Murder Mountain

by Stacy Dittrich

  I interrupted Matt then and asked, “Why? You already said you were desperate, so where’s the limit on whether or not you would go to the house?”

  Matt responded reasonably, but serious, “Well, I just wanted to make sure the guy wasn’t some fuckin’ faggot that wanted a rim job from me, because if that’s what I’d get paid for, fuck that! I’ll starve and go to jail, no problem.”

  Matt then told me that the bartender had told him he didn’t know much, but the guy kept to himself for the most part, coming in a couple times a month, several times with some young blonde. Hearing that Bob was with a girl had made Matt feel better about the guy’s sexual preference, so he’d gone to the house.

  I interrupted Matt again, asking him for the address and whether Bob had a last name. Matt gave me the address but said he never knew Bob’s last name, and had never asked because, as he put it, “My own rule of life is to know as little as possible about anyone, as that keeps me out of trouble.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is, you already knew that whatever ‘work’ Bob was going to offer you would be illegal, so the less you knew about him the better, is that right?”

  “Well, no shit! You don’t need to be no doctor to figure that one out. I mean, a guy in a bar telling you he can help you make money!” Matt thought quietly for a second, then added, “A Roseland bar, too. I knew it and I didn’t give a fuck!”

  Then he went on to tell me about how, after arriving at Bob’s house, he hadn’t even been sure if it was Bob’s own house. Then Bob had started telling him how he could make a lot of money. Bob had a business, a big business, that could earn Matt anywhere from two to three thousand dollars a month if he worked hard, and, most important to Bob, if he was someone who Bob could trust. Trust was the biggest issue for Bob, and no one worked for him if there was even a hint of disloyalty.

  “And here I am, rattin’ out to the cops. I might as well go dig my grave now because you don’t fuck Bob; if you do, you’re dead. Not just from Bob, but from the people Bob works for, y’know?” he sighed, his pained look returning, “Now, those are the scary ones, but I’ll get to that.”

  Matt went on to tell me how he’d told Bob that he could trust him and whatever he had to do to prove it, just say the word. He then said that he’d started to ask Bob about the business more specifically, but Bob had immediately cut him off. Bob had told him that all he needed to know was what he was asked and getting paid to do, and that he was not, ever, to ask any questions.

  Bob had then told him that he employed about twenty people, called “runners and grabbers,” for the business. If new people in proved themselves as grabbers, they moved up into the runners’ positions, where the big money was. Then Bob had given him his first job, at a payment of $500 if all went well. Matt was to go to any county co-op store and steal anhydrous ammonia and deliver it to Bob by the end of the week.

  There it was, and before Matt tried to explain, I waved my hand at him. This was all about methamphetamine labs, which were the most dangerous and becoming the most lucrative drug labs to hit the country. Meth labs started out west years ago with the bikers, but slowly crept east until Ohio has had an explosion of them over the last couple of years. Meth labs in the Midwest and the East have doubled and tripled within two years.

  Anhydrous ammonia was a key ingredient for making meth, and was the easiest to obtain. Meth is made from nothing more than household products, with the exception of the anhydrous ammonia.

  Called the Nazi method of making methamphetamine, cookers used anhydrous ammonia, which is fertilizer used by farmers. A lot of states, including West Virginia, are starting to limit their supply of the chemical. The waterless version of the ammonia is 82 percent nitrogen, and sells for around a dollar a gallon. Meth thieves, however, steal it because it runs for around a hundred bucks on the black market. The thieves get a high return. A gallon of anhydrous ammonia can be used to make three to five thousand dollars worth of meth.

  Usually, when any police agency has a rash of thefts of anhydrous ammonia, operating labs are located within a few miles of where the thefts occurred. I immediately made a mental note to get with our drug task force, METRICH, to see if we’d had any thefts of the chemical recently.

  “Yes, Matt,” I said sincerely, “this is clearly useful information, but I have to ask you what this has to do with Lizzie Johnston.”

  “Man, I’m gettin’ to that! You said you wanted to know, and it’s a long story. You want to hear it or what?”

