by Ben Follows
“Are you?" Marino raised an eyebrow. "Who are you arresting? It’s about time you morons started catching up.”
“That’s confidential.”
“The answer to any question an FBI agent doesn’t like.” Marino leaned back in his chair and grinned. “You should start listening to me, Curtis. This town is more mine than yours. I lived here for forty years. For about ten years I was, for all intents and purposes, the judge, jury, and executioner. Those are my people out there. I want to help, but I have to look out for myself first. I know who’s killing those girls, but I need something in return.”
“How’s this?” Curtis took a folder from the box. He slid it across the table to Marino, who picked it up with his cuffed hands and began flipping through.
Marino read the folder front to back, then placed it on the desk. He looked up at Curtis. “This is fake.”
“It’s real,” said Curtis. “I have assurance from the FBI that this is valid intel.”
Marino shrugged. “It’s fake.”
“Which parts?" said Curtis. "It could be beneficial to the FBI if there are errors in our information.”
Marino laughed. “If you won’t respect me, I’d like to go back to my cell now.”
“Sam, you have to listen to me." Curtis leaned in. "There are lives at risk.”
The guards came into the room. Marino stood as his cuffs were unattached from the table. He looked at the one-way mirror. “Does your partner know what this is really about?”
Curtis glanced at the mirror. It took a moment to realize that Marino thought Frankie was behind the glass.
“What are you talking about?” said Curtis.
“Your brother, Josh. For the right price, I’ll tell you how he died.” He grinned.
Curtis remembered what Bobby Randall had told him about Marino putting a price on his head.
“What do you know?” Curtis said through gritted teeth.
Marino laughed and turned to the guards. “I want to go back to my cell.”
The guards looked at Curtis.
“Take him away,” said Curtis. “He’s bluffing. We’ll talk when he’s ready to be serious.”
Marino was lead from the interview room without looking back.
Once the door closed, Curtis sat for a moment before picking up the box of useless evidence. He walked out of the room.
Outside, Monica who was still looking through the mirror. Harry stood a few feet away.
“Is it true?” said Monica. “What he said about Josh?”
“No,” said Curtis. “He’s full of it.”
Harry lead them back to Nate, who lead them to their car. Curtis put the box of evidence in the back seat and climbed into the passenger seat.
“Where to?” said Monica in a professional manner once they had passed through the gates.
“Crime scenes,” said Curtis. “I want to walk through them again. There must be some similarity between the crime scenes, something that was going through the kidnapper’s head when he selected his victims and the places he would grab them, even if he didn’t realize it.”
Monica was silent for a moment, then said, “We never spoke about Josh. I was too young when he disappeared to understand.”
Curtis stared out the window. “It’s complicated.”
Monica pulled into the parking lot of a coffee shop. “I deserve to know, especially if it’s important.”
“We need to get to the crime scenes,” said Curtis.
“Five minutes won’t make a difference.”
“You never asked Dad?”
Monica sighed. “I tried, but he never wanted to talk about it. Once he started losing his memory, he started talking about Josh as though he was still there, but it was jumbled and I was never able to distinguish what was real.”
“I can’t tell you exactly,” said Curtis. “I don’t know all the details. I was twelve. Josh and Dad tried to make us believe everything was fine. Josh dropped out of the police academy. He and Dad got into a fight about it. Josh stormed off and didn’t come home until four in the morning. I stayed up until I was sure he was home. Within a few weeks, Dad kicked him out of the house. He didn’t tell why, just that Josh wouldn't be living with us anymore. I think Josh had started working with Marino. A few more weeks after that, Dad told me Josh had moved away and he wouldn’t be back. It didn’t take long for the other kids at school to tell me the rumors that he was missing and might have been killed. There was no proof. We received no letters, no calls, nothing to indicate that he was alive or dead. I always assumed he was dead. It's easier that way.”
“So what?” said Monica after a pause. “That’s it?”
“I searched for him on the FBI database. They had a file on him as a suspected associate of Marino. He’s been declared legally dead. There’s nothing to indicate he’s alive.”
“But he could be?”
“I don’t know.” Curtis looked around the parking lot. “I just don’t know. Come on, let’s visit the crime scenes.”
Monica looked as though she was going to ask a question, then said nothing. She turned on the car and drove out of the parking lot.
26
Miriam Hagerty was crying again. To Frankie, it seemed like the only thing she did. Neither she nor Trevor were any good at calming her down without letting their own emotions and irritation get out of hand.
Trevor was crouching in front of Miriam with his hand on her shoulder, saying all the right things, but without any of the genuine caring Curtis was able to conjure up at a moment’s notice.
Eventually, Miriam stopped crying, although it seemed she had simply run out of tears to cry.
“Miriam,” said Frankie, sitting on the couch across from her and doing a poor job containing her irritation, “what happened last night? We need to know everything if we’re going to save Zach’s life.”
Miriam let out a wail. Frankie braced herself for another round of tears, but it never came.
