by Ben Follows
“Ken,” said Curtis calmly, “I’d like you to know that I actually am a local. I spent the first eighteen years of my life in Blind River.”
Ken frowned, as though he'd been thrown an unexpected curve ball. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Curtis Mackley.”
“You’re Chief Mackley’s boy? What a fucking hoot.” Ken laughed. “So you’re not just a government lackey, but you’re selling out your own town. What a load of bullshit that is.”
“Ken," said Curtis. "I need you to understand that Agent Lassiter and I are trained to deal with situations like this. But you’re right. We don’t know the town, and this isn't the town I knew as a kid. That’s why we need your help. We need you to tell us everything about your daughter’s disappearance.”
“Fucking government cronies,” mumbled Ken, but he seemed to have lost his energy. “Ashley deserves better than this bullshit. Two fucking agents is all they send.”
“Ken,” said Frankie. She indicated Joe and Matt. “These two officers both know what you’re going through, and if you have any issues with what we do, I want you to speak with them, okay?”
Ken mumbled, “I guess you can’t be any worse that these incompetent fuck’s who work at the police station. What do you want to know?”
Frankie leaned in. “Tell us about Ashley. We need to know everything we can about her. Anything could be a clue.”
“She was perfect.” Ken looked to one side, as though looking for a memory in the wallpaper. “She was popular, she was smart, she was funny. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like her. I can’t imagine anyone who would hurt her.”
“No one? Not an ex-boyfriend or someone at school who didn’t like her?”
Ken shook his head. “She wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend. It’s too young for kids to be dating in high school. Miriam and I didn’t date until we were in college. It’s too young.”
“What about enemies?”
Ken looked at Frankie as though she was crazy. “No, everyone liked her.”
“After-school activities?”
“She was involved with the school paper, I think.”
“Yes,” said Miriam. “She was training to be a journalist. She was so talented and skilled.”
“We’ve been trying to get her more involved with the church,” said Ken, turning back to Frankie, “but she hasn’t been going more than once a week. She’ll come around.”
Miriam let out another wail, and Joe squeezed her hand. Matt stood in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.
“Mr. Hagerty,” said Frankie. “Do you mind if we see Ashley’s room? Just to get a sense of who she is?”
Ken thought for a moment, then nodded. He stood slowly and walked past them. Frankie and Curtis walked after him, up the stairs to the second story.
Ken opened the first door on the right and held it open for them. The roof of the bedroom was slanted. The decorations inside were a collection of Ashley’s interests over the course of her life. Barbie’s co-existed with Twilight novels and Bob Marley posters. The bed wasn’t made. A half-eaten bag of chips and a can of Diet Coke sat on the bedside table. A series of fashion magazines were open on her desk.
Frankie walked to her closet and revealed a large wardrobe. It was much cleaner and well organized than the rest of the room. Frankie went through the clothing, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
Curtis stood a few feet back. He turned to the others. “Tell me about the night she disappeared," he said.
Miriam, standing just outside the room, let out a wail. “It’s my fault," she said. "We were having a fight. I should have just let her do what she wanted.”
“What happened?” said Curtis.
Ken answered, watching Frankie like a hound as she went through his daughter’s clothes. “They were having a fight," he said. "Ashley didn’t want to get involved at the church. She said she hates the people there. We thought it was regular teenager stuff. She didn’t come home that night, but we didn’t think anything of it. We thought she was at a friend’s house.”
“But she wasn't?”
Ken sighed. “No one saw her after that."
“Is there anything else we should know?”
“Not that I can think of.”
Curtis nodded. “Frankie, you done?”
Frankie nodded, retreating from the closet. “I’m done.”
They shook hands with the Hagerty's and left the house. As they got to the door, Ken cleared his throat. Miriam stood behind him, refusing to let go of Joe’s hand as he left. Matt was already out the door.
“Thank you,” said Ken. “For what you’re doing to find Ashley. I was angry earlier.”
“We’ll do our best to find her,” said Frankie. “We promise.”
“Thank you.”
Joe wrestled his hand out of Miriam’s and gave his sister-in-law a quick hug before following them. The screen door slammed shut behind them. Curtis wiped sweat off his forehead as they walked to the car. Just as Curtis opened the passenger door of the car, a bright white flash caught Curtis from the right side. He clenched his eyes shut and threw his arms up.
8
“Agents! So nice to meet you," said a female voice.
Curtis blinked to clear his eyes. He looked at the woman who had taken the picture. She held the camera in front of her chest. She had black hair pulled into a ponytail and a brown leather jacket. A notepad was jammed into her inside jacket pocket. The officers ignored her and climbed into the back seat.
“Natasha Nolowinski,” said the woman, holding out a hand. “I’m a reporter with the Blind River Observer. Can I get a statement on your involvement in the search for the Blind River Killer?”
“No,” said Curtis, climbing into the passenger seat. “If you want a statement, we’ll be speaking at the school.”
“Is it true there are no suspects?” said Natasha.
Curtis closed the door. “No comment.”
“How does this relate to your sister, Agent Mackley? Did she call you in?”
