Kurt was taken aback. Frankie had never so much as raised his voice at him. Although they’d grown up together like brothers, they’d never squabbled the way some guys did. They never argued over a girl, or sports—or anything, for that matter.
“What’s wrong, Frankie? What are you talking about?”
“Addie was murdered. You seriously didn’t know?”
“Murdered? What? That can’t be true. She just drowned, that’s all.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Frankie’d said. “But I overheard my parents talking to the sheriff earlier. I’m sorry, buddy. Someone definitely killed Addie. But don’t worry. I’m gonna handle it.”
Kurt had been stunned into silence once again. It was as if he’d been punched in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He’d stumbled backward and nearly toppled off the front porch, only catching himself on the railing at the last minute. “Who…who killed her?”
“I don’t know yet. But as soon as I find out, I’m gonna kill him with my bare hands. I know she was your sister, Kurt, but I loved her too.”
The ringing of his cell phone brought Kurt back to the present. He reached into his pocket, fished it out, and held it to his ear. “Detective Jamison.”
The voice on the other end belonged to the cyber forensic tech he’d spoken to earlier, telling him he’d managed to triangulate the last ping of Mollie’s cell phone. The tech gave Kurt the address of a run-down grocery store out on Delong, and as soon as he hung up, he plugged the address into his phone’s GPS and darted out the front door, completely forgetting about his shower.
He arrived at the isolated location less than twenty minutes later. He’d phoned Lonnie with the update on the drive there, and Kurt saw Lonnie had made it there before him and was walking the perimeter. As he got out of his Camaro, he took in the sight of the old grocery store. It was certainly run-down and hadn’t been inhabited in years, maybe even decades. The paint on the white clapboard siding was peeling, and termites had evidently had a field day with the wood. It reminded Kurt of an old shotgun shack with a small porch that was caving in on the left. A weathered sign that read ‘HARVEY’S GROCERY’ was barely hanging on to the front of the store by a couple of rusty nails. Lonnie had put up yellow crime scene tape around the ramshackle building.
Kurt walked up to the porch and whistled to get Lonnie’s attention. Lonnie came around the front and met him at the front door.
Kurt held out a black iPhone with his gloved hand. “Look what I found inside.”
“I’ll be damned,” Kurt said under his breath as he slapped on a blue latex glove and reached for the phone. “Is this hers?”
“Got to be. Look at how the screen is shattered. Our perp obviously attempted to destroy the phone by smashing it. Found it on the floor by the register.”
Kurt turned the phone over and tried to power it on, but nothing happened. It was definitely dead, which would explain why there were no more pings after this location. But Kurt couldn’t figure out for the life of him why the kidnapper had brought Mollie here, only to move her again. He looked it over more closely and noticed, to his horror, a speck of blood on the back cover.
“Did you see this?” Kurt pointed at the spot and looked at Lonnie.
“Yeah,” Lonnie said. “Probably Mollie’s. Let’s bag it and tag it and get it back to the lab ASAP.”
“It’s not going to tell us anything we don’t already know, but we definitely need to process it anyway.”
“I’ll go get a bag.” Lonnie turned and headed toward the cruiser. When he passed Kurt’s Camaro, he smiled and said, “I see you’re still driving the Red Fox.”
Kurt shook his head. “I never understood why you call my car the Red Fox.”
“Cuz” Lonnie turned his back to Kurt and shouted over his shoulder, “it’s a sly old fox who’ll drive a vintage sports car at your age.”
“Very funny, asshole.”
While Lonnie was retrieving the evidence bag, Kurt looked around the shop, searching for any sign of a struggle or a clue that might tell him where the kidnapper had taken Mollie next. To his right was a refrigerated display case that probably once held dairy products. Some of the shelves which were still attached to the wall had a few canned goods sitting on them. Just ahead of him was the register which was affixed to the top of a scarred wooden countertop, and behind that was an old cigarette machine. Kurt remembered back in the day when he, Addie, and Frankie used to get their smokes from machines just like this one.
