Murders on the Ridge

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Yeah,” Jack answered, not identifying himself just in case his number had been leaked.

  “Jack, it’s me . . . it’s Dalton,” he said quickly, “Listen I’ve got something for you.”

  There was a momentary pause. Dalton could

  hear Jack sigh on the other end. “Edwards,” he said, “You’re not on assignment anymore, hell, you’re not even on the payroll anymore. We aren’t having this conversation.”

  “Hold up!” Dalton said loudly, “Trust me, Jack, I’m not looking to be reinstated, but I’ve got something that you’re going to want to see and I don’t trust this with anyone else, so what does that tell you. I’ll need ten minutes of your time. Then if you want to tell me to fuck off and lose your number, I will.”

  Another pause. Another sigh.

  “I can meet you in Augusta day after tomorrow. It’ll have to be early evening, say seven o’clock?”

  “That works for me,” Dalton replied. I’ll see you then Jack.”

  Dalton returned to his motel and pulled out his new laptop, quickly going through search records to get some sort of an electronic footprint of Billy Ray Jensen, knowing that the chances of that were slim to none. He couldn’t picture Billy Ray surfing the web, tweeting, facebooking, or putting selfies out there.

  People Search did shed some light on his basic information. And some relatives were listed, but Dalton knew sometimes those named were skewed by living at the same address, in-laws, etc. Still, there was a name listed, Clarence Jensen listed as a relative, in his early seventies, living in Welch, West Virginia.

  Dalton pulled up a map of West Virginia and had a helluva time finding Welch. He finally found it in the southeastern part of the state, not all that far from the Virginia state line. Damn, the population was 2400 at the last census, and it was situated in coal country. Probably just as poverty-ridden as Briar County. Dalton looked at Mapquest and saw that it was a four-hour drive from Briarton to Welch.

  Dalton then found the McDowell County website, only to find they did not offer online property records. Shit. Was he surprised? Not really. He dialed the phone number listed on the website and got a recording that the county offices were closed and would re-open the following day at eight o’clock a.m.

  He’d call first thing before going out to West Fork Ranch. He had a gnawing feeling in his gut that Courtney was likely on to something, and he wanted that piece of information before he met with Jack in two days.

  Chapter 29

  Dalton was up by seven the next morning, showering shaving and getting dressed in clean work clothes. The summer was hot and humid. He got away with wearing a white sleeveless tee and jeans. He was glad he would be outta there by noon when the day turned into a furnace until late afternoon.

  At eight sharp, he called the McDowell county offices again, this time a live person answered the phone. Dalton asked for the recorder’s office and was quickly transferred over.

  “County Recorder, this is Fern McMillan, how can I help you?”

  “Yes, Fern, my name is Dalton Edwards and I’m calling from over in Ohio. I tried to check your land records online, but unfortunately, they aren’t available which is why I’m calling.”

  “Mr. Edwards,” the woman cut in, “If you want copies of deeds, liens or what-nots, you’ll have to come in and pay $3.00 per document copy. We don’t take credit card payments, Paypal or Checks. It’s cash on the barrel. This is a poor county and we just don’t have the means to give out information or copies for free, you hear?”

  “M’am,” Dalton said nicely, “You see, here’s the thing. I’m trying to locate somebody. It’s a next-of-kin type situation, and I’m not even sure if this person owns his home. I simply have a name and a street address. So you see, I’m not looking for a copy of a deed, a lien or a what-not, I just figured Welch being a small town, you might be familiar with the individual I’m trying to locate. The name is Clarence J. Jensen, and the address I have is on Mud Hen Road in Welch.”

  The words were barely out of Dalton’s mouth when he heard Fern’s gasp and quick intake of breath.

  “Ms. McMillan, are you okay?” he asked.

  “Oh . . . uh, yeah, give me a second here,” she rasped. “You took me by surprise with that one,” she said. “Mr. Edwards, Clarence Jensen has been dead for five or six years now. He and his wife were killed when their house burnt plumb to the ground. They were lovely people. It was just a shame, yes it was. They had no children. Word around town was that Edna was barren, so it was always just the two of them. Devoted to one another like a husband and wife should be, you know?”

