The Aden Effect (5 page)

“Maybe they wanted my boat,” Stark said dismissively.

The officer stared at him for a moment. It didn't take a Scotland Yard detective to figure this out. “There were other boats that didn't have anyone on board and were easier targets. Did you owe them money?”

“I told you, I never saw them before.”

“Have you ever dealt with Somalis?”

Stark paused. “I've dealt with a lot of people.”

“Care to elaborate?” the officer asked.

“No,” he said as two men in khaki uniforms entered the pub and strode up to the booth.

“Thought you two were supposed to leave at first light. What happened to Navy punctuality?” Stark said to them.

“We're still waiting for an answer, sir,” said Lieutenant Commander Billings.

“It seems everyone is,” Stark replied, looking first at the detective and then at Maggie. “Gentlemen, could all of you wait outside for a few minutes?” he asked.

When the last man left, he turned to Maggie, trying without success to mask the resignation clearly evident in his eyes. “We never did have that talk at the house,” he said.

She released his hand and touched his face softly, struggling to make eye contact. “Had you already decided?”

“I wasn't sure. I was going to talk with you first.”

“And these men you killed changed that?”

“Yes. They changed everything.”

The coroner pulled back the sheet that covered the body. Golzari had seen dead bodies before. Lots of them. Young, old, male, female, intact, dismembered. Too many to let the body of this young man affect him. He reviewed the police report and saw the reporting officer's name—Hertz. He glanced up at the officer who had brought him from the police station before turning back to the report. “John Malesherbes Dunner the Fourth. Age twenty,” Golzari said without looking up from Hertz's report. “Sophomore at Antioch College. Hair brown. Eyes brown. Hometown Potomac, Maryland. Clothed body found on the northern bank of the Passamaquoddy River one hundred yards from the
falls at 6:45 p.m. by a jogger crossing the bridge into Antioch. No known witnesses. Roommate identified the body.”

Golzari set the report aside and looked up. “I know his father.” He looked at Hertz. “Have you questioned the roommate yet?”

“No. When I was told you were on your way here, I thought I'd wait.”

“Thanks. Dunner's father is on a flight from Mexico and should be here in a couple of hours.”

“Can I start the autopsy now?” asked the coroner. Golzari nodded, accepting the silent offer of some Vick's VapoRub for his nose to help mask the stench.

The body was discolored, mottled in a dark green pattern that reminded the DSS agent of Irish Connemara marble. “Did anyone check the temperature of the water?” Golzari asked.

“The normal sixty-six,” Hertz responded.

“If he was found yesterday at around 6:45, he would have died about a day ago, give or take a few hours. His blood was reacting to the hydrogen sulfide. Is that right?” Golzari asked the coroner.

The hefty, triple-chinned coroner merely nodded as he waddled to the other side of the table and began to cut. The autopsy showed nothing out of the ordinary until the coroner pried the boy's mouth open with his hands and pulled back his cheeks to get a fuller view. “Hmm,” he mumbled.

“Something?” Hertz asked.

“The teeth. Overall they seem very healthy. Basically what you'd find in someone his age and background, though he could have brushed more. Except—strange—they have a slightly green tinge. Almost like he smoked or chewed tobacco, but a different color. Unless this got caught in his mouth while he was in the water, it looks like he chewed whatever it was right before he died.” The coroner produced a small, wet leaf that had been lodged between the young man's molars.

“Maybe. Hertz, are these his clothes?” Golzari pointed to a tray to the side.

“Yup. T-shirt, shorts, and sandals. He probably took a walk on that old pedestrian bridge the night before. Options are: one, he lost his footing, in which case it was an accident and this is closed; two, he knowingly jumped, in which case this is also closed; or three, he was pushed, and this becomes a homicide.”

Golzari took a breath mint tin from the pocket of the shorts and unscrewed the lid to expose its still-dry contents. “Fancy that.” Surely the coroner couldn't be so naïve as to believe that this was chewing tobacco. “Doctor, don't be surprised if his blood sample shows signs of an amphetamine.”

“You mean like meth?” Hertz asked, peering into the open can and then staring suspiciously at the DSS agent.

“No, like khat, or cathinone to be precise,” he said, turning his back on the body and heading toward the door. “Let's go talk with the roommate.”

The dormitory room smelled like unwashed socks, skunky beer, mildew, and leftover pizza. Johnny Dunner's roommate was dressed much as Johnny had been—T-shirt, khaki shorts, and leather sandals. Unlike the clean-shaven Dunner, the roommate sported a sparse goatee on his chin, a mere shadow of Golzari's own meticulously groomed growth.

“Want a seat, guys?” the roommate asked motioning to Johnny Dunner's bed, which was covered with dirty laundry.

“Thanks, I'll pass,” Golzari said looking at the pile in disgust.

“I thought all I had to do was identify Johnny.”

“Agent Golzari has just a few questions for you,” Hertz responded. The roommate sat back on his bed and looked up at the two law enforcement officers.

“Okay. Ask away. Mind if I chew?” He pinched a small wad of leaf from a tin and picked up a cup from his desk to spit in.

“When was the last time you saw Johnny,” Golzari began as he watched the young man's jaws move rhythmically.

