“And to deliver a warning? What, declaring war on the redneck mafia?” He looked up at me again, and added, “That’s not really a thing, and whatever you do, don’t call them that.”
“I wouldn’t.” Well, now that he’d warned me, I wouldn’t.
“Fine. Fine. But think twice before you go contacting them. Don’t use your own phone.”
“I don’t plan to.”
“Fine. Do you have paper and pen?”
I pulled out the tiny metal-cased notebook I always carried and handed it over.
He wrote quickly, handed it back to me.
“Thanks, Eddie. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
“If you’re not dead.”
Chapter 45
Ignoring an angry text from Jason to bring the car back right away, I met Susan Kennelly outside the doors of Farrington the next morning. We were buzzed in without comment.
Students swirled by in what, to them, seemed like quiet order. To me it was chaos and noise. How had I ever survived high school? I had never been that young or that loud.
Amy Riordan was at the desk and all smiles for the both of us. I thought her smile for me was a tad warmer than it was for Susan. There was no time for small talk, though, since Dr. Marks came out to usher us into his office immediately.
“I’m glad to hear Gabriel was found quickly,” he said, settling behind his desk. “And I want to express my shock and disgust that Dr. Thalheim was tangled up in all this.” There was a hint of, not fear, I’d say, but caution in Dr. Marks’ bearing that I thought was probably warranted.
“I only want to talk about Gabriel coming back to school,” Susan began, cutting straight through all the preliminary dancing I’d expected.
“I’m not entirely sure that’s possible,” Dr. Marks said.
“Well,” I decided to interject, “maybe Ms. Kennelly should come back with a lawyer.”
Dr. Marks fixed me with his best imposing stare. I smiled back. I’d had better.
“I’m not entirely clear why you are here, Mr. Dixon,” he said.
“He’s here because I asked him to be. And while I’m paying him, Dr. Marks, the amount of money he’s making pales in comparison to what we’ve spent on Farrington. I would think that should at least create space for discussion.”
“Our tuition is scaled appropriately with the legacy and the…”
“I didn’t just mean tuition. How many classrooms and buildings on campus have the Kennelly name on them?”
“That is not necessarily germane to the situation.”
“Dr. Marks,” I said, “how is it you were so courteous on my first visit, and now clearly don’t want me here? What changed? The fact that a member of your counseling staff was dealing drugs to students? Or that he was identifying likely suspects for an insurance fraud operation?”
Dr. Marks hid his surprise well but I had him on his heels, for a moment. He recovered quickly, leaning forward over his desk.
“Dr. Thalheim worked under contract with the school from his own psychiatric practice,” he began loftily, “he was not fully a member of…”
“But will that explanation wash with the media?”
I could see the headlines running in Dr. Marks’ head. Guidance Counselor, Drug Dealer, Kidnapper was pretty weak from a prose standpoint but it wouldn’t do the school any favors.
“Reporters and lawyers poking around are the last thing Farrington, or its parents, probably want,” Susan put in.
“Gabriel filed proper paperwork to drop out of school.”
“And he can hardly have been in a right state of mind at the time,” I said. “Surely that has to be a factor.” Dr. Marks glared at me, though less intently. The instinct to protect the institution was absolutely driving him; that was plain to see. But there were probably better instincts under there somewhere.
“Doctor, I know you need to cover your ass. But I remember our earlier conversation, and I think there’s more to you than that. I think you want to do right by the kids here, and that, whatever pressures or influences led Gabriel to do what he did, you can find a way to help him get his life back on track. Maybe some kind of medical exemption, and he comes back in the second term. I don’t know how this stuff works.”
The appeal to his better nature seemed to melt some of that institutional fear away. “Let me look into the possibilities.”
“We can discuss them now. Today,” Susan said.
“I don’t necessarily need to be present for that part,” I said. “But there is someone else on campus I’d like to speak with, if I could. Someone who was instrumental in furthering my investigation.”
“And who is that person?”
I didn’t see how I could work around this one. “Liza Mortimer-Hanes.”
Dr. Marks’ eyes narrowed. “Should I call her in here?”
“Is it possible to send her a note asking if she’s willing to meet with me? I don’t want her name over the PA if I can help it.”
“How exactly did Ms. Mortimer-Hanes help with the investigation?”
“That’s private.”
“Not in my school, it isn’t.”
I sighed. “Dr. Marks, we can sit here and play chicken over who’s more stubborn all day, but we’ve all got busy schedules.” Drug-dealers to contact, I thought. Possible gang-wars to initiate. That kind of thing. “And talking to this student is instrumental in state cops and sheriff’s deputies and inter-agency anti-opioids taskforces not crawling all over your campus in the very near future.”
Dr. Marks wrote out a note and went out of his office. I was shooed out and shown to a conference room by Amy.
She took a seat next to me at the table and I glanced at her. She was, as she’d been both times I’d seen her, impeccably made up. She set her hand on my arm.
