Okay, that answered that question.
“We’ve gotten our hooks into a major drug ring with ties to the Vargas family, Mexico’s largest cocaine trafficker in this country. Lately, they’ve started moving into crystal methamphetamine in a huge way. The why is pretty simple. We cracked down on the sale of over-the-counter cold medicines and other household ingredients that were being used to produce the ice domestically. Felt darned proud of ourselves, too. Trouble is, the Mexican traffickers immediately saw an opening and jumped right in.”
“Nobody ever said they weren’t smart businessmen,” Des said.
Cavanaugh nodded his head. “They mass produce it south of the border, then ship it into the U.S. I am talking about hundreds and hundreds of pounds of methamphetamine crystals that are crossing into this country every day. As to what happens to it once it gets north of the border, well, our investigation has led us to Atlanta.”
Right away, Des felt an uptick of her pulse.
“Atlanta’s their distribution center, okay?” Grisky put in now, chomping away at his gum. “All of the ice shipments headed for the midwest and northeast pass through there, okay?”
Des said, “Okay.” He wasn’t going to be happy until she did.
“Over the past six months,” Cavanaugh continued, “we’ve assembled a joint task force made up of the DEA, the FBI, the Connecticut Organized Crime Task Force and, most recently, Captain Amalfitano and his Narcotics Task Force. U.S. Attorney Stokes has also been involved in an advisory capacity for quite some time.”
“And why did you end up in Dorset?” Des wanted to know.
“Because they did,” the Aardvark told her, slurping from a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Like you said, they aren’t dumb. If they stash a huge quantity of product somewhere like the South Bronx then it’s always at risk. You’re talking about a high-crime area crawling with dealers, users and various and sundry lowlifes. Maybe a rival dealer rips them off. Maybe a strung-out snitch whispers in some beat cop’s ear. Bottom line, their product is never secure and they know it. So they’ve started using stash houses in nice, quiet little towns like yours where there isn’t a whole lot of crime or drug traffic or scrutiny. It’s under the radar there. Who would think to look for three hundred pounds of crystal meth in Dorset, am I right?”
“You’re not wrong,” Rundle wheezed, putting the lie to Des’s theory that he’d fallen asleep behind his desk with his eyes open.
“Just last year,” Cavanaugh revealed, “one of the other Mexican cartels was using a lovely little village in the Pennsylvania Amish country.”
“Yeah, right up until we nailed their sorry asses.” Grisky let out a cocky bray of a laugh.
“And Dorset is ideally situated,” the Aardvark went on. “It’s halfway between New York City and Boston. It’s close to I-95. Perfect locale for a wholesale supply house.”
“Clay Mundy is their point man here,” Cavanaugh said. “He and his sidekick Hector set up the stash house on Sour Cherry Lane, and they’re operating it quietly and efficiently right there under everybody’s noses. That so-called seamless gutter business of theirs is strictly a shell. The only thing Nutmegger uses its vans for is transporting product in and out.”
“I knew they smelled wrong,” Des said. “Neither man has a sheet, though.”
“Because they’re cautious and they’re smart,” he said. “Mundy also appears to be a world-class player when it comes to the ladies. He moved right in on the Procter woman after her husband left. We gather she was already drinking heavily. He turned her on to crystal meth and ever since then she’s been floating in the clouds while he and Hector go about their business. We’ve been running a tap on their calls, intercepting their mail. The full monty. But these boys are incredibly careful. They conduct no business over the phone. Not a single incriminating call. Not a coded message. Nothing. Either their delivery schedule is prearranged or it’s communicated to them strictly face- to-face.”
“Meanwhile,” said Grisky, “we’re staked out in the woods twenty-four seven. Three of us on eight-hour shifts. Near as we can tell, they’ve got the ice stashed somewhere inside of the house. Neither man ever goes near the barn or wanders into the woods. Once a week, one of them will take off in their van to make drops. He’ll be gone for a day, sometimes two. The other one stays behind to guard the stash. They get resupplied every couple of weeks by another Nutmegger van-usually late at night. They keep an ultra-low profile. No parties. No hangers on. No fooling around. These are total pros. The neighbors don’t suspect a thing.”
