by Ben Follows
He thought of Melanie, and the child that would be arriving within less than five months.
The third family was the Hagerty’s. Joe Hagerty walked in with his sister-in-law, Miriam. She looked braver than Curtis would've guessed.
Ken Hagerty wasn't permitted to leave his cell. Curtis was sure he was angry about it.
Miriam requested it be over with quickly. She identified Ashley based on a scar below her ear almost immediately. She thanked everyone there and was escorted out without showing any emotion at all. Somehow, that was more unsettling to Curtis than the crying of the others.
As Miriam Hagerty was lead from the room, Curtis prepared himself for the last of the parents, the O’Connell’s, to come in and identify their daughter.
“Excuse me, Agent Mackley,” said one of the officers in the room.
Curtis turned to face him. “Yes?”
“Ken Hagerty is putting up quite a ruckus," said the officer. "He says he’ll do anything to see his daughter before she gets buried.”
Curtis sighed. He understood the man’s desperation. He'd seen it many times. He also didn’t think there was any chance Ken would confess. Regardless, he needed to check.
“You good here?” he said to Frankie.
“I’ll be fine,” said Frankie.
Curtis nodded and followed the officer into the main bullpen, walking past where Reba and Gareth O’Connell were waiting, holding each other's hands and dressed in their Sunday best.
They met Curtis’s eyes as he walked past, but didn’t acknowledge him. In that glance, Curtis felt like they were blaming him, as though finding the body of their daughter had actually been the thing that killed her. Maybe, they were thinking, that if Curtis had stayed out of it, they could still believe their daughter was alive and happy somewhere.
Curtis turned the corner and walked toward the cells. The officer opened the door to the cell block. Curtis stepped inside. The door closing behind him and locked.
Ken Hagerty, leaning through the bars, looked up at him.
“Agent Mackley,” he said, “let me see my daughter. It’s my right as a father. I’ve got to see her.” His voice rose as he continued, but there was a sense of defeat underlying his words. “You're trampling on my rights as an American. I have a right to see my daughter before they put her into the ground.”
Curtis stood a few feet from the bars, looking in at Ken Hagerty like he was a wild animal. “Sign a confession," he said. "I’ll get a judge to let you out to see the funeral.”
“I did what any father would do," said Ken. "I’m not signing shit.”
“Then there’s nothing I can do.” Curtis turned on his heel and began to walk away.
“Come on, man,” said Ken, shifting from anger to desperation, pleading. “She’s my only daughter. She was my everything. I’ve got nothing left. Just try to understand.”
Curtis turned and walked back to Ken. He took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled to a photo of Zach O’Reilly in the hospital. Zach's face was red and black mess of bruises. Half his body was in a variety of casts. Tubes and wires connected him to machines keeping him alive.
“See this?” said Curtis, holding up the picture to Ken, who turned away just a little. “You did this. How do you think his parents feel? He and Ashley loved each other. For that, you put him in the hospital and you might have killed him. How would you feel if it was Zach who was missing and Mr. O’Reilly had kidnapped and beaten Ashley half to death?”
Ken looked like he would cave for just a moment. Instead, he said, “That doesn’t matter. It was my Ashley who was missing. Screw them to hell. They don’t understand. I would beat the shit out of a million Zach O’Reilly’s if it got my daughter back.”
Curtis sighed and put his phone back into his pocket. “When you’re ready to confess and apologize to that family for what you've done, let me know and we’ll talk. Until then, enjoy the cell.”
Curtis turned and walked out of the jail, ignoring the screams and curses hurled after him. He breathed a sigh of relief when the door to the jail closed behind him.
The silence only lasted a moment before he heard a wail coming from Medical Examiner’s Office on the other side of the station.
He turned the corner and saw the O’Connell’s being led out of the station by a few officers. He couldn’t tell whether the wail had come from the wife or the husband. They were both hunched over and incapable of answering any questions from the officers. They left the station without looking back.
“You get anything?” said Frankie, walking up and standing beside Curtis.
“Nothing," said Curtis. "You?”
“It took longer than the others, but they identified Miranda. Dr. Novak is going to start examining them to figure out the exact causes of death.”
Curtis raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t drowning?”
Frankie shook her head. “No. Strangulation seems to be the leading candidate. There are indications that their windpipes were crushed. Novak says it seems like it’s the only thing the killer did. No rape, no assault, just knocked them out and crushed their windpipes.”
Curtis nodded. “I need to speak to Marino again. Jeff was the one who told Marino about my involvement in his arrest."
Frankie said, “You need a drive?”
“Drop me off at the hospital. Monica is there with our dad. He’s not doing well. I’ll borrow Monica’s car.”
“Okay.”
Curtis glanced at Frankie. He had noticed that Frankie’s ferocity always began to wear off as a case wore on. They had never been on a case long enough for her to lose her focus and become incapable, but Curtis wondered if they would ever need to confront that possibility.
“I have something I need to investigate," said Frankie.
“What?”
