Girl Jacked

by Christopher Greyson

  “Impressive isn’t it?” Brendan beamed. “It’s a modified experimental design, 9.4 Tesla. One of the most powerful fMRIs in the world and twenty times more powerful than the average MRI. The University of Illinois at Chicago has been experimenting with a similar design for years with excellent results. The detailed brain scans can pinpoint reactions in nanoseconds.

  “How does it work?”

  “It operates by detecting the changes in blood oxygenation and flow that occur in response to neural activity. This control booth precisely controls and monitors the machine and the super magnet inside.”

  A young man, in his mid-twenties, sat at the console and clicked a mouse. Video monitors on either side of him flashed graphs and charts. “It takes almost a full day to power down,” the young man chimed in.

  “Pete, let him hear.” Brendan tapped the young man’s shoulder, and Pete flicked a switch.

  Jack looked at the girl on the stretcher and realized she was watching a monitor inside of the machine. He could hear her laughing and with each laugh, the charts on the monitors in the control room jumped and changed.

  “We’re almost ready to kill the TV and let her pray,” Pete said as he slowly turned a dial.

  Jack looked at Brendan. “Pray?”

  Brendan nodded. “This is a monitoring session for Dr. Hahn’s class—The Evolution of Religion and the God Spot.”

  “The God Spot?”

  “Dr. Hahn has a theory that there is one centralized spot in the brain responsible for religious thought. We can use the fMRI to see what areas of the brain are utilized for different functions. You can see from the pattern—”

  “Excellent, you’re here. Please accept my apologies for my tardiness.” Dr. Hahn hurried into the room and shook Jack’s hand. “I trust that Brendan is explaining everything?”

  Jack nodded. “It’s very impressive doctor.”

  “It represents countless hours and sacrifice by so many, including Michelle,” Hahn said.

  “How many students work here?”

  “Several dozen. We’re at full staff and have a number of students who volunteer too. Don’t you wish that you could have been able to get credit for watching TV?” Hahn laughed.

  “I didn’t realize you had so much high-tech equipment in here. It’s great that Michelle was getting it all locked down.”

  “This is a college psychology center. It’s as quiet as a church. Still, the college wants you to follow procedures.”

  “How late are people here, typically?” Jack asked.

  “Typically?” Dr. Hahn paused. “The hours are typically nine to five. It is, however, a college and in academia things are sometimes atypical.”

  “Dr. Hahn, what’s your function here?”

  “I am just a figure head.” He laughed. “They say I run the center, but you see that’s better left to the young. They bring me out for fundraisers and to teach a class or two.”

  “He’s being modest.” Brendan stepped forward. “Dr. Hahn is Director of the Neuropsychology Department. This whole center is his work. He’s a real pioneer in fMRI research.”

  Dr. Hahn’s hand rested on Brendan’s shoulder. “My student’s flattery is sure to positively affect his grades.” He laughed again and patted Brendan’s arm. “I do apologize, but I have a class this morning, and I need to prepare for it.”

  “Of course.” Jack shook his hand. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

  “It was the least I could do for all of Michelle’s work. Brendan will see you out.” Dr. Hahn turned to go.

  “Dr. Hahn, I was hoping that I could make a rather odd request of you. After seeing all of this, I just wish . . . I wish I could have been a fly on the wall and seen Michelle at work. Do you know what I mean?” Jack asked.

  “I do. Maybe it’s the researcher in me but wanting to be an observer is a frequent wish of mine too.”

  “Then do you think it would be possible if I could look at some of the video footage of Michelle working? I know it’s not a typical request, but I think it would help me with closure.”

  “Sadly, that wouldn’t be possible . . .” Hahn shook his head.

  “I’d be happy to come back.” Jack turned his hands out.

  “Unfortunately, it isn’t a matter of time. The security cameras were one of the last things Michelle was working on, and right now, they don’t record anything. They only serve as a deterrent.”

  “That’s too bad.” Jack’s shoulders slumped.

  “Michelle would have been very happy you came out here today, Officer. I hope you can find some closure in the fact that her work here was meaningful and will continue.”

  After another minute and one wimpy handshake from Brendan, Jack walked back toward his Impala as it began to rain. He didn’t change his pace or even react to the cold sting from the downpour.

  Closure. I’ll get closure when I find out what happened to Michelle.

  Chapter 24 ~

  Ask a Better Question

  Jack drove along the road through the state forest and looked at the clock. Twelve forty-nine. He was early. He pulled to the side at the third lookout spot. There were many staggered along the scenic drive so people could pull off, stretch their legs, and enjoy the view. He wasn’t there for the scenery, and he didn’t get out of the car. He was waiting for a silver Ford Taurus. It wasn’t there yet.

  It was cold out. He left the car running.

  Jack shook his head. Undercover detectives.

  You always had to meet them somewhere out of the norm. When he first joined the force, he had to make drops to an undercover at a golf course. They were a paranoid bunch with good reason. If one wrong person saw them, months of work could go down the drain or worse they could end up dead.

