The Snow White Christmas Cookie (20 page)

“Are you telling us Bryce Peck was murdered, too?”

“I’m telling you we’re looking into it.”

“Initially, Bryce’s death played suicide all of the way,” Des explained. “He was someone who had a long history of depression and substance abuse. And I found nothing at the scene to suggest a struggle.”

“How did he die?” Questa asked her.

“By washing down a one-month supply of Vicodin, Xanax and Ambien with a bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold.”

“Prescription meds again,” The Aardvark reflected, slurping his coffee.

“Bryce had legitimate prescriptions for the pills. And his live-in girlfriend, Josie Cantro, swears that all three bottles were full last time she looked. But we only have her word for that. And we won’t know for a fact
what
Bryce swallowed until we get his toxicology results, which Lieutenant Snipes fast-tracked last night, right after Hank Merrill’s death.”

Grisky furrowed his brow. “Have you got reason to believe that this Josie Cantro might have been less than truthful with you?”

“Let’s say I have more information about her today than I did yesterday.”

“What kind of information?”

“Bryce Peck’s attorney drew up his will for him last week. It seems that he left Josie his house on Big Sister, which he owned free and clear. It’s worth in the neighborhood of five million.”

Sam Questa let out a low whistle. “Nice neighborhood.”

“Josie’s a life coach who has a thriving little practice around town. She had a professional relationship with Hank Merrill. And she currently has one with Paulette Zander’s son, Casey, who she also happens to be sleeping with. I know this because I walked in on them getting busy yesterday, less than two hours after Bryce Peck was pronounced dead.”

Now it was Grisky who let out a low whistle. “Josie’s a baad girl. Is she a babe?”

Des nodded. “She’s a babe.”

“Sounds to me like she’s up to her pretty eyeballs in this thing.”

“Whatever this thing is,” Des acknowledged.

Now Grisky turned to The Aardvark. “Okay, what does the Narcotics Task Force have for us?”

Joey Amalfitano took another loud slurp of his coffee before he said, “What this
thing
is, maybe. We’re spending more and more of our time going after dealers of stolen prescription meds. They sell them at a cut-rate price to low-wage working people who have no access to health insurance—diabetics, asthmatics, women who need birth control pills and so on. I’m not talking about a couple of skeejie characters peddling Oxy in a dark alley. These are organized, highly profitable black-market pharmacies that are operating under the protection of the Castagno crime family. Last summer we busted an operation in Bridgeport that was selling meds in broad daylight out of ice cream trucks at the playgrounds. The kids were buying Rocky Road. The grown-ups were buying Celebrex.”

“And this wasn’t counterfeit stuff from China or whatever?” Grisky asked.

“The real stuff,” The Aardvark assured him. “It’s turning into a huge problem for us. There is absolutely no way we can choke off the demand. Not when so many people are barely scraping by. So we’re attacking it from the supply end. We have an ongoing investigation into a gang that exists for the sole purpose of stealing prescription drugs for these black-market pharmacies. Some of these guys were connected with the gang we took down in Bridgeport. They’re still operating—with the blessing of the Castagnos—in places like New Haven, New London and Norwich. And they have a million different ways of getting what they need. The big-timers go after drug warehouses and delivery trucks. I’m talking armed, serious pros. Lower down on the food chain you’ve got hundreds of hustlers who gobble it up wherever they can find it. They steal it from the curbside mailboxes in wealthy rural towns like this one. And they have legions of little people who do their dirty work for them. Some of these people are pharmacy cashiers, motel chambermaids, cleaning ladies and the like. A lot of them are ordinary high school kids who’re just looking to score some pot or coke. You wouldn’t believe what these kids are lifting from their parents’ medicine chests. They swap it for their own drug of choice, legal or illegal, or for just plain old cash—which, as we know, never goes out of style. None of it’s real flashy, but it’s very profitable and it’s
everywhere
.” He glanced over at Questa. “If you discover that the postal service has some bad apples diverting prescription meds from the supply trucks into the hands of these guys then we may be able to bring down some major players. These are nasty boys, Inspector.”

Questa considered this for a moment. “Maybe Hank Merrill got in over his head with them.”

