by Greg Enslen
“Trust me.”
A high-pitched voice shouted out to them, as they approached the station. One of the reporters ventured out into the rain.
“Any word yet, Chief?”
Frank turned to see a young woman talking to King as he approached the open doors of the police station. She was holding a tape recorder up to the Chief, trying to get him to comment. Oddly, even in the falling rain, she was wearing a large pair of sunglasses that completely covered her eyes.
“A couple of developments, Tina,” King said, not slowing down. “We’ll cover it inside.”
As they walked inside the police station, Frank asked about the young woman reporter.
“Tina Armstrong. Runs the local paper,” the Chief said under his breath. “She’s loving all the press. They’re all following her around, asking about behind-the-scenes stuff here in town.”
“What’s with the shades?” Frank asked.
King shook his head. “Photophobia—she’s very sensitive to light, I heard.”
Minutes later, Frank found himself before the cameras, listening to Chief King. There were five TV reporters and camera operators and lights, along with another half-dozen print folks, all crowded into the small lobby of the police station. Around the walls were wooden cases and display shelves filled with memorabilia from the department’s history. Strangely, one display case contained a small metal riding car that was shaped like a miniature soapbox derby vehicle.
The Chief was talking.
“…and we’re making progress. Our latest searches have not turned up any additional evidence, but we’re confident that we will find the kidnappers and recover the two girls safe and sound. To that end,” the Chief said, glancing at Frank, “we’ve brought in an outside expert. Frank Harper is a retired police officer with over twenty years’ experience, including a background in child abduction and kidnapping cases.”
Frank nodded to the Chief and stepped up to the microphone.
“Hi, thank you for coming. I’m Frank Harper, and I was with the New Orleans Police Department for twenty-one years, retiring in 2010.” He paused, giving them time to write it all down. Frank glanced over at Chief King, who had been joined by Sergeant Graves and Detective Barnes. He also saw Officer Stan Garber, cradling a cast. Evidently, the suspension was over. The guy glared at Frank, who ignored it. Served him right.
Frank turned back to the press.
“First, just let me say that I’m happy to be assisting the Cooper’s Mill Police Department with this investigation,” Frank said. “I’m getting up to speed and going over the facts in the case. We are starting to re-interview people involved, and, as soon as we have anything, we’ll get it out to you. There have been a few developments, which we are aggressively pursuing. Questions?”
All of their hands went up. He recognized one of them, the fat guy from Channel 4, and nodded to him.
“Scott Bumpers, Channel 4. How do you spell your name? And what is your background with cases like this one?”
Frank spelled his name. He’d forgotten how that was always the first question, or the last. Or maybe the reporter just hadn’t been paying attention.
“As Chief King said, I’ve got extensive experience in abduction cases, both child and adult,” Frank said. “I worked many abduction cases in Louisiana and Mississippi and liaised with the FBI and NCMEC on many occasions.”
Frank nodded to the young woman in the front. He recognized her sunglasses, which she was still wearing even though they were inside.
“Tina Armstrong, Cooper’s Mill Times,” the woman said. He couldn’t tell if she was looking at him or not. “What is NCMEC? And have you had any more contact with the kidnappers, since the ransom was paid?”
Frank shook his head.
“NCMEC is the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children, based in Virginia,” he said. “I’ve worked with them in the past to publicize information nationally on missing children and young adults. I can tell you that we plan to reach out to them for assistance on this case,” he said, pausing to let that sink in. All the print reporters were scribbling to write it all down. “And no, nothing yet, other than the fact that the kidnappers exited Cooper’s Mill to the east and then headed south, in the direction of Huber Heights.”
He paused a moment, and then pushed forward.
“And we’ve identified the two suspects who picked up the ransom,” Frank said, smiling.
The gaggle went silent for a second, and then they all shouted at once. He put up his hands and continued.
“I can’t give you their names, obviously, because it’s an active investigation,” Frank said. “But I can say that one is a 25-year old male, and the other is a 22-year old female, both from the area. We’ll get the names to you later today, if we can. But we’re petitioning for search warrants now. As soon as we have pictures, we’ll get those out to our friends in the press.”
The print reporters were scribbling it all down, but the TV folks didn’t bother. Frank remembered why the TV folks were looking up and around when the print folks were writing: the TV reporters always taped everything in the field, then replayed the video back in the studio, taking their notes from the recording.
Frank nodded at another reporter.
“You say you have their names?”
“Yes, they’ve been ID’ed,” Frank said, nodding. “We got lucky and found footage from a security cam at a nearby restaurant. The FBI office in Cincinnati has positively identified them through facial recognition software.”
More scribbling, more hands in the air.
Frank glanced at Chief King, who was staring at Frank, his eyes wide. Graves was next to King, looking at the ground and shaking his head. Bumpers put his hand back up.
“Any more news on the family? There are reports that they have brought in a psychic.”
Frank shook his head.
“That’s the first I’m hearing about that,” Frank said, lying again. “The family is holding up as best as can be expected. And for the record, the family and their circle of immediate friends have been eliminated as potential suspects. This is clearly the work of an outside party attempting to extort money from the Martins. OK, last question.”
