Ardmore Green

by Jeff Siebold

  “First impression? It looked like Will was a loner. In trouble from time to time, but mostly for cutting classes or talking back to teachers. Because of poor grades, he was put back a grade. And he was suspended a couple of times,” Zeke said. “That’s consistent with what I saw when I met him.”

  “Yeah, you told me about your encounter at Suburban Square,” said Kimmy.

  “He was pretty aggressive,” said Zeke. “Maybe that’s what got him killed.”

  “Susie’s attendance records were spotty, also,” said Kimmy. “Like she skipped classes a lot.”

  “We’ll check the dates, but I’m thinking Susie and Will missed a lot of school this year, probably on the same days,” said Zeke.

  Kimmy nodded.

  “What else?” asked Zeke.

  “Well, Susie’s grades were good overall, and there wasn’t any mention of any serious problems. She seemed to be a pretty good student. No warnings or behavioral problems were noted in the file. No documentation of calls or meetings with her parents either,” said Kimmy.

  “Sounds right,” said Zeke. “That’s what Oscar told me.”

  * * *

  There were four policemen in the office with Zeke and David Strong when Luc Jones walked in. He looked around the room at the three uniforms, then at Zeke and Detective Harrison, and asked, “What’s this about, Mr. Strong?”

  Luc Jones looked a lot like his brother. He had the same wide body as Dylan, with big, thick limbs and a large, fleshy face. Zeke watched his body language and thought, He’s aggressive, assertive like his brother.

  “Luc, I called you in to talk about the controlled substances you’ve been stealing,” said Strong. He was sitting behind his desk, and as he spoke the two largest officers moved behind Luc and blocked the door.

  The third policeman, Sergeant Cooper, was standing next to Detective Harrison beside Strong’s desk. He stepped up to Luc and said, “Turn around.”

  “What’re you talking about?” asked Luc in an angry voice.

  “You’re under arrest,” said Cooper. “Now turn around.”

  “What’re you doing?” asked Luc, obviously shaken. No one answered.

  Cooper cuffed Luc and Mirandized him. The two policemen stepped forward and took hold of Lucs’ shoulders. They turned him easily and escorted him out of the office.

  * * *

  “You’d better disappear,” said the killer. “And quickly.”

  “I know,” said Dylan Jones into the phone.

  “It won’t be long until he gives you up.”

  “He’s my brother,” said Dylan.

  “But he’s been arrested on Federal charges for stealing Schedule II and Schedule III drugs. That carries jail time of ten years to life, you know. He’ll roll on you.”

  “I’ll pack some things and find somewhere to stay,” Dylan said.

  “You might want to leave the country. The DEA will be after you.”

  “I could go back to Wales.”

  “No, they have extradition with the United States. Better some Caribbean island, I think.”

  “Can I get some traveling money?” Dylan asked.

  “Sure. I’ll get it together. You come by the storage unit this evening around eight and I’ll square up with you,” said the killer.

  Chapter 55

  “How did you know it was Luc Jones who was stealing controlled substances?” asked Clive. He was sitting in his DC office, talking with Zeke and Kimmy. They’d returned to Washington offices of The Agency to brief Clive on the recent events, and to drop off a copy of the kids’ school records for Sally.

  “We tracked the drugs back to Chet Burns, the father of one of the dead kids. He admitted that he had been hired by Dylan Jones to test and capsulize the substances,” said Zeke. “He’s a chemist. It sounds like Chet was scared, trying to get out of the whole thing. He’s convinced that’s why his wife was killed last year. To send a signal. To keep Chet Burns in line.”

  “And the boy?” asked Clive.

  “Chet thinks his son, Will, tried to extort some money from Dylan or someone in the organization, and it went poorly,” said Zeke.

  “And you think Susie was, what?” asked Clive.

  “I think she may have been collateral damage,” Zeke said, shaking his head.

