by Ben Follows
Along the way, however, he had made enemies, enemies who would love to speak to Frank Tanners about his succession plan.
Ed Stamper knew he wasn’t Cuminskey’s first choice; he’d just been in the right place at the right time.
He grinned as a gas station appeared on the right side of the road. Ed shook his large drink and, finding that only ice remained, threw it out the window onto the shoulder of the road. He switched lanes to enter the gas station. He saw a glint of light on top of the gas station roof and squinted to see what it was.
Suddenly, his car swerved to the right, spinning, the display indicating that his right front tire had burst. The car spun, Ed spinning his hands on the wheel as he tried to pull the car back straight.
Ed glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw the back tire explode, a huge hole appearing.
“Fuck!”
His car swerved into the fence along the side of the road, the airbag deploying into his arms, which he had crossed in front of his face. The front of the car crumpled inward as it hit the fence. He was lucky the car didn’t explode. He did a quick assessment and thought one of his ankles was sprained. He moved, dazed, flailing his arms under the seat, his reach impeded by the airbag in the way. After a few moments of not being able to reach the gun hidden under the driver’s seat, he grabbed the airbag and ripped it out. Just as he did so, the glint of a pistol appeared in his left peripherals. He looked up to see a man standing a dozen feet away. The sniper rifle that had been used to shoot out the tires was strapped across his back. The man smiled, and it sent a shiver down his spine.
“Dimitri?” asked Ed, unable to keep the shaking out of his voice.
Dimitri kept smiling, taking small steps toward Ed.
“Dimitri? What the hell? Frank Tanners is alive! He’s here! You can help me!”
Dimitri paused. Ed reached down to check his ankle and could feel the bone sticking through his sock.
“I was wondering when Nick would send one of you idiots down here,” said Dimitri, so soft that Ed needed to strain to hear what he was saying. “I didn’t think it would be you, though. Nick is smarter than that. I expected someone competent.”
“Dimitri, what are you—“
The gun fired, and Ed tried to dodge. He didn’t feel the brute force of a bullet that would mean the end of his life; he felt a prick in his neck. He looked down to see a large tranquilizer dart sticking out of his neck.
He slumped against the half-detached airbag and looked up at Dimitri approaching the car just as he lost consciousness.
Chapter 11
Jake knocked on the Fredericksons’ door and tried to maintain the cool composure people tended to associate with detectives. He was about to knock again when the door opened with the chain still across. Jake didn’t see anyone. A small voice said, “Hello? Who are you?”
He looked down. There was a small girl, no older than five, with blonde hair and a pink dress, standing just inside the door.
“Suzie! Suzie! Suzie!” came the cries from inside the house, until Suzie was snatched up by a woman who scowled through the opening. She was slightly overweight, with messy brown hair. “What do you want?”
“Mrs. Frederickson?” said Jake.
“Depends. What do you want?”
“I want to help find your husband.”
Mrs. Frederickson hesitated. “You with the cops?”
“No,” said Jake, pulling out his private detective license. “Jake Lavelle, private detective.”
Mrs. Frederickson took the card and squinted at it. “You’re kind of young,” she said.
Jake smiled. He’d decided against the story about searching for a loan Harold had offered him.
“That’s exactly it,” he said, smiling. “I am young. I’m still building my name and my resume. I’ve been following the reports about your husband’s disappearance, and I’ve got inside sources that say the newspapers are going to announce it as a closed case tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Mrs. Frederickson bounced her daughter up and down in her arms.
“But I don’t believe that," said Jake, "and neither do you. I’d like to offer my services to find what really happened to your husband.”
Mrs. Frederickson said nothing.
“And I’ll do it free of charge, purely for the chance that I can be the guy who solved this case.”
That seemed to be enough. “Come in,” she said, closing the door and removing the chain before opening it all the way. Jake followed her inside. She shooed the young girl, Suzie, toward the kitchen. Suzie hovered in the doorframe, peeking around the corner as though she couldn’t be seen. Jake smiled at her and followed Mrs. Frederickson into the sitting room. It had pink walls, and doilies hung from the furniture. A cabinet at the far end of the room held a small television. A wide front window looked out onto the garden that held more flowers than Jake could name. It was the kind of garden people took pride in, the kind that they spent hours a day crafting, like a piece of art with a set expiry date.
“Mrs. Frederickson,” said Jake as they sat across from one another. He leaned forward to avoid the impression of relaxing.
“Call me Judith,” she said, reaching forward and picking up the small teapot made of fine china sitting on the table in the center of the room. Jake had never known his grandparents, or even his parents, but this is what he imagined a grandmother’s house to be like.
She held up a cup to Jake, and he held up a hand to turn it down. She poured herself a cup, adding milk and sugar.
“Judith,” said Jake, folding his hands together on his knees, “I want to do everything in my power to find your husband, and in order to do that I need to ask you some questions that might be uncomfortable. Is that all right?”
