Chapter Forty-two
Judy sat at the conference table in the mayor’s office at the Kennett Square Police Station, having finished giving her statement to a room packed with law enforcement personnel, including Detective Boone and two other detectives, three assistant district attorneys, and a fleet of FBI, DEA, and ICE agents who sat in the back of the room, taking rapid notes. The press thronged outside the building, their newsvans, reporters, and cameramen visible through the old-fashioned venetian blinds.
Before her statement, Judy had asked the police to contact her mother and her office to let them know where she was, then she had been photographed in her filthy clothes for purposes of the investigation, and finally showered in the locker room for female officers and changed into a KSPD sweatshirt and sweatpants one of them had lent her. Given the stink of manure on Judy’s skin, she doubted the female officer would want her sweatclothes back.
Judy’s filthy phone sat on the table between her and the law enforcement authorities, next to the silvery recording devices from the various agencies and Domingo’s scrap of paper that read BONIDE and MURIATIC. She had explained everything that had happened at the barracks last night, then what Domingo had told her this morning, playing the recording for them from her phone. Her eyes had filmed at the sound of Domingo’s voice, but she’d kept it together. She consoled herself with the notion that Father Vega was in federal custody and charged with an array of crimes, as well as being investigated for the death of Father Keegan. Carlos and Roberto had met their end, but Judy was enough of a lawyer to wish that they’d rot in jail for the rest of their lives. Luckily, they hadn’t succeeded in killing the two young girls from the Mini Cooper, the old man at the sandwich shop, or the Good Samaritans. The one girl had been hospitalized, but was expected to recover.
Judy met Detective Boone’s eye. “So how much money was under the manure bin?”
“I’m not sure it’s been counted yet.” Detective Boone kept his tone official, but not unkind.
“Ballpark it for me, would you?” Judy understood his reluctance, reading the body language of the FBI behind him, a collective stiffening of postures that were already stiff, in suits and ties.
“We are not at liberty to discuss that, Judy.”
“I think I’ve earned the right to know, don’t you? Modesty aside, nobody would’ve found any money but for me, and I almost got killed in the process.”
“Chester County appreciates your efforts, and as we’ve already said, you are to be commended as a private citizen for—”
“Please just answer the question.” Judy felt too raw and exhausted to mince words. “We both know what a pain in the ass I can be.”
Detective Boone almost smiled. “Fine. It will be in the newspapers, so I’ll tell you. Estimates are about $760,000.”
“Wow.” Judy didn’t hide her surprise. “Plus the $50,000 that was in my aunt’s house, that’s a major drug ring, isn’t it? Do you think they were dealing heroin?”
“I cannot give you any further details.”
“Did you find any money under the other bins, or elsewhere at the treatment plant? I’ll keep it confidential, you have my word.”
“Not the point. It’s police business, and given that you almost lost your life today, you should understand completely the dangerousness of the criminals we’re dealing with.”
“Please.” Judy thought of Iris and couldn’t let it go. “I know how they killed Iris, but I still don’t know why. Can’t you fill me in on your investigation or your next steps?”
“It’s no longer our investigation. We’ll keep a hand in, but the federal agencies are asserting primary jurisdiction at this point. They will liaise with us, but they’re running the show now.” Detective Boone gestured to the men behind him, and Judy could see from the tightness around his mouth that he wasn’t any happier than she was about the current state of affairs.
“Well, what do you think is going on here, gentlemen?” Judy raised her voice, addressing the room in general.
“Again, we’re not going to discuss that with you,” Detective Boone answered, presumably for all of them.
“I’m no expert, like you gentlemen, but it must be some type of heroin ring, right? We found where they stash their money, or at least one of the places they stash their money.” Judy figured she could think out loud and watch them for reaction, if they weren’t going to tell her anything. She thought of the money stored in her aunt’s house, now safely in the bank, and she remembered what John Foxman had said about banking laws. “So they’re selling heroin and making lots of cash, but they have nowhere to store it. They can’t put it in a bank, so they have to launder it, and I’m betting we found their hamper. Sorry, I found their hamper.”
“Judy, I’m not about to speculate with you.” Detective Boone closed his notebook, but Judy continued talking.
“U.S.D.A. inspections take place at the treatment plant, but the government inspects the treated manure, not the raw manure. Hiding the money under the false bottom was pretty smart.” Judy noticed one of the FBI agents frowning, so she knew she was right. “Now, it seems unlikely that so much money was hidden at the treatment plant without some of the higher-ups knowing about it, and maybe they’re in on it with Father Vega, Carlos, Roberto, or other employees at Mike’s Exotics. Maybe even Mike himself.” Judy realized that some East Grove police could be involved, since that was where Mike’s, the barracks, and the plant were located, but she didn’t say so out loud. She did, however, notice that no police personnel from East Grove were present at the meeting. “In any event, it looks like we have a conspiracy to deal heroin and launder money, right here in lovely Chester County. Boys, you have your work cut out for you.”
