Chapter 8 - The Gary Pipeline
The fluorescent lights of the Eleventh District interrogation observation room buzzed with an irritating, low-frequency hum.
Morgan stood behind the two-way mirror, a steaming paper cup of black coffee warming her cold palms.
Detective Miller stood beside her, leaning his forearms against the metal railing, watching Julian pace nervously inside the small interview chamber.
Through the glass, Julian looked smaller, stripped of his expensive clothes, wearing an oversized gray county jumpsuit with his hands cuffed to the table loop.
Dr. Gregory Allen was seated at the edge of the observation bench, his laptop open and displaying detailed chemical mass-spectrometry graphs.
“The Gary connection paid off,” Gregory said, adjusting his spectacles as he pointed to a cluster of chemical signatures on his screen.
“The Gary police department executed a concurrent raid on an unregistered chemical processing unit in an industrial park off Interstate 90 an hour ago.”
“Who was running it?” Morgan asked, her voice steady despite the lingering exhaustion behind her eyes.
“A disgraced former pharmaceutical technician named Kenneth Vance,” Miller said, checking his notebook before catching himself.
“Wait, no—Kenneth Miller, no relation to me, but an alias user; he went by Kenneth Vance on several dark-web procurement forums.”
Morgan whipped her head toward Evelyn, who was sitting quietly in the corner of the room, her rosary beads sliding through her frail fingers.
“Evelyn?” Morgan asked, an icy chill creeping down her spine.
“Is Kenneth related to you?”
Evelyn paused her prayers, letting the wooden beads settle onto her lap, her face pale under the harsh fluorescent glare.
“Kenneth was Claire’s younger brother,” Evelyn said softly, her voice barely louder than the hum of the light fixture.
Morgan’s coffee cup froze halfway to her lips, the shock freezing the blood in her veins.
“Claire’s brother?” Morgan asked, bewildered.
“Julian’s supplier was your own son?”
“Kenneth was an addict,” Evelyn explained, tears finally spilling over her wrinkled eyelids.
“After Claire died, Kenneth lost his mind; he blamed himself for introducing Julian to our family at a charity dinner in Detroit.”
“Julian didn't just prey on Claire,” Detective Miller interjected, taking over the explanation with grim authority.
“He used Kenneth’s chemistry background and his desperation for cash to synthesize custom compounds under the threat of exposing Kenneth’s prior drug convictions.”
“Julian told Kenneth the chemical was an experimental industrial solvent for stripping marine paint,” Evelyn said, wiping her face with a handkerchief.
“It wasn't until I intercepted Kenneth’s shipping receipts two weeks ago that I realized Julian was hunting again, using my own son's tragic hands to build his weapons.”
Inside the interrogation room, Julian slammed his cuffed hands against the metal table, screaming at the empty walls for his court-appointed attorney.
“He doesn't know Kenneth flipped, does he?” Morgan asked, watching Julian’s increasingly frantic movements through the mirror.
“Kenneth gave the federal agents everything,” Detective Miller confirmed with a dark nod.
“The text messages, the encrypted payment receipts, and the audio recording where Julian explicitly asked for a transdermal compound that would leave no cardiac necrosis.”
“Then he’s facing federal premeditated murder charges for Claire as well?” Morgan asked.
“Capital murder in two states,” Miller said, tapping the glass.
“He’s never seeing the light of day again, Morgan.”
Morgan stared at the man she had shared a bed with for twenty-four months, realizing how completely hollow his entire existence had been.
Every kiss, every romantic dinner, every calculated compliment had been nothing more than the cold mechanics of an ongoing execution.
Yet, even as the weight of Julian’s arrest settled into her consciousness, a nagging sentence from his parting scream echoed in her mind.
*You have no idea who I owe money to; you’ll never sleep safely in that cottage again.*
Morgan turned back to Detective Miller, her eyes narrowing with analytical suspicion.
“Detective, Julian didn't have the money to pay for Kenneth’s laboratory setups or the fake notary documents.”
“We noticed that,” Miller admitted, his expression growing serious.
“The payment Kenneth received came from a private LLC registered in Green Bay, Wisconsin.”
May you like
Morgan’s heart skipped a beat as the cold reality locked into place.
Green Bay was only forty miles south of her grandmother’s cottage.