Curtis turned to Frankie. “Drive.”
Natasha leaned in the window. “What do you have to say about rumors that Sam Marino is involved?”
“Stop,” said Curtis just as Frankie put the car into gear. He looked up at Natasha’s smirk. “Where the hell did you hear that?”
“I can’t reveal my sources," said Natasha. "Journalistic ethics.”
“We’re the FBI. I can arrest you for impeding an investigation.”
“Oh,” said Natasha, scribbling on her notepad. “Threatening a reporter about her free speech rights. That'll make an interesting story in tomorrow’s paper.”
“Forget it," said Curtis. "You don’t know anything.”
“Give me an interview and I’ll tell you more about Sam Marino.”
Curtis rolled up the window and told Frankie to drive. He looked into the rearview mirror at the two officers. They both looked uncomfortable and awkward, but not guilty, so he mentally discounted them as being the leak, at least for the time being.
“Joe, Matt,” said Curtis as they drove to Matt Oberman’s house, “What do you think about the information being leaked?”
Joe let out a sound of disgust. “I think Natasha’s a manipulative bitch, that’s what I think.”
“Any idea who could be leaking information?”
They both looked like they were about to say something, then responded with shrugs. Curtis knew no police officer would rat out one of his fellow officers, but it was worth the try.
“Maybe one of the family members is giving her information,” said Matt. “Most of them are being kept up to date on the investigation.”
“It’s possible,” said Curtis, not believing for a second that a family member had done it.
9
They pulled into a driveway of a red brick Victorian house with a large yard.
Matt took the lead and knocked on the door. There was some shuffling inside. Curtis wondered if being unable to l
ift your feet was a symptom of a family member disappearing.
The door was answered by a woman who looked too young to be Matt’s mother. She looked to be in her late thirties, with blonde hair and a fit body.
“Hey, Mom,” said Matt, stepping up to the woman who looked more like his sister than his mother. He hugged her.
She hugged him back, looking over her son’s shoulder at the others.
Matt pulled back. “Mom, these FBI agents want to talk about Darcy. They can help find her.”
She looked at Curtis and Frankie for a moment before nodding. “I’m Kelly, come in.”
They were led into the living room, where they took their seats while Kelly disappeared for a minute.
While she was gone, Curtis walked over to the cabinet beside the fireplace. It was filled with sports trophies from soccer and volleyball with a few thrown in from field hockey, from the local to the state level, almost all of which were awarded to Kelly Oberman. A few were awarded to Darcy Oberman, and fewer were awarded to Matt Oberman. He moved over to the mantle, looking through the photographs set up there. Nowhere in any of the photographs was there a man with Kelly. There was never anyone but her and the two kids.
Kelly returned a few minutes later with fresh clothing. She took her seat and cradled a cup of tea between her hands.
“You were quite an athlete,” said Curtis, turning toward her. “Darcy follows in your footsteps.”
“You think she’s still alive?” said Kelly.
The hope in her voice almost broke Curtis then and there. “If she is," he said. "We’ll find her.”
Kelly nodded. “What do you need to know?”
“Anything about Darcy that might be connected to her disappearance. When was the last time you saw her? Anything like that.”
“The last time I saw her?” Kelly paused for a moment. “It would have been at volleyball practice. I coach the high school team.”
“Have you coached there for a long time?”
“About ten years now.” Kelly was getting more comfortable, talking about her own accomplishments instead of her daughter’s disappearance. “I was the captain of the volleyball and soccer team for two years, and when I got my teaching degree they agreed to take me back. I’ve been teaching gym there for a while now.” She reached to the side table and grabbed a carton of cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”
“No,” said Curtis, although he tensed his nostrils as she lit the cigarette and opened a window to blow the smoke out. Frankie glanced at the cigarette with a look of disdain, but said nothing. She had quit smoking two years earlier after three years of trying.
Kelly took a deep inhale on her cigarette and blew it out the window. Matt sat beside her, trying to look relaxed but constantly glancing at his mother, who still seemed far too young. Joe Hagerty stood in the doorway, looking uncomfortable, but having the decency to not check his phone or make an excuse to leave.
“I tried to keep my work and home life separate,” said Kelly after a few moments, locking Curtis in her gaze as she spoke. “I never wanted Darcy nor Matt to feel like their mother was following them everywhere. I wanted them to have their own lives. If they chose to try out for my teams, that was their choice, and I would do everything in my power to treat them just like anyone else. Not that it mattered with Darcy. She’s the best volleyball player I’ve ever seen. I can see her going to nationals in a few years.”
Kelly crushed the cigarette into an ashtray on the side table and took another out of the packet. “Sometimes, I wonder if maybe I had been more of a controlling mother, if I had forced my will on her like I’ve seen other mothers do, maybe she would still be here.”
Frankie said, “You can’t think like that.“
“I’ve read the self-help books," said Kelly. "I know I can’t blame myself. I even spoke to the old chief about it. You probably won’t know this, but the old chief had a kid who disappeared about fifteen years ago. Never found the kid. Old Gordon isn’t too clear of mind, but he was still a huge help to me.“
Curtis stood abruptly and walked out of the room, muttering an apology.
