Shadows of the Dead, page 16
part #5 of The Soul's Voice Series
Jesse nodded, “Alright.” He said managing a small smile. “Thank you.” He pushed away from the table and stood. “I’m going to pack.”
He went to his bedroom and pulling the same two duffle bags he arrived with years before, packed his belongings. He removed his own stash of cash from under the floorboards, stuffing the bundled bills into his duffle bags before leaving them in the hall and entered the Archive Room. For years his intention, his duty, was to incorporate all the material in these boxes into a multi-volume biography of JB Ziphron after his death. But as the years passed he gradually came to believe it was his duty to take them all to the FBI and let them sort it out. But now he found he could care less. Let the authorities find it.
He turned on his heel and closing the door behind him, picked up his bags and returned to the kitchen. Rez and Creed had packed Jesse’s share of the bundles of cash and gold bars in a sturdy canvas bag and Rez slid it off the table.
“Here you go…” Creed handed him a slip of paper. “You probably know this by heart by now… for the offshore money.”
He took it. “Thank you.” He said, and removing his wallet from his back jeans pocket, slid the paper inside and returned it to his pocket again.
“Ready?” Rez asked.
“All ready.” He nodded. Rez and Creed followed him out the door. He loaded his bags and canvas bag of gold and cash into the back of the SUV and opening the driver door, tossed in his straw cowboy hat.
“You’re not taking the archive?” Creed asked.
He shook his head. “No, I’m going to leave the lot here.” He shrugged. “Someone will write JB’s biography one day, but it won’t be me.”
Rez nodded. “Safe travels my friend.” He held out his hand and Jesse took it.
“Thank you, and to both of you as well…I… I want to thank you for being such good friends to me over these years…” A sudden lump in his throat stopped him from saying anything further and Rez pulled him into a bear hug. Both men squeezed each other and patted the other’s backs for a long minute before parting.
Emotional, Creed cleared her throat. “Don’t you dare forget us.” She warned and grabbed Jesse in an equally fierce hug.
Jesse chuckled, returning the embrace. “Never.” He promised.
“We have each other’s numbers and emails…” Rez said. “Keep in touch, okay? We’re gonna take off as soon as we can too.”
New York City, NY
Jordan sat at her desk, her chair tilted back as she squinted at the whiteboard. “I have to go back and poke at Mister Thomas some more.” She said, “This case is going cold, someone has to cave.”
Catherine sat at her desk, across from Jordan and shrugged, staring at her monitor. “I know…”
Jordan’s burner phone rang and her brows arched in surprise, “It’s Jane…” She answered, “Hey, wha…”
“Jordan! We just got word JB Ziphron has died! We’re keeping it out of the news as long as we can… can you get out here?”
Jordan’s booted feet slid off the open drawer she propped them on with a thud. “You’re kidding!”
“The county coroner hadn’t heard of JB Ziphron, but when he entered his name in the database he popped up on the FBI wanted list for violation on inurement violations so he called the contact number and got us. We have county deputies there to lock down the farm he died at…”
“He died on a farm?” Jordan asked, incredulous.
“It’s a ranch.” Jordan could hear Pat correct her in the background.
“Yeah, whatever!” Jane rasped. “Are you comin’ out here or what?”
“I am… I am!” Jordan checked the time on her monitor, “I’ll text you with an ETA, okay?” She hung up and speed dialed their supervisor Stewart MacLaine from her desk phone.
Catherine had heard Jane’s raspy voice over Jordan’s phone and started packing her laptop and tablet as Jordan explained the situation to him.
“So what do you need?” He asked.
“I can’t wait for a commercial flight…” She noticed Catherine packing and waving her free hand to get her attention, pointed at her, “Nope!”
“What?” Stewart said, confused.
“No, not you, Stewart…” Jordan gave Catherine a plaintive look. “Can you have the private jet fired up to fly me there? I need to go right now.”
Stewart sighed, “Yeah, ok, I’ll make the call, get yourself to the airfield.”