  I looked at my watch and saw it was getting late. Selina had a softball game that evening and I’d told her I would be there, but I knew I needed this information from Matt. The more he talked, the worse the feeling I had about the fate of Lizzie Johnston.

  “Go ahead,” I told him.

  ”Okay,” he looked at the ground again, and then at the sky. “I did steal some ammonia from the co-op store in Olivesburg. You know where that is? It’s way out in the northern part of the county, way the fuck out there. This was back in April.” He paused, took a deep breath, looked at me, and said in careful voice, “I want my cooperation to count if you’re gonna have me charged with the theft.”

  “I’ll think about it. Keep going.”

  He said that Bob had paid him the five hundred dollars as promised, and had then told him that he could now start running. This was when he had met Lizzie.

  About three weeks before I came calling, Bob had told Matt that his first job as a runner was coming up in a week or two. It would pay fifteen hundred dollars. He was to go to an address in West Virginia that Bob would give him, deliver a supply of anhydrous ammonia to a man whom he was only to know as E, and leave.

  That was it. Lizzie would drive him. Matt thought that was the easiest thing in the world to do for fifteen hundred bucks. He told me that he didn’t know where this supply of the ammonia came from, but suspected another grabber had probably stolen it.

  “You drove in a car with anhydrous ammonia to West Virginia?” I yelled at him. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? If that propane tank would’ve leaked, you and Lizzie would’ve gone into instant respiratory distress, not to mention the possible explosion!”

  “Hey, for fifteen hundred bucks, I’d a’ walked there naked with a hypodermic needle stickin’ outta my ass! I’m not in your league, detective. People like me don’t see money like that much, if ever.” He sounded sour, defiant, and sad all at the same time.

  I just sat there and shook my head. Matt kept talking. He and Lizzie had made the drive in Lizzie’s old maroon Buick Regal to some hick town in West Virginia. Lizzie would just refer to it as “Murder Mountain,” which he’d known obviously wasn’t the town’s real name. Matt hadn’t paid too much attention to the directions or the address because Lizzie had done the driving.

  I asked him what he and Lizzie had talked about, and if she’d given away any other details about the business. Matt answered me, “No, but she did tell me she was also getting fifteen hundred bucks for the trip, and reminded me that we weren’t supposed to discuss anything with each other.”

  He thought quietly for a moment.

  “She was nervous the whole time,” he finally went on, “which I thought was strange. Bob told me that she’s one of the main runners and has done this a lot. She kept saying that when we get there I was to say absolutely nothing; just hand E the bag and get the hell out of there. She actually had me a little nervous, so I asked her how bad can this “E” dude be, ya know? She said she’ll tell me one thing but I ain’t never to tell anybody she tole me. She said, ‘He’s a cop.’ And I’m like, ‘Sweet-jesus-fucking-mama! Turn this fuckin’ car around!’ I thought she was trying to set me up! But then she said he wasn’t a cop tryin’ to bust us; he was dirty. Then she got scared and says she wasn’t talkin’ about it anymore.”

  He described going up one of the big mountains on a dirt road that was lined with trailers. About half of a mile from the top, they’d stopped at a light blue trailer with junk
ed cars in the yard. Matt hadn’t known what he was supposed to do, so he got out of the car like Lizzie did, and they just stood there.

  “After we’d been waiting there a couple of minutes.” he went on, “A big dude came out of the trailer. And I mean a big dude! He never said a word. He just walked over to us and stood in front of Lizzie with a weird smile on his face. Lizzie looked, like, terrified, especially when that E took a strand of her hair and started smelling it, but she kept her nerve. The girl had heart. She just handed E the keys to the car and he walked around behind it and opened the trunk. Y’see, there was a hidden compartment underneath the trunk for carrying the ammonia. E knew just what to do and hauled it out. Then he handed Lizzie a plain white envelope from out of his back pocket, y’know, and started walking back towards the trailer.”

