by Ben Follows
Monica asked if Curtis wanted any food. He said he did. Monica left and headed to the cafeteria.
Once he was alone, Curtis looked out the window, thinking about the missing girls.
In his experience, all cases fell into one of two groups. Some cases were like this one, with a million clues and nothing pointing to an obvious answer. Then there were those with almost no clues but the answer was obvious. Sometimes they shifted abruptly into the other category. The longer it dragged on, the more positive Curtis was that this was the first kind.
“So,” said Monica, returning and taking a seat beside him. She handed him a plate with a piece of pizza, “who’s Melanie?”
Curtis turned back to her. “Where did you hear about Melanie?”
Monica shrugged. “I was curious, so I googled your wedding last night. Two years, and I’ve never even heard her name.”
“I hadn’t heard of Nate either.”
“Yeah,” said Monica. “I guess we haven’t really been speaking.”
“We haven't.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why haven’t we spoken?”
Curtis shrugged. “I didn’t want anything to do with this town after everything that happened.”
Monica nodded, although she didn’t seem convinced. “You could've stayed. You could have helped us rebuild and make it something to be proud of.”
Curtis looked at their father. “That wasn’t the life I wanted. I'm so close to getting it. Just before I get everything I’ve ever wanted, I’m brought back here. I don’t believe in God, but it certainly seems like something He would arrange.”
He laughed to himself, almost despite everything.
“What do you mean?”
Curtis looked up at Monica.
“What do you mean ‘everything you’ve ever wanted’?”
Curtis thought of Melanie, and was hit with a feeling of guilt. He thought of the promise he had made to come home, and why he had been forced to make it.
“Melanie’s pregnant,” he said.
Monica stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. “She’s pregnant? You're going to be a dad?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
Curtis looked at his sister. She was smiling. It was the smile he remembered from their childhood.
He smiled back at her.
Gordon Mackley mumbled something about being a grandfather. They both jerked their heads toward him.
Gordon Mackley was awake and smiling, watching his two children. His eyes had a clarity that hadn’t been there when Curtis had visited him at his house. Gordon was focused on them and clearly understanding what they were saying.
“Dad!” said Monica, leaping up and rushing to his side. “How long have you been awake?”
“A few minutes. I didn’t want to disturb your conversation. I’m going to be a grandfather?”
“Yeah,” said Curtis, smiling. “She’s fifteen weeks along.”
Gordon smiled.
Monica stood. “I’ll go get the nurse and tell her Dad’s awake.”
She left and returned a minute later with a nurse at her side.
The nurse checked Gordon’s vitals without a huge amount of enthusiasm, made a comment about getting the doctor, and left the room. A few minutes later, the doctor arrived and asked to speak with Monica and Curtis out in the hallway.
“No,” said Gordon Mackley. “Anything you tell them, you tell me. Knowing is always better than not knowing, that's my motto. If I’m going to drop dead, tell me to my face.”
The doctor turned to Monica and Curtis. Monica shrugged.
“May as well,” said Monica. “He can handle it.”
“Well,” said the doctor. “Vitals are improving, and the stroke won’t have any lasting effects on his movement. However, there's an increased risk over the next twenty-four hours or so. If he has another stroke, his chances of survival will be much lower.”
They asked the doctor a few questions before thanking him. The doctor retreated from the room.
“Who was that ugly fucker?” said Gordon.
Curtis looked back at him. The fogginess and confusion had returned to Gordon's eyes. He stared at the door without seeming to understand it.
Monica sighed and turned on the television. Gordon absently watched the screen and seemed to get lost in the news program.
“I’m going to grab something to drink,” said Monica, putting a hand on Curtis’s arm. “Want anything?”
“No, I'm good.” Curtis took his seat beside the bed.
Monica left the room, leaving Curtis with the father who had momentarily been the man he remembered.
Curtis looked out the window and over the dark town.
“Thanks for being here, Josh,” said Gordon. “I appreciate it.”
30
Patrol cars had been circling the town all day, divided between protecting the townspeople and searching for Ken Hagerty. Ken’s normal hangouts had been investigated and his friends and co-workers interrogated, but nothing had come out of it.
Finally, on the last construction site, Frankie and Trevor found his pickup truck.
They climbed out of the car and walked up to the front door of the immense house.
Frankie held her gun at her side.
Ken’s battered truck was parked just inside the fence, shielded from the road.
Frankie climbed up the side of the truck and looked inside. On the back seat, there were a few dark spots that might have been blood.
The truck was high enough that the back seat would be hidden from almost everyone. She dropped onto the ground and nodded to Trevor.
As they walked toward the house, Frankie followed the footprints which went from the truck to the house. Drops of blood appeared every few feet.
The house had enormous pillars on either side of the door, as though the designer hadn't been able to decide if he was building a house or a castle.
When Frankie tried to open the door, holding her gun in her other hand, she found it was locked. The window three feet away hadn't yet been installed, so they climbed through and landed inside. Trevor took a tumble and made enough noise that anyone inside would have heard.
