Storm Gathering

by Rene Gutteridge

  “Are you innocent?”

  “What do you have to say?”

  “How well did you know Taylor Franks?”

  The questions screamed past him, and Mick felt dizzy as the reporters pushed their microphones in his face.

  “No comment,” he mumbled, making his way around them, trying to avoid the cameras that were shoved in his face. He wanted to turn around and clobber all of them, but he knew how that would play out on the ten-o’clock news.

  He finally made it to the porch. As quickly as he could, he unlocked the door and slipped inside, turning to close it and locking the dead bolt. He rested his head against the door, out of breath and trying to come off the shock of it all. His life was not going to be even close to normal any time soon. He squeezed his eyes shut, keeping the emotions at bay.

  With a deep breath, listening carefully, Mick could not hear the racket of the reporters any longer. He dared not peek out the window for fear of his picture being taken. He was glad the blinds were pulled. He always left them open and figured Aaron had closed them.

  Mick turned, irritated at the mess he needed to clean up. But what he saw caused him to gasp.

  The house was back to perfect order, as if not a single thing had ever been touched.

  Crawford watched out the second-story window of the DA’s office. A group of reporters, the Sunday crew no less, stood chattering away in hopes of learning some gruesome details about a kidnapped woman.

  “We’re going to need more evidence for the grand jury indictment,” Sandy said. The police chief was lounging on the DA’s sofa, his arms sprawled across the top of it. “It’s all circumstantial right now. We need that smoking gun, Shep.”

  Shep turned to Sandy, folding his arms against his chest. “It’s a mistake.”

  “I know you think that. And for crying out loud, Shep, I have supported you on nearly every call you’ve made since you’ve been working for

  me. That’s why I made you head over the division. But we have a man seen leaving a bar with her and leaving her apartment the next morning. Drunk out of his mind, by all accounts, including his own.”

  “That doesn’t make for a kidnapper.”

  “I made the call; that’s final. Now go find the evidence that will put our suspect behind bars.” Sandy pulled his large frame off the couch and stood next to Shep at the window. “You should’ve been down there making the announcement. You shouldn’t shy away from the attention. You’re good at what you do. People should know the brains behind it all. It ain’t Fiscall.”

  Sandy left the room and Shep watched Fiscall approach the reporters, his nose hung in the air with great importance. He buttoned his suit in a gentlemanly manner. Shep couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he watched his mouth move.

  Fiscall was behind all of this. He knew it. Fiscall had called Sandy over the weekend, pressuring him to make an arrest. Fiscall had decided what the public wanted, and he was going to hand it to them on a silver platter.

  And who knew what kinds of strings Sammy Earle was pulling. The man knew a lot of powerful people.

  Shep watched as the red dots glowed on the tops of the cameras all at once. It would be breaking news on TV.

  And the start of a whole new kind of war.

  Aaron hung up the phone and flipped on the television, watching Stephen Fiscall announce they had issued an arrest warrant for Mick Kline, believed to be the man behind the disappearance of Taylor Franks.

  He quickly dialed Fred’s home phone number. “Captain, it’s Aaron.”

  “Aaron, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Can you give us some time? Can we set up a time and a location?”

  “They’re headed over to his house now.”

  “Just have them wait outside, okay? Give us some time and Mick will come out quietly.”

  “Forty minutes.”

  Aaron hung up and dialed Mick’s number. When he didn’t answer, Aaron slammed down the phone and raced past Jenny. “I’m going over there. Call Bill and tell him to meet me there. Mick’s going to need a lawyer whether he likes it or not.”

  In Jenny’s car, Aaron drove to Mick’s house as fast as he could, hoping he would be there. He didn’t want the police to have to track him down.

  Within fifteen minutes, he was there. Reporters’ vans lined the streets, and Aaron spotted two detectives’ cars in the driveway. Aaron got out and tried to walk calmly toward them.

  Detective Monty Wailes was standing by his car when Aaron approached. “Hey, Monty.”

  Monty shook his hand. “I’m sorry, man.”

  “I can’t believe this has turned into such a circus,” Aaron growled, glancing at all the reporters who had their cameras aimed at him.

