by Jeff Siebold
Zeke nodded.
“The return address was fictitious, of course,” said Morty.
“How did the kids pay for the pills?” asked Zeke.
“That was something, too. They used PayPal, transferred the money to a PayPal account. But it was a dummy account, and it was emptied as soon as possible when the kids transferred money into it. When we got to it, the trail was cold.”
“Don’t you need a bank account to set up a PayPal account?” asked Zeke, knowing the answer.
“Sure, but the bank account was in a dead woman’s name. We think someone set it up as a drop, using the dead woman’s identity.” Eyebrows flying, again.
“So the trail of the drugs had a cut-out through UPS, and the trail of the money was set up with a cut-out, too.” Pretty clever, thought Zeke.
“Yeah, usually the dealer wants face time with his ‘clients,’ but this group appears to have worked that out, too. When they needed to intimidate someone, you know, following up on a payment or something, they used out-of-town talent that no one recognized. Not from around here and basically not traceable.”
“Did that happen often?” asked Kimmy.
“No, it didn’t have to. These kids were pretty well-off, from affluent families, you know. So when there was any trouble with the operation, somebody would appear in the middle of the night and work on their car with a baseball bat or tire iron or something. They got the message.”
“How did the kids communicate with their source?” asked Zeke.
“Texts, mostly, to a burner phone. The kids used their smart phones. Not too smart, actually,” said Morty. “And the source changed his cell number with every shipment, just put the new number in the box with the pills.”
“Pretty creative,” said Zeke. “Last bit, then. Here’s a short list of the guys Alan Parker said he’d bought pills from. Can you check it against your file and see if we’re missing anyone?”
“Sure,” said Morty, eyebrows dancing. “I’ll check this afternoon and call you, OK?”
Chapter 35
“Have you found my daughter yet?” asked Kevin McCarthy. “Where is she?”
“Not yet, but we’ve narrowed it down some,” said Zeke, coolly. He had called, then he and Kimmy had stopped by Kevin’s office to chat with him alone. It was lunch hour, and the other offices in the immediate area were empty.
“Is she OK?” He was standing, looking down at Zeke and Kimmy from behind his desk.
“The police are looking for her, but like we told you, it looks like she went to California with her boyfriend,” said Zeke.
“What? That’s crazy. Why do you think that?”
“Seth, her boyfriend, Seth’s sister, shared that with us.”
“He’s not her boyfriend,” said Kevin, stepping around his desk. “She’s fourteen, for God’s sake!”
“That’s not the issue,” said Zeke, calmly. “And you insisting that it’s not true won’t change anything.”
Kevin stopped for a moment, apparently not used to people disagreeing with him.
“I’m here about something else, though,” Zeke continued.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” asked Kevin, a challenge rising in his voice.
“Your part in selling the prescription drugs,” said Zeke. “I want to know who really runs the operation.”
Kevin took a step back as if he’d been punched.
“What? What drugs?”
“The prescription pills. You know, the oxycodone, hydrocodone, cocaine, morphine...”
“You’re crazy,” said Kevin, his voice rising in outrage. He stepped forward again, coming around the desk.
Zeke stood up to face him.
“There’s too much evidence for denial, Kevin,” said Zeke. “And we think the pills may have played into the two kids’ murders. Do you know anything about that? We know you’re fronting the drug distribution.”
“Get the hell out of here,” said Kevin. He reached out and grabbed the front of Zeke’s shirt.
“I’m sorry you did that,” said Zeke.
Zeke grabbed Kevin’s fingers with both of his hands and twisted, which suddenly leveraged Kevin backward and to the side. He tripped over Zeke’s chair and ended up on the floor, looking up at the ceiling tiles. Zeke maintained his hold on Kevin’s arm, securing him to the floor.
“Not smart,” said Zeke.
“Ow, man, let go. I’ll call the cops, I swear,” said Kevin.
