‘Fine looking girl,’ he said. ‘Very fine indeed.’
Frank drew the photo back and pushed it into his pocket.
‘So?’ he pressed. ‘Have you seen her?’
The old man straightened up and shook his head.
‘Can’t say that I have,’ he said, going back to the register. ‘Pretty girl like that? Reckon I’d remember her.’
Frank sighed.
‘Well, if you do happen to see her, just remember to get a message to me.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Edward Linden, and I’m staying at the Bradbury Hotel on 12th. You got that?’
‘Yeah, sure. No problem.’
Frank turned to go, then paused.
‘There’s a reward,’ he lied. ‘If I find her.’
‘Really?’ The old man frowned, then reached into his apron pocket and brought out a pencil and paper. ‘What did you say your name was again?’
There was a bright little diner, just along the block from the drug store. Frank slid onto a stool at the counter and nodded at the waitress who hustled over, coffee pot in hand.
‘Can I get you something, mister?’ she asked, pouring him a cup.
Frank glanced down at the paper menu.
‘I could use a piece of pie,’ he said, looking up.
‘You got it,’ she said, turning away.
‘Excuse me, miss?’ He took out the photograph, holding it up so she could see it. ‘I’m trying to locate this woman, Faye Griffiths. Don’t suppose she’s been in here, has she?’
The waitress hesitated, gazing at Frank as though trying to read his intentions. He did his best to appear as unthreatening as possible.
‘Someone she knew has recently passed away,’ he explained. That much was actually true. ‘So I thought I should try and get in touch with her.’
The waitress’ expression became more sympathetic. She looked down at the picture for a moment, then shook her head sadly.
‘Sorry, honey. I ain’t seen her.’ She straightened up. ‘You still want that pie?’
Frank tucked the photograph back in his pocket.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘And thanks for looking.’
The waitress flashed him a brief smile, then walked away. Frank noticed a payphone on the far wall, and frowned.
He knew where Faye was staying now, and he had a picture of her too; maybe it was worth calling Adam after all.
Getting to his feet, he wandered along the counter and picked up the phone. It was mid-morning – his friend ought to be at work. The number rang, then a voice answered.
‘Kansas City Police Department?’
‘Yeah, hi.’ Frank leaned in against the wall. ‘I’m trying to reach a Detective Adam O’Halloran?’
‘One moment please.’
There was a click, then silence. Eventually, a familiar voice came on the line.
‘Detective O’Halloran?’
‘Hey Adam, it’s Frank Rye.’
‘Frank! Geez, I ain’t heard from you in a while. How’re you doin’, buddy?’
Adam sounded genuinely pleased to hear from him. News of the suspension clearly hadn’t made it this far up-state, thank goodness.
‘I’m getting by,’ Frank told him. ‘How’s life as a big city cop?’
Adam laughed.
‘Well, it’s busier than when we were in Joplin, that’s for sure,’ he said. ‘How’s the old place doing? Is Kirkland still busting your hump?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Frank said, shaking his head. ‘He’s my biggest admirer.’
‘Well, his bite was always worse than his bark…’ Adam paused, his tone softening. ‘Say, I heard about poor old Pete Barnes. Must’ve been a real shock for everyone. Did they get whoever did it?’
Frank closed his eyes.
‘Not yet,’ he replied.
‘Well, it sure makes you think, doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ Frank bowed his head and nodded slowly. ‘It changes things, all right.’
‘Well, anyway, I’m glad you finally decided to call.’ Adam was trying to pick the mood up, just like he always used to. ‘When are you gonna drag your ass up here to Kansas City? Celia’s a great cook and we’d love to have you over for dinner.’
‘That’s the thing,’ Frank said. ‘I’m in town right now, wondered if you had some time for a drink?’
‘Right now?’ Adam hesitated. ‘Damn, you shoulda told me you were coming… but I can probably duck out of here around five, if that’s any good?’
‘Five is good’ Frank said. ‘Where d’you want to meet?’