Tina Armstrong didn’t wait to be called on. She leaned forward and shouted out her question.
“Have you lost any kids?”
The room grew quiet.
Frank looked at her. “What do you mean?”
She looked around at the other reporters and soldiered on, her glasses reflecting Frank’s image back at him.
“In your time on the job, how successful were you?” she asked loudly, holding up her tape recorder. “What was your track record, and how many cases did you fail to solve?”
Chief King started to step up to the podium, but Frank waved him back and smiled.
“I understand your curiosity, Ms. Armstrong,” Frank said. “I obviously can’t get into operational details, but I’ve solved many cases, and I have recovered many kidnapping victims. But yes, I’ve lost a few, too. And those stick with you. Each one is an eye-opening and painful learning experience.”
Frank stood at the podium for a long moment, trying to forget about that empty patch of land in Atlanta and that buried cardboard box. After a moment, he looked back up at the woman in the sunglasses and the other reporters and cameras around her.
“Thank you,” he said.
He turned and stepped down, ignoring the shouts from the reporters. Frank followed the Chief past Lola, the receptionist, who looked like she was on the verge of tears. King pushed through the double doors and led the officers and Frank back into the station offices.
As the doors closed, Frank heard Deputy Peters talking to the reporters who had gathered around the doors, answering a few remaining logistical and administrative questions. There were always those kinds of questions, before and after news conferences, where no information of substance was shared. Names were spelled, agendas and paperwork distributed, and futur
e news conferences announced.
The other police thankfully held their outrage at Frank until the doors closed behind them.
“What the hell?” Detective Barnes said loudly to Frank. “What was that bullshit?”
“Wow,” the Chief began, agreeing. “OK, hold up, Barnes. Frank, you’ve put some information out there, that’s for sure. I don’t see how that gets us anything.” They walked over and sat back down at the conference room table. In moments, the entire investigation team was arrayed around the table, shooting daggers at him.
“That was impressive,” Agent Shale said caustically. “I didn’t realize we’d identified the kidnappers. Or asked my office in Cincinnati to help.”
Frank smiled, sitting down.
“The press can be a powerful ally,” Frank said to Shale and the others. “We don’t have much, but making them—and the kidnappers—think we have more than we do can always be helpful. We can always back off of it later, but beating the bushes never hurts.”
“I disagree,” Sergeant Graves said. “You put that kind of information out there, and people start to think things. Or they get scared, or start looking at their neighbors differently.” He looked around at the other police.
Barnes agreed. “I can’t believe you said we had identified the kidnappers. So exactly what do you want to release to the press?”
“I understand that you are angry,” Frank said. “And I apologize for springing that on you guys, especially Barnes. It’s your case, so you should be setting the pace. But we need breaks in this case, and letting those kids from the ransom drop think we’ve identified them won’t hurt.”
“What if they kill the girls?” Graves asked. “You freaking them out—”
“The girls are already dead,” Frank said.
The room fell silent. Every eye in the room turned to him.
“Or they’re not,” Frank continued quietly. “Either way, every day past the delivery of the ransom is a day they don’t have to waste. We need to set a fire under those involved. If they were going to kill the girls, they would have already done it, as soon as they got the ransom. No phone calls means that they’re not going to ask for anything else. So what’s keeping the girls alive, if they are? The kidnappers have a plan. We have to figure out what that plan is and get ahead of it. Or compress the timetable.”
Chief King nodded. Sergeant Graves seemed unimpressed and excused himself, saying he needed some fresh coffee and time to think. The others didn’t seem any happier about what Frank had done, but they accepted it. They had to—there was nothing any of them could have done anyway. After a minute, Chief King put up his hands to stop the debate, which threatened to go on for hours.
“OK, we’ll roll with it,” Chief King. “But Frank, no more surprises. Check with me first. OK, reports, please.”
“I’ll go first,” Sergeant Burwell said, leaning forward. “Nothing yet from forensics on the water bottle. There was a fast food bag found nearby. It went in to the lab with the water bottle, but they didn’t find anything,” Burwell said, glancing at Frank. “It’s from the Sonic drive-through restaurant up in Troy, probably—there aren’t any nearer. There’s one up in Piqua as well. It might have been dropped by whoever took the girls, but the wrappers and trash yielded nothing, and all the franchises use the same distributor, so we can’t track it back to a particular location. Same goes for two other items found in the gutter that morning—a gum wrapper and several pistachio hulls.”
King nodded. “OK.”
“Unless the kidnappers had breakfast while they were waiting to kidnap the girl, you’re just chasing trash,” Ted Shale said, but no one else nodded or agreed with him.
Peters came into the room and sat down.
“Deputy,” the Chief said. “Get us up to speed on the searches.”
Peters nodded. “We did Freeman Prairie again this morning—that’s the second pass. They’re doing that field burn Sunday morning, so we wanted to check that whole area again ahead of the burn. We’ve done Kyle three times, the bike path twice, and every other field in and around Cooper’s Mill at least once.” Peters nodded at the map on the wall behind them. “We also went along the riverbanks, a mile up and downstream from the bridge. Nothing. Huber Heights is handling the river south of town.”
