“Where’s the bedroom, girl?” Yolie hollered, puffing as she wrestled the squirming madwoman across the living room.
Des led the way. When they got there Yolie threw Carolyn down on the bed and pinned her there. Although Carolyn wasn’t done fighting her. She even tried to take a bite out of Yolie’s forearm.
For which Yolie slapped her hard in the face. “Behave yourself! Your little girl is out there. Want her to see you this way?”
Des found a man’s white button down-shirt hanging in the closet. Richard’s most likely. It took both of them to muscle Carolyn into it.
“He needs me!” she groaned, thrashing around wildly, her head swiveling from side to side. “Richard needs me!”
“Richard is gone!” Des hollered at her. “It’s Molly who needs you now!”
At the mention of Molly’s name the fight seemed to melt right out of Carolyn. She lay there limply now, panting for breath, foul-smelling sweat pouring from her.
“Are you going to behave?” Yolie demanded.
Carolyn nodded her head up and down. Yolie released her. Slowly, she sat up and fumbled for a cigarette on the nightstand, her hands trembling so badly that Yolie had to light it for her.
“I need a drink,” she gasped, drawing the tobacco deep into her lungs.
“You need to get clean,” Yolie countered angrily. “What are you into? Crack? Smack? Ice? All of the above?”
Clay reappeared in the bedroom doorway. “Everything okay in here?” he inquired, the picture of tender concern.
“Fool, what do you think?” Yolie snarled at him.
Now Carolyn had the full-blown shakes. Des could hear her grinding her teeth. It was not a pretty sound.
“I think Carolyn got upset,” Clay informed Yolie politely. “Which is perfectly understandable. Plus she’s been under the weather lately.”
“Oh, is that what you call it?” Yolie’s eyes were daggers.
Outside, Des could hear the Jewett sisters rolling up to the state police cordon. She went out there to meet them. Hector watched her coolly from the porch, saying nothing.
“Where is she, Des?” asked Marge, her eyes taking in all of the residents and sworn personnel gathered there. Mary was getting their gear out of the back.
“In the bedroom,” Des answered, lowering her voice as they hurried inside past Hector. “I want Carolyn Procter out of here, okay? Get her admitted to the hospital for acute psychological trauma. Or shock. Or a severe allergic reaction to prescription medication. I don’t care what. Just take her where she can get help, understand?”
“Afraid not,” Mary said briskly. “What kind of help?”
“Have either of seen her lately?”
They shook their heads.
“Then you had better prepare yourselves,” she said as the sisters barged past Clay into the bedroom.
Mary let out a gasp as soon as she laid eyes on Carolyn.
“Can you do it?” Des asked Marge.
“Consider it done,” she promised Des.
“Carolyn’s doing okay, really,” Clay tried to assure them. “Just needs a little shot of something to settle her nerves down.”
Marge ignored him completely. “Honey, you are coming with us,” she told Carolyn. “Can you walk?”
“She can walk,” said Yolie, pulling Carolyn roughly to her feet.
“Where am I going?” Carolyn wondered, gazing at Mary in bewilderment.
“To get you a hot shower, for starters,” Mary replied, wrinkling her nose. “You used to be the prettiest, most accomplished young mother in all of Dorset. I’d see you shopping for groceries in the A amp; P, always a smile on your face, always a polite word, and I’d say to myself that is one classy lady. Lord, honey, what on earth has happened to you?”
In response, Carolyn spat right in her face. Then began fighting with Yolie all over again. “Leave me the hell alone!” she cried out, struggling in Yolie’s iron grip.
“Out of our way, mister!” Marge barked, elbowing Clay aside as they hustled Carolyn out of there.
Clay didn’t try to stop them. He knew when to fold his cards. Just watched from the porch with Hector as the sisters loaded Carolyn into their ambulance, kicking and screaming.
Happily, Molly was no longer out there to see any of this. Jen had taken her inside her own house.
“Molly can stay with us for as long she needs to,” Kimberly promised Des after the sisters had rolled out of there, lights flashing.
“We’ll all look after her,” Amber chimed in, clutching Keith’s hand. “The important thing is that Carolyn get well.”