Kurt shook off the memory and turned to walk outside. When he stepped out onto the rickety porch, he saw Lonnie standing in the grass to the side talking to an elderly man who was bent over and leaning on a gnarly wooden walking stick. Curious, Kurt approached the pair and introduced himself to the man.
“This is Gerald Harvey,” Lonnie said with a self-satisfied smile. “As in, Harvey’s Grocery?”
“Nice to meet you.” Kurt extended his hand to the octogenarian. “Name’s Detective Kurt Jamison. Are you the owner of this grocery store?”
“Guess you could say that,” Gerald Harvey said. “Been in my family for three generations. Went outta business back in the late eighties, though. When them big box giants started sproutin’ up on every damn street corner. No one seemed to want to shop here anymore. Roll back prices, my ass.”
Kurt stifled a chuckle. He liked the old fart already. But now wasn’t the time to make a new friend. “Seen anyone suspicious around here lately?”
“You’re the second feller who’s asked me that today,” the man said.
Kurt looked at Lonnie, but he just shrugged. “Who else asked you?”
“Some slick feller come around here coupla hours ago askin’ me if I’d seen anyone lurkin’ around. Said somethin’ about his granddaughter bein’ missin’.”
“Frankie,” Kurt muttered under his breath. “God damn it.” He looked back at Gerald. “What did you tell him?”
“Told him I seen a little red car parked over here late last night. I live right up yonder on the top of the hill, and I seen headlights comin’ through my window.”
“About what time was this?” Lonnie asked.
The old man scratched his chin and looked down at the ground. “I’d say about eleven o’clock. I know this cuz I’s up takin’ a piss. Looked at the clock when I noticed the car cuz no one’s ever down there at the store these days. Been closed down for damn near thirty years.”
“Did you see anyone get out of the car? A man, perhaps?”
“Yessir. Seen a tall man with girlie hair…you know the kind the kids are wearin’ these days. Anyway, he was walkin’ around like he was lookin’ for something. Just as I’s about to grab my gun and shoo him off, he got back in his car and drove away.”
“Did you see anyone else with him? A young girl?”
“Nossir. Didn’t see no young girl. Told that other feller the same thing. I reckon that was his granddaughter?”
“Yeah,” Kurt said.
“Girl’s missing,” Lonnie said. He pulled out his phone and turned it to face the old man. “Looks like this. Are you sure you didn’t see her?”
“Naw. Ain’t seen her. Reckon I’d remember if I’d seen her. She’s a pretty girl.”
“That she is,” Kurt said, trying to hide his frustration. If only Gerald Harvey had thought to call the police last night, maybe they could have found Mollie. Lonnie must have read his mind.
“Why didn’t you call someone? You see a strange man walking around your property, and you didn’t think to call the police?”
Kurt winced. It was not the tack he would have taken with the old geezer. Pissing him off wasn’t the way to get the information they needed.
“Hang on there, young ’un. Now, I know you city slickers call the police every time you see something ain’t right. But not out here, son. Out here, the law has two names. Smith and Wesson. You hear? And by the time I even thought to get my gun, he was drivin’ away anyhow.”
“We under
stand,” Kurt said, trying to keep the peace with Gerald. “Did you tell the other man the same thing you told us?”
“Don’t see why I shouldn’t have.”
“That’s all right,” Kurt said with a smile. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us? Did you see the direction the man drove off in, by any chance?”
“Sure did. He drove off attaway.” Gerald pointed north up Delong Road, headed out of town. Kurt’s heart skipped a beat when he remembered that Delong Road ended at the border of Fayette County. There was only so much undeveloped land that way, so if Kurt’s hunch was right, Mollie could be within mere miles of the grocery store. He wondered if Frankie had come to the same conclusion.
“Thank you, sir.” Kurt shook the old man’s hand once more then handed him a business card. “My number’s on there. If you think of anything else at all that might help us find this girl, give me a call.”
“Will do,” Gerald said with a curt nod.