  “So, knowing that Dylan was involved, we visited the Johnson-Matthey plant, looking for someone with ties to Dylan Jones. There had to be a good source of the drugs for them to sustain the sales for so many years. They’ve been at it, what, three or four years?” asked Kimmy.

  “Yes, at least three years,” said Zeke. “Based on what we learned from the college kids and the UPenn arrests, it was likely a while longer. Luc has been working at Johnson-Matthey for six years.”

  “What does he do there?” asked Clive.

  “Nothing now,” said Kimmy. She looked at Clive and smiled a silly smile.

  “Rather,” said Clive with a nod, “but what was his job there?”

  “He was a Quality Control Supervisor,” said Zeke. “His group tested samples of the controlled substances with FDA oversight, to be sure the product was consistent across batches.”

  “How was he getting the drugs out?” asked Clive. “The company must have controls in place to avoid substance diversion.”

  “They do,” said Zeke. “They have a system to check in and check out of the lab and manufacturing areas. And their inventory control system monitors the amount of each product in the building at all times. They double-check it against the shipments, too, to assure there’s no product lost. Or at least a very small amount.”

  “The inventory is computerized,” said Clive.

  “Yes,” said Zeke. “And therefore subject to modification by someone who can access the system. But it’s a closed network.”

  “Someone like a Supervisor?” asked Clive.

  “Well, not directly. It would be too easy to catch someone doing that. The controls they have are pretty sophisticated. But, knowing the system, Luc was able to sign in with another employee’s user information and modify the quantities.”

  “You said that it was a closed network. How did he get into their computer system? And how did he get the drugs out?” asked Clive.

  “Drone,” said Zeke.

  “This part is good,” Kimmy said.

  “Pretty clever,” said Zeke. “Luc set up a long range wireless router on one leg of the closed network to give him access. Then he used a laptop with Wifi to sign onto the Johnson-Matthey internal network and modify the inventory levels. To the system, he looked like one of the other employees, and he could make the adjustments from a distance. He’d power down the router when he wasn’t using it, so it was virtually invisible.”

  “Who’s sign-in information did he have?” asked Clive. “Must have been pretty high up.”

  “He signed in as David Strong, the head of Operations.”

  “Interesting. How much product were they lifting?” asked Clive.

  “We’re not absolutely positive, but from what we’ve pieced together it looks like a pretty substantial amount. Maybe a quarter barrel of raw material every ten days or two weeks.”

  Clive whistled a low whistle. “What’s the value of that?”

  “About $35,000 a kilogram, at street level,” said Zeke. “Quite a bit.”

  “How were they getting it out of the plant?” Clive asked.

  “The company’s internal security is set up to prevent people from stealing, that is, from walking out with even a small amount of a controlled substance, either as pills or powder. They have metal detectors, x-ray machines, guards, all the TSA stuff,” said Zeke.

  “Right,” said Clive.

  “They’ve been stealing three or four kilos at a time, a total of seven or eight pounds of opiates, every time,” said Zeke.

  “But how do you think they’re getting that much out?” asked Clive.

  Zeke smiled. “By drone,” he said. “They fly a drone up next to the building at night, f
rom the river side to avoid security cameras, and they pick up the product that’s been left there for them during the day.”

  “A small drone, less likely to be spotted, can easily handle an eight-pound load,” said Zeke. “It’s a matter of outfitting the drone with an infrared camera, painting it black to make it invisible, and remotely flying it to a prearranged spot to grab its cargo and escape unnoticed. Very clever.”

  “And then they fly it to their location, throw the whole thing in the back of their SUV, and escape, no one the wiser,” said Kimmy.

  “Brilliant,” said Clive. “And they’ve been doing this for years?”

  “We think so,” said Zeke.

  * * *

  “I’m sure it won’t be long before Luc Jones gives up his brother,” said Zeke. “He’s facing pretty serious jail time, so it’s likely that Dylan will run.”

  “Where do you think he’ll go?” asked Clive.

  “If he’s smart, it’ll be overseas. But he’ll need some things before he goes.”

  “Like what?” asked Kimmy.

