[Frank Harper 01.0] A Field of Red

by Greg Enslen

  He nodded grimly.

  “I can see why that’s hard for people to deal with,” he said. “And I could have been a lot nicer to your mom. She deserved better.”

  Frank turned to go, but she hugged him again, holding him for a long moment, despite the fact that he smelled like a campfire.

  “Take care,” she said. “And good luck.”

  He stepped out onto the front porch of her apartment. Without a car or a phone, he planned to walk the six or eight blocks to the police station, then catch a ride to his hotel to get cleaned up. He needed a shower and a change of clothes. He could have asked Laura for a ride, but he wanted to keep her out of it as much as possible.

  There was a cop car idling down the street.

  Frank saw it immediately, but he couldn’t make out the driver. Frank walked to the curb, and the patrol car started up and drove slowly toward the apartment building.

  Frank reached for his weapon, but it was gone. No car, no gun, no phone. He was cut off from his world.

  The car slowed as it approached. It was Deputy Peters.

  “You need a ride?” he shouted across the scrubby lawn.

  Frank nodded, letting out his breath. He wasn’t sure who to trust anymore, but he needed a ride.

  “Yup, that would be great,” Frank said.

  Deputy Peters nodded and waited by the car for Frank to climb in. Peters took one last look at the apartment building and then drove away.

  “The Chief said you were visiting your daughter and thought you would need a ride,” Peters said. “I hung back--not sure how much you’re telling her. Back to the station?”

  “Hotel, if you don’t mind,” Frank said. “I need to get cleaned up.”

  Peters nodded and turned the car toward Main Street. “They arrested Matt Lassiter,” Peters said as they drove.

  “Really?” Frank said. “I wonder why.”

  Peters looked over at Frank.

  “You’re pretending you don’t know about it? Jeff said it was your idea.”

  Frank gave up the charade. “Look, I know Lassiter sold the building, after having it in his possession for less than twenty-four hours. That takes planning, and that means he probably had someone lined up to buy it before Nick sold it to him. That at least deserves a discussion, right?”

  Peters nodded. “Oh, you’ll get no argument from me. Chief brought him in, and he and Graves and the FBI guy are talking to him right now.”

  “Shale? That’s interesting,” Frank said, looking out the window. “So, why were you waiting to pick me up – did you volunteer?”

  Peters looked at him again. “Why else would I be waiting?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “I was zip tied.”

  “You’re joking,” Peters said, looking at Frank.

  “Nope,” Frank said, and looked over at Peters. “It’s a cop, one of King’s men. The car next to my Taurus in the parking lot last night--white with stripes. I didn’t figure it out in time, but it was a police car. And now I don’t know who to trust.”

  Peters drove on in silence for a while--the car traveled up Main and stopped for a passing train.

  “Well, I don’t know how to get people to trust me,” Peters said, his eyes on the train. “I never have been good at that. Even when I was at the academy in Columbus, trying to get good enough for Jeff to take me seriously, I didn’t make friends. Only thing I know how to do is what I’m doing, taking Jeff’s lead and trying to learn from him. And you. But I’m still thinking about those girls--they’re somewhere, scared.”

  “In a dark and cold underground location?” Frank asked.

  “I seriously doubt it,” Peters said, looking at Frank. “That’s why we need you on this case, people like you and my cousin. Or else it will never get solved. If that means you and I have to part ways, it would be worth it. To solve the case.”

  Peters turned to watch the train.

  Frank kept looking at him, his new “partner,” or as close as he’d had in years. Ben Stone had been a good man, but he’d had trust issues. He’d gotten that lead down in Coral Gables, and even as close as he and Ben had been, the man simply hadn’t let Frank in. But he’d also tried to be a friend to Frank, inviting him over for saltimbocca.

  In the end, though, it hadn’t mattered. When he’d really needed to trust Frank, he hadn’t, and he’d died in a pool of his own blood in a dirty alley near the only famous building in Coral Gables, the National Hurricane Center.