Kurt and Lonnie turned and walked back toward their cars.
“Think we ought to go back to the precinct?” Lonnie asked as he opened the cruiser’s door.
“Probably should. We need to look at the land records for this area. Maybe we’ll get lucky and figure out where this bastard took Mollie.” Kurt hadn’t shared with his partner what he’d learned from Frankie about Julian McAllister’s son. He wasn’t exactly sure why he hadn’t, but something told him it was premature.
As he climbed back into his Camaro and pulled out onto Delong, he wondered at his own motives for not sharing all he’d learned with his partner. Was it because he didn’t believe Frankie? Or was it that he did believe him, and a small part of him was hoping, despite his protestations to the contrary, that Frankie would be the one to find Julian’s son and handle him the way he’d handled his father?
No. Surely not. He was a cop, after all. And there was no way he could condone what Frankie had planned for the man if he found him. Kurt cursed himself for considering it for even one second and pressed the gas pedal down to the metal. He needed to make it back to the precinct and research Julian McAllister and find his son before Frankie did. He could not, would not, let history repeat itself. Not as long as he was wearing a badge.
Chapter 13
Mollie
She tried to remain as calm as possible when the man held the knife to her throat, but knowing her life was about to end violently made it impossible. Mollie opened her mouth, and what came out sounded more animalistic than human. She’d never felt such terror in her entire life. In fact, nothing much at all scared her. But now her limbs were trembling, she had difficulty breathing, and she felt like she was going to faint as he slowly dragged the knife from just below her ear all the way down her neck and to her jugular notch. She didn’t want to beg him for her life, but she wanted to die a slow and painful death even less.
“Please, I beg you. Don’t kill me. I promise you my grandfather will pay you whatever you want. Just please, call him again.”
He grinned the way he always did whenever she begged him. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you yet. We just need to send your pops a little something to properly motivate him.” The man grabbed hold of Mollie’s long blonde hair in a tight grip, and in one swift motion, sheared off a large section. He held it up for her to see. “I’m going to send him your hair. Trust me, he’ll understand the significance. Maybe then he’ll think about what he’s done and repent of his sins.”
Mollie was horrified to have lost so much of the hair she’d always been so proud of, but relieved to not be bleeding and, most of all, still breathing. She drew in a deep breath to calm her nerves and slowly exhaled. “What did he do to you, anyway?”
The man stood tall and looked down at Mollie with one eyebrow cocked. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“You said he hurt someone you loved. What did he do? I’m sure he’s sorry. If you’d just talk to him, I know—”
“Talk to him? Are you serious?” He ran a hand through his longish blond hair and paced in circles in front of her. After a few seconds, he stopped and looked down at her again. “Your grandfather killed my father. Made me a bastard. So, you see, there’s no amount of apologizing he could do to that would bring my father back.”
Mollie stared at him in disbelief, blinking rapidly. “Pops…he killed your dad?” She’d known her grandfather was no saint for many years now, but she’d never once imagined him a murderer. He was too kind and gentle a man to take the life of another. Perhaps it was self-defense. That must have been what happened. “There must have been a reason.”
The man walked away from Mollie’s little corner and over to the bookshelf. He picked up a long, red ribbon and tied a bow around the handful of her hair. He was watching what he was doing, not looking at her as he responded. “Your grandfather fancied himself a regular vigilante. He killed my father in cold blood because my father killed his girlfriend.”
That explained a lot. Of course, there had been a reason. There was always a reason. “Did he see him do it?”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” the man said as he examined his masterpiece. “He killed him almost a year later. Tracked him down somehow and snatched him in downtown Lexington one day. Took him to an abandoned warehouse where he tortured him for two days before he put a bullet between his eyes, execution style. Your grandfather was barely nineteen years old at the time. I was just a baby.”
