“They don’t give us an address. They tell everyone to meet them at a different spot; always somewhere in the warehouse district. It changes all the time. If we want to join, we are supposed to ring a bell on a certain building, and we get taken to a brand-new life. Our old lives and past are not a problem; they take care of all our needs. I’ve tried to tell everyone it isn’t true. Nothing good will come of listening to them ... but some are tired of living here. They want to see what it’s all about. They just don’t ... come back.”
It wasn’t rocket science what Helen was describing. Ben knew the homeless were preyed upon by a variety of the unscrupulous. Drug dealers and religious cults were only the tip of the problem. For years, workers at the local homeless shelters had reported recruiters luring the poor away with offers of a better life. There was little the workers could do to stop them. He knew most of the residents of the streets balanced precariously on the razor’s edge of mental stability. It was a problem aggravated by the hundreds of government programs that had been cut or dissolved, leaving the poor and ill with no net to catch them. Hundreds, possibly thousands of nameless, faceless wanderers spent their lives in humanity’s wasteland. No one monitored their path through life.
“I don’t normally pay too much attention,” Helen nervously went on. “Except this time, it’s Frankie, and I want him back. They can’t take him away. I need him.” Helen was quickly breaking down, and Ben decided to use that fact to his advantage.
“Look, Helen,” he said calmly, “tell me where you are so I can send someone to search for Frank. I’ll need a description of him and anything you can tell me about the strangers.” The pause at the end of the line told him he still wasn’t trusted, but her panic about the missing Frank overrode her doubts.
“There is an old restaurant next to the mall on Fifth Street. The Blue Diamond. It’s been closed for months. Some of us have been staying in the back. We didn’t break in ... the door was open. I swear it, Ben. I’m no criminal, and neither is Frank. No one has come around to tell us to leave. There’s an alley next to the building. Go in that way. The front doors are boarded up. I’ll watch for you, are you coming now?”
“Helen, I don’t know if I can make it personally. I, uh had other plans today. I will send someone to talk to you. Is that okay?”
“No! No, I need you, Ben. I don’t trust those people you work with. They’ll try to force me to go with them. You understand me. Please come, Ben. I need you. It has to be just you.”
In exactly two hours, Ben was to be at the city hall to marry Elizabeth. She and the girls would be waiting. The judge was waiting, and there was a reception planned at the exclusive Springs Restaurant after the ceremony. How was he going to explain this to Elizabeth? What a way to start our marriage, he thought, with an untimely problem from the old one. “Can I call you back on this number? Is this phone yours?” he asked her.
“No, it belongs to a friend.” There was hesitation. Helen was still wary. It was difficult for her to give up her long battle to stay hidden. Ben could sense her unease and knew she had to be desperate to surrender her location to him.
“Please ... just come quick Ben.”
Their divorce had been strangely civil. No shouting or name calling. She wanted nothing from him, but her freedom, which he gave reluctantly.
Although he begged to know the reason, he never got a good answer. Ben’s career with the CIA had probably been the determining factor in their marital breakdown. Helen could never adjust to his hours or complete dedication to the department. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Helen. He did. Deeply. The job, unfortunately, was a more demanding spouse. As his career pushed him higher through the ranks of the CIA, he rode the waves created by the nastier side of people, and the evil that stained the world. As a recruit, a once naïve, fledgling-agent had joined the agency with a determination to make a difference. The years and the accumulation of knowledge hardened him. The ugly reality of life, the side seen by only those dedicated to its eradication, had drowned him in an ocean of malevolence. Helen had loved him once. But she couldn’t find it in her heart to stay near the man he had become. He knew he had let her down, but neither of them could find a way to fix what was so severely broken. When they went their separate ways, he would have given her the house, their bank account, anything she wanted, but that wasn’t her way.