“Have any of them made you guys?” Des asked him.
“Only Molly, the little girl. I told her I was with the DEP. She bought it.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Des said. “Molly is way savvy. She will also, I hope, be far, far away from this mess very soon.”
Cavanaugh stared at her for a moment before he said, “Master Sergeant, I think you’d better explain that remark.”
“When I stopped by Carolyn Procter’s yesterday I found Carolyn to be in a highly drugged-out state. Molly is currently living in the presence of illegal behavior. She is also unsupervised.”
“We share your concerns,” Cavanaugh said. “And we intend to remove the girl to a safe location when the time is right.”
“That’s fine for you,” said Des. “But I’m blessed with no such wiggle room. As my commander can tell you, I’m required to report my observations to the Department of Children and Families.”
Grisky immediately let out a groan of protest.
“Molly also happens to be one of my people,” Des added, raising her voice over him. “I don’t want to see anything happen to her.”
“And you think we do?” Grisky demanded.
“I think you gentlemen have your priorities and they don’t include the welfare of the Procter family. Which is why I resent you keeping me in the dark all of these weeks. You had to have witnessed the altercation between Richard Procter and Clay Mundy. Yet you did nothing to intercede. Nor did you alert me. Hell, for all I know you were aware that Molly had hidden him out on Big Sister Island.”
Grisky didn’t dispute this. No one did.
“I understand where you’re coming from,” Cavanaugh said to her quietly. “But we’ve had some huge cases go into the crapper lately because too many people knew about them. We desperately want this one. Secrecy is vital. Which is why I must point out that bringing in the Department of Children and Families would not be a very good idea right now.”
“Really, really bad idea, girlfriend,” echoed Grisky. “Last thing in the world we need is a bunch of social workers hanging around.”
“Okay, two quick things,” Des responded. “I am not your girlfriend. And DCF caseworkers do not travel by the bunch. And, okay, three things-I’m no fan of the DCF bureaucracy myself. I reached out to Carolyn’s sister. My hope is she’ll take the girl home to Maine with her. Maybe get Carolyn into some kind of rehab.”
Cavanaugh considered this carefully for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “We’ll be happy to see the girl relocated. Even happier if it’s expedited outside of official channels. As far as Carolyn is concerned, no one here wants to see the woman destroy her life. My only worry is if the sister topples the apple cart. Leans on Clay and Hector to move out, for instance. We’re at a very sensitive juncture right now. I’m talking days, hours away from landing on them. Our informant down in Atlanta has tipped us off to a big shipment of ice that’ll be making its way north to the Sour Cherry house within the next seventy-two hours. We intend to dog the delivery van from the moment it leaves there until the moment it arrives here-witnessing every drop it makes along the way. This is our chance to roll up the entire operation, master sergeant. It’s the culmination of a lot of hard work. And we do not want Clay suddenly getting spooked.”
“Understood,” Des said. “And, again, if you gentlemen had included me before now I would have made every effort to accommodate you.”
“Perhaps we should have,” Cavanaugh conceded. “If we’ve created an awkward situation for you, I apologize. We know you have a job to do. We’re just under a lot of pressure to deliver this one. Also, speaking candidly…” He cleared his throat, coloring slightly. “What I mean is, we were assuming that U.S. Attorney Stokes was keeping you up to speed. Strictly off the record, of course.”
“Well, you assumed wrong. Brandon hasn’t said one word to me about it.”
“The man is a pro’s pro,” Grisky said admiringly.
Indeed. A pro’s pro who’d spent last night bedded down in Bella’s old room. When Des woke up he’d already taken off for work. Left her a note on the fridge that read: I love you. Let’s sit down and talk tonight, okay?