“Thank you for finding Gabe,” she murmured.
“You’re…welcome,” I said oddly. It seemed a strange thing for her to be thanking me for. And a question immediately formed itself, but I didn’t ask it. “It’s what I was hired to do.”
She nodded. “Everybody’s got to pay the bills.” She pursed her lips. “The school would like you to sign some paperwork.”
I sat up straight, taking my arm out from under her hand. The warm feeling in my chest evaporated.
“Like an NDA?”
“I’m not a lawyer,” Amy started, still trying her winning smile. It was very winning. And yet, I did not feel particularly won.
“Neither am I,” I said. “And I’m not signing anything unless a lawyer looks at it.”
“The school would consider adding to whatever compensation you’re receiving.”
I went stone faced.
“Considerably.”
I was briefly tempted. I usually had enough to pay my bills, small as they were. But large checks were pretty hard to come by for someone who’d quit as many careers as I had.
Amy was still smiling and I liked it less than I ever had.
“Let me ask you a question,” I said. “Why do you call Gabriel Gabe?”
She laughed it away. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m told he hates it.”
She shrugged. “There’s hundreds of kids here at Farrington, Mr. Dixon. I can’t keep all of that straight.”
I did something I shouldn’t have done; I compared her to Geneva Lawton. Who had always called Gabriel by his full name. Who’d probably risked her job to call me about Ladders. Whose actions indicated she actually cared about whether I found the kid, whereas Amy Riordan was giving me the impression that she cared a lot more about the institution that signed her checks than the life of a young man.
“I’m definitely not signing anything. Now, if you don’t mind, Ms. Riordan, I’d like some privacy.”
She withdrew from the room, and I saw the sheaf of papers tuck
ed into her other hand.
A few minutes later, Liza came into the conference room, carrying her bag in front of her like a shield. Her eyes were wide, sockets hollow, cheeks sucked in with worry.
“Are you here to tell me Gabriel’s dead or in jail or…”
“Gabriel’s fine,” I said, “for a certain value of fine.”
She deflated so completely and instantly, releasing so much stress that she’d carried, that I was afraid she was going to pass out. She caught herself on a chair and I came around the table to pull it out for her. She waved me away, so I backed around to my seat.
“Is he coming back to school?
“I think his mom is working that out right now. I’m here because I wanted to tell you that the information you provided more or less broke the case.”
“Broke is good? From the context clues, broke is good, yes?”
I nodded. Then I said, “However.”
She waited. Her face, still tired, gave nothing away. I already liked Liza. I liked her even more now.
“The police would like the names of any students Dr. Thalheim provided with drugs, either illegal or illicit.”
“And you told them…”
“That’d I’d go to jail before giving them a name without your consent.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because I think most of you would be sheltered from the repercussions of possession, and most of it would come down on Dr. Thalheim. But you never know what somebody out to nail some names to the wall in an investigation might do. And also because I don’t think they need you to make their case.”
“Lots of I think and I don’t know in that sentence,” Liza said, her eyes suddenly sharp. “Was him giving me Naloxone so wrong, anyway?”
“Dr. Thalheim was neck-deep in some bad s — stuff.”
“You can say shit. I’m not a child.” She looked like one, and certainly in many important ways she was, but she didn’t sound like a kid, and she wasn’t acting like one, either. I was even more resolved to keep her out of it if she wanted out of it.
“He was neck-deep in some bad shit. They’ve got him. But a kid or two under his care on the stand, or at least giving depositions, might make even more certain of it.”
She sighed, tapped her fingers on the table. “What would you do?”
I shook my head. “Not about what I would do. It’s what you want to do. I’ll back you either way.”
She took a deep breath. “What if it was just me? No other kids. He didn’t give me any illegal drugs.”
“He gave them to you in an illegal manner. I’m not sure the law sees a whole lot of difference.”
“Not the point. I’ll talk to the cops. But I won’t give them the names of any other kids.”
“I think that’s a bold and praiseworthy stance. I think you should get a lawyer before you agree to talk to anyone.”
Liza rolled her eyes. “My parents are both lawyers. Before next year is out, my mom will probably be a judge. That won’t be a problem.”
She was all defiance once again. I pitied the officer who was going to interview Liza and her mother. But only a little.
“One last thing,” I said. “You said you wanted to help your friends. That’s why the Naloxone. You’re the mom around your pals. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, is that a…career aspiration, or?”
“What are you trying to play counselor now? I’m not sure a guy who dropped out of college should be giving career advice.”
“How’d you know that?”
“The internet. You’re from Perry Hall, you were supposedly the best high school wrestler Baltimore prep schools had ever seen, you went on a scholarship to…”
I held up a hand. “All right, all right. I’m not offering career advice. It’s just…you remind me of a friend of mine. My oldest friend. And she’s kinda the same way. Tries to take care of everyone around her, as much as she can. It’s part of her career, and I just…” I shrugged. “Maybe you’d benefit from talking to her. Maybe you wouldn’t. It’s up to you, just like deciding to talk to the cops was up to you. All I’m offering to do is give you her name and her email address.”