  Jack was here to meet Detective Mark Reynolds. He was the man to go to for information about what was happening in Darrington County, if drugs were involved. Jack wanted to know as much about meth as possible. He needed to rule out a few possible scenarios.

  To Jack it didn’t make sense that Michelle, who worked hard and never did drugs, would use meth.

  Could someone have slipped it to her? Are college kids using it and, if so, who’s their supplier?

  As Jack worked on his mental list, Reynolds’s car pulled in.

  The silver Taurus backed up next to him and Mark slipped out of the driver seat and slid into Jack’s passenger seat. Reynolds was in his early thirties but looked about ten years younger. Jack couldn’t understand how, considering all the stress he must be under. Reynolds was about five foot five, and he was strong. His handshake was so firm Jack thought it should belong to a sheet metal worker.

  His hair was black and wavy. He wore a tan work coat and blue jeans. His voice wasn’t too deep, but it had a calmness to it, like a teacher.

  “Jack.”

  “Mark. I appreciate you coming.”

  “I can’t stay long. I’m supposed to be dropping off a package. You said you had some questions you needed help with.”

  “Yeah, they’re about meth.”

  “This related to your foster sister Michelle Campbell?”

  Jack nodded.

  “She died in a car accident out on Reservoir Road?”

  “Yes.”

  “She had meth in her system.”

  “Yes. How did you know all of that?”

  “The ME’s office always informs the drug task force. We keep track of any deaths involving drugs.”

  Jack nodded. “I have a few questions.”

  Mark eyed Jack. “What’re you going to do with the information if I do give it to you?”

  “Do with it?”

  “Are you going to go kicking down the doors of all the meth dealers in the city?”

  Jack thought for a minute before responding. “I’ll think about what you give me. If it leads me to the guy who gave her the meth, yeah . . . I’ll kick his door down. You have a problem with that?”

  Mark looked at him for a minute and then shook his head. H
e lit a cigarette and leaned back. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  “How can you take meth?”

  “Shoot it. Smoke it. Eat it. Suppository.”

  “Is it big at the college?”

  “Depends on what your definition of big is. It’s available. It’s always available. We shut one lab down and another pops up. Last year there were two dealers at the college. I don’t know of one operating right now. It’s been quiet there lately.”

  “None?”

  “Like I said, you can get it, but there isn’t one dealer that’s got it for turf. Too much heat now.”

  Mark leaned forward and angled his head down while he pretended to tune the radio. Jack looked up and saw a man riding his bike along the road. They both remained silent as he rode past. The detective leaned back and took a long drag from his cigarette.

  “Could someone have forced her to take it?”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” He paused and looked at Jack. “Is that what you think happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “She wouldn’t do meth. She was a clean, hardworking kid with no previous drug use. If someone didn’t do drugs, would their first choice be meth?”

  “You need to ask a better question, Jack.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched. “How so?”

  “First off, you don’t know for a fact the she hadn’t done any other drugs, right?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Second, anyone might. It matters on the circumstances. I can’t answer how likely. Who knew her best?”

  “Her sister.”

  “Does she say that she could have done it?”

  “She said no way.”

  “But she had it in her system. What did the ME say?”

  “The body wasn’t been discovered for some time. They couldn’t tell how much.”

  Mark took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out the crack of the window.

  Jack cleared his throat. “I appreciate you meeting me.”

  “I understand now why you asked. Family is important.”

  “Do you have any?” Jack asked.

  Mark took another long drag and exhaled, letting the smoke waft out the window.

  “I have a wife who defies expectations. She’s like a good doctor; she has a lot of patience.” Jack smiled at the joke and Mark continued, “My daughter on the other hand . . .” His voice trailed off and he looked out the window.

  Jack debated for a second then said, “She’s like a pediatrician? She has little patience.”

  Mark looked at him, puzzled, then burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he started coughing.

  “That was funny.” Mark tossed his cigarette out.

  “I just made it up.”

  “Thanks. I needed a laugh.”

  “One more question?” Jack continued. “You said there are no dealers at the college now. Who were the dealers before?”

  “Carl Finn and Mike Leverone. Leverone will talk with you.”

  “Why not Finn?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Suicide. Last year.”

  “Why will Leverone talk?”

  “He had an accident. His lab blew up. Burned down his parents’ house and got pretty fried himself. He flipped. He gave us everything and everyone he had. He does Scared Straight stuff now.”

  “How can I get in touch with him?”

  Reynolds scribbled a phone number and address down and handed them to Jack.

  “He’s odd, but he’s helping us, so don’t go off, understand?”

  “I just want to find out how she got it. I’m open to ideas.”

  “Talk to Mike. He knew how everything went at the college. If it were me, I’d consider starting with your sister’s friends. Find out who she was with. Friends, start there. If not, you’re chasing the wind.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  They shook hands and Mark started to slide out of the car, then he stopped.

  “Jack?” Mark held up one finger as he stared straight ahead.

  “Yeah?”

  “There was this one kid. We followed him a few times last year. We suspected he was a runner for one of the dealers at the college, but we never could catch him red-handed.”

  Jack opened his notebook again.