“I’d like Molly to stay out of that house while her mother is away,” Des said to them. “I don’t want her in there. Kimberly, please make sure Jen understands that, okay?”
Kimberly glanced over at Clay and Hector on the porch, swallowing. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”
“It shouldn’t be for very long. I’ve been in touch with Carolyn’s sister Megan up in Maine. She’s already on her way down to take charge of things.”
“That’ll be great,” Amber said enthusiastically. “Megan’s a really capable person.”
“In fact, I’m expecting her to turn up pretty much any minute now.” While she’d been waiting for the crime scene techies to arrive, Des had phoned Megan’s farm in Blue Hill. Woke up her partner, Susan, who sleepily told her that Megan had left for Dorset that very day at around noon. It was generally an eight-hour drive if the traffic was light, Susan said. Ten if it wasn’t. Which, according to Des’s calculations, meant that Megan should have reached Dorset at about the same time Richard was murdered. Unfortunately, Susan had no idea where she presently was or how to reach her. Megan would not buy a cell phone. She was convinced they caused brain cancer. “Amber, would you mind keeping an eye out for her?”
“Be happy to, Des. I’ll let you know just as soon as Megan gets here.”
Now Soave waved to Des from his slicktop, where he and Yolie were hashing things over.
“Cut to the chase,” he said to her when she joined them. “I know you schooled me to keep an open mind and all of that, but Clay Mundy’s a slam dunk, right?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because he stole the guy’s wife. Got her strung out on dope. Moved into his house. Beat the crap out of him a few nights back. Plus he looks seven different kinds of skeegie around the edges and he has a running buddy. Two-man job, remember? Otherwise, I can’t imagine why.”
Des watched Clay and Hector there on the porch, smoking and talking. “It’s whacked-out, Rico.”
“Yeah, you said that before. Whacked-out how?”
Her cell phone rang. She took the call and listened. “Right, I understand,” she said. Then she flicked it off and showed them her smile. “Prepare to get funky.”
They were setting up a temporary command headquarters in the auxiliary conference room of Dorset’s town hall, a stately, white-columned edifice that smelled all year around of mothballs, musty carpeting and Ben-Gay. Troopers in uniform were busy booting up computers and plugging in phones. Which was standard procedure for a murder investigation. But there was absolutely nothing standard about the collection of law enforcement professionals who had assembled by the time Des arrived with Soave and Yolie. Cavanaugh, the bland, cautious supervising agent from the DEA, was there. And Grisky, the testosterone cowboy from the FBI. And Captain Amalfitano from the state’s Narcotics Task Force, alias the Aardvark. Also a very polished and polite U.S. Attorney out of New Haven by the name of Brandon Stokes.
Who Yolie absolutely could not stop staring at. She looked as if she were going to hyperventilate when Des introduced him to her. “Girl, have they got any more like him at home?” she whispered after Brandon had crossed the room to confer with Cavanaugh. “Has he got like a brother? A cousin? Distant cousin?”
“Sorry, Brandon’s one of a kind.”
“I’m down with that. Mitch was cute but this one is the bomb. Real,
know who he reminds me of?”
“Let me guess-Harry Belafonte?”
“No, I was going to say Denzel.”
“My bad.”
“What’s up with Maverick over there?” Now she was checking out Des’s non-favorite G-man. “He ever stop flexing?”
“That’s a no,” Des replied, making a face.
The Aardvark asked the other uniformed troopers to let them have the room. Then he closed the door and they seated themselves around the conference table. Someone had picked up bags of burgers and spiral fries at McGee’s diner before it closed for the night. Grisky attacked the food ravenously, biceps bulging in his tight T-shirt. So did Brandon, who had eaten no dinner. Neither had Des, but she wasn’t hungry. Or happy. Her eyes found Brandon’s across the table. He wasn’t happy either. They were both thinking the same thing: So much for our wild and wet getaway to the Cape. So much for escaping from our responsibilities for a few days. That will have to wait. We will have to wait.
