by Ben Follows
“Marino is in the Blind River prison?”
Curtis nodded. “Once the prison was built, he requested a transfer so his family could visit. He must know it was me. He's had twenty years to think it over."
Frankie put her hand into her pockets. “Does your father know? Will that be a problem?"
Curtis nodded. “He’s getting old. His mind isn’t all there. If he knows, I’m worried he might slip and tell someone it was me."
“Thank you for telling me,” said Frankie. “I appreciate it. We're a team. Never forget that.”
Curtis checked his watch. "We’ll need to be back at the station soon.”
He turned to leave.
Frankie said, “Why don’t we go to dinner tonight with your sister and your dad? We can try to get a gauge on his mental health and whether or not he knows.”
Curtis hesitated, then nodded. “That’s a good idea. This whole walk was just a ruse for you to go all Oprah on me, wasn’t it?”
Frankie smiled. “Guilty as charged.”
6
They walked along the highway toward the convenience store. They kept their eyes on the ground, looking for any clues that would indicate where the abduction had taken place. They found nothing, and made it to the convenience store with twenty-five minutes left until they were due to be back at the station.
The convenience store was connected to a gas station Curtis didn’t remember.
They walked inside. Curtis nodded to the man behind the counter.
“You the FBI fellows?” said the man, taking his feet off the counter and putting down his Playboy magazine. “I heard you were coming through town.”
“Yeah,” said Curtis, browsing the store. He walked up to the counter and held out a hand. “Special Agent Curtis Mackley. This is Special Agent Frankie Lassiter.”
The man shook his hand. “I'm Hank.”
“You know the girl who disappeared near here?”
“Sure, I know Harriet. I guess I should say that I knew Harriet, huh? Not much of a chance, is there?”
Curtis shrugged. “We aren’t ruling anything out yet. What can you tell me about Harriet?”
“I didn’t know her too well," said Hank. "She wasn’t old enough to buy liquor and cigarettes, and I wasn’t about to get my license revoked. Don’t give me that look. It’s true. I never sold to anyone who was underage. I take that shit seriously. Nothing I could do about Harriet's sister, though. I think she was coming in and buying Harriet whatever she wanted. Liquor, cigarettes, lottery tickets, you name it. Kendra, I believe her sisters name was. I think it would be worth your time to check her out.”
Frankie scribbled notes onto her pad. “Did you see Harriet on the night she disappeared?”
“I already told all this to the cops," said Hank. "You can read their records.”
“We like to do our own investigating,” said Frankie. “We want to make sure they didn’t miss anything. There are a lot of details people miss if they’re inexperienced.”
“Sure, I get that," said Hank. "Want something done right, you do it yourself. I didn't see Harriet on the night she disappeared. It was a slow night. There were only a few customers, and only two who actually came in instead of paying with a card at the pumps. Harriet wasn’t one of them. When I heard she'd disappeared I went through all my security tapes from that night, trying to see if I'd caught anything. She was the fourth disappearance, so I was on edge. I didn’t find anything.”
“We’d like to get our hands on those tapes.”
Hank nodded. “I can get those for you. Just for the night of the disappearance?”
"The twenty-four hours around it as well," said Frankie. "Noon the day before to noon the day after.”
Hank looked skeptical for a moment, then took his feet off the counter and walked toward the back of the store. He came back about ten minutes later with eight disks which each contained three hours of footage.
“Thanks,” said Curtis, taking the disks. “We’ll copy them and get them back to you as soon as possible.”
Hank nodded, looking past them at the cars pulling up at the gas tanks.
“Can I get a pack of gum?” said Curtis, grabbing a pack and putting it on the counter.
Hank rang up the price, then waved his hand. “On second thought," he said, "take it for free. You’re protecting our town. First time anyone from the federal government has cared about what happens here in almost two decades. Go catch the motherfucker who's taking those girls.”
“Thanks for your help.” Curtis raised the pack of gum in salute and walked out of the convenience store with Frankie in tow.
“He didn’t recognize your name,” said Frankie.
“I noticed," said Curtis. "It’ll get out sooner or later.”
They turned and retraced their steps along the shore. It was the same path the police must have walked endlessly, searching for clues as to what had happened to Harriet.
“How are you and Will doing?” said Curtis just as their car came into view.
Frankie looked up at him. “Why do you ask?”
“Like you said, we’re partners. It helps me work the case if I know more about you. I haven’t seen Will in a while.”
“That’s by intention," said Frankie sternly.
“How is he, though?”
“He’s fine. He's working a lot.”
“Still working at the same training facility?”
“Yeah,” said Frankie, her tone indicating that the conversation was over.
Frankie and Will had met at the FBI academy. Both had been near the top of the class. They married on the night after they passed their final test. Frankie had continued her greatness out in the field. Will, on the other hand, had a nervous breakdown the first time he came face to face with a real criminal. He froze up and didn't react as the attacker ran toward him, knife raised in the air.
Will had just kept screaming, “Get back! Get back!”