Detective Boone set his pen down. “I think we’re finished here, unless anyone has any further questions.”
“Wait, hold on,” Judy said, thinking of Aunt Barb. “Can I ask you a question about Iris? I know my aunt will want to know.”
“Go right ahead,” Detective Boone answered, his voice gentler, and Judy sensed he had a soft spot for Aunt Barb.
“Was Domingo right that if you mix Bonide and muriatic acid, they produce a gas that can kill you?”
“Yes.”
“How does that work, exactly?” Judy would Google it later, but she wanted to get the official version.
“Bonide is a brand name of a common pesticide on farms, and muriatic acid is a form of hydrochloric acid. It’s used in lots of applications, around the house or a farm. Masons use it to clean flagstone and the like. These are common chemicals that, when mixed together, produce a poison gas.”
Judy swallowed hard. “Would Iris have suffered a long time?”
“No, death is almost instantaneous.”
“Almost.” Judy’s stomach turned over. “I bet that’s how she broke her nails, trying to get out of the shed. Look on the floor of the shed, I bet you find the nail tips, little rhinestones.”
“Will do.”
“And the car window. Why do you think it was open? Maybe they thought some gas would cling to her? To her clothes or hair?” Judy didn’t pause for an answer, because she could see that she wasn’t getting one. Her heart ached for Iris, Domingo, and the others. “What about Daniella?”
“We’re investigating.”
“Did you look at the barracks? If they killed Iris there, they could have killed Daniella there, too.”
“We’re looking into it.”
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
“We don’t want to speculate.”
Judy felt another pang at so much loss. “You know what I don’t get? Why did the pathologist say Iris had a heart attack in the autopsy report?”
“Because she did. Hydrogen sulfide gas causes the organs to shut down, resulting in a heart attack. Unlike carbon monoxide, it doesn’t turn the skin cherry-red or any other color.”
“So it looks like a natural death, but it isn’t?”
“Yes, the only way the gas would be detectable at autopsy is that it sometimes leaves a faint rotten-egg smell in the organs, but the pathologist had a head cold. We think that’s how he might have missed it, if he did.”
Judy cringed inwardly. “Can they confirm that’s how she died?”
“The coroner can confirm it by ordering a special test of her blood for the gas. That takes a month or so to do, but it’s easily done.” Detective Boone paused, glancing over his shoulder at the FBI, DEA, and ICE types. “I can tell you that it’s becoming more common in rural areas like ours as a way to commit suicide. We’ve had cases where people mix the chemicals in the car, then close themselves inside. We started hearing about it last year and put the word out to first responders. We send in the Hazmat Unit to respond to a suicide like that.”
“How sad,” Judy blurted out, the horror of the day catching up with her. She sensed that the meeting was over because the FBI men were slipping their notepads inside their breast pockets and even Detective Boone stood, brushing down his slacks again.
“Judy, please don’t speak to the press, if they call you or show up at your office.”
“Of course not, I know the drill.” Judy stood up, gesturing at the table. “I’m assuming you want to keep my stinky phone, for evidence.”
“Yes, thank you. Might be time for an upgrade, eh?”
“Ya think?” Judy managed a smile, and Detective Boone guided her to the door.
“I’ve arranged for a uniformed officer to give you a lift back to the city, considering your service to the county today.”
“Thanks.” Judy flashed on the horrific explosion in her VW. It gave her a jolt, but she had to put it behind her for now. Detective Boone held open the door, and the other Chester County detectives, A.D.A.’s, uniformed officers, and FBI, DEA, and ICE agents gathered around her, thanking her and handing her a flurry of business cards with gold seals and embossed badges.
“I’ll take you out back to avoid the press,” Detective Boone said after the good-byes were finished, leading her out the door, through the crowded waiting room, and out a side door down a hallway. Judy let herself be steered past a time clock next to a tray of metal slots filled with punch cards, then a scheduling board covered with wipe-off Magic Marker notations, out the back to a small police parking lot. The sunlight was waning, and without her phone, she had no idea how long she’d been inside.
“What time is it?” Judy asked, disoriented.
“Four thirty.” Detective Boone gestured to a uniformed police officer who stood waiting beside a Kennett Square police cruiser, its back door open.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“We’re happy to do it. Officer Kitt will be your driver. Tell him where to take you.” Detective Boone put a paternal hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for everything you did. While we appreciate your efforts, I’m officially informing you that we hope you never do it again.”