“Great, thanks.” Jordan hung up and grabbed her briefbag from the floor and stuffed her laptop and charger cord into it next to her tablet.
“I’m going too.” Catherine announced.
Jordan slid her burner phone and US Marshal wallet into her jacket pockets and absently patted her hands over them and her weapon. “Okay…” She slung the strap of her briefbag over her shoulder. “I’m off.”
“Cam can…” Catherine stood beside her desk and Jordan handed over her personal cel phone and FBI wallet to her.
“No.” Jordan bent to kiss her. “I need you to give me a ride to the airfield…” She held her face in her hands and she kissed her again. “I love you, and no, you’re staying here.”
“Why?” Catherine was suddenly irritated and she angrily waved her hands holding Jordan’s phone and wallet. “He’s dead! There’s no…”
“Catherine.” Jordan cut her off and cocked her head to one side, regarding her. “Yes, the founder is dead, apparently from natural causes. We can’t interview him; I’m only going to do whatever interviews I can and retrieve hard drives for you, if there’s anything like that there, then I’ll be right back, but do the math; I won’t be 'til early tomorrow morning, you might as well just stay here with Cam.”
Catherine sniffed, “Fine.” She grumped. “Dammit.”
San Luis Obispo, CA
He stared at the drab white, mostly windowless building and sighed. Brian Cargill had served as JB Ziphron’s personal physician for more than four decades. Until today. He thought, unsure how he should feel, really. He sat in his car and looked down at his phone, checking the time. He had dutifully called the coroner’s office when Rez called him with the news, but hours later the medical examiner had summoned him to give his account, in person, of how he determined JB’s cause of death. I signed the death certificate when the van arrived to take him away, that should be enough. Making me come all the way here is a ridiculous waste of my time.
He had waited many long years for the call from Rez, informing him JB had died. He believed when it finally happened it would be a simple matter of calling the coroner’s office for removal of the body and signing the death certificate. After JB was taken way he spent the rest of the morning sitting with the Jacob’s, drinking coffee and remembering happier times. They were shocked when two sheriff cars pulled up the long driveway and the deputy in charge informed them JB’s body would be held by the coroner’s office pending an investigation by the FBI.
He was old… and sick. It was just his time to go! I did nothing wrong… He checked the time again. I should go in… He still hesitated. I don’t want to call… but… He shook his head; you know he can make your life miserable…I mean he will. After all these years, he scolded himself, he’d find you and… he could always find a way… He searched through his contacts and tapped the number for Martin Thomas.
“Hello,” he greeted them, “I’m Carter Bentley, the medical examiner here.” He shook hands with Pat and Jane and Jordan in turn then strode past the receptionist’s desk. “This way please!”
Jane turned back to give a Jordan a look and the trio followed him down a long hallway. He stopped and opened a door marked Examination Room 4.
“After you.” His gesture was polite and he followed them inside, letting the door close automatically behind him.
The body of JB Ziphron lay naked on the table, excepting the folded sheet draped across his genitalia. Jane arched her brows inquiringly when the color drained from Pat’s face.
“This is the subject of your inquiry: Julius Bryant Ziphron. As you can see I have already completed, for the most part, my autopsy here… which is why he has a closed Y incision on the torso…”
Jordan privately noted Ziphron’s longish white and gray hair had a dull yellow tinge. She couldn't tell if it was natural or not, given the foul alcohol and ashtray odor that hung about the body. Pat made a soft gagging sound and covered her mouth.
Jane turned to her, “It’s okay if you want to wait outside.”
“No…” Pat waved her free hand. “I’m okay.”
Jordan tilted her head slightly to one side as she regarded the mortal ruin, he looks deflated. She thought, remembering the pictures she'd seen of JB Ziphron as a younger man.
There was a soft knock at the door and a technician stuck her head in, “I’m sorry to interrupt, Doctor Bentley; we have that call you were waiting for.”
He turned to the agents, “I’m so sorry, I’ll just be a moment.”
He left and Jordan watched as Jane stared at JB’s body with contempt. “Penny for your thoughts.” She said.