“Sure,” she said with a shrug. I wrote out Dani’s email address on a card, made a mental note to bring this up to her, and slid it across the table.
I got up. So did Liza. I gestured toward the door and she stepped out of it, swinging her bag back over her shoulder as she went. I followed her out.
“There’s not gonna be an awkward hug situation here,” she deadpanned, “is there?”
“Uh. How about a handshake?”
She offered me her hand. I took it. We shook. Her grip was more confident than I imagine most high school boys were.
“Thanks for finding Gabriel,” she said, her voice a little smaller.
“I told you I would.”
“Yeah,” she said, “I’m just not used to believing that kind of bullshit.”
“That’s fair,” I said as I turned back toward the main office. “Just remember, maybe, that it’s not always bullshit.”
“Just usually,” she said as I departed.
I decided not to fight for the last word. I was pretty sure I’d lose.
Chapter 46
I had second thoughts every single second of dialing the phone, and talking to the pleasantly neutral voice on the other end. I wasn’t surprised when they told me to leave my phone behind. I wasn’t sure how they’d feel about what I was bringing them, but that was all the leverage I really had.
That’s how I found myself wandering a trailer park behind a Wal-Mart, looking for a number 33. As a kid, I had the disdain for trailer parks taught to those of us lucky enough to grow up in the suburbs. In the years of living in close proximity to these parks I thought I’d overcome that, but I was still ashamed of the classism that put me on edge as I walked around. I lived in a floating goddamn trailer anyway, with less value and less surety than the homes I was walking between. It was dark and shaded, a little muddy. Kids and dogs ran around, played in the evening cool. It felt like a neighborhood.
Finally I found 33. I thought it was the right 33. They hadn’t given me a street name, and there was no mailbox outside. I ascended the wooden stairs, expecting them to be rickety. To ricket? They didn’t; they were solid and seemed well built. I shook my head to clear the nerves that were making me jittery. I knocked twice and waited.
“It’s open.”
I walked in, throwing a hand up in front of my eyes. Three car-battery powered flashlights were pointed straight at my eyes the moment I opened the door. Someone brushed past and shut the door behind me.
“Can’t be too careful,” said a voice from somewhere behind the lights. I had to close my eyes and look at the floor. “Gonna search you.”
Which they did, coming up with my wallet, notebook, pocket knife, keys, and a small wad of aluminum foil.
“I thought you weren’t coming here to buy,” the voice said. I tried to place the accent. It had some of the markers of the county, or the shore, but maybe also Baltimore. “But you got a couple rocks in tinfoil, classic stuff, by the way. We don’t move a lot of that, though.”
“I’m not here to buy, and those aren’t rocks. Just here to pass on a friendly notice.”
“About what? You gonna play vigilante? Put on a Punisher t-shirt and buy a rifle?”
“I’m not that stupid,” I said. “Just want to give you a heads up about some competition. Not from me.”
“Oh?”
“Ever heard of the Aesir MC?”
“The what?”
“A motorcycle club. Call themselves the Aesir. Named after the Norse — ”
“Yeah, I know what Aesir means. You’re not the only guy in Cecil County ever read a book.”
“Well, they’re pretty
committed to that image. And they’re moving into the county from PA.”
“How do you know this?”
“Suffice it to say I wrecked something they had going. They shot someone connected to me. Probably gonna shoot me next, they get the chance.”
“Why you ain’t go to the cops?”
I shrugged. I ventured a look up, but the glare was just too much. “I’m not their favorite guy right now, either.”
“What you want, redneck mafia wit-pro?” The three guys in the trailer all shared a chuckle.
“Nope. Just wanted to make you aware.”
“Huh. And that’s it? Just a warning? Got nothing else?”
“Inside that tinfoil is a SIM card. It’s from the burner phone of one of their associates. Guy named Dr. Peter Thalheim. You might read about him in the papers.”
“Man, nobody reads the paper anymore. Shit’s all online.”
“Well, somebody’ll cover it there, too. Anyway, that’s from the phone he used just to deal with the Aesir.”
“Which means what?”
“Which means it’s got their phone numbers. Maybe some texts. Maybe some call records. You got a guy who knows what to do with that kinda thing, you can get some useful info from it.”
“How about that.” A pause. “And this little tidbit ain’t gonna cost us anything?”
“Maybe one favor. If any of the numbers on that turn out to be for kids — I mean kids in high school, kids in the area, kids Thalheim was supposed to be looking out for, and instead was selling drugs to, and worse — you don’t try and sell them anything.”
“Have to discuss that with some associates but seems doable.”
“Fine. That’s all I wanted.”
“Well, fuck off then.”
I turned and left. I stumbled down the stairs and leaned against the railing for a minute, till my night vision came back.
Body Broker Page 17