Adam thought for a moment.
‘Well, there’s a bar called Earl’s on the corner of 12th and McGee, just a block over from City Hall.’
‘Sure,’ Frank told him. ‘I’ll find it.’
‘Great. I’ll see you there at five.’
‘See you there.’
Frank hung up the phone and turned around. Walking back along the counter to his stool, he took a mouthful of coffee and waited for his pie to arrive.
17
It was a cop bar. The walls were lined with framed photographs of officers, old department pennants and sporting trophies, and it had a relaxed feel, full of laughter and lively conversation. Sure, a place like this might get a little tribal, with some minor resentments or rivalries in the ranks, but everyone was connected by the job, united against the world. Heaven help any outsiders who started trouble in here.
From across the small table, Adam caught him looking round and gave him a knowing grin.
‘You look tired, pal. Kirkland working you too hard?’
Frank sighed and gave him a bleak smile.
‘You have no idea.’
Adam sat back and loosened his tie. His dark brown hair was longer than it used to be, slicked back and carefully styled. He’d put on some weight in the last year too, his face a little rounder, his shirt a little tighter. Married life appeared to be suiting him.
‘Well, I’m glad to see you finally took some time off,’ he said. ‘Figured you’d just drift up to Kansas City for a few days, is that it?’
Frank picked up his drink and nodded.
‘Something like that.’
‘You got any plans while you’re here?’
Frank shrugged.
‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘Just taking a break from being a cop.’
Adam spread his arms wide.
‘And yet, here you are in a police bar.’
Frank looked around and smiled ruefully.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Some things you just can’t get away from.’
Adam laughed and raised his glass.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘If you’re in town for a bit, you should come over one night. You haven’t seen the house yet, have you?’
‘Not yet,’ Frank admitted. He looked at his old colleague. Smile. Make an effort. ‘How’s Celia?’
‘She’s good.’
Frank tried to recall what Adam’s wife did. Couldn’t.
‘She enjoying being a cop’s wife?’ he asked.
Adam sat back and winked.
‘Oh, I think she likes it just fine,’ he said. ‘We worked real hard to get the place fixed up just the way she wanted it, and she’s got a lot more spare time now.’
Frank nodded politely, tried not to think about Beth, and how he’d helped her fill her spare time.
‘So if you did want to come over, that’d be great,’ Adam was saying. ‘I’m sure Celia would enjoy talking to someone who knew me back in the Joplin days, and she’d fix you a first-class dinner.’
Frank lowered his eyes, not wanting to agree to anything, not wanting to offend.
‘We’ll see,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn’t want to impose.’
‘Hey, it’s no problem,’ Adam told him. ‘Anything we can do for you, just ask. C’mon, you know that.’
Frank glanced up.
‘Well…’ he said ‘I was gonna ask if you could do me a favor...’
‘Damn,’ murmured Adam, feigning disappointment
. ‘And here I thought this was a social call.’
‘Oh, it is,’ Frank lied. ‘And I doubt there's anything you can do on this anyway. It just popped into my head and I thought I'd ask...’
He left the idea hanging, hoping his old colleague would take the bait.
‘So what is it?’ Adam asked. ‘What do you need?’
Frank looked at him for a long moment.
‘There's someone I'm trying to track down,’ he said. ‘A woman.’
Adam immediately raised an eyebrow and grinned, but Frank continued.
‘Now I already know where she's staying, but I just wanted to check if you guys had a file on her up here.’
Adam shrugged.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But why not just have Joplin PD put in a request?’
‘Well…’ Frank hesitated. ‘This isn't really work, it’s more of a… personal thing, y’know?’
‘Personal, eh?’ Eager now, he leaned closer. ‘Who is she?’
Frank took out the photograph and placed it on the table.
‘Her name is Faye Griffith,’ he explained. ‘I believe she's staying with her brother, here in Kansas City. You want the address?’