“Isn’t the water level too low?” Frank asked.
Peters nodded. “Too low to wash a body downstream far, without it being caught on something, but we did have a body lost for a while in the river near Dayton two years ago. They’re checking everything again.”
The men continued with their reports, going around the table, but everything was coming up zeroes. Grave came back in with a half-finished coffee and reported on the tip line—so far, nothing had come in as a result of Frank’s fictitious “news.”
Detective Barnes went next, and his report was the longest. He was the lead on the case. And, theoretically, should be pursuing the best leads, but there had been no real breaks since the ransom drop. No one had spotted the car, or the people involved. Another full work-up of the Martin’s finances had been completed yesterday, along with new work-ups of close family and friends, but they’d found nothing. Those had been requested by Frank, although Chief King didn’t let on.
Today, Barnes was concentrating on having witnesses on Main Street during the ransom drop go through books of mug shot photos, trying to find the people involved. Barnes was also working an angle with the Dayton police that the kidnappers might be using an abandoned property in Dayton to keep the kidnapped girls.
Agent Shale reported on the money. He talked and talked and said nothing. No sign of the ransom money. The Bureau was tracking the serial numbers on the bills. But Frank knew that, if they were smart, the kidnappers would be sure to launder the money before spending it, or at least sit on it for a bit. Buying drugs with the money was one sure way to keep the cash out of regular circulation, at least for a while.
Frank listened to them talk, and it sounded exactly like all the other cases he’d ever worked—good men, doing the work, chasing down leads. But none of these leads were panning out.
Lola, the receptionist, came into the conference room.
“Chief King?”
“Yes?”
Frank saw that her nails were painted a different color today, a bright green. She pointed at the Chief’s office.
“It’s Nick Martin on the line. They got another call from the kidnappers.”
30
Frank leaned in.
“Play it again,” he said.
They were all in the Martin’s kitchen, gathered around the largest kitchen island Frank had ever seen: Nick Martin, Frank, Chief King, Detective Barnes, Sergeant Graves, Agent Shale, and Deputy Peters. Glenda was in the living room, working on what looked like a scotch and rocks. Evidently, she’d heard it enough times.
King pushed the button on the iPhone on the island. A voice came out over the tiny speaker, repeating the message again.
“Mr. Martin,” the voice said. “The payment we received was insufficient. We now require another $500,000. Deposit the money in a similar bag and leave it in the middle of the high school football field at noon on Saturday. You have 48 hours. If you do not comply, the girls will be killed.”
The call ended.
“Came in a few minutes ago,” Nick said. “They called my wife’s phone again, and the number was blocked. I told her to let it go to voicemail. We’ve been getting a lot of calls, and even the sympathetic ones make her upset. I listened to it and called you.”
“It’s not the same voice as before,” King said, glancing down at his yellow pad of paper. Frank had figured out the man never went anywhere without one of those pads. “Or at least it sounds different, or they changed the setting on their voice changer, or whatever they’re using to mask the speaker’s voice.”
Frank nodded.
“Male, late-thirties,” Detective Barnes said. “Probably not the getaway driver—doesn’t fit the age range.”
Chief King nodded.
“Spoke slower, too,” Frank added. “More deliberate.”
“Do you think they’re panicking?” Deputy Peters asked. “Because of what you said at the press conference?”
Frank shook his head.
Detective Barnes pointed at the phone. “Nick, can you get that kind of money together that fast, after what you just did to get the million?”
Nick shrugged. “I’ll have to.”
“I can’t believe how greedy they’re being,” Sergeant Graves said. “Isn’t a million dollars enough?” He looked around at the other nodding cops.
“No, I think it’s a ‘goose’,” Frank said.
“What’s a ‘goose’?” Deputy Peters asked.
“A wild goose chase,” Frank said. “We’d get these once in a while, when the kidnappers were stalling for time. Remember what I said earlier about figuring out their plan? They always have a plan. This sounds like busywork, a distraction. No idiot would ask for more money from you right now, or pick a central location like that—I’m assuming that’s central, right?”
The others nodded. “It’s near City Park,” Graves volunteered. “Right in the middle of town.”
“They know we’d go all out to not mess up another ransom drop,” Frank said, looking at the phone. “No, this is something else.”
Chief King nodded, but Nick Martin was shaking his head.
“I don’t care,” Nick said. “I still have to assume that it’s for real. I’ll get started on the money.”
Sergeant Graves nodded, agreeing. “It only makes sense. Maybe the kidnappers realized they could get more money out of Mr. Martin.”
“Yes, get the money,” Glenda said. “And Meredith will be here tomorrow,” Glenda spoke up from behind them. Everyone turned to see her standing in the doorway. Frank could smell the scotch from six feet away, but he could also see why Nick had married her. She was beautiful, even standing there sloshing her drink around in the glass in her hand. But her face was lined, drawn. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.