He only survived because his partner, a twenty-year veteran of the bureau, had shown up at the last second and put a bullet into the attacker’s spine. Will had gotten out without any physical damage, but there had been no argument he should be taken out of the field. He had never attempted to prove them wrong and had settled into a cozy, safe job at the academy.
He and Frankie were still married, but his failure was considered a point of embarrassment for Frankie, who avoided the conversation whenever possible.
They got to their car and drove to the station.
Patrol cars filled the parking lot.
Curtis and Frankie parked in an empty spot and walked inside. The conversation quieted as the gathered officers saw them. Near the back of the packed room, Chief Tucker spoke with Monica and Trevor, shooting nervous glances toward the agents as they entered.
Curtis looked around the room and tried to pick anyone out he recognized. Although there was passing familiarity here and there, as though he had passed them on the street but never known their names, he recognized few. Curtis saw the same confused look being returned by the crowd.
“Everyone,” said Chief Tucker, addressing the crowd, “these two FBI agents are here to help us investigate the disappearances. I’d like to introduce Special Agents Frankie Lassiter and Curtis Mackley. Some of you may know Curtis as the brother of Detective Mackley and the son of my predecessor, Chief Gordon Mackley. I’d like to thank them for taking the time to come assist us. Please give them your full attention.”
Curtis felt the gazes of fifty police officers as they figured out why they recognized him. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if Frankie would overcome her fear of public speaking. She stood rigidly still and shot him a sideways glance. Curtis took the signal and stepped forward.
“Thank you, Chief Tucker, for the introduction," he said. "I’m FBI Special Agent Curtis Mackley. I lived in Blind River for the first eighteen years of my life. It’s different from the last time I was here, but it’s also remarkably similar. Some of you I recognize, some I
don’t, but over the course of this investigation we'll get to know many of you. My partner is FBI Special Agent Frankie Lassiter, and she is the smartest and most skilled person I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”
The gaze of the crowd fell on Frankie. She raised one hand in an awkward wave, then looked at Curtis. He had never understood how she could talk down a serial killer with no problem, but the moment she had a group of people listening to her she became scared and anxious.
“What's happened is a tragedy,” Curtis continued, “and I wish I had a better reason to return to Blind River. Over the next few days, Agent Lassiter and I will be going through the case. The FBI will be setting up an anonymous phone line dedicated to this case. If you see anything suspicious, call that line. Later today, Agent Lassiter and I will be speaking at the school in order to make sure everyone is staying safe.” Curtis glanced at Chief Tucker, who nodded his understanding that he would set up a speaking engagement at the school. “Any questions?”
A man Curtis vaguely recognized raised a hand and said, “What are the chances they’re alive?”
Curtis looked at the man. “What's your name?”
“Joe Hagerty.”
“Are you related to Ashley Hagerty?” Curtis said, remembering the name of the first girl who disappeared.
“She's my niece.”
“I don’t know if they're alive,” said Curtis after a pause. He decided to be honest and tell the man what he needed to hear. “However, I wouldn't hold out hope.”
Joe nodded, maintaining his composure, as though he’d already known the answer.
There were a few more questions which Curtis answered in short sentences, mostly due to his still shaky understanding of the case.
When all the questions were answered, Curtis said, “If anyone else wants to speak with us, don't hesitate. We're here to help, but this is your town. Hagerty, we’d like to speak with you and anyone else directly related to the victims. Thank you.”
There was a scattering of polite applause and the patrol officers dispersed, returning to their cars and driving off.
Joe and another officer approached. The other officer was young, thin and fit. He walked with the confidence of someone used to getting his way.
“This is Officer Matt Oberman," said Hagerty. "He’s Darcy Oberman’s brother.”
Frankie took over. Now that it was only two people, her confidence had returned. “I’m sure this has been difficult for both of you.”
“Thank you,” said Matt. “I just hope Darcy’s okay.”
“We all do,” said Frankie. “The reason we asked to speak with you is that we need to re-interview the families of the victims. It would be beneficial if we had someone with us who knew what they were going through.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Matt. “My mum's already been through so much. My dad was never around, and if Darcy's gone, I’m all she’s got. I think it might be too hard on her.”
“Matt,” said Frankie sternly. “If you want us to find your sister, we need to speak with your mother.”
Matt nodded, but avoided eye contact.
“What about you?” said Frankie, turning to Joe. “Can we speak to your family about it?”
Joe nodded. “I think so. My brother and his wife have been pretty distraught since their daughter vanished, but they'll want to help.”
“Good,” said Frankie. “Let’s get going. We’ll go in the car the chief loaned to us."
“Now?” said Matt. “My mum won’t know we’re coming. I don’t think she can handle it.”
“Yes, now," said Frankie. "Every moment we wait is another moment where Darcy, Ashley and the other girls could be dead or worse. Understand?”
Matt nodded. Joe looked like he was going to be sick.
“Wait here,” said Curtis, seeing the chief waving to him from the office.
Curtis walked across the bullpen, weaving through the whispering officers. He stepped inside Chief Tucker's office, which was minimalist to an extreme. The only decoration was the chief’s medal of commendation for bravery hanging on the walls. The bookshelves were piled high with books on crime and law, and the desk looked aged and weathered. Curtis wondered if his father had bought that desk.