“I am the cops,” said Zeke. “Well, almost.”
* * *
“We do have real jobs, you know,” said Detective Harrison after the Lower Merion Township police had taken Kevin McCarthy away in handcuffs. “We’re not sitting around waiting for you to call us for help.”
Zeke ignored the comment. “Morty Fishbein down in Philadelphia confirmed that Kevin McCarthy’s name came up in their investigation. But they didn’t have enough to arrest him. He never touched the drugs, just innuendo by some of the students.”
“OK,” said Harrison, leaning in, looking hard at Zeke.
“Can you hold him for assault for a day or two?” asked Zeke.
“Right, assault,” said Harrison. “Were there any witnesses?”
“I saw it,” said Kimmy. “Kevin assaulted Zeke, came around the desk after him.”
Harrison shook his head, slowly. “We can take him down and process him,” he said, “but I doubt that the charges will stick.”
“That’s fine,” said Zeke. “I’d like to question him before you release him.”
“We can probably arrange something,” said Harrison. “Given your FBI status.”
“Thanks,” said Zeke. “And if you’ll keep him off the street for a day or two, it’ll put some pressure on the drug ring leaders and give us time to take them down.”
“That sounds like police work,” said Harrison. “Not private badge. I’d caution you against taking any risks.”
“Sure, I understand,” said Zeke, nodding. “We don’t want to take any risks.”
* * *
There were two young men sitting in student desks in the auditorium, talking with Zeke and Captain Russell, the head of campus police at the University of Pennsylvania.
“It wasn’t a big thing,” said the one on the left, a big, muscular kid with a thick neck and bright red skin on his cheeks. Rosacea, thought Zeke. He’s young to have it.
“You two were involved in the distribution of the pills, right?” asked Zeke.
“Yeah, but we’re clean now. We worked that all out with the cops and the D.A. and got suspended sentences,” said the other kid, wiry and looking all around, distracted. His name was Darrell, Darrell Lamb. “I don’t know why we’re here.” He’s looking for an exit, a way out, Zeke thought.
“We told the cops everything we knew,” said Harry Anderson, the muscular one.
“Right, I get that,” said Zeke. “What I want to know is about the organization. From your point of view. Tell me what it looked like.”
“It’s no secret,” said Harry. He was obviously more inclined to talk about it. Darrell was still evaluating a possible escape, obviously uncomfortable. “We’d receive boxes from UPS with the pills in them, maybe once a week. Not huge quantities but bigger than a UPS envelope, you know?”
“Small boxes,” said Zeke.
“Right.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’d call everybody and sell them the pills.”
“These were end users?” asked Zeke.
“Yeah, from around the college and the neighborhood. And also some kids who sold in smaller quantities.”
“You had a lot of regulars?” asked Zeke.
“Yeah, they knew when we got our delivery, and they watched for a text. The stuff was usually gone a day or two after we got it.”
“Then you’d pay your supplier? Your source?”
“Yeah, we had a PayPal account that we transferred the money to. It was all done by computer. My bank account to theirs,” said Harry
Anderson.
“Pretty profitable?” asked Zeke.
“Pretty much,” said Harry. “But we split three ways, and we used some of the merchandise, so it wasn’t a fortune.”
Chief Russell was watching the discussion. It was obvious by his expressions that this was old news to him.
Zeke paused. “Harry, did you say you split the profits three ways?”
“Right,” said Harry.
“You and Darrell, right?”
“Yep,” said Harry. Darrell didn’t look at Zeke.
“Who was the third partner?”
“Jack Frost,” said Harry.
Zeke looked at him skeptically.
“No really, that’s what everybody calls him,” said Harry. “I think his real name is Nathan. Nathan Frost.”
“Where’s he now?” asked Zeke.
“Just after we got busted, he moved to California. His dad got a new job there or something.”