“Couple of days ago,” the boy said matter-of-factly.

“More specifically?”

The roommate's eyes rolled upward as he tried to recall. “About ten o'clock that night.”

“Here?”

The roommate, still drowsy after this unusually early wake-up call, was slow in trying to remember. “Yeah, but he left.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“No,” the boy said, spitting leaf juice into the cup. Golzari had seen it before, of course, but he remained repulsed by the disgusting act.

“Are you nervous?” Golzari asked.

“No,” the roommate said slowly.

“Why was Johnny on the bridge at the falls?”

“I don't know.”

“Did he regularly go there at night?”

“I don't know.”

“How often do you brush your teeth?”

“Huh? What?”

“Simple question. In case you haven't noticed, there's a hint of green on your teeth. Unless you're going for the Saint Paddy's Day look—a few months too late—I'd say it's from something else. Where'd you get the khat?”

The kid nearly swallowed the wad in his mouth. “I-I don't . . .” he stammered.

“That's not Red Man you're chewing there, Sparky. Where'd you get the khat?” Golzari asked again, his friendly smile changing to a menacing glare.

“Do I have to say?” the boy asked Hertz.

“Yes,” the officer answered, “you do.”

“I don't know if I should. I mean I . . .”

“Look, kid,” Golzari said, cutting him off, “I happen to know a few things about khat. It comes from East Africa. Ever been there? No? Well, I have. A lot of people there chew it every day, so the streets look like Zombie-town. Everyone stoned out of their minds—and I don't mean the New England liberal arts college funny kind of stoned out of your mind. Since 1993, khat has been categorized as a Schedule IV controlled substance in the United States. That means you can be fined $250,000 and spend three years in prison just for having some in your possession. And if Johnny had khat just before he died and fell into the river, then we need to know who provided it to him. Was it you or not?”

The roommate spat into the cup again, refusing to raise his eyes from the floor. “No,” he finally said. “Johnny gave it to me.”

“Where did he get it?”

“From one of the Somalis downtown. But I don't know anything about who. Johnny never told me.”

“How long have you been using?”

“Since about a year ago. The end of our first semester.”

“Johnny didn't waste any time,” Golzari muttered. “So much for staying clean. Was he doing anything out of the ordinary two days ago?”

“He was gone for most of it.”

“Where?”

“Every couple of months he went away for half a day. He'd come back with enough khat for us.”

“For just the two of you?”

“For a lot of people, but Johnny only kept enough for himself and his friends. The rest went downtown.”

“And you don't know who got it?”

“That's what I said.”

“Anything different about this trip?” Golari asked as he looked around the room.

“Sort of,” the boy replied. “He was pretty quiet when he got back here that night. He gave me a couple of bags, then he was on his computer for a while.”

“What was he doing?”

“Searches, I think. At one point he said, ‘Holy shit.' He started acting funny and pacing around.”

Hertz sat at the desk and turned on Dunner's computer.

“Hey! Are you supposed to do that?” the roommate asked, starting to rise.

“Hey! Are you supposed to do khat?” Golzari retorted, slapping the kid's face for good effect. The kid shut up and sat back down.

“Did he say anything else?” asked Golzari.

“Just that he wanted to call his dad but didn't know if he should.”

“Where's the khat?”

The roommate stood and brushed aside Dunner's pile of clothes on the bed, uncovering three packets of khat and an envelope with something written in Arabic script.

“Abdi Mohammed Asha,” Golzari read aloud. He opened the envelope, revealing a gold watch inscribed in Cyrillic.

“That's the name,” Hertz said without turning around.

“Huh?”

“The last search on Google. ‘Abdi Mohammed Asha.” Could be a Somali name.”

“What else did he search that night?”

“‘Katya P.' and ‘Ivan Korchenko.'”

“Any hits?”

“Yup.
Katya P.
is the name of a supertanker apparently taken by pirates about a month ago, although no ransom was asked. Korchenko was her captain.”

Golzari looked at the watch again. Though he couldn't read Cyrillic, two capital Ks stood out, corresponding to the ship's and the captain's names.

“One more thing, Damien. Looks like Dunner also got directions to Boston Harbor that day.”

“Anyplace specific?”

“A pier.”

“We're done here, Hertz.” Golzari turned back from the door to add, “Don't go far, kid. Don't talk with anyone about our discussion. And sure as shit don't do any more khat.” He seized the bags and strode out of the dorm room.

The freshly mown grass on the quad outside the dormitory was far more aromatic than half-chewed khat or the body of Johnny Dunner. Golzari took a deep breath to clear the smell of dirty laundry from his nostrils. The hum of a large riding mower faded as its pattern took it away from the two law enforcement officers.

“What the hell was that about, Damien? Did this just become option three?”

“The facts are definitely starting to point toward homicide. Drugs and pirates. Something tells me I'm not wrapping up this investigation today. Have a lot of problems with khat here?”

“First I've heard about it,” Hertz replied.

When they reached the far side of the quad and the edge of the campus, Golzari put one hand on the hood of the police car to balance himself as he brushed grass clippings off his meticulously polished shoes.