“We’re getting close to finding the killer. I need to silence Natasha. I’m going to try to dig something up on her to stop her from writing articles until the case is over.”
“You don’t think we should focus on finding the leak?”
Frankie shook her head. “It'll take too long to find the leak. We can guarantee her silence this way. I’ll get a warrant to search her computer and her home. Come on, let’s go.”
They left the station.
Curtis felt uneasy about arresting Natasha for something unrelated to their case, but he knew Frankie well enough to know she saw no issue. Frankie saw no problem with using any tool at her disposal to solve the cases she was assigned to. Curtis disagreed.
That balance had always been the reason they worked well as partners and the basis of most of their arguments.
They drove to the hospital. Curtis thanked Frankie as he climbed out.
He walked into the hospital and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He knocked on the door of his father’s room and Monica opened the door, putting a finger to her lips. They walked inside in silence.
“He’s sleeping,” said Monica softly. “I heard you found the bodies.”
“Yeah.” Curtis walked to the side of the bed. Gordon Mackley slept soundly, his head lolled to one side. The rhythmic beeping of the machines was a reassuring reminder that his father was still alive. “What did the doctors say?”
Monica shrugged. “If he makes it to tonight, his odds are fifty-fifty. If he makes it through the next week, then it goes to ninety-ten.”
“So today matters.”
“I guess so.”
“Anything I can do?”
“There’s nothing more even the doctors can do. Just wait.”
“Okay.” He took a seat beside his father, putting a hand on his sleeping shoulder. “Get better, Dad.”
He stayed there, watching his father sleep, for what seemed like too long and too short at the same time.
He asked Monica for her car keys, explaining that he needed to speak with Marino. She nodded and handed him the keys without any questions. He walked to the door.
“Curtis?” said Monica.
He turned back.
Monica was staring out the window. “If you can, find out what happened to Josh. It would mean a lot to Dad.”
Curtis nodded, then closed the door slowly so as not to wake his father.
34
Frankie arrived at the church and walked through the front doors. She'd called Chief Tucker and explained what she needed to do. The chief had agreed on the condition that Trevor come with her. She couldn’t be acting independently in a situation this delicate. Tucker was worried that the town was slipping back into its old ways, and Frankie couldn't blame him.
The church was a basic Presbyterian chapel. She looked through the stained-glass windows at the front of the chapel depicting the crucifixion of Christ. She gave the Son of God a curt nod and closed her eyes for a moment, asking for help.
She opened her eyes with a new confidence. She took a deep breath and touched the cross necklace beneath her shirt.
She reached into her pocket for her notepad, taking the opportunity to look through her notes. She took out the notepad she'd taken from Natasha’s desk, then continued going through her pocket.
Her eyes went wide.
It wasn’t there.
The last time she’d had it was at the last of the family interviews. Since then she hadn’t needed to take notes, and the familiar weight of a notepad, Natasha’s notepad, in her pocket had blocked any subconscious suspicions.
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. A minister sitting on one of the pews looked up at her and closed the bible he was reading. He stood and walked toward her.
Frankie suddenly smiled. She remembered Natasha reaching for her jacket when she’d been at the offices of the Blind River Observer. Stealing a notepad from a federal agent was a crime worthy of being incarcerated until well after the conclusion of the case.
Frankie wouldn’t even need to make anything up.
The minister walked up to Frankie. He had grey hair and glasses. He looked experienced and calm.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” he said.
“I'm looking for the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting," she told him, "specifically for Trevor Marshall.”
The minister nodded. “Downstairs. I spoke with Trevor less than half an hour ago. This entire case has been difficult on him.” The minister looked her up and down. “You’re the FBI agent. Curtis Mackley’s partner.”
Frankie nodded. She didn’t want to disrupt the AA meetings. She understood their sanctity. She’d walked in on one of her father’s meetings once. He’d been angry for months.
She held out a hand. “Special Agent Frankie Lassiter. You knew Curtis?”
The minister nodded and shook her hand. “The town knows me as Father Bryan. I knew the entire Mackley clan. They're good people with a bewildering streak of naivety. It was always a trait in the family. I suppose you’re looking for those girls.”
“Yes.”
“I've been praying for them. Hopefully God will provide and they'll be returned home safely.”
Frankie nodded, realizing that Father Bryan didn’t know. She stared forward, through the pews which lined the sides of the chapel.
Father Bryan turned to her, frowning. “Has something happened?”
“They won’t be coming home," she said softly.
Father Bryan turned away. “They're somewhere better now," he said. "They can rest in peace.”
The minister let out a sigh that could only have come from a man who'd seen too much, who had resolved to simply take each day as it came with a smile and a willingness to help people.
It occurred to Frankie that he would have been the town’s minister for the duration of the Sam Marino era.
Father Bryan checked his watch. “The meeting will be getting out soon. I’ll leave you to speak with Trevor. If you are looking for guidance, Agent Lassiter, you should come to service tomorrow morning.”
Frankie sighed. “I don’t have time.”