  Matt then took a deep breath and said, “And then, y’know, E stopped and turned around and looked at me and said, ‘Ya done good boy, be seein’ ya soon.’ And then he looked over at Lizzie and said, ‘I’ll miss that pretty face of yers, girlie,’ and then he walked into house.”

  Matt leaned forward and started talking faster. “Lizzie started shaking, yelling at me to get into the car. So I got into the car, y’know? Then Lizzie peeled out, going down the dirt road about 60 miles an hour. I kept asking her what was wrong, and she kept saying, ‘Did ya hear him? Didja hear him! I’m dead!’

  “I didn’t understand what she was talking about, but halfway to Ohio she started insisting that we were being followed, y’know? I tell ya, by this time I was too scared to turn around and look, and by the time we got back and Lizzie’d dropped me off here, I tell ya, I ran in and locked all the doors, y’know?”

  I waited, but it seemed as if he was finished, so I asked, “Then what happened?”

  “Nothing. That’s it. That was the last time I saw her; exactly ten days ago.”

  I just sat there for a few minutes, soaking it all in and thinking about how it was such a far-fetched story, but, damn it, for whatever reason, I believed him. Matt seemed scared to death, constantly looking around us as if we were being watched.

  “Well, maybe there’s some more, I think,” Matt blurted out, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Well, go on then and tell me everything.”

  “No, I mean I think there’s more girls that are gone. I can’t prove it, though,” he said quietly.

  “Matt,” I said, keeping my voice low and urgent, “you better tell me what you know, and now. I haven’t heard of any other girls missing.”

  “You probably wouldn’t. These girls live by themselves and keep to themselves. They usually don’t talk to their families much, so who’s gonna report ’em? Anyway, the reason I said that is I’ve heard Bob on the phone, y’know? I don’t know who he was talking to, but he said, ‘I got me another runner spot; the big boys fired another one.’ And when he said fired, I don’t think he meant they got put on unemployment.”

  I could feel the blood drain from my face, and I just closed my eyes. If this was true, then I definitely needed help.

  And then, finally, the question I dreaded asking Matt: “So what does Bob look like?”

  I already knew the answer but sat quietly as Matt described Bobby Delphy from head to toe. I asked him if he had anything to add, and he said nothing he could think of. As I was leaving, he reminded me of the promise I’d made not to use his name, and how I would check out giving him a break on the theft. I nodded and waved him off at the same time, knowing I’d never promised him shit about giving him a break. Looking into it and making a deal are two different things, and, as far as I was concerned, he’d do time for that theft.

  As I pulled out of Matt’s driveway, my head was spinning. A list of things to do and people to call overwhelmed me. I needed to find out if Lizzie Johnston’s car had ever been found, and, if it was, where I could see it. I needed to contact missing persons and pull all the files of women reported missing over the last three years, and I needed to check the address Matt gave me of where he’d met Bob.

  I knew this would be a lot of work. Every woman who leaves the state to escape an abusive husband or a criminal charge is reported missing at one time or another. I would have to contact METRICH about any of the anhydrous ammonia thefts. I needed to call Lizzie’s father.

  I looked at my watch again and figured I would just barely make it to Selina’s softball game. No one would have any of the information I needed until tomorrow, so there wasn’t a whole lot to do. Once I got the information I needed, and only then, would I go and see Bobby Delphy.

  I pulled into the ballpark in time to miss just the first inning of Selina’s game, which included her turn at bat. I knew she’d be upset.

  When she saw me, she came running over, crying, “Mommy! You’re late! You promised! I got a double!”

  I told her I was sorry and would make it up to her. She ran out onto the field while I looked for Eric, finding him sitting next to a large mound of dirt, which of course Isabelle was playing in.

  “Hi, Mommy! I playin’ in the dirt!” she said.

  I went over and gave her a kiss on one of the few clean spots on her face. Eric had brought me a folding aluminum lawn chair, which I promptly sat down in.

  “Hey, baby, what took so long?” he asked as I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  I gave him a play-by-play of the Lizzie Johnston case—what I had done, and what I learned today. I interrupted my narrative with numerous breaks during which we cheered for Selina. Eric sat for a while when I’d finished, mulling the whole thing over.

