Frankly Speaking - A Frank Rozzani Detective Novel (#1)

by Don Massenzio

  It was 7AM and Frank was likely back from his run. Jonesy called his cell phone.

  "Jonesy, what's up?"

  "I just enlisted the help of our friend, the Deputy AG."

  Jonesy recounted what Bullock had told him about Jameson. Frank filled Jonesy in on the information he had gathered on Dr. Wells and Troy Compton.

  "Do you think that Cobb and Jameson made Maggie disappear, or did they scare Compton enough so that the kids ran away together?" Jonesy asked.

  "I don't know. The Bullock family firmly believes that Maggie would not run away, but after the threats and cover ups from the incident with her brother, either scenario works. I'll know more after I drive to Amelia Island today."

  "Let's touch base after. I have some actual surf shop work to do today and I have a feeling we are getting close to something that might cut into my day job soon." Jonesy had a shipment of boards coming in from a new supplier and he wanted to personally do some quality checking. He would go over each board with careful scrutiny looking for any minute flaws. He only carried and sold the best.

  Just as he was settling in to perform this menial work, his cell phone rang. It was Anita.

  "Hey Anita, your Piano Boy is not with me."

  "I know, I called him first and he was on the Mayport Ferry headed to Amelia Island."

  "So I'm your second choice?"

  "I need one of you to help me with a situation."

  Anita was obviously not in a mood for witty banter this morning.

  "I drove by Bubba Drake's house this morning on the off chance that he might be back. His truck was in the driveway, but he wouldn't answer the door. I broke in and found him passed out. There were empty Crown Royal bottles on the floor. When I brought him back to some level of consciousness, he started muttering something about 'messing up real bad'. He looks awful. I need your help to sober him up and help me find out what's going on."

  "I'll be at his place in about 30 minutes depending on traffic."

  Jonesy took the bike and made his way to Drake's house. Drake was single and lived in a two bedroom bungalow off of Saint Johns Bluff road, a major thoroughfare in East Arlington. Rush hour was in full swing for the Monday morning commuters coming in from the beach. He finally made it to Drake's after about forty minutes. Anita's cruiser was parked on the street. Jonesy entered through the front door and was struck by the mess and the smell almost immediately. It looked like Drake had not taken care of his garbage in days. There were pizza boxes, beer cans, and takeout wrappers everywhere. Drake was lying on the couch in a pair of ripe boxer shorts and an old t-shirt. Anita was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee.

  Eventually, as Anita and Jonesy sat Drake up and Anita began pouring strong coffee into him, he focused on Jonesy.

  "What's he doin' here?"

  "He's here so that we can both hear what you've got to say."

  "I couldn't do it. It was over the line, I can look the other way. I could handle the small-time stuff. But this was too much," Drake muttered.

  "Bill, pull yourself together. What was over the line? What was too much?"

  Anita was trying to extract some coherence from a still out of it Drake.

  "My uncle. He went over the line."

  "Are you talking about Maggie Bullock?" Jonesy asked.

  Drake wouldn't respond directly to either of them. They decided to continue to sober him up and try to make sense of his ramblings.

  “How are we going to get this guy talking?” Anita said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe some time in the drunk tank?” Jonesy guessed.

  “We don’t even have a drunk tank. Plus, I don’t want to turn him in just yet. If he gets placed in custody for the minor stuff we know he’s done so far, he’ll be lawyered up before you know it and we’ll find out nothing. I’ll stay here and babysit him while you get back to working on the other angles of the case.”

  “Are you sure you can handle him?” Jonesy asked Anita somehow dreading her answer.

  “Listen Drummer Boy, I’ve been handling him for years. All I have to do is hide his keys and keep pouring coffee into him. He isn’t going anywhere.”

  Jonesy shook his head and headed back to his shop.

  Frank exited the Mayport ferry and drove to the Compton house just outside of the Village of Amelia Island. It was a quaint little town with great restaurants, an aging Ritz-Carlton hotel and the luxurious Amelia Island Plantation Resort. The Compton's home was an old style Cape Cod that was white with black shutters, the all-American home. There was an SUV in the driveway.

  Frank had called before getting on the ferry to make sure someone was at home. As long as the drive was, he wanted to be sure that his trip wasn't fruitless. A quiet sounding man, Joseph Compton he presumed, answered the phone. Frank disconnected. He didn't know how much Compton knew and he didn't want to tip him off, or worse, have him refuse to speak.

  As Frank approached the house, he couldn't help but notice the Christian-themed items adorning the small porch. The front doormat bore the inscription "God Welcomes You.” Frank thought that, even though God was welcoming him, he might not be welcome at the Compton house once his message was delivered.

  When Frank knocked on the door, he was greeted by a small man who was definitely an older version of the young man depicted in the photos of Troy Compton.

  "Hello friend," the man said in that same serene voice with which he had answered the phone.

  "Mr. Compton?"

  "You can call me Joe. Mr. Compton is my dad."

  Frank was starting to dread this visit. Joe Compton's demeanor was not that of the father of a statutory rapist. Frank guessed that he must not know.

  "Mr. Compton, Joe, I'm Frank Rozzani. I'm a private investigator."

  "Is this about the Thompsons? I know something wrong was going on in that house."

  "No, sir. It's about Troy. I'm assuming he is your son."