Mollie had trouble picturing her pops torturing and executing anyone. Was that the only time he’d killed? Or did he kill other people too? But then she thought of how much pain he must have been in to have done something so extreme. Suddenly, she felt sorry for Pops, thinking of what he must have been going through to lose his high school sweetheart like that. Thinking on it now, she vaguely recalled hearing her grandfather mention losing someone he loved in a tragic way. She’d never pushed him on the details, as it seemed to be a tender subject for him. The name came to her like a strike of lightning out of nowhere.
“Addie,” she whispered.
The man looked up from his project, and his eyes narrowed. “That’s her. That’s the girl.”
“What did your father do?” she asked cautiously as she shifted her legs, causing the chains to rattle across the cement floor.
“He was a true genius.” He looked almost wistful as he stared at the wall above Mollie. “He was a collector. He had a knack for finding the most beautiful girls…a lot like you, actually. Back then it was much easier to take any girl you wanted. I guarantee he didn’t have to work as hard as I did. People were a lot more trusting in the old days.”
“What did he do?” Mollie repeated, more earnestly this time.
“I was in the dark for many years. I grew up thinking my father had died in an accident. I don’t know to this day if my mother had told me that or if I just dreamed it up myself, but one day when I was sixteen, my mother sat me down and told me the truth about my father.” He paced again. “You see, she was worried about me. Thought I was becoming just like him. I was getting in fights. And yeah, I killed the occasional stray cat, but I enjoyed it. I can’t tell you why. It just felt…natural. Anyway, she sat me down at the kitchen table and told me right then and there that my father was a serial killer. She hadn’t known at the time, of course, but she found out shortly after he disappeared. She said your grandfather’s girlfriend was his last victim. That he kidnapped her one night as she was walking down the street all by herself, not a care in the world. He brought her here. To The Vault.” Mollie’s stomach churned as she imagined poor Addie, not much younger than herself, chained to the same wall, in the same dungeon. “He had his way with her right there on that bed.” He pointed to the bed he’d been sleeping soundly on. Mollie felt nauseated. “Then when he was done with her, he strangled her with his bare hands and dumped her body in the river. But not before taking something from her first.”
He reached toward the shelf and grabbed a small, wooden box, opened it, and walked over to show
Mollie its contents. Inside were several, maybe dozens, of tiny locks of hair, each with a different color ribbon tied around it.
“So, you see?” He closed the box and held it down at his side. “That’s why it’s perfect for me to send good old Franklin a lock of your hair. It’ll remind him who he’s dealing with, as well as what he did to me.”
“What do you want from him?” she cried.
“I want him to repent. To truly atone for what he did. He acted as judge, jury, and executioner for my father. But it wasn’t his place. He had no right to take a man away from his baby boy. Because of him, I grew up without my father—I felt like a bastard, and everyone made fun of me. Now he must feel the pain of what it’s like to lose someone he loves. Only then can he truly understand the depth of his sins.”
“You’re going to kill me,” Mollie said, more a statement than a question. “Why not just do it and get it over with?” She didn’t want to die, not yet, not this way. But she also didn’t want to endure whatever this man had in store for her while she awaited her own execution. Better to get it over with than to let it drag on for hours, maybe days. She would make her peace with God and repent of her own sins and rest easy knowing she would soon be in heaven and that one day she’d see her mother again.
“Because,” he tossed the box onto the bed, “I want him to believe he can save you. I want him to have hope. I want to watch as that hope fades from his face when I kill you right in front of his very eyes. That is the only way he can atone for his sins.”
Mollie sobbed again, her shoulders heaving as she wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them tightly to her chest.
“There, there,” the man said. “Don’t cry. I promise I’ll make it quick. I’m not a sick bastard like your grandfather. Now, it’s time for me to deliver this message to Pops. You stay here and be a good girl.” Mollie didn’t look up at him, but could hear his boots shuffling across the floor toward the steps. Then they stopped, and there was a moment of bone chilling silence. She looked up at the man and saw he was glaring at her. “If you try anything stupid, well, let’s just say I’m not above breaking my promise to kill you quickly.”
A Necessary Evil Page 8