  “That guy is full of shit,” he decided at last. “I can’t believe you, of all people, would buy into that garbage. And not to mention, if that were true, the DEA would be all over that case, because don’t think he’s the only one that’s ever talked about this before. I’m sure there have been plenty of leaks before now, especially if it’s been going on this long.” He sounded totally confident, and I admired his judgment enormously, but I wasn’t convinced he was right.

  “Maybe not,” I said. “Maybe the people that are suspected of leaks get fired, like Matt said. Anyway, there’s ways to prove or disprove his story, which I’m working on. If I find out it looks like he’s telling the truth, then I’ll probably have a couple of homicides on my hands.”

  “If that story is true, you’ll have to call the DEA or FBI anyway.”

  “So, that doesn’t mean it’s their case, especially if these girls were killed here. I don’t care if these people are shipping a semi-truck full of meth every day, my homicides will supersede their drug case, unless they want to roll it all together, but, as far as I’m concerned, it is my case and I won’t call the FBI or DEA in until I’m told to.” I said this pretty defensively.

  Confirming my fears that I’d given myself away, Eric smiled maddeningly and asked, “Why are you getting so defensive?” in a mild voice.

  “I’m not. I’m just telling you the way it is,” I said defensively.

  We watched the rest of the game in silence, except for our cheers, and congratulated Selina on her win when it was over. The game lasted longer than usual, which meant we had to hurry home so Eric could get ready for work. I gave the girls baths, making sure that Isabelle soaked for an extra half an hour, and told them they could stay up later than usual if they wanted to. Selina’s last day of school had been the day before, so she was excited, telling me she would try to stay up the entire night. I told her if that’s what she wanted to do, have at it. She’d never be able to come close.

  Isabelle was asleep within fifteen minutes, and Selina lasted forty-five. I smiled as I watched them sleep, reminding myself that they were the most precious things in my life.

  Eric had already left for work, so I took this quiet time to collect my thoughts and to try to figure out what my plans would be for the next day. Maybe Eric was right, I thought; maybe I should call in the FBI or DEA, but I didn’t want to do that too early the investigation. If it turned out that everything
Hensley’d told me was bullshit, I’d wind up looking like an ass if I called the feds in too soon. That had happened to me more times in my career than I cared to think about, and I didn’t care to have it happen again.

  I decided to contact the Missing Persons Unit first in the morning to see if they had files on any other missing women who might be tied to this case, as a check-up on Hensley’s story.

  Chapter Three

  I woke up earlier than usual the next morning and just decided to start my day then. As soon as I got to work, I gathered all my paperwork and headed for the Missing Persons Unit. I had already decided to contact Detective Nick Crosby, who has been with the department for over twenty years, the last ten spent in missing persons. Nick is an exceptional detective and has had numerous opportunities to work major crimes. For reasons known only to him, he passed on those opportunities and stayed in missing persons, which he truly enjoys. As I anticipated, Nick was already in his office hard at work.

  I tapped gently on the door and Nick raised his head away from his own mountain of paperwork. Seeing me, he smiled and said, “Cecelia! How are you! My lord, girl! I heard what happened to you; you all right?” He stroked the stubble that was already starting to darken his chin. “Hmm, from what I heard you looked like when you first got back to work, I think it’s safe to say your face looks a lot better. But since I didn’t see you then, I still think you look bad. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m all right, Nick, really I am. And as far as my face goes, believe me, it has improved—a lot.”

  “Bastard. Anyway, Cecelia, what can I do for you?”

  I then gave him a brief run-down on the Samantha Johnston case. Nick was already somewhat familiar with it, since it came through missing persons first before Kincaid took it away and assigned it to me; something that was obviously a sore spot for Nick. I also went into Matt Hensley’s claims and asked him if he would be able to help me with a few things. Specifically, I needed to know about any other missing women, optimally some with West Virginia ties, but, if not, connections to Roseland would do.