Soave listened to Cavanaugh’s Operation Burrito King rap in respectful silence, nodding his shaved head as the soft-spoken DEA man detailed their six-month investigation into the Vargas drug cartel, the Atlanta connection, Clay and Hector, the stash house on Sour Cherry, it all.
When Cavanaugh was done talking Soave sat back in his chair, tugging at his goatee thoughtfully for a moment. “This is all awesome stuff, guys,” he declared finally. “But I’ve got a homicide investigation to run. Homicide takes priority over whatever you’ve got going on. So I sure hope you aren’t trying to strong-arm me.”
Des had never been prouder of her little man.
Cavanaugh and Amalfitano exchanged an uneasy glance before the Aardvark said, “That’s absolutely understood, lieutenant. Obviously, we’ve got a vested interest in keeping our own investigation under wraps. But we in no way wish to impede yours. We’re just here to offer you whatever assistance and support we can.”
“Glad to hear it,” Soave said, turning his gaze on Grisky. “You can start by telling me what your men saw and heard from your setup in the woods.”
“That would be me.” Grisky dipped a spiral fry in a puddle of ketchup and chomped on it with his mouth open, splotches of blood-red ketchup flecking his lips. And Des couldn’t imagine why she wasn’t hungry. “I was up tonight. I was set up maybe a hundred feet behind the Beckwith house, angled slightly toward Turkey Neck so I’d have a direct sight line with the Procter place. That means the Sullivan cottage stood right smack dab between me and the crime scene. I was blocked out is what I’m saying. Didn’t see a thing.”
“Did you hear anything?” Yolie asked him.
“Maybe I did,” he replied, taking a starved bite out of his burger. “Maybe I didn’t. What I heard was a shriek of some kind. I thought maybe coming from the direction of the river. But I really wasn’t sure. It’s a warm night. People’s windows were open. I thought maybe the Beckwith girls were watching a scary movie on TV. Or Amber and Keith Sullivan were getting it on yet again. They never quit, those two. And they are not quiet. Or maybe it was a couple of alley cats out there in the brush fighting over territory. I didn’t know. I hear all kinds of noises in those woods at night.”
“And so you did what exactly?” Soave asked him.
Grisky stuck out his jaw and said, “Stayed put. No way I’m about to compromise my setup because of anything like that. Trust me, it wasn’t that much out of the ordinary.”
“I hear you,” Soave said, nodding. “Subsequent to this, what did you call it, a shriek…?”
“Shriek, scream, whatever,” Grisky said with a shrug.
“Did you see or hear anyone leaving the scene-either through the woods or up Sour Cherry Lane? Did you observe a car going by? Any kind of activity whatsoever?”
“Not a damned thing, lieutenant. Not until she rolled in.” Meaning Des. “At which point I checked in with Agent Cavanaugh by cell phone.”
“After I spoke with Agent Grisky,” Cavanaugh interjected, “Captain Amalfitano and I interfaced jointly with Captain Polito of the Major Crime Squad.”
Polito was Rico’s commanding officer, not to mention his brother-in-law.
“And we’re all in agreement,” the Aardvark declared. “Our best move right now is to stand back and give you folks a chance to do what you do.”
Brandon didn’t say a word. Just sat there and listened as he polished off his burger. The man was the tidiest burger eater Des had ever seen. Even his very last teensy-weensy bite was a perfectly arranged stack of patty, bun, lettuce, tomato and onion.
She cleared her throat now and said, “If I might…?”
“Jump right in, Des,” Soave urged her.
“What went on prior to this shriek, agent? The reason I’m asking is that the victim told Patricia Beckwith he felt like taking an after-dinner stroll. It’s not unreasonable to assume he strolled in the direction of home. Possibly hoping to visit Molly or, worst case scenario, have more words with Carolyn and Clay. Did you see him come knocking on his own door?”
“Nope,” Grisky answered flatly.
“Did you see anyone leaving the Procter house at any time?”
“I didn’t see a soul walk up or down that lane. I never do. There are no streetlights.”
“But you saw Richard and Clay going at it in the driveway the other night, didn’t you?”
“Because the porch light was on,” he confirmed, nodding. “Tonight, it wasn’t. It was pitch black over there. The entire Fighting Illini marching band could have gone by and I wouldn’t have seen them.”