“If that’s the case,” Des said, “then he must have had a contact. Someone who was buying the stuff off of him.”

“And we need to have a conversation with that someone,” Yolie said. “Captain, I’d like to put some names and faces to the operation in this part of the state. Who the players are, where they hang out. We need to grab somebody and throw him in an interview room. He doesn’t have to be a big-timer. Just someone who we can pry open.”

“I’ll put my people to work on it,” The Aardvark said.

“Whoa, I feel like we’re really getting somewhere here,” Grisky exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “You see what happens when we all pull together as a team? Okay, let’s slice this bad boy up. Inspector Questa and his people will work the postal side. Captain Amalfitano and his task force have got the prescription meds angle. The girls will run their investigation into the murder itself. Or
murders
, if that’s how it plays out. Resident Trooper Mitry will continue to assist as needed. Sound good?”

“All except for one small detail,” Yolie said coolly. “Sergeant Tedone and myself are homicide investigators attached to the Central District branch of the Connecticut State Police’s Major Crime Squad.”

He frowned at her. “Okay, really not following you.”

“She means we’re not ‘the girls,’” Toni explained.

“Gotcha. My bad, Snooki.”

“And my name’s not Snooki.”

“Whatever you say. Questions?”

Toni raised her chin at him. “Yeah, I have one.”

Grisky flashed her a grin. “You keep right on coming. I like that. Okay, what is it?”

“Exactly what are
you
going to be doing?”

He blinked at her, taken aback. “I’m sorry, you were sitting here at this large table just now, weren’t you? Paying attention to what was going on?”

Toni nodded her head slowly. “Yeah?…”

“That was me doing it.”

*   *   *

Kylie was in a third-floor room for two that she had all to herself. Bright sunlight streamed in through the window.

She lay propped up in bed with her surgically repaired right ankle in traction. They had her on a morphine drip for the pain and she seemed to be in a semi-zonked state when Des walked in. There were abrasions on her lips and forehead from the Honda’s air bag, and her hair lay limp and flat on her head. But she was still a cutie in the way that so many big-eyed, soft-mouthed little eighteen-year-old girls are cuties. There was no telling what Kylie Champlain would look like in ten years when she lost her baby fat and the bones in her face started to become more pronounced. She might resemble her father more than her mother, though Des certainly hoped not, for her sake.

“Hey, Trooper Des,” she said groggily. “I must have dozed off for a sec. Are my folks here?”

“Don’t appear to be.”

“They went out for coffee awhile ago. Guess they’re not back yet.”

“That’s okay, Kylie. I came to see you.”

Kylie lowered her gaze, swallowing. “I’m really sorry about what happened. It was all my fault. I told him that.”

“Told who?”

“The policeman who was here this morning.”

“Someone came here to talk to you?”

“Uh-huh. I don’t remember his name. He said he was with … it sounded like the IRS, except not. Internal
something
.”

Des felt her abdominal muscles tighten involuntarily. “Internal Affairs?”

“That’s it.”

“What did he ask you?”

“Whether you made me drive faster than I wanted to.”

“Did I?”

Kylie let out a weak laugh. “No way. I’m the one who’s stupid, not you.” Then she looked up at Des, frowning. “
You’re
not in trouble, too, are you?”

“No. It’s routine procedure any time there’s an accident of this type.”

“I panicked, Trooper Des. Totally lost it. You must hate me. Everyone must.”

“No one hates you, Kylie. I certainly don’t. But do you mind if I ask you something, girl to girl?”

“I don’t mind. What is it?”

“Why did you try to steal those boots?”

“Because I have to look nice. Guys don’t notice me otherwise.”

“Sure, they do.”

“No, they don’t. Trust me, there’s girls who guys notice and then there’s girls like me—sort of okay looking except not really. My legs are too short and I have these thick calves and fat little toes. I look like a
troll
in shorts and flip-flops. Plus I’m a total dimwit.”

“No, you’re not. You’re eighteen. Believe me, I screwed up a lot when I was your age. We all do.”

Kylie let out a sigh. “I don’t even know
why
I keep screwing up. Except sometimes I just feel like I’m going to explode, you know?”