‘Sure.’ Adam set his glass down and fumbled in his jacket pocket, drawing out a small pad and pencil. ‘Okay, go ahead.’
‘210 East 40th Street. Apartment 16.’
Adam scribbled it down.
‘And it’s Faye…?’
‘Faye Griffith.’
‘Got it.’ Admiring the photograph, Adam tucked the pad away, then smiled at Frank.
‘So, who is she?’ he asked again.
Frank stared at his glass, then took a sip.
‘She’s just someone I want to find,’ he said.
‘Yeah?’ Adam had a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘You and her…?’
‘No.’ Frank shook his head. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘Sure about that?’ Adam persisted. ‘She’s a honey.’
Frank set his glass down on the table, firmly.
‘Absolutely sure,’ he said.
Adam’s expression became thoughtful.
‘Got someone else, waiting for you back in Joplin? Is that it?’
Frank thought of Beth standing there on the porch, watching him leave.
I want you to find whoever did this.
He sighed and lowered his eyes.
‘Maybe…’ he said. ‘I… I don’t know.’
Adam sat back and arched an eyebrow.
‘Don’t tell me you’re settling down,’ he said. ‘I never took you for a one-woman guy.’
Frank gave him a withering look.
Adam chuckled.
‘Is it that cute little blonde – what was her name? – the one from the library?’
Frank shook his head.
‘Nah, that didn’t last.’
Adam grinned.
‘Ah well. They never last, not with you, eh?’
Frank stiffened and glared at him.
Adam caught the change in his manner and frowned.
‘What is it?’
Frank shook his head and looked away. It wasn’t just Beth, it was before her, before Adam’s time… The dumb bastard didn’t realize what he’d said.
‘Nothing.’ He picked up his glass and drained it. ‘You want another?’
Adam watched him curiously.
‘You okay, pal?’
‘Yeah, it’s nothing.’ Frank summoned up a smile from somewhere. ‘C’mon, what’ll you have?’
‘Another nip of Wild Turkey, if you're buying.’
‘Comin' right up.’
They stayed on far later than he'd intended. In the end, it was Adam who glanced down at his wristwatch, then looked up with a pained expression.
‘Gee, I'm sorry, pal. I really should be getting home.’
Frank smiled at him. He hadn't been looking forward to seeing his old colleague, but the evening had panned out pretty well.
‘No problem,’ he said.
Adam tipped back the last of his drink and made a face, then got unsteadily to his feet.
‘Damn,’ he said, suddenly turning to Frank in dismay. ‘I completely forgot to ask about Pete Barnes. What the hell happened?’
Frank sighed, then pushed his chair back and stood up.
‘Beaten to death,’ he said, quietly. ‘Down in Newton County.’
‘Newton County?’ Adam looked puzzled. ‘What was he doing down there?’
Frank picked up his drink and swallowed the last of the whiskey.
‘Long story,’ he said, setting the empty glass down. ‘And it still has a way to go, from what I understand.’
‘No arrests?’
‘Not yet,’ Frank told him. ‘But someone's gonna pay for it, you can be sure of that.’
Adam nodded sadly, his eyes unfocused.
‘Wasn’t he married?’ he asked.
Frank took a breath, keeping his face blank.
‘Yeah. He was.’
‘Damn.’ Adam shook his head. ‘His poor wife.’
The evening air seemed fresh and cold after the warmth of the bar. Frank followed Adam as he stumbled out onto the sidewalk. Clearly he wasn’t quite so accustomed to drinking as he used to be.
‘So you’ll let me know?’ Adam said, leaning heavily on a newspaper stand. ‘About dinner?’
‘Yeah, I’ll give you a call,’ Frank replied. ‘And you’ll ask around about Faye Griffith?’
Adam patted the notebook in his pocket.
‘I’ll let you know if I find anything.’ He paused, then frowned. ‘Where are you staying, anyway?’
‘The Bradbury.’