Frankie looked back at Trevor. He shrugged in apology.
They couldn't hear anything, but there was a light on in the kitchen. They walked toward the light, making sure the rooms on either side of the hall were clear, then entered the kitchen. More light came from the staircase which lead into the basement. Frankie motioned for Trevor to follow her and remain quiet.
They walked down the stairs slowly. Frankie winced whenever the stairs creaked.
They rounded the corner into the basement.
Frankie raised her gun as she stepped off the bottom step.
She frowned as she took in the sight at the bottom of the stairs.
“You got me,” said Ken Hagerty. He slouched against the far wall, holding a half-finished beer in one hand. He indicated the beer. “It's warm. I should have installed the fridge earlier. I’ll make a note of that for future projects.”
“Where's Zach?” said Frankie, levelling her gun at him.
Ken pointed behind her. Frankie followed where he was pointing.
“Holy shit,” said Trevor, holstering his gun and sprinting over to the hunched over form in the corner.
Zach wasn’t conscious, but there was a steady rise and fall to his stomach which reassured Frankie. His shirt was soaked with blood. There was additional blood leaking from the top of his head. A bloody baseball bat sat a few feet away, cracked in the middle where the wood had splintered. Trevor felt for a pulse while Frankie kept her gun pointed at Ken.
Trevor let out a sigh of relief. “He’s alive.”
Frankie nodded. “Call an ambulance. I’ll deal with Ken.”
“Come on,” said Ken, holding out his arms. “He’s ready to confess. I did that for you.”
“He wasn’t a suspect.”
“Sure
he was. The paper said so. “
“The paper was wrong," said Frankie. "Put down the beer and kneel with your hands wrapped behind your head.”
“No need to get angry about me doing your job better than you.” He knelt and wrapped his fingers together behind his head. “Maybe now you might actually find my fucking daughter.”
“Turn around.”
“I’m trying to help.“
“I will shoot you if you try anything," said Frankie." You assaulted an innocent boy for no reason. Ashley loved him. What the hell would Ashley think of what you did?”
Ken seemed less sure of himself. “I did it for her.”
“Turn the fuck around.”
Ken obeyed her and did nothing as she cuffed him. She led him up the stairs just as the paramedics arrived, pointing to the basement where Trevor was waiting with Zach. She walked out of the house to her car, past the flashing lights of the ambulance. She shoved Ken into the back seat and slammed the door in his face. He muttered something as she did so, but she didn't hear him.
The street was mostly vacant. The lights of the ambulance flashed along the houses. Natasha Nolowinski wasn't there, thankfully.
A few minutes later the paramedics exited the house, Zach lying on a stretcher between them. Trevor trailed a few feet behind, watching the high schooler mutilated body as he clung to life. They loaded Zach into the ambulance and nodded to Frankie.
“We’re taking him to Blind River General Hospital,” said one of the paramedics as he climbed into the back of the ambulance.
“Will be pull through?” said Frankie.
The other paramedic didn’t mince words as he climbed in. “Fifty-fifty.”
The doors closed and the ambulance pulled out of the driveway, sirens blaring, and turned down the street toward the hospital.
Trevor stood beside Frankie, watching the lights and the sounds of the sirens recede into the distance. They stood in silence until the ambulance disappeared around a corner.
Ken was shouting something from the back seat about his rights as a father and an American, but neither paid him any attention.
“What now?” said Trevor.
Frankie shrugged. “We bring Ken to the station, interrogate him, and figure out what to do from there. Why does Blind River have a general hospital?”
“The hospital was built along with the prison so that prisoners had somewhere nearby for surgeries. We wouldn’t have gotten the prison otherwise.”
Frankie nodded. “Let’s get Ken back to the station.”
They climbed into the car. Ken continued ranting in the back seat.
“If you don't shut up, I will shoot you,” said Frankie as she started the cars' engine. “I will say it happened when we were rescuing Zach and that it was necessary force. Detective Marshall will back me up, right?”
Trevor hesitated, then nodded.
Ken looked like he was about to say something, but instead sunk into his seat, his cuffed hands held in his lap.
They drove to the police station in silence, the darkness of the town giving cover to who they were transporting.
When they got to the police station, there were no protesters waiting for them.
31
Curtis sat beside his father's bed while Monica slept in a chair less than a dozen feet away, a half-eaten yogurt beside her. Their father slept, his mumblings still coming through his unfocused haze, the words and sentences unintelligible.
In that moment, Curtis felt closer to his father than he had for a long time.
He'd spoken to Frankie about the arrest of Ken Hagerty and the hospitalization of Zach O’Reilly. Frankie was in the hospital with Zach. Trevor was at the station, trying to figure out what had happened to Zach in that half-finished house.
“Curtis.”
Curtis looked up at his father, who was awake and looking at him.
“Where am I?” said Gordon.
“You’re in the hospital," said Curtis. "You had a stroke.”
Gordon Mackley nodded, as though that only prompted more questions. He looked out the window. “Did you find those girls?”
