David Handler - The sour cherry surprise

“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?

“Now that I’m up to speed,” Des said to Cavanaugh, “exactly what is it that you want me to do?”

“Go about your normal business,” he replied. “Just don’t do it anywhere near Sour Cherry Lane. Stay away from there.”

“Not a problem. But what if the unforeseen happens?”

“Such as?”

“Such as I get another routine call to go out there.”

Cavanaugh opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Which left it up to Rundle to tell her, “Pray that you don’t.”

“You’re not pregnant, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“This much I already know. I took a home test.”

“Have you taken any allergy or cold medication? Used a nasal spray?”

“No, why?”

They were all done with the physical part of her examination. Des had been poked inside and out. Blood and urine samples taken. Now she had her uniform and dignity back on as she and Dr. Lisa Densmore sat there in the tiny examining room on Park Street in New Haven. Lisa was a generously sized slab of a sister out of Newark, by way of Yale Medical School. Also a friend dating back to when Des and Brandon were living in Woodbridge. Lisa’s husband Ron, a research chemist, used to play basketball with Brandon Saturday mornings.

“How about diet pills?” she asked as she pored over Des’s medical file.

“Why on earth would I take diet pills?”

Lisa smiled at her. She had a space between her two front teeth that gave her the look of a mischievous little girl, which she was not. She was a serious, tough-minded doctor. “Desiree, you are one of the most superbly conditioned patients I’ve ever treated. When a fine, healthy specimen such as yourself tells me she’s been blacking out I start with the basics, okay?”