* * *
“So, what has me puzzled isn’t the ongoing operation. I get that. But setting it all up and building the trust should have taken some face-time, right?” Zeke was in Clive’s office, talking with Clive and Kimmy.
“I suppose it could have been set up by someone from out-of-town, but that would be pretty unusual, I think,” said Clive. “What did the boys say?”
Kimmy was circling the low table, walking behind Zeke and Clive and looking over their shoulders at an open file folder with “Nathan Frost” written on the tab.
“By the way, Detective Fishbein confirmed the names we got from Alan Parker. And both of the boys, Harry and Darrell, said the whole thing had been arranged by Nathan Frost. That he put it together and brought them in later.”
“Convenient,” said Kimmy.
“We heard about Nathan Frost from Seth Gordon’s sisters, remember?” said Zeke. “He was dating Anne for a while before he moved to California.”
“Well, someone had to meet with the leadership face-to-face to get this whole thing started. It was probably the distributors who approached the college kids, and probably about the time George and Oscar lost their focus. When George first got cancer.”
“Where was Frost when they were all busted?” asked Clive.
“He was here, in school. But by the time the deal was cut with the D.A., he was already gone. He was out on bond, his family moved to L.A. and he went with them. The local cops didn’t think it was worth it to go after him, and besides, he was out of their hair already,” said Zeke.
“But I wonder who he met with, who helped him set it all up. I wonder who funded it, and who arranged it,” Zeke said, half to himself and half out loud.
“Quite so,” said Clive. “There’s certainly a missing link, a missing connection. Were they ever able to interview the Frost boy?”
“No. According to the file, the forwarding information didn’t pan out. The trail to Jack Frost was a dead end.”
Chapter 36
“I’ve got another assignment for you two. You should have time to work on it in between running down the Larosa killers and their motives,” said Clive. “We’ve been hired to provide protection to an athlete’s wife.”
Zeke looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Personal protection was a part of the services offered by The Agency, but it was unusual for them to be hired to protect an athlete, let alone the spouse of an athlete. Most pro athletes arranged for their own security if it wasn’t provided by the team.
“Sounds like a job for a private security firm,” said Zeke.
“Right, I know,” said Clive. “But not so. The athlete is Brandon Hart, and there’s been a serious threat.”
“Brandon Hart,” said Zeke. “I remember that name. Washington Redskins, first round draft pick in 2013. A pretty versatile running back, who did well last year. He’s married...”
“His college sweetheart, Angela,” said Clive. “They live in the DC area.
“What happened?” asked Kimmy.
“His wife received a phone call, to the house, which in itself was odd.”
“Sure, popular celebrities like Hart have unlisted numbers,” said Zeke.
“Standard operating procedure,” said Clive. “It sounds like the caller used one of those voice modifiers, and said they were watching her. The Harts blew it off, as if it were a prank. But she returned home from shopping a couple days ago to find their dog dead on the back porch.”
“Dead?” asked Kimmy.
“Yes, apparently someone killed the dog,” said Clive. “But there’s been no threat and no demand for money...yet.”
“Did they have their own security?” asked Zeke, leaning forward in his chair, interested now.
“Team security,” said Clive. “At games and events and the like, as you’d think. But not personal security for Hart or his family. Until now.”
They were in Clive’s office, which smelled to Zeke like a library, all leather and wood and upholstered chairs. There was a tea service on a small cart that had been rolled into the room, and Clive and Kimmy both held china cups of what smelled to Zeke like Masala chai tea.
“He won the Heisman,” said Zeke.
“Did he?” asked Clive. “That’s impressive, I’m told.”
“Very impressive,” said Zeke. “Best college football player that year, anywhere. What’s our role with Hart?”
“They’re looking for protection,” said Clive. “The police won’t do anything until a crime is committed. They won’t commit resources to it until something happens.”
“At which point it might be too late,” said Kimmy.
“How do you want to approach it?” asked Zeke.
