Bruce,” said Zeke. “She’s pretty upset with you. When she heard I was a consultant with the Feds, she couldn’t wait to tell me all about the scheme.”

  “That bitch,” said Coffey. He stood up.

  “No need to get aggressive,” said Kimmy, defusing the situation a bit. “You haven’t done much that’s illegal yet, right?”

  Coffey assessed the situation and sat back down. “No, we haven’t,” he said, shaking his head.

  “So we could just agree that you’re not going to shave points anymore, and you’re not going to take payoffs from professional gamblers. Then all this might go away,” said Zeke.

  “How did you know to talk with Melody?” asked Brandon.

  “I just looked at your lifestyles and your football contracts. It was pretty easy to figure out that you both were living way above your means,” said Zeke. “And Bruce, a divorce would drain you further. So I talked with people, and this popped up.”

  The big men looked at each other, sullen and serious.

  “You can be sure that the IRS and the FBI will be watching your bank accounts and your professional performance. Any sign of point shaving or unexplained income, and they’ll open a file on you. That in itself will make your lives miserable, with the publicity and all. But if they find something, well... That’s federal prison,” said Zeke.

  “What about the guys in Vegas?” asked Brandon.

  “Shut up,” said Coffey.

  Zeke ignored him and said to Brandon, “You’ll want to call and let them know that you’re not going to be able to help them. Tell them what happened, and that you gave the FBI their names. After that, I’m pretty sure they’ll disappear from your radar. We’ll add them to the FBI’s watch list.”

  * * *

  Bruce Coffey left the Harts’ home at the same time as Zeke and Kimmy.

  “Your wife was pretty angry about your girlfriend,” Zeke said as they walked to the front door. “She had a few choice words about you.”

  “I wasn’t cheating. I told her but she won’t believe me,” said Coffey. He looked directly at Zeke when he said it, his upper body stiff. He held Zeke’s gaze for a count too long.

  Trying to convince me, said Zeke. Too simple a telling. No details or exclusions or explanations. He’s probably lying.

  “So you guys can live with this deal?” asked Zeke. “It’s a lot better than doing time in Cumberland.” He was referring to FCI Cumberland, a medium security Federal Prison in Cumberland, Maryland, about two and a half hours northwest of Great Falls.

  “Yeah, sure,” said Coffey, but he was shaking his head slightly, a reflexive “no” motion.

  Kimmy climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. Zeke opened his car door, then paused for a moment. Over the rooftop he said, almost as an afterthought, “I know who your girlfriend was, Bruce. I’d suggest that you let it go, or this whole thing may come down on your head. Be smart about it. You don’t want Melody to find out who she was.” Then he mouthed a name at the big man, who saw it and turned away as if he’d been slapped.

  Zeke got in the driver’s seat and drove away.

  Chapter 51

  Zeke parallel parked in front of Starbucks and followed a twenty-something girl into the coffee shop. As she opened the door, he noticed that the fingernail polish on her ring finger contrasted with her other nails.

  She looked back, handing him the door, and her gaze lingered on his eyes for a moment. Then she smiled at him, as if she’d been caught doing something and felt awkward about it. He smiled back.

  The women he had arranged to mee
t had already arrived and were seated at a small table toward the rear of the shop. One of them saw him and waved, and he walked over to join her. She had a paper cup in front of her; he pulled out the chair and sat across from her. The other woman, who had been sitting quietly without a drink, got up as Zeke sat, and went to the counter.

  “Do you know?” the first woman mouthed to him when he was seated.

  Zeke nodded.

  “Are you going to tell?” she asked.

  Zeke shook his head and sighed. “Probably not.”

  “Probably not?” she asked. She was quiet, but Zeke was sure no one could hear them. Perhaps she was embarrassed.

  She was a pretty woman, with a heart-shaped face, olive skin and fine features. Her lips were a bit pouty and her nose was regal. When she held her coffee cup, her long, elegant fingers were on display.

  “I don’t see any need to say anything to your husband, as long as it’s over and you stay away from Bruce,” he said.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do! He won’t leave me alone. He acts like he owns me.”