  “Lennie Jacobsen. They call him Lennie J,” Reynolds said.

  “Thanks. I’ll look him up.”

  “No problem.” He gave a curt nod and then walked away.

  Jack watched the Taurus pull out and started dialing. He wanted to see Leverone before he went home.

  Chapter 25 ~

  But by the Grace of God go I

  It was a quiet tree-lined neighborhood and the small, yellow and white ranch fit right in. An old red Honda sedan was in the driveway. Jack pulled in behind it and parked. He walked up a curved brick walkway to a red door with a big, pine wreath on it, rang the doorbell, and waited.

  Someone yanked open the door. Mike Leverone stood smiling in the doorway. At least Jack thought he was smiling.

  Look him in the eye and don’t look away.

  Mark Reynolds hadn’t provided enough information regarding Mike’s accident. The fire had scarred and burned his entire face. A baseball cap covered his head, but the rest of his face was extremely difficult to look at.

  “Jack, I guess?”

  Jack had been a soldier and had seen more than his share of horrifying accidents, but one look at Mike and he wondered how he’d survived.

  “Jack Stratton.” He reached forward, and his hand closed around Mike’s prosthetic hook.

  “Mike Leverone.” The man smiled and nodded his head. “You’re good. You didn’t even flinch at the hook.” He turned, and Jack followed him in.

  The living room was clean and tidy. There wasn’t a spot of dust anywhere. Everything was meticulously placed and arranged. There was an enormous TV hanging on the wall and facing it was a large couch. To the right was a black leather chair. The wooden floor in the entryway led to a gray carpet that headed off into the living room. The carpet stopped before the kitchen on the left.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “Thank you for seeing me. I don’t get many visitors.” Mike held out his hand for Jack to sit in the leather recliner.

  If a man’s home is his castle, then his recliner is his throne.

  Jack nodded his head at the gesture as he sat down.

  Mike grinned. “Do you want a drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I don’t have any alcohol. I’m on probation, so I stay squeaky clean. Coffee?”

  “All set, really.”

  “Give me a minute then.”

  Mike wandered into the kitchen to a huge coffeemaker, reaching into a cupboard for a new cup. His sweater sleeve slipped down, allowing Jack a long glimpse at the scars underneath.

  “Sure I can’t get you one?” Mike asked, turning. Jack quickly pretended to be checking out the magazines that were stacked in a neat square on top of the coffee table.

  “No, I’m good.”

  Jack saw Mike shrug his shoulders, pour himself a cup, and then come back in to sit on the couch.

  “On the phone you said that you had some questions about meth and White Rocks.”

  “I do. I was told you had knowledge about the meth situation there. I need some help. The reason I’m here . . . Can I ask you to keep this confidential?”

  “Is this the face of a talker?” Mike laughed as he pointed to his scarred features.

  Defense mechanism. Self-deprecation. Laugh. Jack smiled.

  “Unfortunately, I’m here because I’m looking into a murder. The autopsy showed the victim had meth in her system. There’s reason to believe the victim didn’t do drugs. We think someone forced her to take it and then killed her.”

  “Forced her?”

  Jack paused. He was trying to read Mike’s face. He thought that maybe he raised an eyebrow,
but he didn’t have any.

  “Could someone have tricked her into taking it? Slipped it in a drink?”

  Mike shook his head. “No. You can parachute it, but if you put it in a drink it’s really bitter.”

  “What’re the ways to do meth?”

  “You could parachute, which is swallow. Snort, like coke. Smoke it. Slam it. You know shoot it like heroin or booty bump.”

  Jack winced. He wasn’t going to ask about the last way.

  “If someone was going to force someone else to take it, how would they?”

  “I’d think shoot it up.”

  “If someone does meth, do they get the effects right away?”

  “Not necessarily. It depends on the person. The way you take it affects the speed and strength too. Smoking is the fastest and gets you off quickest.”

  “Did you know Carl Finn?”

  “Yeah. Good guy. We were in some classes together.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He sampled. One time. He thought spiders were in his brain. He used a nail gun to get them.” Mike pantomimed the scene out as he spoke, holding his prosthetic hook up next to his temple and then jerking his head to the side.

  Jack shuddered.

  “He only sampled it once?”

  “All it takes.”

  “How hard is it to make?”

  “Hard?” Mike snorted. “It’s not. Anyone can make it.”

  “Anyone?”

  “If you have the Internet, you can figure it out. I learned at college.”

  “College? White Rocks?”

  “Dr. Franklin’s class. Will Franklin. He taught us how.”

  “He taught you?”

  “Step by step. He gave me the idea. I thought he was a hero until I blew apart my life.”

  Jack glanced at the hook where a hand would otherwise be as Mike gestured wildly.

  “Why did he teach kids how to make meth?”

  “Showing off? Midlife crisis? Power to the people? Who knows? It was my fault for doing it.”

  “What went wrong?”

  Mike shrugged. “The whole process is super combustible. You can see videos on the net. With me, it was solvents, I think. I was hurrying, and I left the cover off. Making meth is fire and explosive fumes. They mixed and boom. Fire all over.”