A house in the suburbs was never where she wanted to be. She walked out of their marriage and disappeared. Through his connections, Ben tracked her down. He wanted to make sure she was okay. She never touched the money he put into savings accounts for her. She left the car, her clothes, and her past with him. She, who had known only luxury as a young woman, denied it all for a life of poverty on the streets. The why of it, Ben never knew. He did know she needed counseling, but without her cooperation, it wasn’t going to happen. And not even he, Ben Madison, a director of the CIA, could force her. She opted for a life among the invisible.
BEN PULLED HIS CAR alongside a strip of boarded-up buildings. The block was an obvious local eyesore. Peeling paint covered the exteriors; multi-generations of graffiti in patchwork fashion made a mockery of the once neat storefronts. Garbage rode in swirls as little gusts of wind steered it up and down the curbs and along the narrow streets. Although the Blue Diamond had been closed for months, the building smelled of unwashed bodies and the rancid odor of years of greasy food.
Helen was waiting outside the back door when Ben walked around the corner. She looked nothing like he remembered. Older yes, but something more, she was changed by the damage done from the ravages of the street. Her hair had at least two inches of pure white roots exposed, surrounded by a halo of various shades of darker grey. All twisted in an unruly knot at that back of her head. It gave the impression that she wore a poorly knit hat. Helen’s face, once smooth and pink, had the pallor of school paste. It was apparent she hadn’t seen the sun or good health for a long time. Her eyes darted up and down the street as Ben walked toward her, obviously still doubtful he had come alone. She looked rounded, well-fed, but Ben realized as he watched her move, the deception was merely several layers of clothes. There wasn’t much to her beneath it all.
In a second, he flashed back to the graceful young woman he had met forty years before and how he had loved to watch her enter a room. At five foot seven, she was tall; a woman who seemed to have a purpose to her life. Men admired her; women envied her. On the outside, she exuded beauty and bearing, the epitome of a pampered woman of means. But her eyes were cold, empty, and broken. Ben thought his love could fill those eyes with life and warmth. But he had failed her in their short marriage. He could never get close to the impenetrable inner icy core. As he watched her approach, he found it nearly impossible to find any trace of the same woman he once held in his arms. Hesitant, guarded, she crouched more than walked, bent with the weight of worry, no longer tall and agile, her spirit was gone; she had shriveled into a soulless wraith.
“Thank God you are here, Ben.” Bony fingers grabbed the front of his coat as if she feared he would leave back down the alley from whence he had come. “Something is wrong.”
With a quick inspection of the interior of the building, Ben spotted at least ten people in their makeshift homes. Cardboard boxes, crates, and rags served as beds. The garbage bags neatly surrounding each space held their worldly belongings and served as walls. Blank faces studied Ben. No fear, or real interest, just wonderment at his presence.
Helen pulled him into a back room and offered him a broken chair of padded red velvet, which tipped slightly to one side. She was probably giving him the best seat in the room, but he didn’t care to park on something so unsteady and briefly wondered what things may inhabit the tatty fabric. It was an awkward moment. He didn’t wish to be rude.
“I’ll stand, Helen, been sitting all day, need to stretch my legs.”
Helen nodded, seeming to understand.
“Okay, I’m here now, what can you tell me about Frank and the strangers.”
Helen’s eyes swept the room as tears formed, ready to flow. “Frankie is my friend; he’s my protector. He doesn’t have anyone in the world except me. I know he wouldn’t leave me alone by choice. We’ve been together for years. We take care of each other. You understand ... Ben.”
“Yes, Helen, I suppose I do.” He had so many questions. “How long have you been here, in Alexandria? You know I’ve wanted to talk to you over the years, Helen. Just to see if you were alright. If you needed anything. Why are you so afraid of me?”
“You? Why would you think I was ever afraid of you? No. It was my father and the ... government. I know you never knew who he really was. I didn’t want you ever to hear the truth. He isn’t the man you or anyone else thinks he is.”
Small sobs escaped her now. She was having a difficult time holding in her old pain and her new fears. “He wants to have me locked up, put away in a loony bin. I’m not crazy, Ben. Just because I don’t want the life you and I had ... or what my father thinks I should want. I had it remember. I don’t need your money, Ben. We do fine all by ourselves. We have freedom.” Heavy tears did flow now, plopping off the greasy collar of her oversized coat.