  “He’s mad that you broke it off with him,” said Zeke.

  “Mad doesn’t begin to describe it. He’s been insane with jealousy because I ignore him. He’s crazy and calls me all kinds of names and threatens to hurt me if I don’t do what he wants. He’s totally out of control.”

  “So you hurt his feelings,” said Zeke.

  “Yes, it was a mistake to start with. I was bored, and he was hanging around a lot. My husband can be fairly arrogant, and I was feeling neglected. It was a mistake,” she repeated.

  “You’re safe now. But I’ll need you to stay away from him,” said Zeke.

  “OK, I will. But please don’t tell my husband,” she said, sadly. “It would ruin our marriage.”

  She paused and shook her head, then looked at Zeke. “He was threatening me, scaring me. He wouldn’t let it go! He called all the time. God, he killed the dog because he was so mad at me.”

  “I know, Angela, but that’s over now,” said Zeke. “We’ve taken care of it. Bruce Coffey won’t bother you again.”

  * * *

  “He killed the dog with his brute strength,” said Zeke. “Hard to believe. He got close- the dog knew him- and he got his big arm crooked around the dog’s neck, sort of backwards with the dog’s head facing behind him, and he stood up and shook the dog until something broke. Pure rage.”

  “That’s a lot of anger,” said Clive. “Takes a lot of strength to do that.”

  “Defensive Ends have a lot of strength,” said Zeke. “And quickness. But yes, there had to be an emotional component to it, like the kid who lifts the car off his mother after an accident.”

  “The dog didn’t deserve it,” said Kimmy. “That’s the shame of it. Everyone else involved was scamming someone or something, but not the dog.”

  Clive stood at his desk in his library-office. The afternoon sun was warming the room. “So will it hold together?” he asked.

  “I think so,” said Zeke. “Brandon Hart and Bruce Coffey were caught shaving points, and we have the name of their contacts in Vegas. They gave them up to avoid a federal investigation into the matter.”

  “I don’t think they want that scrutiny,” said Kimmy. “And to keep Coffey in check, Zeke threatened to tell his soon-to-be ex-wife, who he was boffing.”

  “Boffing?” asked Clive. “Really?”

  “Bob’s your father,” said Zeke to Clive, under his breath. Then louder, “Coffey is in for a tough divorce, I’m afraid. She’s a bitter woman.”

  “And Zeke talked with Angela Hart. She doesn’t want her husband to know about the affair, said it would destroy their marriage,” said Kimmy. “And her source of income, I suppose,” she added, suddenly somewhat cynical.

  “She agreed to stay away from Coffey, dismiss the protection and to call me immediately if she sees anything illegal involving Brandon,” said Zeke. “We probably can’t count on the last point, but she certainly knows that we’ll be watching.”

  “Yes, I see,” said Clive.

  “The arrangement won’t hold up forever,” said Zeke, “but I think it’ll be good for a while. At least through the Coffeys’ divorce.”

  “OK,” said Kimmy.

  “And I intend to add a few complexities to keep it interesting,” said Zeke.

  * * *

  “Jon West,” said the voice on the phone.

  “Jon, this is Zeke Traynor. You remember me? I called you about the Harts’ dog, the one that was killed?”

  “Sure, Zeke, how can I help?”

  “Well, we found the dog Zoe’s killer. Do you have a way to take action against him?” asked Zeke.

  “We refer animal cruelty to the county Sheriff,” said West. “They get a warrant and take action against the guilty party.”

  “Will they do it on your say-so?” asked Zeke.

  “They always have. Nobody much likes animal cruelty, you know,” said Jon West.

  “Well, we know who the killer is,” said Zeke. “And I’m pretty sure he took a trophy. The dog collar. Chances are he still has it in his house somewhere.”

  “Sick bastard,” said Jon West, under his breath. “That’s worth looking for. They can get a search warrant with that information.”

  “Right? So let me tell you what we know.”

  Chapter 52

  “Well, this will surprise you,” said Sally. She’d called Zeke as he was filling in Detective Harrison on his suspicions about the Ardmore murders. They were sitting in Harrison’s office again, Zeke across the desk from the detective.