  Dalton wasn’t sure why Fern McMillan was giving him all this additional information, but he was going to take advantage of her knowledge of the Jensens.

  “Can I ask you why you’re looking for next of kin?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m trying to locate Clarence’s younger brother. He’s missing. His name is Billy Ray Jensen. Ever heard of him?”

  “Hmm . . .” she said slowly, repeating the name. “No, I don’t think I ever met a brother. Can’t recall Clarence or Edna ever mentioning one either. I’m sorry I can’t help you, Mr. Edwards. But that’s all I know.”

  “Thank you Fern,” Dalton replied, “You’ve helped me more than you know. Have a great day.”

  So there it was. More unraveling of the Duel McCoy story on Billy Ray Jensen.

  Dalton checked the horse barn as soon as he arrived at the ranch. It was only eight-thirty but it looked as if they’d already left. There were only eight of the miniature horses left inside. It seemed to Dalton that Duel should invest in a larger trailer instead of having to make two trips a month clear to Lexington.

  He was hosing out the empty stalls and had just put fresh straw down when his cell phone vibrated in his back pocket. He wiped the sweat from his brow and grabbed his cell.

  It was Courtney.

  “Dalton,” he said swiping the screen.

  “Hey,” Courtney said, “You’re at the ranch right now aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Elroy Driscoll just called me at The Peak while I was before opening up. He asked if I had your cell number, said he saw your truck at the McCoys and wants you to call him when you get a chance. Said it’s private.”

  “Sounds ominous,” Dalton replied. “The family isn’t here. It’s just me today, and it looks like Virginia is out as well. Do you have Elroy’s number?”

  “Sure do,” she answered, “I’ll text it to you when we hang up.”

  “Sounds good, Courtney. I’ll give him a holler. Thanks.”

  “Let me know what’s going on,” she said, “He really sounded as if it was important.”

  “Will do.”

  Dalton filled up the feed and water buckets and when he heard the ping on his cell, he pulled up Courtney’s text message and dialed up Elroy.

  “Hey Elroy, it’s Dalton. What’s up?”

  “Dalton, “ he said, his voice was clearly on edge, “I didn’t want to come onto McCoy property to fetch you, but you’ve got to come over to my place now. There’s something here you’ve got to see for yourself. I’m in my garage. The overhead door is shut, so come in through the side door. Hurry.”

  Dalton jumped into his truck and drove out of the ranch down the road about a quarter of a mile and pulled into the gravel drive leading up to Elroy’s garage. Once the truck stopped and he shut off the engine, Elroy had the side door of his garage opened, beckoning to hurry up on in.

  Dalton had no clue as to what Elroy had inside of his garage that had put him into such a panic mode, but once he stepped inside, he saw the cause of Elroy Driscoll’s distress.

  “Holy hell,” Dalton breathed, “how in the hell did this horse get over here, and what the hell is wrong with him?”

  It was obviously one of the McCoy’s tiny horses,
but clearly, the animal was suffering with some sort of illness. He was lying on an old blanket, and Dalton could tell it was one of the older horses. The animal seemed to be having convulsions, unable to stand, his head was moving from side to side, and he was foaming at the mouth, snorting and making sounds that were foreign to Dalton.

  “I tried to make the poor thing comfortable. Do you reckon he’s rabid?” Elroy asked.

  “I don’t see how that could be,” Dalton replied, squatting down next to the animal to get a closer look. “Duel has them to the vet for check-ups and shots monthly. How did this one get over here?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I saw Duel and one of his boys pull out earlier this morning with the trailer hitched up to their truck, and about fifteen minutes later, while I was working on a car, this one here comes a staggering into the garage. Snorting and foaming at the mouth. I got a blanket down and put it on the floor for him before he collapsed. That’s when I saw you pull into the ranch. I figured I needed to let somebody know.”