Instead, Miriam said, in a completely level tone, “Ken has never liked feeling helpless. He once told me that nothing could harm him in life if he could control it. All this stuff with Ashley, and that's probably someone we see every day who took her, was too much for him. Ken couldn’t save his daughter.”
“What about Zach?” Trevor said. Frankie put a hand on his arm to stop him from talking.
“All the news about it has been hard.” Miriam looked to one side, avoiding their eyes. “I haven’t been sleeping. Ken only sleeps after he’s had a few drinks. I stay up waiting for a phone call from Ashley or a police officer telling us something. Last night, there was a call around one in the morning. Ken was still down here, drinking. He answered on the second ring. I came downstairs, my heart fluttering, hoping it was about Ashley. Ken was asking who the caller was, then he thanked them and hung up. He barged past me and grabbed his coat. I asked him what he was doing, and he said a reporter had called for a comment on Zach O’Reilly.” Miriam took a deep breath, looking relieved to have shared the story with someone.
“What happened next?” said Frankie.
“He left the house without another word," said Miriam. "The next thing I heard about it was the sirens at the O’Reillys' place. I don’t see how Zach could have done it. He seemed like such a kind and caring boy, but if Ashley wasn’t telling us she was seeing him, then maybe there is something. Did Zach kill my daughter?”
“No,” said Frankie. “I don’t believe Zach had anything to do with it. We’ve investigated him. There's nothing to link him to the crimes. The reporter was falsely informed. Speaking of which, do you know who the reporter was?
“It sounded like a woman.”
Frankie made a mental note to speak with Natasha Nolowinski. “If Ken were to hide somewhere," she said, "where would he go?”
Miriam thought for a moment. “He works in construction. A lot of the houses he works on are within an hour from here. Probably one of those. I’ve wondered a few times if he brought other women to those ho
uses before the owners moved in.”
“Do you have the addresses?”
Miriam swallowed. “What are you going to do if you catch him?”
“We’re going to arrest him," said Frankie flatly. "We're going to charge him with kidnapping at the minimum. Depending on Zach’s state, we might charge him with something else. Think about Mr. and Mrs. O’Reilly. They want their son back, just like you want Ashley back.”
“Do you have children, Agent?”
“No.”
“I thought you might.” Miriam turned to look at the wall, as though she could see the O’Reillys' house a few properties down. “Detective Marshall," she said, "can I borrow a page from your notepad? I’ll tell you about the properties I know of.”
“Thank you,” said Frankie.
Trevor tore out a page from his notebook and handed it to Miriam, along with a pen.
“I’m not doing it for you,” said Miriam. “I’m doing it for Ashley.”
“What do you mean?” said Frankie.
She turned back to them. “If Ashley loved Zach, I’ll do what I can to protect him, no matter what Ken or I think of him.”
27
Curtis crouched and looked over the third crime scene. He looked both ways down the street. There was a park in front of him and houses in every other direction.
“Miranda O’Connell was taken here?” he said.
“About ten feet that way is our best guess,” said Monica, pointing to the right.
Curtis stood and walked to the spot. “The butterfly hairclip was here?”
Monica nodded. She was leaning against the car and giving her serious cop gaze to anyone who wandered too close. It was a look their father had always used when they were young.
“This is interesting,” said Curtis. “This is the only disappearance we can peg to an exact location. All the others were grabbed somewhere within a larger area, and we can only guess at specifics. If you were going to kidnap someone from this area, why pick this spot? What's special about here?”
Monica shrugged. “There aren’t many windows that face this area. There are porches, but it was late at night. No one would be looking at the park.”
“Maybe the kidnapper lives around here," said Curtis. "This is the highest risk area and it isn't close.”
“Maybe it was about Miranda O’Connell," said Monica. "She was important enough that he was willing to take a risk.”
Curtis considered it. “It’s possible. It’s not uncommon for serial killers and kidnappers to target people who remind them of someone from their past. Does Miranda O’Connell have any siblings?”
“You spoke with her parents. You should know that.”
“I haven’t been here in a long time. Being the only child at home doesn’t mean she was the only child.”
“As far as I’m aware, she’s her parents’ only child.”
“What about the parents?" said Curtis. "Anything in her past that would indicate connections with unruly people? Maybe Marino’s people?”
“I’ll check. How is the FBI helpline doing?”
Curtis let out a long sigh. “I hate those things. They make all junior agents spend some time manning the phones just to get an appreciation for how mind-numbing it is. For every thousand tips you get, there might be one that’s useful.”
“So nothing?”
“Nothing worth investigating." Curtis kicked at a small rock. "We have teams at the New York office investigating the validity of all the calls. Most will be people trying to get the prize money and have their fifteen minutes of fame. We’ll keep checking, but Director Johnson will pull the plug on it eventually.”
Monica nodded, then looked up and frowned. “What's if it's because this spot isn’t under any streetlights.”
Curtis followed where she was looking. There was an irregular spacing between the streetlights, instead of the normal blanket covering. The space they were standing in was at thirty feet from streetlights on all sides. If it were night, they would be in complete darkness.