Jane’s eyes darted to Jordan but it was Pat who spoke. “This man has been such an enigma… such an elusive adversary from justice for so many years.”
“Can’t get any satisfaction sending him to prison now.” Jane muttered, angry.
Bentley re-entered the room, “Sorry for that…. Mister Ziphron’s physician is here for his interview, but let’s finish this first.” He stood at the foot of the autopsy table. “Julius Bryant Ziphron: elderly and in very poor condition at time of death. A smoker and clearly alcoholic; he had heart disease, lung disease, and liver disease.… So I wasn’t surprised to find he had quite a bit of alcohol in his bloodstream and scotch in his stomach.” He flicked his fingers for them to come closer to the body. “Smell it?”
Pat’s nose wrinkled in disgust “Smell what?” She said, declining to move closer.
“The alcohol.” He said. “You can always smell alcohol in human blood, whether it’s in the body or a bloody puddle on the floor…”
“Well,” Jordan sighed, “that’s true enough.”
“Really?” Jane grimaced and stepped back. “Really grateful I don’t work homicides.”
“He was also on a substantial dose of hydroxyzine pamoate, prescribed by his doctor.”
“And that is?” Jane asked.
“It’s actually an antihistamine, for allergies. But it’s also used to treat anxiety… overly so, particularly in the elderly.” He gazed down at the body. “He wasn’t long for this world; it’s entirely possible his physician was only trying to make his and his caretakers’ lives easier but, the dosage for this man was too high and he was likely on it way too long.
That being said, what killed him was LQTS. Now, the term long QT refers to an abnormal pattern seen on an EKG or electrocardiogram… The EKG is the test that detects and records the heart's electrical activity.” While he spoke he grabbed a clipboard from a side table and held it up. “Here is a sample…” He pointed to spikes on the graph. “You’ve all seen these before…”
“For sure.” Jane said, crossing her arms and leaning on a hip.
“Okay, so Long QT Syndrome, or LQTS, is a disorder of the heart's electrical activity. It can cause sudden, dangerous and uncontrollable problems with the rate or rhythm of the heartbeat in response to exercise or stress. People who have LQTS can have arrhythmias for no known reason and not everyone who has it will have dangerous heart rhythms but when they do occur they can be fatal.”
“Okay,” Jane held up a hand to stop him. “And this is what Ziphron had and he died from it?”
“Yes, the timing of the heart's electrical activity is complex, and the body carefully controls it. Normally the QT interval is about a third of each heartbeat cycle. However, in people who have LQTS like Mister Ziphron here, the QT interval lasts longer than normal, and a long QT interval can upset the careful timing of the heartbeat and trigger dangerous heart rhythms. And…” He shrugged, “hydroxyzine pamoate, given in excess and over a long period of time can cause LQTS.”
“So he had a heart attack and died.” Jane waved her hands, palm up. “Yes?”
“And his doctor killed him.” Jordan added.
He shrugged again, “As I said, Mister Ziphron wasn’t long for this world, given all his other problems, but yes, had his physician not prescribed such a high dose for so long there’s no telling how much longer he could have lived.”
“Yeah,” Jane muttered, “some drunks live forever.”
“Could Temporal Lobe Epilepsy also be a contributing factor here?” Jordan asked.
Dr. Bentley’s brows arched high, making his ears rise on the sides of his head. “Why would you suspect that?”
“A psychologist at the agency suggested he may have suffered from it.”
He looked down at Ziphron’s body with renewed interest. “I don’t know, I’d have to have a look at his brain for that.”
“So,” Jane said, “back to the anti-anxiety drugs; his doctor needs to explain the higher dose and long term use?”
“At the very least, yes. In any event I have to file a complaint with the FDA. He’ll likely lose his license to prescribe.”
“Well,” Jordan sighed, “I need to speak to him too…” She looked from the coroner to Jane. “Shall we?”