  As Dalton watched the animal calm, the foamy liquid still spilling from his open mouth, a prior conversation Dalton had had with Jack months back suddenly popped into his head.

  “ . . . the courier had swallowed fourteen heroin pellets and one had ruptured inside of his intestine. He was foaming at the mouth, so his handler calls down to Mexico to find out what to do . . . told him to cut the courier open and retrieve the remaining drugs.”

  “Fuck!” Dalton growled. “It’s not rabies, Elroy. This animal is couriering drugs in his gut. Something went wrong.”

  “Huh?” Elroy said, his forehead creased in confusion.

  “Listen Elroy, I need your help. We’ve got to get this animal to a veterinarian, but it can’t be anyone local. It has to be someplace where people won’t know the McCoy’s. We have to keep this between us, trust me on this, it is very important.”

  “Ida’s nephew Dennis. He’s a veterinarian assistant for a guy down in Grayson, Kentucky. But that’s over an hour away. Do you think the horse will make it that long?” Elroy asked.

  They both glanced over at the horse, who had calmed somewhat, but his breathing was labored. “He’s not going to make it Elroy, but what’s important now is to establish what caused this and have it verified and on the record by a qualified vet who doesn’t know the McCoys. Can you call him? Let him know I’m coming in, but nothing else. And I’ll need the address.”

  “Sure thing,” Elroy said, “give me five minutes.” He left the garage and headed up to his house.

  Dalton turned his attention back to the horse, who no longer seemed to be in any pain or distress. He wrapped him up in the blanket, and carried him out of the garage, quickly depositing him into the bed of his truck.

  Once he’d secured the bed cover, Elroy was back, and handed Dalton a piece of paper. “I called Dennis and let him know you were bringing a miniature horse in that likely had expired. I told him you could be trusted, and to do what he needed to do in order to find out the cause of death.”

  “Thanks, Elroy.”

  As Dalton was climbing into the truck, Elroy reached out and touched his shoulder, causing Dalton to turn back to face him.

  “Dalton,” the older man started, “if they find drugs in the horse, what’s to say they can pin it on the McCoys and not you?”

  “I’m hoping to have someone meet me there who can establish I’m not a person of interest in this. You have to trust me on this, Elroy. You and Ida’s safety could be at risk if you share what happened today with anyone, do you understand?”

  Elroy swallowed and gave Dalton a firm nod. “You did something for us Dalton that saved my home and my livelihood. Ida and I will always be grateful for that, and you have our trust unconditionally. No worries on that. We won’t tell a soul. Good luck, son.”

  Dalton plugged the address into his GPS and hit the road, giving a voice command to “call Jack.” The phone rang several times, and Dalton prayed Jack picked up. He breathed a sigh of relief when he did, and Dalton told him he had in his custody one of the mules for the drug smuggling in Briar County.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Edwards?” Jack barked. “You don’t have the authority to arrest or detain! Are you fucking crazy?”

  “Jack, I don’t have time to explain it all. If you want the goods, meet me at this address. I’ll be there in approximately an hour, and you’re ETA should be close to that. It’s worth your time, Jack. I promise.”

  Chapter 30

  Jack Reynard was taking a chance in going out on what could be a career-ending limb if his superiors got wind of it. He jumped into his car, putting the address Dalton Edwards had given him into his GPS.

  The truth was, Jack thought the agency had given Edwards a raw deal. The D.E.A., like any government agency, was plagued with layers of bureaucracy, political leanings and autocratic leadership. Jack had been around long enough to realize the tactics and strategies put in place in cities like Chicago, New York or L.A., weren’t conducive to achieving results in places like Lewiston, Illinois, Paducah, Kentucky or Briarton, Ohio.

  The agency hadn’t adapted their strategies to accommodate the new and developing intricacies of the Rural America drug supply chain. The cartels were widespread focused on small town networks that were more difficult to detect.

  Jack knew that Dalton had done his best, and had, in fact, blended well into the community and maintained his cover under some of the most difficult circumstances in such a clannish small community.