She gazed over the lip of the teacup. She looked tired and haggard. “Can’t be any worse than what the cops asked me when they came by. At least you don’t seemed so condescending. Suzie, I can see you! This is an adult conversation.”
Jake turned just in time to see Suzie scampering up the stairs.
“Mrs. Frederickson, Judith, sorry, is there any chance or any truth to the idea that your husband did run off with someone?”
“No,” said Judith. “There isn’t. Aren’t you going to write something down?”
“I don’t need to,” said Jake. “I have a great memory, and I want to focus entirely on you right now.”
“Thank you,” said Judith, smiling.
“Can you take me through the last day you saw him?”
Judith looked over her teacup again, then set it back on the table. “You’re not going to ask me why I think he didn’t run off with someone?”
“No,” said Jake. “I trust you. I believe you. I think that you’ve given this a lot of thought, and you know he hasn’t. You’re not lying to me right now, I can tell.”
Judith smiled. “Thank you. The last time I saw him, I was down at the shop.”
“The shop he works at? Just off the main street?”
She nodded. “He was talking about something or other in his office, which is just behind the main desk. I remember it being a little suspicious because he seemed annoyed or angry at something. He’s a very calm man. I’m sure you’ve heard that. It takes an awful lot to rattle him. We’ve been together for almost four years now, and I’ve only seen him lose his temper twice. Once when a man tried to assault me in a bar, and once when our plumber tried to scam us into replacing every pipe in our house, even though we didn’t need it.”
She paused, tapping her index finger on the side of the cup.
“You were talking about the man at the mechanic,” said Jake, prompting her to continue.
“Yes. I was down there bringing him his lunch, since he hadn’t had the chance to make one himself, having slept through his alarm after Suzie had been up all night having nightmares. I parked outside and walked in. I said hi to Carl and Remy, who was there getting his bike fixed.”
“Carl Magnusson?” Jake said.
&nbs
p; “Yes, you know him?”
“I met him at the bar last night. I was in town getting a hotel room.”
“You saw the fight he was in?”
“I heard something about it, yeah. He was at the repair shop?”
“He and Frank have been good friends for a while. Not like a best man at your wedding kind of friendship, but keep up with each other’s lives and scratch each other’s backs kind of friendship. He’s pretty good with the mechanical stuff, and Frank was employing his son Remy, just to get some training before heading off to trade school. He’s a smart kid. Carl was telling me how proud he was of him.”
“The guy in the office?”
“Yes. After I told Carl I was leaving, he warned me that Frank wasn’t in a great mood, that he was arguing with someone. I was cautious approaching them, not familiar with Frank being angry. Sure enough, as I got to the office I could hear him screaming at someone, something about getting out of Crescent Point and never coming back or he’d… Well, he said things I’d rather not repeat and would rather not have heard. I heard someone storming away and slamming the back door of the shop. Once I was sure he was gone, I knocked on the door to the office. When I opened it, Frank was sitting there with his head in his hands, like he was thinking something over. He looked at me, surprised I was there. He was almost whispering, asking if I had heard what he had screamed. I said I had, and he came and hugged me, apologizing and promising that the problem was dealt with. He thanked me for the lunch and made an obvious excuse about having a lot of work. I didn’t make any comment, thinking he deserved some time to himself. The last thing I wanted to do was pile on top of that. I’m sure you understand, letting the ones you love have their space?”
“I do,” he said.
“So I left the shop and went about my day, fearing what I would find out about Frank’s past. He’d always been secretive, and I’d always figured it was something he would talk about eventually. I thought it was something like an abusive family member he was running away from or something like that.”
She paused, and Jake said nothing, feeling as though she had more to say. She took a sip of her tea and looked out the window.
“That was the last time I saw him,” she said, setting down the cup. “He never came home that night. I called the police the next morning when I started worrying that he hadn’t just gone to the bar and stayed somewhere without calling. The cops came here, and I told them the same story I just told you. They were very sympathetic. They did a full investigation and came back later that day. They told me that all the evidence led them to believe he had run off, and that they were very sorry but there was nothing more they could do. I told them over and over again they were wrong, but they just kept saying that there was no other way to interpret the evidence. They found women’s underwear in his office that clearly weren’t mine. That’s the word they used. ‘Clearly.’ Like I’m too fucking out of shape to wear sexy underwear. You try raising a little girl by yourself and see how well you can stay in shape.”
She paused, her face reddening.
“Anyway, they found mails on his computer to this woman named Chastity—freaking Chastity, can you believe that?—and traced the email to a Las Vegas woman who had an arrest record for prostitution. Same with the phone records, and after putting out an alert on his car, it appeared in Vegas, just as they had predicted. They told me they weren’t in the business of tracking down runaway husbands, and that I should hire someone else or go and try to communicate with him. Communicate, like it was my fault. Fucking assholes—sorry, pardon my language, I’m just upset. I don’t normally talk like this. Suzie, go to your room!”