  “Well, he’s probably prepared for this moment,” said Zeke. “He’s got the money we found stashed away in mini-storage. And the gun. We left them all in the boxes there. He’s probably planning to disappear, maybe to Grand Cayman or Switzerland. And he might have an escape route in place. He’ll most likely abandon the Olive or Twist, his bar. It’s not worth much compared to the drug money.”

  “You think he’d go to the Caribbean?” asked Clive.

  “Possibly,” said Zeke. “Or maybe disappear in Mexico or Europe. But he’ll want to go to his mini-storage unit first, get some money and dispose of his pistol. We need to stake it out, quick.”

  Well, let’s crack on, then,” said Clive. “I’m in with you for the ending.”

  Chapter 56

  The white Subaru turned right into the Storage Nation driveway and pulled up to the entry keypad. Dylan Jones rolled down his window and entered a four-digit code. The gate swung open slowly.

  It was quiet now, just before 7:30 PM, and dusk was setting in, encouraged by a cloudy sky. Dylan pulled his vehicle forward through the small lot and parked it in front of his storage unit in the middle aisle. The aisle was empty.

  Dylan unlocked his storage bay, lifted the door with little effort, flipped on the dim overhead light and stepped into the unit.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Zeke moved to the car. He spotted two suitcases in the rear of the hatchback. Apparently, Dylan’s plan was to head directly to the airport from here.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” said Zeke from behind Dylan’s left shoulder.

  Dylan looked over and saw Zeke. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Who are you?”

  “We’re the police,” said Clive, approaching from the other side of the doorway.

  “What?” said Dylan, snapping his head to the other side. “Are you crazy? What is this?”

  Dylan stepped forward with his hands out in front of him and faced Zeke and Clive to his right and left. Neither held a gun.

  “I don’t have a weapon,” Dylan said to Clive. He glanced at Zeke, who was standing closest, about three feet away. Then he reached back into his storage unit and pulled out a baseball bat.

  It was a long, heavy bat, well scuffed and dirty. The handle had been retaped, but one end of the tape was hanging loose. The lower portion of the bat was painted a scuffed red and blue, with the silver aluminum showing through in places. He choked up and swung it with his right hand, hitting his left palm with a loud smack.

  Zeke relaxed as Dylan stepped toward him. “I told you to stay away from me,” Dylan said, almost to himself. “Now you’ll pay.”

  Up close, Dylan Jones looked like a formidable opponent. His large limbs and barrel chest gave him the appearance of a grizzly bear, complemented by his wild white hair and his distorted look. His eyes were crazy, looking back and forth between Zeke and Clive. Then his gaze locked on Zeke, and he moved toward him.

  The large man extended his grip and swung the bat back, like a batter readying for a fastball. Without hesitation, Zeke stepped in close and grabbed the man’s wrists, turning Dylan’s body and using the momentum of his backswing to twist his body backwards. With a two-handed twist of the bat over his extended leg, Zeke put the man on the asphalt, taking the bat from him in the exchange.

  “What the hell!” said Dylan, now lying on the ground. He righted himself and tried to stand up quickly.

  Zeke hit him hard in the solar plexus with the handle-end of the bat. That ended their four-second fight.

  “Bastard,” said Dylan, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath. But he stayed down.

  Clive had his cell phone out and was dialing the Lower Merion Police a minute later when Dylan rose to his feet and scurried into the storage unit. He reached into a box on a high shelf and quickly came out with what looked like a .22 target pistol. He pointed it directly at Clive.

  Might be the murder weapon, thought Zeke, as he launched himself at the big man.

  Dylan danced backward on his toes, with surprising agility, and swung the barrel of the pistol toward Zeke. From seven feet he shot Zeke point blank in the heart.

  * * *

  Fight through it, Zeke told himself. The body armor he was wearing under his jacket had stopped the bullet, although the effect was about the same as being hit with a large hammer. No doubt there’d be a major bruise on his chest tomorrow.