  His GPS informed him that he had reached his destination as he pulled into a parking lot of an animal clinic.

  What the hell?

  When Edwards had said he was in custody

  of a drug mule, he hadn’t taken that word literally for Chrissake!

  He shook his head and chuckled as he got out of his vehicle and headed inside of the clinic.

  Right away the receptionist ushered him back to a hallway, and opened the door for him to enter one of the examination rooms.

  “Jack, glad you made it,” Dalton said, turning to introduce him to Dr. Kincaid, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, and his assistant, Dennis Richardson.

  “We waited for you before beginning,” Dalton explained, moving to the side where Jack could see what appeared to be a tiny horse, no bigger than a large dog laying dead on the stainless steel examining table. Jack looked back quickly at Dalton, his brows furrowed in confusion.

  “What the..?” he started to blurt.

  “Jack, Dr. Kincaid needs to see your D.E.A. credentials before he begins his examination of the carcass of this recently expired Falabella Miniature, found wandering at a residence in southeastern, Ohio. It is my belief that the animal has been packed with some type of illegal narcotics, similar to the incident which occurred some months back in Lorain, Ohio if you recall?”

  Jack immediately knew exactly the incident Dalton was referencing. ‘Son of a bitch’, he thought. What better way to transport without drawing suspicion than this? Jack didn’t need to be told the name of the owner, he knew exactly who it was, and it was smart of Dalton not to bring names into mixed company.

  Jack dug out his badge and handed it over to Dr. Kincaid to confirm.

  “Thank you, Agent Reynard,” Kincaid replied handing it back to him. “This is going to be easy to extract. If you look at the X-Ray we took, you can see clearly that a plastic tube of some sort had been inserted rectally into the animal.”

  Kincaid flipped a switch so the X-ray panel lit up and pointed to what clearly looked to be a cylindrical tube containing pellets of some sort inside the tiny horse’s lower intestine. "With your permission, I’ll remove it now,” he continued, slipping on latex gloves.

  “Go ahead,” Jack replied, taking out his cell and pressing the camera button to record the removal of the foreign object. “I’m ready.”

  “Are you sure you
want to assume this risk, Edwards? You realize I can’t sanction this with the agency. You’re not--”

  “I know, I know Jack, I’m not on the payroll. I’m not an agent, I get it. But the proof we got inside that clinic doesn’t do squat for snagging the network, plus, there’s still the matter I explained to you on the Billy Ray Jensen situation.”

  They were both standing outside in the parking lot of the clinic. Jack Reynard had taken a couple of the pellets retrieved from the plastic cylinder to confirm it was heroin, but Dalton Edwards had little doubt it was anything else. And he knew exactly the source of this recent batch: the missing poppies. It had to be.

  “Now finding proof that this ... Billy Ray has been murdered is a stretch. Yeah, it sounds like Duel McCoy gave you a fake story, but it could be Billy Ray was scared off and chose to sell out and go underground,” Jack argued. “But listen, I will have these signatures analyzed,” he conceded.

  “Thanks, Jack. Well, it’s noon, so I need to make tracks back to the ranch. If time’s on my side, I can get this carcass back behind one of the barns so they think he wandered off and died without anybody being the wiser. Since Kincaid put that tube back inside of the horse, they’ll surely think their secrets are safe. Wonder if they knew before they left that the plastic tube had cracked and the poor damn animal was overdosing?”

  “Hard telling,” Jack said with a sigh. “Collateral damage they’ll try to minimize in the future I expect. Be careful, and Dalton? Keep me posted so we can be prepared for the next trip to whatever veterinarian they’ve got in Lexington who’s helping them mule this poison.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Chapter 31

  It had been over a week since the big reveal as to how the McCoy’s were up to their eyebrows in heroin trafficking using their Falabella miniatures, through a veterinarian in Lexington. Dalton had remained mum on the subject, not even sharing with Courtney what he and Elroy Driscoll had discovered. He felt bad about keeping her in the dark, but this operation was too critical to take even the smallest risk of a leak.