The same thumping up the stairs.
“I’m sorry I’m laying all this on you,” said Judith. “I know it isn’t your fault. You seem trustworthy, and everyone in town keeps treating me like I drove him away. I know he didn’t run off. I know he wouldn’t. He would never abandon Suzie. If he was going to leave, he would tell me, and he would leave money for Suzie. He wouldn’t abandon us. You have to believe me.”
“I do.”
Those two words seemed to lighten Judith, as though a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
Jake cleared his throat. “Did they ever find out who the guy at the shop was?”
“No, they decided it was probably unconnected. It would ruin their open-and-shut case.”
“Judith,” said Jake, repositioning himself in the seat. “I know I said I didn’t need to hear it, but if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to hear why you believe he didn’t run off.”
Judith eyed him. “You want to know about our marriage.”
“I just need all the facts. If something happened to him, the likely factor is that it’s someone you know, someone close to you. If there is anything suspicious that has come to your mind, tell me now.”
Judith frowned. “There is that Dirk boy.”
“Dirk Davidson? What about him?”
“You think he’s a suspect?” she whispered, as though Dirk might overhear her.
“I don’t know. His name just came up in my search.”
“He lives a few streets over. He’s complimented my gardens a few times, but I don’t think I’ve ever spoken more than few words to him. He’s a criminal, you know? When Frank disappeared he was the first person I thought of.”
“You are aware his crime was assault on a fellow student? He’s never kidnapped anyone.”
“But he spent time in that prison. You know what happens in those prisons? They meet up and make gangs. That’s how the mafia gets started. That’s why this country is going to gangs. If I had my way we’d have every criminal in the world looked away in solitary for the duration of their sentence. Don’t even tell them what prison they’re in, so they can’t escape. That’s how I’d solve our crime problem, but Chief Williams doesn’t seem to understand the need to convert our jail.”
It took Jake a few seconds to recover. “That’s a smart idea. I’ll be sure to mention it to the chief if I see him. Dirk is involved in the new factory up on the north shore, did you know that? Seems like a good citizen to me, rehabilitated, seen the errors of his ways.”
Judith gave a disgusted grunt. “People like that don’t change. Once a criminal, always a criminal.”
Jake couldn’t help but think of the files listing the thousands of murders that her husband had coordinated. “Yet you don’t think Frank changed?”
Judith glared at him. “What are you talking about?”
Jake knew he was on thin ice. “You said that he was talking like he had something in his past. What if it was something bad? What if that man in the shop was an old acquaintance?”
“No, that’s not it. He was a victim. He wasn’t a criminal. If that’s what you’re implying, then you can get out of my house.”
“Judith, that wasn’t what I was implying. I just wanted to see your reaction.”
“Oh,” said Judith, brightening. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Actually, Judith, I think I’m just about ready to go. Is there anyone else I should talk to other than the Magnussons?”
“Let’s see. You could speak to someone at the bar, see if he was there at all that night. Maybe talk to some teenager about how to find out who hacked Frank’s computer and put the fake emails there. The underwear too. Find out who’s setting him up.”
“I will, absolutely.” Jake stood.
“Oh, and talk to Officer Obrasey at the police station. She seems to be the only one that gives me any credit for not being an idiot.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thank you so much for coming by. You have no idea how much this means.”
Judith stood and walked around the coffee table to pull Jake into a hug. Jake returned it, feeling the strange, motherly warmth he had read about.
She led him to the front door, telling him that if he ever needed anything, he need only come by the house, whether it was questions or a break for some snacks. Jak
e promised he would.
As he left the house, Suzie, the five-year-old in her pink dress, was sitting on the top of the stairs. He felt as though in those eyes he could understand the protective nature of parents, and in that moment hoped Judith was right and the police were wrong, because abandoning that girl seemed a much worse crime than anything else Frank or his hypothetical kidnappers or murderers were involved with.
Suzie waved to him, and he waved back before exiting the house.
Chapter 12
Jake's next stop was Frank's repair shop. Carl's large Rottweiler was sleeping on the floor and looked up with its teeth pulled into a snarl when Jake entered.
A teenage boy was in the garage on the other side of a window, replacing the tires on an old car.
The door behind the counter opened, and Carl Magnusson entered. He was wearing a clean white shirt under the same leather vest he’d worn the previous night.
“How can I—oh. It’s you.” Carl leaned forward on the counter, his face impassive. “What can I do for you? I assume you aren’t coming by to challenge me to a rematch.”
Jake stepped toward the counter, and the dog jerked his head up, growling at him.
“Knox, down,” said Carl. “Sorry about him.”
“No problem,” said Jake, stepping around the now calm dog to the counter. “And no, I don't want a rematch.”
“Come to thank me for last night? You know, I haven’t told anyone about what you did, not even when some cops came by to ask me about it. No one knows why the fight ended so fast. Not that I’ve heard.”