  Ever since Katrina and St. Bartholomew’s, Frank had found himself thinking about Ben a lot.

  The train continued past the line of cars, all stopped behind the lowered gate, waiting patiently.

  Frank was torn. If Peters had knocked him out, he was a cool customer. Cooler than anyone Frank had ever met. Peters was a good kid, as far as Frank could tell, and he wasn’t fooled often. But then, to play both sides of the situation, kidnapper and cop, would require a very level head.

  The end of the train appeared. Peters sat up and put the car in gear. “So, what did you decide?”

  Frank looked at him.

  “Do you trust me, or not?” Peters asked. “I’d like to know, ‘cause if you don’t, I’m dropping you right here, and you can hoof it.”

  Frank smiled. “Just drive.”

  Chapter 55

  Peters and Frank drove to the hotel, and Peters waited in the lobby while Frank went up and showered and changed. Peters had been bummed to learn about all the files burning up in the field, but he’d been glad to learn that the scissors had saved Frank’s life.

  “I guess we won’t have to go through those files again,” Peters had said in the car on the way over, and Frank had showed him the two files he’d saved, one of them red in color.

  “You had to save that one?” Peters said, smiling. “I still feel dumb, dropping those like that.”

  As soon as he got to his room, Frank went straight to the shower and turned it on, then drank down all that was left of the bourbon. He felt like he was right on the edge. But maybe, if people were actively trying to kill him, this wasn’t the best time to be trying to go cold turkey.

  Calmed, Frank showered and changed quickly. In minutes, he felt like a new man--clean clothes, clear head, warm belly. Back down in the lobby, Frank smiled at Peters, who had been waiting in the reception area, chatting with the woman behind the front counter. They walked out to the patrol car.

  “Better?” Peters asked.

  Frank nodded. “I could use some food, but I’m not sure if it will stay down. Can we run through McDonald’s and get some coffee?”

  Just as they were pulling out of the drive-thru, dispatch came over the radio, ordering Deputy Peters and Frank back the station ASAP. He toggled the radio and reported he was one minute out. The dispatcher replied that they’d been trying to get in touch with him for at least 20 minutes. All patrolmen were requested to report to the station.

  They arrived at the station and navigated the mob of reporters to get inside. The questions, and the questioners, were getting more aggressive as the case dragged on. Clearly the reporters were monitoring the police band and had learned about what had happened to Frank. They surrounded him, shouted questions at him about the fire and waking up in the field, wanting to know how he managed to escape. Several of them called him out by name. He couldn’t think of anything clever to say, so he’d only confirmed the basic details and ignored their attempts to draw more information out of him. Another reporter grabbed at Deputy Peters’ arm and asked him about the psychic, but he mumbled a “no comment” and went through the doors.

  All in all, Frank was feeling good. He’d survived an attempt on his life, and they had arrested Lassiter. A few questions answered by him could blow the case open, assuming he was involved and decided to be truthful.

  Inside, Lola was sitting behind the reception window, crying hard. Her entire body was shaking, and her makeup was smeared, running in black lines down her cheeks. When she saw Frank and Deputy Pete
rs, she buzzed them in and began crying even harder.

  Confused, Frank and Peters walked into the main room.

  Frank was surprised to see Chief King sitting at the big conference table, his head in his hands.

  He looked shaken to the core.

  Frank turned and saw several cops standing and talking by the holding cells and interview rooms. They looked upset, angry. Two EMTs emerged from one of the holding cells pushing a stretcher--on it was a body covered with a sheet.

  “What happened?” Frank asked.

  Chief King looked up.

  “Lassiter hung himself.”

  Frank stopped, stunned.

  “You’re kidding me,” he said.

  “I wish,” King said, shaking his head. “We were just starting to question him, me and Ted Shale and Sergeant Graves. Brought him in, just for questioning, and we started talking, telling him about what had happened to you. Agent Shale told him what we had learned about the sale--you were right. Shale got on the phone and tracked the deed, and the property changed hands yesterday. Sold to some property management company out in California.”