  Dylan had already swung the pistol toward Clive, certain of his accurate and lethal shooting. He snapped off two shots, but Clive was about twenty feet farther away now, and moving. The hastily fired bullets missed him. Clive turned and moved into a recessed doorway, limiting his exposure to Dylan and his gun.

  Zeke was a step away when Dylan swung the pistol back toward his head. Not quite fast enough, thought Zeke, who backhanded the pistol with his right hand and stepped to his right in a small arc. He applied a wristlock that took the big man to his knees. With his left hand, he grabbed the barrel of the gun and quickly twisted it back so it was pointing at Dylan’s face. He punched Dylan twice in the neck, and then with a smooth, continuous motion twisted the gun free, checked the barrel for a load, and trained it at his chest.

  Dylan grabbed his throat, coughing and wheezing, trying to regain his breath. He sputtered as his face reddened.

  “Bang, you’re dead,” said Zeke, under his breath.

  * * *

  A car rolled up and Detective Harrison stepped out.

  We’ve got the killer,” said Zeke. “Arrested him in this mini-storage unit.”

  With Harrison were three stout policemen dressed in full uniform with light body armor and tactical weapons at the ready. “You did?” asked Harrison.

  Zeke introduced Clive to Harrison, and they walked over to where Dylan Jones was sitting on the asphalt, his hands secured behind him with a large, black zip tie.

  Dylan looked at the semi-circle of men now pointing their weapons at him, hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and started to stand up. It was awkward with his hands tied, but he managed it.

  The police arrested Dylan Jones, handcuffed him, removed the zip tie and took his keys. Two officers walked him to the parking area and put him in a Lower Merion police SUV. The Subaru sat outside the storage unit, empty and silent. Harrison and the remaining cops, with warrant in hand, entered the storage unit and Zeke motioned toward the boxes that held the money and had held the gun. The police collected both boxes and searched the rest of the small space. After loading the evidence in the back of a second Lower Merion Police SUV, they locked the door to the storage unit and marked it with crime scene tape. Harrison nodded to Zeke and Clive, and the police drove off.

  “Well done,” said Clive, as he and Zeke walked up the aisle toward the entry gate. Their car was parked a hundred yards down the road, where Zeke had left it the last time he’d checked out the facility.

  Suddenly Zeke stopped moving. “Hear that?” he asked.
r />   Clive stopped and listened.

  “What is it?”

  Zeke heard a low hum in the air, a rumble, and then it was gone.

  “Car engine, close,” he said. “Unusual at this hour.”

  It was eight thirty at night. No one but the police had entered Storage Nation since Dylan drove his Subaru through the gate.

  “And now it’s gone,” said Zeke. “Someone nearby shut off their engine.”

  * * *

  Cautiously, Clive and Zeke walked to the end of the aisle and around the corner toward the front gate. The outside sign lights had clicked on and Storage Nation was fully lit. Just inside the gate Zeke saw the maroon Mercedes Benz. It was empty. Catrin Davies, he thought.

  “Well, hello,” said Catrin, stepping out from the corner of a building. I thought I heard someone else here.”

  “Just me and Clive. Clive Greene, meet Catrin Davies,” Zeke said. “You use Storage Nation?” asked Zeke.

  “Yes, my parents kept a few things here when they were alive. I haven’t moved them yet.” She smiled warmly at Clive.

  “Good day,” said Clive, and bowed slightly.

  “I saw the police driving off when I arrived. What happened?” she asked Zeke.

  “They arrested a man. They think he was involved in selling drugs,” Zeke said neutrally.

  “Oh, dear,” said the English teacher. “I hope no one was hurt.”

  “Nothing serious,” said Clive. “It looks as though he was trying to escape, maybe flee the country. But he stopped here first and they arrested him.”

  “Which unit is yours?” asked Zeke.

  “Oh, it’s down there,” she said, waving her keys and pointing away from herself vaguely.

  “Well, here, let us help you,” said Zeke, starting to turn.