“What?”
“Those girls who went missing. Did you find them?”
“You know about the girls?"
Gordon smacked his hands down on the bed and shouted, “You know what girls I’m talking about, Curtis. Don’t treat me like some kind of mentally handicapped moron. The Hagerty girl and the Matheson girl and the other two.”
Curtis looked up at Monica, who had been woken by Gordon’s shout. She was watching their father with concern and interest.
“We haven’t found them,” said Curtis.
Gordon leaned back. Curtis couldn’t mistake the clarity in his eyes this time. Gordon was aware of himself, at least for now. “Did you check the forest?" he said. "That’s where Marino always buried the bodies.”
Curtis nodded. “We checked. K-9 teams were sent through.”
“That isn’t good enough. You know that as well as I do, Curtis.”
“What do you mean?” Curtis looked at Monica, who shrugged.
“Whenever you were out there drinking with your friends,” said Gordon. “You hid the beer bottles somewhere.”
Curtis laughed at the randomness and absurdity of the memory his father had brought up. It was something Gordon Mackley had accused Curtis of, but never been able to prove: that Curtis and his friends were going to the forest to drink and hide the bottles.
“Come on, Dad," said Curtis, "we never—“
Curtis frowned, staring forward.
Monica leaned forward, watching Curtis.
“Curtis?” said Gordon. “Did you—“
“Everyone shut up!” Curtis stood and focused on a blank spot on the white wall, willing his mind to retrace the path it had been opening up, what he'd been trying to see for days. He stared at the wall, letting his mind trace the path backwards, not seeing anything but his own memories. Suddenly, it all came back to him.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, his eyes widening.
“What?” said Monica. She and Gordon wore the same confused expression.
“I need your car keys," said Curtis. "It might be nothing. Stay with Dad.” Curtis grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.
“Where are you going?” said Monica, handing him the keys.
He snatched the keys from her hand. “To check something. Stay with Dad.”
Before Monica could say another word, Curtis was out the door, marching down the hallway. The nurses stepped out of his way as they saw him approaching. Curtis left the hospital and climbed into Monica’s detective car.
It was only halfway through his drive that he wondered if the person he needed to meet had moved.
As soon as he pulled up to the house, he knew it was the right place. He would have recognized the SUV in the driveway anywhere. There was also a red car in the driveway which he recognized, but couldn’t place.
He shrugged it off, assuming it must be a car he had seen around town, and walked to the front door. Although it was getting late, the lights were still on inside. The sounds of television and laughter came through the window. Curtis knocked on the door and stepped back. He put his hands in his pockets.
There was some confused conversation from inside, and the door opened.
Jeff Parker stood in the doorway, still dressed in the jeans he would have worn working as a math teacher at the school earlier that day. Curtis remembered the day he'd found out Jeff had been working for Marino, the day their friendship had begun disintegrating.
“Curtis?” said Jeff, frowning. “It's late. What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak with you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Who is it?” said another voice. A woman ran up to the front door. “Oh, hi, Agent Mackley.”
Curtis frowned, looking at Kelly Oberman and Jeff Parker close to one another, wondering how it had never occurred to him they would know each other. Kelly Oberman still
had red eyes from crying, and she stood close to Jeff.
“Miss Oberman," said Curtis. "How are you?”
“I’m fine. Do you have any leads on Darcy?”
“I need to talk to Jeff. It might be difficult to hear.”
“Come on,” said Kelly, taking Jeff with her out onto the front step with her and closing the door. “What is it?”
Kelly crossed her arms. Curtis was once again baffled at how young she was that she could have two children, one a cop and the other in high school.
Jeff crossed his arms as well and waited for Curtis to speak.
“When we were kids,” said Curtis, “Do you remember we used to drink in the woods?”
Jeff shrugged. “Sure. We'd got some beer and head out there. That was after Marino was imprisoned, but before you ditched Blind River. It was also before you found out I'd been working for him. What’s your point?”
“Remember we would ditch the beer bottles in the river, and they would never show up again?”
Jeff frowned, as though he could feel where Curtis was going, then his eyes opened wide. “Holy shit. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
Curtis shrugged. “It’s worth checking out.”
Jeff nodded, any animosity evaporating. “I know where it is. We can take your car. Kelly, stay here.”
“What?” said Kelly. “I’m coming with you.”
“Stay here. This is between me and Curtis.”
“What?”
Curtis and Jeff had already climbed into the detective car and pulled out of the driveway. Kelly shouted after them that it was about her daughter.
They drove out onto the road, with Jeff directing.
“So,” said Curtis, trying to get some sort of conversation going, “how long have you and Kelly Oberman been a thing?”
“On and off for a few years now. Nothing serious. Turn left here.”
Curtis nodded. “What are your thoughts on Bobby Randall?”
“Bobby Randall? Robert Randall's kid? Seems like a bit of a deadbeat to me. Never amounted to anything. Why are you asking about him?”
“Because he told me Marino wanted my head.”