  "Yes he is. I'm so proud of that boy. You know he is interning with none other than Rick Worthington this summer."

  "Yes sir, I know. That's partly why I'm here."

  "Did something happen at the church?"

  "You might say that sir. Do you have some time to talk?"

  "I do. Today is my day off. I run a little breakfast cafe in the village and we are closed on Mondays. Come on in and sit down."

  "That would be great, Joe. This might take a little while."

  Frank followed Compton into a small living room. It had a small TV tuned to Fox News and a pair of overstuffed chairs. Joe Compton directed Frank to the less worn of the two.

  "Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Rozzani"?

  "That would be great, sir."

  As Compton poured some coffee in the kitchen, Frank tried to come up with an approach to bring this saintly man up to speed on the events involving his son.

  "Is Troy's mom home as well, Joe?"

  "No. She hasn't been home in about seven years."

  "I'm sorry. Did she pass away?"

  "No, it was much sadder than that. She didn't appreciate the simple life on the island. Last I heard she was a cocktail waitress at a casino in Reno."

  Reno, Frank thought to himself. That was worse than death.

  "So what sort of intrigue has Troy gotten involved in? Was his bike stolen, or his wallet?"

  "I'm afraid it's neither of those sir. This involves the disappearance of a girl from a church-sponsored retreat."

  "Oh how awful. Do you need my permission to talk to Troy? You could've called for that."

  "I would like to talk to him, Joe. Do you know where he is?"

  "You can talk to him as soon as he gets back."

  "Gets back? From where, if you don't mind me asking."

  "From the church trip. He called me on Friday and told me that the church was sending him on some type of retreat, and that he would be unreachable for a couple of weeks."

  "Did he say where the retreat was?"

  "I asked him and he said it was a mystery to
him. He wouldn't know until he got there. I know a man with Pastor Worthington's reputation would never let him be in any danger."

  "So you haven't heard from him since then?"

  "Just a quick text about an hour after we spoke."

  "Can I ask what the text said, Joe?"

  "It just said 'Love you dad'. Is that a great kid or what?"

  "He sounds special."

  "What does he have to do with this girl's disappearance? Did he witness something?"

  Frank now had to, for the second time in less than a week, tell a parent the truth about their child that would shatter the image that they held dear. Sometimes this job sucked. Frank told Joe Compton enough of the details while trying not to cast Troy in a bad light. He left out the details about Worthington's past and Stanton Cobb. When Frank was done, he noticed that Joe Compton had teared up. Frank felt awful, but he also felt that the man had a right to know. Compton sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

  "Mr. Rozzani, if my son needs my support to get through this, I want him to know that he has it. One hundred percent. If you speak to him before I do, please give him that message."

  "I will, Joe."

  With the mission of ruining the man's day now complete, Frank got up to leave. Joe Compton followed him to the door and Frank turned to shake his hand.

  "My son really is a good boy."

  "I'm sure he is, sir."

  Frank felt dejected as he returned to his car.

  As he started the engine, he noticed several missed calls from Anita and Jonesy. That couldn't be good. He dialed Jonesy.

  "Jones."

  "Jonesy. I just finished up with our mystery intern's father. It wasn't fun telling him that his perfect son is not so perfect."

  "Well, Frankie Boy, I would have traded with you. I've been busy sobering up 260 pounds of blubbery, drunken, redneck cop this morning."

  Jonesy filled Frank in on the morning's events.

  "So did Drake give you anything meaningful?"

  "Not really. He just kept saying that his Great Uncle Stanton wanted him to do something to those kids and it was over the line. He is a mess. I can only imagine what Cobb threatened to do to him. Anita stayed with him to try to get more out of him when he sobers up."

  "Well at least our illustrious Deputy AG helped you tie Judge Jameson to Cobb."

  Frank was silent for a couple of beats.

  "Jonesy, I think it's time we put a full court press on Cobb. He's our key to finding Maggie."

  "I agree except for the damn basketball reference. You're not in Syracuse anymore. This is football country. It's time to blitz Cobb."

  "Whatever."

  Frank knew he would go insane without Jonesy's penchant to see humor in everything.

  "Let's meet at the Sun Dog for dinner. Tell Anita to come too. We need to plan this one out."

  Frank dialed Anita’s number yet as he parked on the Ferry for the return trip and shut off his engine.

  “Hey Piano Boy, not the best time to chat.”

  “I heard. Anything more from Drake?”

  “Actually, I’m not having any luck at all because he’s not here.”

  “What happened?”

  “I hopped on my bike to go get more coffee from the store. I took his keys so he couldn’t go anywhere and he was still acting like he was half passed-out, but when I came back he was gone and so was his truck.”

  “Did he hot wire it?”

  “No, he probably had a spare set of keys somewhere. I feel like such an idiot, especially being outsmarted by an even bigger idiot.”

  “Any clue where he might have gone?”

  “No. And I don’t want to put an APB out on him. I told Jonesy that I don’t want him being brought in for petty stuff and then lawyering up on us. I’ll try to find him on my own.”

  “You be careful. We don’t need you in any danger.”

  “Aw, thanks for caring, but I’m a big girl. I have some ideas where he might be, but I need to get going so I can find him.”

  “Alright. We can catch up later.”

  Frank told Anita about meeting with Jonesy at the Sun Dog to plan next steps.