“I won’t. Maybe.” Judy smiled. “Will you keep me posted?”
“No.”
“Aw, come on,” Judy whined, and Detective Boone didn’t suppress a wry smile.
“Okay, if there’s anything you need to know, I will.”
“I wish I understood why they killed Iris or what she was doing with the money.”
“We’ll keep investigating, you can be assured of that.” Detective Boone opened the back door of the cruiser while Officer Kitt went around the front, climbed in the driver’s seat, and started the big engine. “Travel safe. Please give my best regards to your aunt.”
“Will do, thanks.” Judy eased into the cruiser, and Detective Boone shut the door behind her, closing her inside. The cruiser took off, taking a left turn to bypass the media, then wound its way through Kennett Square and hit the highway.
Judy rested her head back on the hard plastic seat, closing her eyes, but she didn’t rest. Awful images flooded her brain, of white-hot explosions and fresh red blood. She could hear the noise of the blast, Roberto moaning, and Carlos cursing. She flashed on Father Vega, feeling shocked all over again that he’d tried to stab her to death. The priest had hidden behind the cloth to win the trust of Iris, Daniella, and an entire congregation, but in the end, Father Vega had betrayed them all, even his own, Father Keegan. Judy thought about Iris, who had been so savagely murdered, and it made her angry and frustrated that she still didn’t know why. Judy had believed she wanted justice, but what she really wanted was to understand why, though no explanation of motive could make her truly comprehend the human capacity for evil.
She opened her eyes, gazed out the window, and watched the highway whiz past. Twilight fell, painting the sky black as they headed toward the city, and she wondered what she was going back to, since everything had changed. Her mother. Her aunt. Even Frank was gone. She didn’t have a car anymore. She didn’t even have a purse or a phone. She thought about stopping at a pay phone to call her mother and the office, but the police already had. The Rule 37 motion had been answered, and the rest of her cases could wait. It was impossible to think about work in the aftermath of so much destruction and death.
“Ms. Carrier, we’re approaching the city limits,” Officer Kitt said, looking into the rearview mirror. “Where would you like to go?”
“Pennsylvania Hospital, please.”
“Gotcha.” Officer Kitt hit the gas, rolling into the city, then entered the grid that was Center City, choked with rush-hour traffic. Finally, they ended up in front of the hospital, where he dropped her off and she thanked him.
Judy entered the hospital and crossed to the reception desk to get the information about Aunt Barb’s room, then went up the elevator. She got off on a floor busy with visitors, doctors, and nurses bustling back and forth. Dinner service had begun, and an orderly pushed a tall, rolling stack of food trays covered with steamy lids, though she couldn’t smell anything for the stink of manure and ashes in her nose. She walked down the glistening hall, reading the room numbers until she had located her aunt’s room, which was the first closed door. She paused for a moment, bracing herself to see her aunt and her mother, and vice versa, or whatever. She knocked on the door, then opened it to see Aunt Barb in bed, and her mother sitting by her side with a female visitor.
“Hi, everybody,” she said, entering the room uncertainly.
“Judy!” Aunt Barb looked up, her lips parting with happiness. Flowers and cards covered the sidetable. “You’re here! Are you okay? The police called, and we’ve been watching on TV! Were you hurt in the explosion? What happened? Thank God you’re okay!”
“Honey!” Her mother jumped up and rushed toward her, arms outstretched, and gathered her up for a real hug. “We were worried sick! Are you okay? What did they do to you?”
“I’m fine, I’m okay.” Judy hugged her mother back, surprised at the show of emotion, which felt somehow painful. She let her mother go, avoiding her eyes. “It’s all right now, so don’t worry.”
“But look at your face!” her mother said, aghast. “There’s little cuts on your cheeks! Is that from the car bomb? Did you get to a hospital? Didn’t they take you to an ER? I knew something was wrong, very wrong, when you didn’t call me back. I called you this morning, did you get my message?”
“This morning?” Judy realized that her mother must have been the one who’d phoned when she’d been hiding from Carlos in the manure bin. She decided not to share that part of the story. “Sorry, I didn’t hear the phone.”
“Judy, come over, please!” Aunt Barb was sitting up in bed and motioning to her, with a hand attached to an IV and a pressure monitor. “I want to see you! You poor thing, what have you been through?”
“I’m fine, really.” Judy walked over stiffly, unable to shake the awkwardness she felt in the presence of her mother and aunt, especially in front of the female visitor, whom she assumed was a friend of Aunt Barb’s. Judy extended a hand. “Hi, nice to see you, I’m Judy.”
“Nice to see you, too,” answered the woman, with a Spanish accent. “I’m Daniella Gamboa.”