He walked onto the front porch and looked at the sunset. The sun was barely peeking through the dark storm clouds. He took a deep breath and wiped sweat off his face.
“I hate this fucking town,” he muttered as he took a deep breath.
10
Curtis stared across the street then looked back at the house.
“What the hell was that about?” said Frankie. She closed the door behind her and stepped onto the porch.
To a casual observer Frankie looked calm and collected, but Curtis knew her too well. There was anger and frustration brewing just beneath the surface.
Frankie stopped a few inches from Curtis’s face. “What the hell is she talking about, Curtis? Your dad had a kid who disappeared? You never thought that was something you should bring up? Why the fuck are we even on this case? As soon as we’re done here, you’re telling me everything about this sibling who disappeared, and then we're calling Johnson and getting someone else sent out here.”
Curtis shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Don’t call Johnson. I can’t go back to the academy.”
“You didn’t look fine when you just scurried out of the house like a scared mouse. Why'd you do that? To get some fresh air or to get away from talking about something you should have told me?”
“I’ll tell you everything," said Curtis. "Just don’t call Johnson. I can handle this.”
Frankie stared at him for a moment. “You get one more chance. I’ll finish the interview. We’ll meet up later. We probably won’t be able to do the last two families today anyway.”
“I can suck it up," said Curtis, taking a deep breath. "We need to find out everything we can about these girls. What if they’re still alive?”
Frankie shrugged. “The police have been looking. We have nothing to go on. We’ll be better equipped to find them if we get a fresh start in the morning. If they’re alive, we’ll find them.”
Curtis nodded, but kept glancing back at the house.
“Get your mind off this,” said Frankie. “I want to hear about this sibling of yours, and if I find out there is anything else that you haven’t told me, literally anything, I'll be calling Johnson and getting you kicked out of the FBI, not just sent back to the academy. Do you understand me?”
“Understood.” Curtis thought for a moment, remembering the luggage which was still in Monica and Trevor’s detective car. “There’s a bar downtown," he said, "called Randall’s Tavern. I’ll be there.”
Frankie raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll just have one or two beers,” said Curtis. “I’ll be fine for dinner at my dad’s. I’ll see you there.”
“I’ll get Joe to drive you.”
“I don’t need to be driven.”
“It’s not for you," said Frankie. "Joe looks like a kid who needs to pee in church. Let him drive you to the bar, then he’ll come back for us.”
Curtis hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
Frankie turned and walked back inside. A few moments later, Joe emerged from the front of the house.
“Let’s go,” he said without breaking stride. “I’ve got to drop you off then get back.”
They climbed into the car, Joe driving, and left the house.
Neither said anything as they drove. They drove into the downtown area. They passed the butcher shop which had once been owned by Sam Marino, a small grocery store, a movie store, and finally pulled up to Randall’s Tavern. A sign hung down from a black metal pole that stuck out over the corner. It was red brick with a door that was more modern than the rest of the building.
Joe parked and let Curtis climb out.
“Sure you don’t need anything else?” said Joe, leaning across the center console. “Protection or anything?”
“No thanks,” said Curtis. “Go back and get Frankie and Officer Oberman.”
“Yes, sir,” said Joe without mu
ch enthusiasm.
As the car did a U-turn and disappeared into the distance, Curtis looked up at the bar. He stepped inside and blinked to adjust his eyes to the dim light. The bar wouldn’t have looked out of place in a western movie save for the LED lights hanging from the ceiling and the six flat screens above the bar, playing MLB and NFL highlights.
“Curtis Mackley!” shouted the bartender, making the patrons look at him then at Curtis, trying to match his face to the former chief of police. “Welcome back!”
Curtis smiled at Robert Randall, the proprietor of the bar for as long as Curtis could remember. Robert met Curtis at the end of the bar with a broad smile.
Curtis held out a hand and Robert shook it.
The bartender had a Santa Claus vibe about him, with the right body type and a thick white beard which had been brown the last time Curtis had seen him.
“Great to see you again, lad,” said Robert. “I only wish it was under better circumstances.”
“You and me both,” said Curtis. “Who told you I was coming in?”
“You know Natasha Nolowinski? The reporter for the Blind River Observer?”
“Yeah,” said Curtis, a sinking feeling in his gut. “I’ve met her.”
Robert leaned over the bar. “Natasha came in here and told us all. Great news that the feds are taking an interest in those girls and even more so that one of our own is taking care of it. I was so relieved to hear it was a local. When she said it, well, I didn’t believe her. I was saying to myself, little Curtis Mackley? An FBI agent? That can’t be right. But here you are. My god, I can’t believe someone from this little town rose all the way up to being in the FBI. Hey, fellas, would you have guessed that Curtis here would be an FBI agent?”
The responses were a few disinterested grunts from the men at the bar before they looked back at the televisions. One man muttered that the girls had probably just run away and Curtis was wasting his time, but neither Robert nor the other bar patrons paid him any attention.