“I know.”

“How did … I mean, what did you do?”

“Figured out who I really wanted to be. And then came up with a plan. As long as I stayed focused on my plan I was okay.”

“I’ve tried doing that but I always … I-I daydream.”

“What do you daydream about?”

“Being tall and skinny like you. Looking good in a bikini. Lying on a beach in Malibu with a really cute guy who’s rich and nice and totally into me. We have a house right there on the beach. Everything in it’s new and clean. I have my own walk-in closet with a hundred pairs of shoes. And I have a dog. I love dogs. Big, slobbery ones.”

“Kylie, do you ever daydream about working?”

She looked at Des blankly. “Why would I want to do that?”

“No reason. I just wondered.”

“My mom wants me to be a nurse. I’ve been watching the nurses since I got here. They’re so smart and together. I don’t think I could be that way all day long.”

“Sure, you could—if you really wanted to. It does help if you have someone else in your corner.”

“You mean like my parents? No way. They are
so
screwed up and miserable.”

“I didn’t mean your parents.”

“Oh, you mean like a guy.” She shook her head. “Not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“I just told you—I’m a dimwit. They only want me for sex. Not one of them is willing to just chill with me. Go for walks on the beach.
Talk
to me.”

“I know a guy just like that.”

“Sure, because you’re tall and skinny and gorgeous.”

“No, I mean a guy who’d walk on the beach with you.”

Kylie tilted her head at Des quizzically. “Who are we talking about?”

“Pat.”

“The Pat who works for my dad? No way. I mean, yeah, we hung out a couple of times, but he’s not into me. He didn’t even try to kiss me.”

“He’s shy.”

“Shy around
me
?”

“What I’m saying.”

Kylie thought this over. “That red beard of his … it looks itchy.”

“Tell him to shave it off.”

“He’d do that for me?”

“He’d jumped off of the Baldwin Bridge for you,” Des said, wondering what else Pat would do for her. Would he steal? Would he kill?

“Trooper Des, I’m kind of zonked right now. Are you chumping me?”

“I’m not chumping you.”

Kylie gazed glumly at her elevated ankle. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to walk on the beach like a normal person again.”

“Sure you will. Let’s not turn this into an old Bette Davis…” Des drew in her breath. “Damn, I almost did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Kylie, you
will
walk like a normal person again. You’re young. You’re getting excellent care. And you’ll be a beast when it comes to rehab.”

“No, I won’t. I’m incredibly lazy on top of everything else.”

“You
used
to be lazy. You’re not anymore.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I have a feeling about these things.”

Des heard a noise out in the hall and Kylie’s mammoth, bearded father appeared in the doorway, glowering at her. She stepped out of the room and joined him.

“What do you want now?” demanded Lem, who wasn’t in a particularly friendly mood today.

“Just came by to see how you folks are holding up,” she said, glancing around for Tina.

“My wife’s in the ladies room. Anything
I
can do for you?”

“Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you. Did you tell Pat Faulstich to plow the driveways on Kinney Road last evening?”

“Kinney Road?” Lem scratched at his long, not-so-clean beard. “I’ve only got two customers up there, the Beckmans and the Shermans. I usually handle ’em myself. Don’t recall telling Pat to go up there. Slipped my mind, I guess, what with Kylie and all. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he did. He has a lot of initiative. Well,
some
initiative. I hear that’s where you found Hank Merrill.”

“You hear right. I ran into Pat while I was at the scene. He told me he was making his first pass of the day through there. I wondered if you might have sent one of your other drivers to Kinney Road earlier. Someone who could help us verify what time Hank arrived there.”

“That’s a no. I didn’t even talk to any of my other men yesterday. Just Pat.” Lem glanced down the hallway at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Well, well, speak of the devil…”

Pat Faulstich was trudging his way toward them carrying a bunch of tulips and looking extremely uneasy.

Lem noticed how uncomfortable his young driver seemed. “What’s the trouble, Pat? Did one of our trucks screw the pooch?”

“No, sir,” Pat said. “Everything’s fine. Just came by to, you know, pay my respects.”

“Aw, hey, that’s awful nice of you. I’ll be sure to give those to Kylie.”