  “Good,” he said. “Let me call you back.”

  “OK,” said Sally, suddenly in a small, sexy voice. “Just don’t keep me waiting...”

  “Sorry about that,” said Zeke to Harrison, when he’d disconnected from Sally.

  “So you think the killings were related to the drugs? Pharmaceuticals?” asked Harrison. He looked directly at Zeke and leaned forward, craining his neck to hear the answer.

  “I do,” said Zeke. “We may have found the motivation for all of this killing.”

  “How do you fit it together?” asked Harrison. He sat very still and looked at Zeke. His gaze was owllike.

  “We’ve got a prescription drug distribution ring working out of this area, Ardmore and Conshohocken and Wayne, and it looks like it’s very profitable. I’m guessing that the murders are related to that. The two kids, Susie Lopper and Will Burns, and also Monica Burns’ death last year up in Conshohocken.”

  Harrison gave a low whistle. “You think that the same killer who shot Monica Burns also shot Will Burns and Susie Lopper?” he asked.

  “Almost certainly,” said Zeke. “But probably for different reasons.”

  “What did Kevin McCarthy say?” he asked the detective.

  “Nothing more since you talked with him. He said that Dylan Jones was his contact for the drugs. He said they hired him as a front man, to be the public face of the distributors. But he was just small time,” said Harrison, dismissively. “We let him go after a day or two.”

  “Sure,” said Zeke.

  “How long had he been involved?” asked Harrison. Then he sat silently, looking at Zeke.

  “Several years,” said Zeke.

  “How about Chet Burns? Is he involved?” asked Detective Harrison.

  “He’s a chemistry teacher. We figure he was recruited to mix the raw product, or maybe package it in the capsules,” said Zeke.

  “What about his wife?”

  “I think that might have happened to keep him in line.”

  “And his kid?” asked Harrison.

  “Not sure yet. Maybe retribution? Maybe the kid learned something and threatened the wrong person? Maybe it was also just to keep Chet in line, but that seems pretty extreme,” said Zeke.

  “It does,” said Detective Harrison.

  * * *

  “Sally, I’m here,” said Zeke. “I called back as quickly as I could.”
>
  “Oh, good,” she said. “I like being your center of attention.”

  “You are, girl, you are,” said Zeke. “What did you find?”

  “Well, I’m still checking on current gun registrations. But I researched the local area target pistol competitions,” she said. “I went back thirty years, like you suggested.”

  She’s drawing it out a bit, thought Zeke. He said, “Good. What did you find?”

  “Well, Dylan Jones was a target pistol champion. He shot in the annual Lower Merion Target Pistol Competitions from 1986 through 1993. They hold them at the Action Indoor Range down near Philly every year. His ranking was good in the late eighties, but it got very good in the early nineties. He took the first place spots for his age group in ‘92 and ‘93.”

  “Did the school have a team?”

  “He graduated in 1989 from Lower Merion High School. They did have a target pistol team back then,” said Sally. “But when he turned twenty, he apparently stopped shooting in the competitions. His name doesn’t show up in the newspapers or on the competition’s website after 1990.”

  He was in jail, Zeke thought. “Did you check for any other names we might recognize?” asked Zeke.

  “I did. Nothing else that matches up with the people you’ve been talking with,” Sally added. “No McCarthys, Loppers, Gordons, Larosas, Burns, and nothing else for the name Jones.

  “All right, Kimmy and I will see about Dylan Jones. We’ll see what we can find out about him. He seems to be involved in this thing,” said Zeke.

  “Be careful, sweetie,” said Sally, and she hung up.

  * * *

  Dressed in black jeans, black crepe soled shoes and black nylon jackets, Zeke and Kimmy waited, hidden in a parking garage stairwell, catty-corner to and across the street from the Olive or Twist, Dylan Jones’ bar. Zeke pulled his sleeve back and checked his watch.

  Kimmy signaled Zeke with her hands, asking a question by tapping her wrist. Zeke stepped closer and showed her his lighted watch. It was eleven thirty, a half hour after closing time.