Cape Coral, FL
“So sorry to take so long in calling you, I’ve been pulling sixteen hour days making this movie…”
Thomas held the phone to his ear and rolled his eyes; he enjoyed having a big movie star like Lance Archer kiss his ass, but he still made a jacking-off gesture with his free hand.
“What a tremendous loss to you and the church… In any event, just know I’m here for you, to serve in any capacity you need.”
Thomas rolled his eyes again and looked at the door; Belinda had quietly entered the office and passed him a note.
“Thanks, buddy, I really appreciate that.” He scanned the note and his eyes flew open wide. “Look, I gotta’ go, okay?” He hung up the phone. “Holy fucking shit!” He shouted. “Get Teddy and Errol NOW!”
“Already called them, they’re on hold.”
He sneered in annoyance; he hated it when she second guessed him. “Great, get out.” He snatched the receiver from its cradle and stabbed at the blinking line. “Teddy? We got the call; JB’s dead. Get your asses to that ranch.”
“It’s Errol, we’re on our way.”
Thomas gripped the receiver and snarled, “You both armed?”
“Of course.”
“Then go! You know what I want: account numbers and passwords. Get them from the Jacobs and Morehead. Get me those fucking accounts! If an evil DnB gets in your way, remove them! I don’t care who it is and I don’t care how you fucking do it, understand? Get me that shit regardless of any potential outcome, understand? No evidence! No fuck ups!”
Santa Margarita, CA
Creed stood in the living room, looking lost and Rez placed a hand on her shoulder, “Fuck the furniture,” he told her, “we can buy all we need.”
“Oh… language.” She scolded him. “There’s really not much to take, is there?” She headed for their bedroom, “I need to check the drawers again.”
Rez looked out the living room window; he saw what he believed were two undercover cars pulling up the drive. He walked out to the porch and greeted the three women who exited.
“Hello, I’m Rez Jacobs. You the FBI people the sheriff’s said was coming out?” He motioned to the deputy standing guard on the porch.
In unison they held up their badge wallets. “We’re FBI,” Jane motioned to herself and Pat then pointed at Jordan, “she’s a US Marshal.”
Jordan was happy to stand and lean on the kitchen counter while Pat and Jane sat with the Jacobs at the kitchen table.
“We were given an allowance by Darius for the ranch here and its upkeep.” Creed’s purse hung on the back of her chair and she pulled it onto the table and withdrew a checkbook. She handed it to Pat. “I always balance to the penny.”
Pat checked the balance; there was just under five thousand dollars in the account. She flipped through the register, checks for the electric company, phone, grocery store…
Rez gestured at the checkbook, “JB didn’t want to be accused of inurement, so this was all we had.”
Jane gave Jordan a look then rolled her eyes.
“Inurement is not a term that falls trippingly off anyone’s tongue…” Pat said.
He shrugged. “JB was real worried about being accused of committing it.”
“I’ll bet.” Jane said.
“Who sent you the cash?” Pat asked.
“Darius sent us five thousand every month; he always packed it in a box with linen or something.” Darius had instructed Rez to provide this answer if he should ever be asked to explain the money they had. “The ranch is paid for, so this money was for everything else.”
“You had regular contact with Darius?” Pat said.
“In the beginning,” Rez said, “years ago, he sent us instructions that he’d send us money each month…” He shrugged. “Then that was it.”
“He never missed a month.” Creed said in a wavering voice, and swiped at her brimming eyes. She knew they weren’t telling the truth and a surge of emotion threatened to overwhelm her.
“And now that Darius is dead, do you expect to still be supported financially by the church?” Jane asked.
Rez snorted, “Hell no, when JB and us came out here no one but Darius knew where we were.”
“Why Darius?” Pat asked.
“Darius was CFO and controlled the money…” Rez said, “and he was JB’s son.”
Jane folded her arms across her chest. “JB Ziphron moved here, in secret, to hide from the FBI and the IRS, isn’t that true?”
Rez looked genuinely confused, “He went into seclusion because he needed to spend the rest of his life finding the portals…” He looked furtively at Creed then back at Jane and added, “Uh… do you know about the demon portals?”