“You wanted to see me?” said Curtis, taking a seat.
“Yes,” said the chief. “Great speech out there. I just wanted to check what you wanted us doing here. I’ll set up a time for you to speak at the high school.”
“Within the next day if possible," said Curtis."
Tucker nodded. “Okay. It seems as though you’ve got things sorted out. What would you like the detectives working on?”
“I want records of everyone who has spent time in the prison or stayed at the Blind River Motel. I want dates, criminal records, and lists of any known acquaintances.”
“Going back how far?” said Tucker.
“Six months.”
Tucker nodded. “Anything else?”
Curtis took the disks from his pocket. “These are from the convenience store near where Harriet Matheson disappeared. Watch them closely. There might be something there.”
“We already did that.”
“Do it again.”
Chief Tucker looked like he was about to argue, then thought better of it. “It'll be done.”
“One other thing," said Curtis. "Sam Marino is in the prison out there, right?”
Tucker shifted in his seat. “He’s there. I forgot you would have been here for all that shit. When I took over as chief, I was told it was a small prison town. It wasn’t until I got here that someone took the liberty of filling me in. This was before the internet. I couldn’t just Google that shit.”
“Is there any chance this is related?” said Curtis.
Tucker shrugged. “It’s possible, but I don’t see how. We checked. Marino has made no escape attempts, no suspicious calls, and hasn't even stepped out of line. By all accounts, he's a model prisoner."
“Is that unusual?”
“Not according to the guards I've spoken to. Did you know those guys? Marino and them?”
Curtis stood and walked, hesitating in the doorway. “Yeah, I did.”
“Is that why you became an FBI agent?”
Curtis just smirked and left the office, walking past the conference room where Monica and Trevor were sitting. Curtis leaned in the door and told them he and Frankie were heading out.
“What do you mean?” said Trevor, standing from his seat and sending the rolling chair backward. “This is our case. You can’t just come in here and kick us off it like we're second rate helpers. We know what we’re doing.”
“Trevor,” said Monica, holding out a hand. “What is it, Curtis?”
“I need you two to go through prison records and motel records over the last six months. Trevor, I understand, but we need to interview the families without any preconceived notions and be completely objective.”
Trevor stared at him and said nothing.
“Will you be at dinner tonight?” said Monica, speaking calmly as though she was trying to defuse the situation.
“Yeah,” said Curtis curtly. “I’ll be there. Frankie, too.”
“We’ll see you there.”
Curtis nodded to Trevor before he left the room. As he walked away, he heard Trevor mutter, “Fuckin’ FBI agent. Thinks he’s so fucking special just because he got lucky. Prick.”
7
The drive to the Hagerty home was done in silence.
They parked in front of the small, beige house. A white fence boxed in the back yard, and the tiles on the roof were fresher than the rest of the house, as though it was midway through a renovation. Joe took the lead as they walked up to his brother’s front door. He knocked and waited.
Sounds of shuffling came from inside. After a minute, the door opened. An older woman wearing a bathrobe and slippers over her night gown stood in the doorway. Her hair was a mess, as though she hadn't showered in days.
“Yes?
” she said.
“Miriam,” said Joe. “These two FBI agents have come to help find Ashley. They’d like to talk to you.”
“I already spoke with the police,” said Miriam to her brother-in-law, speaking in monotone. “They haven’t found anything.”
“They're better than the police.”
Miriam stared out vacantly. “I’m not dressed for it.”
“It doesn’t matter," said Joe. "Miri, come on. They can find Ashley.”
Miriam nodded. “Come in. Would you like some tea?”
She turned and walked inside without waiting for their responses. The interior of the house was decorated with flower wallpaper and religious iconography. Joe indicated the living room, where a large painting of Jesus on the cross hung above the fireplace, and then went to find Miriam.
“Ken!” Miriam shouted from the kitchen. “Your brother brought the FBI!”
“Who?” came a groggy shout from upstairs.
“FBI!”
“Government pieces of shit!”
Curtis, Frankie, and Matt took their seats on the couch around the table. The sounds of someone rolling out of bed and stomping down the stairs echoed through the house. Joe and Miriam came into the living room. Joe placed a tray of tea and biscuits on the table.
Miriam looked as though she hadn’t slept in weeks, probably since her daughter had disappeared. She fell into her recliner and looked at them over the table. “You’re with the government?”
“The FBI,” said Curtis.
The stomping came down the hall, and a man with a thick mustache hanging over his upper lip came through the door. He looked as though he was already drunk at 2:30 in the afternoon. He used the door frame to support himself.
Joe got up and led his brother across the room to an empty chair beside Miriam. Joe put out a hand and his sister-in-law held it.
Miriam’s husband, Ken, said, “So, you fellows are from the government, huh? Think you’re so fucking special that you can come out here and do a better job at finding my daughter than people who actually know this town? Fucking fair-weather cops is what you are. You just swoop in and take all the credit from the locals, just like the government always does. The working class does all the work and the government and their banker buddies just come in and take all the money. This fucking country used to stand for something."