Father Bryan turned to leave. “Think about it. I'm sure the locals would appreciate it.”
Frankie nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll pray for you and Curtis.”
“Thank you.”
Father Bryan retreated toward the office door at the side of the chapel lobby. Frankie was left standing alone for a few moments before the door to the basement opened and sounds of conversation flooded out.
A stream of people walked past her, shooting her nervous glances. Trevor was one of the last people out of the basement.
He paused when he saw Frankie. He walked up to her after saying goodbye to the people around him.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
“We have a job to do," she said.
“What job?”
“Natasha Nolowinski.”
Trevor sighed. “What did she do now?”
“She stole my notepad.”
Trevor turned and looked at her. “She did?"
“Yes. I was going to make something up to get her out of the way, but now I don't need to.“
“If we arrest her, there will be a backlash," said Trevor. "We can’t have this city turn against us. Too many people listen to her.”
"It's worth it."
Trevor nodded and smiled. "I couldn't have said it better. Let's go get that bitch."
35
Curtis was met by Nate Williams just inside the entrance of the prison.
They didn’t say a word to one another as they walked.
Curtis was led into an interview room.
Harry Ochre led Marino in from the other side of the room. The guards left the two of them alone once Marino was cuffed to the table.
Marino had a somber look. “I heard you found the girls,” he said. “I’m sorry. I thought maybe they would still be alive, but I wouldn’t have bet on it. Not with who you're looking for.”
“Let’s cut the shit, Sam," said Curtis, leaning in. "I'm the one who put you here. We both know that. You have two options. You can either tell me what you know about the killer and we can reduce your sentence by five years, or you can admit that you don’t know shit.”
“You know,” said Marino, leaning forward so his cuffed hands could pick something out of his teeth, “when Jeff told me it was you, I was furious. I told anyone who would listen that I was going to put a shotgun to your balls and fire up, leaving you to bleed out on the side of the road somewhere. But you know what I realized? I realized it was my own fault than anything. I never suspected that the little twerp who delivered our papers would rat on me, even though he was the chief’s son. I should’ve known, though. Everyone else in my entire organization was under a heavy vetting process, and I got cocky. You beat me. I’m impressed by that. You deserve whatever role the FBI gave you.”
“That isn’t an answer," said Curtis. "What are you going to tell me?”
Marino looked up at him and smiled. “What would you be willing to give me for information about Josh?”
Images of his brother flashed through Curtis’s mind, but he needed to find the killer first.
“Nothing right now,” said Curtis. “This is about those girls.”
Marino leaned back and smiled. “Then you’ve got me at a disadvantage, Curtis. I don’t know anything."
“What are you talking about? Every time I’ve been here you’ve insisted you know exactly who the killer is.”
Marino shrugged. “It was fun while it lasted, Curtis. When I get out of here, maybe I’ll let you join Josh.” He stood, the chain holding his hands to the table pulled tight. “Guards! I’d like to return to my cell now.”
“Wait,” said Curtis. “What did you say about Josh?”
“Did I say that? I didn’t mean to.” Marino grinned, staring at him. Harry appeared at the door, waiting for Curtis to indicate he could take the prisoner.
“Take him,” said Curtis with a heavy heart. “He doesn’t know anything.”
Marino said, “I look forward to our next talk.”
Curtis was
left alone in the room.
He looked at his reflection in the one-way mirror, not knowing whether someone was watching and not caring. What he cared about was the desperate look in his own eyes, his disheveled hair, his messy clothing. He saw someone who had let himself go and had let a case get to him. He let out a deep sigh and decided to see this through to the end. That was all he needed to do.
He stood and walked out of the room.
Nate Williams was standing outside the room, looking at Curtis, concerned. Curtis ignored him and walked out of the prison with Nate a few steps behind. Curtis would never get used to the reverence with which FBI agents were treated.
He drove away from the prison with the radio on full blast and the air conditioning on high, letting him think about nothing for just a few minutes while he drove back to Blind River.
36
With a team of police officers behind them, Frankie and Trevor marched into the offices of the Blind River Observer, despite the secretary's protests.
Frankie held up the warrant, which caused the secretary to grow quiet.
Frankie, Trevor and the officers marched through the crowd of confused reporters, who were hurriedly trying to put out a second edition of that day’s paper to announce the discovery of the bodies.
Natasha didn’t notice them until Frankie was leaning over the edge of her cubicle.
“Hey Natasha,” she said when Natasha looked up.
Trevor blocked Natasha's exit from the cubicle.
“Agent Lassiter?" said Natasha. "To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Frankie reached over the cubicle and flicked the heads of one of the Red Sox bobble heads on the desk.
“Natasha," she said, "I was just speaking with my good friend Trevor Marshall and I went to show him my notes.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What did he say?”
“Well, nothing," said Frankie. "It was strange, because I couldn’t find my notepad.”
Natasha shrugged. “I don’t have it.”
“Do you mind if I check your desk?”
Natasha stood and got in Frankie’s face. “Yes, I do mind. It’s private property.“