Des mulled this over before she said, “Sounds reasonable.”
“Whoa, huge thank you,” Grisky jeered at her. “I so totally live for your approval, master sergeant.”
Des studied him curiously. “Something you feel like getting off of your chest?”
“Hell, yes, there is. It’s because of you that this went down. You’re the one who arranged for the victim to move in with the old lady when he got released.”
“We don’t really need to go here, do we?” Cavanaugh said to him.
“Why not?” Grisky shot back. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“It absolutely is,” Des acknowledged. “Because the poor man had nowhere else to go. And because when I made those arrangements I had no idea the Procter home was a stash house. That’s on you, gentlemen. You’re the ones who chose to keep me in the dark about your operation. So don’t lay your stink on my doorstep, agent. I was just doing my job.”
“And these jurisdictional battles are not helpful,” Brandon asserted, speaking up for the first time. This was how he operated. He watched. He listened. Then he stepped in and took charge. “We are all fighting the same battle.”
“Sure, take her side,” muttered Grisky, just like a petulant little boy in need of a spanking. Trouble was, he’d probably enjoy it.
“I am not taking sides, Agent Grisky,” Brandon said abruptly. “And I would urge you to get on board or first thing tomorrow morning I will recommend you be drop-kicked from this operation.”
Grisky bristled but held his tongue, his chest rising and falling.
Des’s cell phone rang now. She glanced down at the illuminated screen, then excused herself and stepped out in the hallway, closing the door behind her.
Amber Sullivan was calling to tell her that Carolyn’s sister, Megan Chichester, had just arrived from Maine in her beat-up Chevy pickup. Upon being told the awful news about her brother-in-law, Megan had rushed over to Kimberly and Jen’s to be with Molly. She wished to see her sister as soon as possible, reported Amber.
“Absolutely,” Des said. “Carolyn is being treated at Middlesex Hospital. Can you tell Megan how to get there?”
Amber told Des that would be no problem. Des thanked her and returned to the conference room.
“Let’s review where we’re at, shall we?” Brandon said, glancing down at a lined yellow note pad as Des sat back down. “If no one was observed fleeing the crime scene then Professor
Procter was most likely killed by a resident or residents of Sour Cherry Lane, correct?”
“Unless our search of the area tomorrow morning reveals evidence to the contrary,” Soave said. “And our prime suspect appears to be your boy Clay Mundy, with an assist by Hector Villanueva. Unless I’m missing something. Did anybody else have a good reason to be pissed off at the guy?”
“How about his wife?” Yolie asked. “She’s an all-out methrage monster. Also strong as a bull. I wouldn’t cross her off of my list.”
“Fair enough,” Soave said, turning to Des. “Anyone else?”
Des thought it over carefully before she replied, “Not that I’m presently aware of.”
“Then it seems we have ourselves a situation here,” Cavanaugh said. “It so happens that your prime suspect is the very same individual who is the target of our own investigation. Now what are we going to do about that? Because we do not want to compromise Operation Burrito King if we can avoid it.”
“I don’t wish to belabor the obvious,” Brandon said to him, “but this particular facet of our operation is already compromised. There is virtually no chance the crystal meth shipment from Atlanta will arrive here as planned. Not with the entire vicinity crawling with state police.”
“No chance,” the Aardvark concurred, thumbing his chin glumly. “You also got to figure that Mundy’s plenty spooked right about now. He’s pinned down there with a major stash and a murder rap hanging over him. I wonder why he and Hector didn’t just try to run?”
“Admission of guilt,” said Brandon.
“Plus they’re responsible for that ice,” Grisky added. “The Vargas family would not be happy about them ditching it. I’ve seen what they do to people who bail on them. Trust me, it ain’t pretty.”
“Those two can’t run and they can’t hide,” Soave said. “They are totally screwed.”
“And they’re in it together,” Yolie said. “Unless we can convince one to flip on the other.”
“So what’s our next move?” the Aardvark wondered. “Do we go ahead and show them our hand? Swoop down and nail them for possession with intent to distribute?”
The sour cherry surprise bam-6 Page 12