‘Oh, well that’s quite close which is… convenient.’ Adam wagged a finger towards the street. ‘Listen, I’m gonna get a cab. Want me to drop you off?’
‘No, it’s okay,’ Frank told him. ‘I could use the walk.’
‘Right. Well, sorry I can’t stay later but… ah, you know how it is.’
‘Yeah, I know. Go home, Adam. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’
Adam took a few steps, then turned around, smiling drunkenly.
‘It really is good to see you, Frank.’
Frank managed a small smile.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Get outta here.’
Adam grinned foolishly, then turned away to hail a passing cab.
Frank waved him off, then wandered slowly down to the street corner. He stopped to light a cigarette, then squinted at his watch. It was only a little after ten o’clock, way too early to be lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. There was nobody waiting for him back at the hotel…
…but this time of night there might be someone at Stanley’s apartment.
Standing beneath a street light, Frank blew out a long stream of pale smoke, then turned and hurried back up the sidewalk, looking for a cab.
18
Frank slumped in the corner of the back seat, staring out at the illuminated signs and storefronts as the cab cruised down Main Street. Yawning, he tried to shake off the fog of the evening’s drinking. The city was still awake, but he figured that Faye ought to be back home by now, and at this time of night, she wouldn’t be expecting visitors.
Cresting the bridge over the railroad tracks, he looked across towards the lights of Union Station, then settled back as the traffic slowed for the stoplight at the intersection. Ahead of them, on the hilltop above the station, the Liberty Memorial stood pale and tall, lit up against the night sky.
A siren was blaring behind them, and Frank turned to peer out as a fire truck roared past, red lights flashing as it cut across the road and went racing up the slope.
‘Someone’s sure in a hurry,’ the cabbie observed as he put the taxi in gear and bumped across the intersection. He hunched forward over the wheel and jerked a thumb towards the hilltop. ‘You ever been up there? The memorial?’
Frank leaned his head close to the window, peering up at the tower.
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Oh,
you should,’ the cabbie said. ‘Hell of a view from the top, and there’s a museum all about the war.’
Frank sank back into his seat again. The thought of a war museum didn’t appeal to him at all.
‘Was you in the last one?’ the cabbie asked.
‘The war?’ Frank replied. ‘Yeah, I was.’
The cabbie nodded his approval.
‘My brother fought in Sicily with the 18th Infantry,’ he explained. ‘Me, I got a 4F on account of my asthma.’
Frank gazed out at the people on the sidewalk as they reached the top of the hill.
‘Your brother get back home okay?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ the cabbie said, with some satisfaction. ‘But there’s plenty that didn’t, and there’s plenty that’s still over there.’
Frank sighed.
‘True enough,’ he murmured.
The cabbie slowed to allow a van to change lanes, then picked up speed again.
‘Our boys are out in Siberia or wherever, freezing their asses off… and for what? I mean, we earned our piece of Germany, fair and square, but the rest of it?’ He shook his head, jabbing a finger against the wheel to emphasize his point. ‘America did what it had to do in ‘45, but we didn’t ask for no war, so why should we be the ones to clean it up?’
Frank saw the frowning eyes in the rear-view mirror. He knew better than to get drawn into a conversation like this.
‘Beats me,’ he said.
‘Yeah, well... sometimes I think that maybe those Brits ain’t so stupid. Maybe they got the right idea.’
Frank glanced up.
‘How’s that?’ he asked.
‘Well, they got some trouble out in India, but that’s their territory now.’ He looked in the mirror, briefly making eye contact. ‘Us? We done plenty of fighting, all over the map, so where’s our empire, that’s what I’d like to know? It’s like that Lindbergh guy says: we got suckered into a bad situation.’
Ahead, a long line of tail lights were glaring red as the traffic slowed. Frank leaned forward, peering out through the windshield towards a yellow glow that lit the sky beyond the buildings further down the road.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, but we ain’t going nowhere for a bit,’ the cabbie murmured.
Ashes Of America Page 11