“If a car rolled up here,” said Curtis, “and Miranda recognized the driver, and he offered her a ride, then that could be the answer."
“Why would she have dropped her hair clip?”
“By accident?" said Curtis. "Maybe she was doing her hair, got distracted, was in a rush. It would explain why the kidnapper didn’t pick it up. It would never occur to him that she’d dropped anything.”
“How does that fit with the other girls?”
“They were all alone. A trusted authority figure drives up and asks if they want a drive. They get into the car, thinking it’s nothing suspicious. Maybe he offers a spiked drink, or maybe he knocks them out once they're somewhere quiet.”
“What about Harriet Matheson?" said Monica. "She was with her friends. Why would she have wanted to get in the car?”
“He could have offered to help buy the booze and cigarettes from the convenience store. Maybe the kidnapper offered to buy them for her, then give her a ride back to her friends.”
“And the other two? Ashley and Darcy?”
“Same thing. He offers a ride home or to wherever they were going. He acts like he's being a good Samaritan. Maybe he says he would feel guilty if anything happened to them.”
“So who would it be?" said Monica. "This is a small town. Saying it’s a trusted person doesn’t really narrow it down.”
“We work backwards from the last case. Harriet Matheson was kidnapped at a time when the normal small town attitude of trusting everyone would be gone. She wouldn’t intuitively trust anyone, unless she knew them well. Ashley Hagerty was the first, and she would have taken a ride from anyone she recognized.”
“So we start looking into Harriet’s connections?”
“Yeah, although I still think we need to look for mutual acquaintances.”
“How many people would four teenage girls from different social groups all know? We’re basically narrowing it down to school teachers and public officials.”
Curtis grimaced. There was something on the edge of his consciousness, a clue behind a locked door inside his mind.
“I know," he said. "We’re missing something. This guy is smart. He would have figured this out. Let’s go see the next crime scene.”
Monica nodded and walked climbed into the driver’s seat.
Her phone rang. She gave Curtis an apologetic look that turned to worry when she saw the caller ID. “I have to take this,” she said.
She answered the phone and walked a dozen feet away. Curtis watched her posture shift from concern to panic, her volume rising as she spoke. She hung up, turned, and walked back to the car.
Inside the car, Curtis asked who it was.
“Dad’s nurse.” Monica started the car and pulled onto the street. “He had a stroke. An ambulance is taking him to the hospital.”
Curtis stared at her for a moment as she pulled away from the curb. He leaned his head against the cold glass of the window.
In that moment, as Monica cheated a few speed limits, it occurred to him for the first time that his father, the man who had raised him, who had done his best as a father, who was the reason he'd gotten into law enforcement in the first place, might not live forever.
28
Frankie and Trevor arrived at the first construction site on the list Miriam had given them. There was a thin layer of dew built up over the frame. It was a three-story vacation home on the lake.
They showed their badges to the security guard, who claimed to have seen no one enter the house, and made no effort to slow them down.
Trevor walked across the half-finished lawn and into the empty doorway. The door itself lay a few feet away. Miriam had claimed Ken didn’t own any guns, that he was adamantly anti-gun as a matter of fact. Frankie unclipped her holster anyway. They moved through the living room, listening for any indication they weren’t alone.
Footprints zig-zagged across the floors from workers who'd been there two days prior. There were no
fresh footprints.
They did a full circuit of the above ground floors before moving to the basement. It was dark and open concept, with cinderblock walls and support beams. Frankie stepped off the wooden staircase onto the dirt floor, scanning the basement with a large flashlight they'd brought from the car. Trevor followed a few steps behind.
The basement was empty, and a cursory search revealed no hidden spaces. When Frankie had done a full circuit, she returned to the staircase where Trevor was waiting. “He’s not here,” she said. “Let’s move on.”
As they left, the security guard grunted at them.
Trevor’s phone rang as they approached the car. He walked a few steps away and answered. He listened and spoke for a few minutes before ending the call and returning to Frankie.
“That was Monica,” he said. “Gordon Mackley was taken to the hospital. She and Curtis are with the doctors.”
Frankie nodded. “How long are they going to be?”
Trevor turned and stared at her. “Their father could be dying. I didn’t ask how long they were going to be.”
“Those girls could be dying too. Let’s go.” Frankie climbed into the drivers' seat.
Trevor climbed in after her, fidgeting as he pulled the seatbelt across his body.
“Where are we going?” said Frankie.
Trevor hesitated, then said, “Go to the right.”
29
Gordon Mackley had been asleep for almost five hours. Monica and Curtis had been by his bedside during that time, waiting for him to wake up. The doctors had explained that he’d had a stroke.
His body was connected to a variety of beeping machines. It had initially annoyed Curtis, but had since become a rhythm which brought him comfort that his father was still alive.
Curtis had taken breaks to listen to Frankie’s reports about one construction site after another yielding nothing as to Ken Hagerty’s location.
Inside the room, Gordon Mackley began mumbling as the drugs wore off. The words were either nonsense or impossible to decipher, but Josh’s name came up over and over again. It was the only name he mentioned.