The Pepperell Connection
by Randall Meunier
Pulling the saber from the dead woman’s torso felt oddly like drawing a wet finger out of the long neck of a glass soda pop bottle.  The first thing Susan made note of was the ridiculously sharp edges formed out of the wood.  Someone had great talent, she thought.  Susan clicked the record button on the micro cassette and entered verbal notes for these observations.


“Why don’t we get together and have a cup of coffee?  Or are you afraid to meet?” Paul asked angrily.
“That’s no fun, Paul.  I’d much prefer to see you at your funeral.  As fate would have it, you are a lucky person…today.  Those two at the lab met your fate.  I won’t miss the next time.”
Before Paul could raise his voice he heard an audible click.  Slamming the receiver on the cradle and bouncing out of his chair, he immediately started pacing the office.  Sitting back down, he opened the drawer and took out the notion book again and entered, “Phone system, new, traceable.”  With $40,000 police cruisers he couldn’t understand why the phone system was such a relic.


“That’s right.  In fact, that’s about all there ever was to let us know it was the Stickman.  That and what was always missing.  There was never a sign of a struggle…nothing under the nails, no foreign body fluids, no hair…” Kyle agreed.
“Which is why we always felt he was a professional for hire.  If he were a serial killer, there would have been be some kind of pattern to the vics, wouldn’t there?  They’d all be four-hundred-pound nuns with long black hair that resembled his whore mother who molested him but preferred bedding unfaithful priests…wouldn’t they?”


The divers wet suits were designed for ice diving.  They were tethered together in order to not lose contact below the surface.  Their mission depended heavily on timing.  Clevis would not trigger the little transmitter on his wrist until the payload was moved from the hull of the Canadian vessel over to the American vessel.  The transmitter would set off an audible wristwatch alarm so the captain knew he could leave the American boat.  It was a simple procedure to acknowledge the transfer of product, but the divers had no extra time to work with.  The downside was that the captain wasn’t able to count the money in his box in front of the misinformed Americans.  For his trouble and the trust he extended to his American partners, he outfitted the cargo with an explosive device that could be triggered wirelessly from a distance of twenty-five miles.  That provided sufficient time for him to count his dollars.  He was not happy today.  The schemes he had to go along with were getting ever more elaborate.  It would be easier to drive and swap cargo on a countryside border than go through this crap.  He was also concerned with crews who had no idea they were the conduit for major drug runs across the Canadian-American border.  Deftly, he stepped across the void between the two boats and extended his hand to the American captain.  Rogan reached to shake his hand and welcomed the Canadian aboard The Rusty Diplomat.
Web Hosting Companies