“I’d like Kimmy to handle the personal protection of the wife, Angela, and you, Zeke, help run down the culprits. That would be ace.”
* * *
Zeke and Kimmy drove up to the front gate of the stone mansion. There was an intercom box outside the iron gates, which blocked access to the driveway and front entrance. No one was in sight.
Zeke looked at Kimmy and shrugged. He rolled down the driver-side window and pushed the button on the box. There was a hum from the speaker, and in a moment he heard a female voice say, “Yes?”
“We’re from The Agency, to talk with Angela Hart,” said Zeke. “They called to tell you we were coming.”
“Can you show me some ID?” asked the voice.
“Sure,” said Zeke.
“OK, drive up the driveway and park in front of the entry, under the porte-cochere,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the front door.”
The gate swung open, and Zeke put the car back in gear and moved ahead. They parked and walked together to the door. There was a woman dressed in a blue pants suit standing at the open door when they arrived. She held a pistol in her hand, pointed at the ground. Zeke noticed that her finger stayed on the trigger of the gun.
The woman asked for their ID’s, looked them over, and returned them, left handed, to Zeke and Kimmy. She holstered the gun at the small of her back.
“I’m Carla Simmons,” she said. “Clive sent me out here as a stop gap, while he decided how to handle this situation.”
Zeke nodded. Carla was a tall, wispy woman of about forty, with blonde hair pulled into a ponytail and sharp movements that made her look nervous and somewhat furtive.
“You’re ex-FBI,” said Zeke.
She nodded.
“Thanks for covering this,” said Zeke. “Clive’s assigned you and Kimmy to personal protection, and I’ll be working in a supporting role. Is Angela inside?”
Carla nodded again and turned back to the interior of the house. Zeke and Kimmy followed her into the foyer and then through a doorway that led to a long hallway. Third door on the right was a sitting room, and as they entered they saw a woman on one of the leather couches. There was a very large man sitting next to her.
“Angela Hart, this is Zeke Traynor,” said Carla, gesturing. “And Kimmy...”
“Hello, Angela,” said Kimmy, interrupting. “We’re here f
rom The Agency to protect you and to figure out who’s threatening you.”
Angela looked at her husband, then back at Kimmy, and she smiled a nervous smile.
“And this is Brandon Hart,” Carla added, gesturing toward the large man.
Hart nodded as if preoccupied. Then he stood, as if uncomfortable with the intrusion of people into his home.
Hart’s voice resonated from deep in his chest. “The phone call was disturbing, but the thing with the dog was just wrong.”
“Sounds like it,” said Zeke. “What kind of dog was it?”
“Zoe was a German Shepherd,” said Angela. “She was four years old.”
She sounds distraught, even scared, thought Zeke.
“A Shepherd’s a smart dog,” said Zeke.
“Indeed she was,” said Angela.
“Can you show us around?” asked Zeke. He turned to Carla. “You should come with us, add your thoughts, and then we’ll take it from here.”
“Glad to,” she said with a tight smile.
Brandon walked out of the kitchen.
“I’ll come find you when we’re done, Brandon,” Angela Hart called after him.
* * *
They toured the house, which took the better part of an hour, looking in all the rooms and walking the yard afterwards. The attached garage was inside the compound and accessible directly from the kitchen area. In the fenced back yard they walked the perimeter and Carla showed them the gates and the security system and gave them the codes. “We’re changing them daily,” she added. From what Zeke could see the compound was well protected and it would be tough to penetrate.
“Where did you find the dog?” he asked.
“Over there,” said Carla, “on the back porch.” Angela nodded. “Without her collar.”
They were looking at an open entertainment area that included a covered outdoor kitchen, a grilling area, a bar and bar stools. Several sitting areas were spread across the multilevel patios, populated with outdoor furniture, couches and chairs. There was a team logo on the exposed wooden wall above the bar. Carla walked to the sliding glass window, turned back to Zeke and Kimmy, and said, “They found her right here.”