  Frank nodded.

  The Chief seemed to stop for a moment, then reclaimed his thread. “Agent Shale and Graves went at him pretty hard, asking how he could have sold the property so quickly. Lassiter fumbled for answers and then suddenly lawyered up, so we gave him the room.”

  Frank and Peters leaned in, listening. Frank’s stomach started to ache. He suddenly wanted another drink so badly he could feel his mouth starting to water.

  King slapped the table once, hard. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room.

  “I went to call his attorney,” the Chief said, seething. “They’d never printed or processed him or anything. We’d brought him in through the government entrance, so the reporters wouldn’t see him. We came back a minute later, and...he’d used his belt.”

  Frank sat down heavily.

  “Jesus,” Frank said. “Cameras?”

  King shook his head. “Turned off.”

  Peters looked at Frank. “That means...”

  “Stop right there,” King said, glancing up the corridor. Frank turned to see the EMTs pushing the stretcher up the glass hallway that connected the police station with the government building.

  Sergeant Graves walked up to the table. He looked devastated.

  “Chief, I had them take Lassiter out the back way,” Sergeant Graves said, his hat in his hand. “We don’t need the reporters...” he started to say, but then just trailed off.

  Frank sat back and looked up Graves.

  “He was our only lead.”

  Deputy Peters shook his head. “Why? Why would he do that? Why would he hang himself?”

  “I don’t know,” King said. “But without him, the girls are gone.”

  Frank glanced around the room.

  “Assuming he was the mastermind,” Frank said quietly to King and Graves and Peters. “He would have known where the girls are. But he must’ve had people working for him. Maybe...maybe a cop was involved. If Shale intentionally buried that financial report, he might have killed Lassiter. Was he alone when he hung himself--”

  “That again?” King barked, looking at Frank. Graves and Peters both looked on but held their tongues. “Anyone can buy zip ties. And you said it yourself--maybe Nick Martin was keeping Lassiter in the loop on what we were doing. It would explain everything.”

  Frank sat back, thinking.

  “I think it’s someone here in--”

  King leaned in, angry.

  “I said drop it,” he hissed. “I need all these people working the case. I know where you’re coming from, but there’s no proof. Shale is an idiot--don’t you think I’d know? And, besides, he came on after the case began, just like you, Frank.”

  King looked around at the three of them: Frank, Deputy Peters, and Sergeant Graves. “No. You guys? You’re my team. Graves, Peters, get out in front of this mess. Graves, coordinate with the county on the body. We need a full autopsy immediately. Frank, you can’t go running around talking about it. I need more information--go get me some. Talk to Agent Shale, get that financial information, try to figure out how long ago the property sale was arranged.”

  Frank and the others looked at King for a long moment, and then the small group broke up. Chief King remained at the conference table, thinking.

  Frank walked over to the map of connected circles he’d drawn a few days prior, the mind map hanging on the white board next to the conference room table. Shale was all over it, but even him being dirty couldn’t account for everything.

  After a moment, Frank walked over to one of the empty cubicles and picked up a phone, dialing out. He would have to assume it was not a private conversation, but it couldn’t be helped. His personal phone was missing, probably burned up in the field along with his files.

  She answered right away.

  “Hello?”

  “Laura, it’s Frank.”

  “You okay?”

  “No, not really,” he said quietly. “Things are even more complicated than they were an hour ago. The suspect we brought in, the one I was telling you about--he took his own life.”

  He heard the gasp on the other end.

  “Wasn’t he the only lead?”

  Frank nodded, then spoke. “That’s right. We’re all--we’re not sure where to go from here. But listen, do me a favor--you need to be really careful over the next few days.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Frank glanced around at the others in the room--most of them looked as stunned as Frank was by the sudden turn of events. But he wasn’t sure whom he could trust. There was no way to tell who was listening.