Surprised as he was by her blunder, Ben would take that enlightening conversation home with him to digest it, but at another time. A quick peek at his watch, and he redirected his attention back to the point of his visit. “Do you happen to have any pictures of Frank?”
“No, but Lyon there can draw him,” pointing to the sleeping figure on the other side of the room. “Lyon is a really good artist. He’ll help.”
Roused from sleep, Lyon stared glassy-eyed at Ben. Not sure if the man before him in the expensive suit was real, Lyon put out his hand to touch Ben’s leg, thought better of it, shrugged, then rolled over to go back to sleep.
Helen grabbed his shoulders and gently shook him again. “Lyon, wake up, we need your help. I want you to draw Frankie for this man; he can help me find him.”
Lyon shook his head as if to clear it, stared for a few seconds at Helen, then pulled a dog-eared notebook out of his bag. Two magic markers, one black, and one red fell to the linoleum. Choosing the black one, he began to draw, finishing a passable portrait of a man in just a few minutes. He took the marker and shaded in the picture, giving the face a blackened appearance.
Ben hid his surprise. The drawing showed a strong nose, receding hairline, firm chin. Not a bad looking man if the picture was accurate. Perhaps Mediterranean, or even Egyptian descent.
Helen looked over Lyon’s shoulder and shook her head at him. “Draw it, Lyon. Draw the scar.”
Lyon nodded then added a long scar that went from the side of Frank’s face near the hairline across his nose and down to the side of his cheek. The pirate-like gash brought the face to life. Gave it character. Albeit scary, but character none-the-less.
Ben could only wonder what had caused it.
“That’s better,” she said, pulling the pad away from Lyon and tearing the sheet out of the book. “Here, Ben take this and please find my Frankie.”
There were a million questions he wanted answered. Where had she been all these years? How had she survived? What did she eat or live on? But Ben knew he would have to go slow. Pressing her for answers wasn’t going to get them. His interview was over, and she wanted him to leave. Ben reached into his pocket and took out his wallet.
Helen’s face froze.
“No Ben, I don’t want anything from you, other than to find Frank.”
He knew that’s what she would say, what she said years before, but he offered her the money anyway.
“Take it, Helen; if you want me to do this thing for you, you have to do something for me. Take it.” Perhaps the years had softened her spunk as it bent her frame, she took the proffered bills and shoved them deep in her coat.
“I’ll save this for when you find Frankie. He may need something. Now go.”
Ben did need to hurry, Elizabeth was waiting, but one last thought occurred to him as he headed to the backdoor. Hoping she would heed his advice. “Don’t leave this area,” he said, “if I need to find you again, this is where I will look, okay?”
“Okay,” she answered, and he believed her. For Frank’s sake, she would let herself be found again.
“I’m glad you called me, Helen,” Ben told her honestly. “I will do whatever I can to find your friend.” For the first time in nearly eighteen years, he saw a shadow of the beguiling smile he had fallen in love with a lifetime before.
“Thanks, Ben,” was all she said and closed the heavy metal door behind him.
Death on the Market is set to release in early 2021.
Reader’s Guide
If this novel became a movie, who would play Matt? Kate?
Which character was your favorite? Why?
Which events in this book do you believe could happen today?
If you could choose another character’s perspective to view this story, whose would it be? Why?
How realistic were the villains portrayed?
Do you think chemical espionage currently happens in America today?
What did you like best about the book? Least?
What did you think of Matt’s reaction to Kate’s disappearance?
How do you feel about Lily, Kate’s twin sister?
Do you think the police did enough to investigate Kate’s disappearance?
When Matt learns that Kate is real, does that help or hurt his recovery?
Franny’s mystical abilities are present throughout the novel, do you think this ‘gift’ helps or hinders the story?
Would you read another book by this author? Why or why not?
Does the cover accurately convey the theme of the novel?
What one question regarding the novel would you most like answered by the author?
A Note from the Publisher
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