  “He died here, in the station,” Frank said quietly. “In custody.”

  She didn’t say anything, but he knew she was smart enough to figure it out.

  “So,” she finally said, “what do I do?”

  “Just don’t get in a car with any cops,” Frank said, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece. “If I send one for you, to move you to another location or just for protection, I’ll give him a code word. And if they don’t know the word, play along and contact me or Chief King, first chance you get. You can get me through the police switchboard.”

  He heard her laugh nervously on the other end. “Frank, you’re scaring me.”

  “I know,” he said. “I mean--you have to take me seriously on this.”

  “OK, OK,” she said quietly. He could hear the panic starting up in her voice--she sounded like Trudy used to. “What’s the code word?”

  “I’m not really free to talk,” he said without hesitation. “Just think about that place we were talking about recently, the one we visited when you were young. It’s abandoned now. Do you remember?”

  “Yes,” she said. His daughter had the good sense not to blurt it out.

  “Good,” he said. “But nothing will happen, probably. It’s better to be safe, OK?”

  “OK.”

  “And pack a bag and put it in your car, just in case. Not by the door--someone could see it. Put it in the car. If I call you with the code word, drop everything and get Jackson and yourself out of town. Don’t tell me, or anyone, where you go. Stay gone for at least a week. Find me when you get back, or watch the news. You’ll know, one way or the other, when it’s safe to come back.”

  “Oh, Frank,” she answered quietly, her voice level. “I don’t like this.” He could tell he was overwhelming her with too much information, but he needed her to be safe.

  She and Jackson had to be safe.

  “Take care,” he said. “And I’ll call you when I know more.” It came out sounding much more ominous than he intended.

  “Okay,” she said simply, and hung up.

  Frank sat back, staring at the phone in his hand. Her mother had been the same--she’d wanted to know what was going on but, at the same time, she didn’t. Too much information made her worry, and that kind of endless worry was bad for any relat
ionship.

  Frank walked back over to King and Peters, who were discussing the case. Sergeant Graves had already left.

  “But he had to have help,” Peters was saying. “There is no way he could do this on his own, no matter how much inside information he was getting from Nick Martin.”

  “If any,” King said.

  “Lassiter’s apartment was clean--Stan Garber and Sergeant Burwell are there now,” Peters said as Frank walked up. “Nothing out of the ordinary, and no indication of who he was working with. They’re looking for bank records, deposits, that sort of thing. But the girls have to be somewhere.”

  Frank nodded.

  “You’re right,” King said, glancing at the holding rooms again. “Look, I gotta go. Lola is already getting calls from the Attorney General. I’ve never had someone die in my custody before. I need to call the county, and make a statement to the press.”

  He looked at Peters and Frank.

  “See if you guys can do anything to break the case open or find the girls. Dig through Lassiter’s stuff, make calls, whatever. It’s the only way I see this turning out for the better.”

  Chief King paused, acting like there was something else he wanted to say, then simply nodded and walked away.

  “What do we do now?” Deputy Peters asked, looking at Frank.

  Frank, watching Chief King walk back over to the knot of police milling around the holding cell, reviewed the timeline again in his head.

  Lassiter is brought in and held for questioning in the most guarded building in town.

  Lassiter had been surrounded by cops and was dead in less than an hour.

  Lassiter killed himself with a belt, something that should have been taken away as soon as he was put in that room alone.

  If he was alone.

  The EMTs and stretcher were gone. The body was going to the county for autopsy, but Frank doubted they would learn anything new from the careful study of the corpse.

  No, something was going on here. The only solace Frank could take was that Peters had been with him when Lassiter died, so Peters wasn’t in on it. Unless, he was working with other cops.

  It suddenly dawned on Frank that the whole group could be in on it: Agent Shale, Sergeant Graves, Barnes, Chief King, even Deputy Peters. Maybe they were just keeping Frank around for show, to make it look like they were really working the case. Or maybe they were going to pin it on him. Was that why they’d entrusted him with the money?