  “Fred said to give you some time. Mick knows we’re here. He’s in there waiting for you.”

  Aaron nodded, feeling a tinge of relief. His attorney friend from church, Bill Cassavo, arrived, pulling next to one of the news vans. Bill didn’t represent many criminal cases, but he would be fine for now.

  “Aaron,” Bill said, approaching, “ready to go in?”

  Aaron led Bill to the front porch. Knocking twice, he heard Mick come to the door. Aaron and Bill slipped inside quickly, trying not to allow any more photo ops. The first thing Aaron noticed was that the living room was back to normal. Aaron walked over to where the TV and stereo had been. They were put back into place and, oddly, dusted. Mick had never been one to dust.

  Mick looked like he didn’t want to talk about it, so Aaron let it go. “You okay?” Aaron threw his wallet, badge, and keys on the coffee table, then placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  Mick shook his head. His eyes were sunken, his face drawn tight. “I can’t believe this.”

  Bill introduced himself and asked if they could sit down together.

  Mick looked like he was in a trance.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. They’re going to come in, read you your rights. My advice to you is to say nothing. I’ll be with you once you’re arrested, all the way through the process. I know you want to proclaim your innocence, and there will be time for that, but I don’t think it’s smart for even me to make a comment to the media at this time. They’ll dissect everything I say. We’ll make our battle inside the court of law.” Bill continued, explaining that a grand jury would have to hand down the indictment separately from the arrest warrant.

  Aaron examined Mick’s panicked face. He moved over to where his brother sat. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “No, this isn’t right. I didn’t do this. I didn’t take her. The whole world is going to think I did.”

  “We’ll prove them wrong.”

  “We’ll get you the best criminal defense attorneys,” Bill said. “I’ve got friends in high places.”

  “The evidence is circumstantial at best,” Aaron added.

  Mick stared at the front door. “I’ve got to do something.” He stood. “I’ve got to find Taylor. Something terrible has happened to her.”

  “You need to worry about yourself right now,” Bill said as they both watched Mick pace the room.

  “No, you don’t understand.” Mick turned to them. “I should’ve done something to stop whoever did this. I should’ve helped her. I could have if I hadn’t been so drunk.” He slapped his hands over his face in anguish.

  Aaron stood, grabbed him, and pulled him to himself, wrapping his arms around his back. “It’s all right. This isn’t your fault.”

  Mick stepped back and looked at him. “You do believe it.”

  “Believe what?”

  “That I’m innocent. I can tell. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Of course I do.”

  Mick nodded, glancing at Bill, looking embarrassed by his emotions. “How long do we have?”

  “About fifteen minutes or so.”

  Mick rubbed his face, his hair, exhaustion striking a hard edge onto his expression. “God knows the truth.”

 
Aaron smiled. “Yeah, buddy. He does.”

  Mick looked worried, his gaze circling the room, a complex mixture of emotions setting into his eyes. “There’s more to this than it seems.”

  “More to what?”

  “Too many things don’t make sense.” Mick sighed off his last comment and turned his attention back to Aaron and Bill. “Okay, well, I guess I better get some things in order here.”

  “You won’t need anything at the jail,” Bill said.

  “I know. But maybe I should shower. It may be my last hot one.” Mick smiled mildly. “Call Mom and Dad for me, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “All right. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be ready to go.”

  Aaron and Bill watched Mick slack down the hall. Aaron gently slapped his own cheek, trying to knock away the emotions that swelled in his throat.

  Bill clapped his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Faith, my friend. Faith.”

  Aaron walked outside. A few law-enforcement personnel mingled on the front lawn, including his partner, Jarrod, who acknowledged him, remorse in his eyes. Halloway and Martin walked up to Aaron. “Tell them five minutes. Mick’s showering and getting ready.”

  “No problem,” Halloway said. “You okay?”

  Aaron tried to smile. “They’ve got the wrong guy. I can’t believe it, but they’ve got the wrong guy.”

  Martin stared at his feet. Halloway glanced at Bill, who looked like he really wanted to go tell the media what was on his mind.

  Next to the police cars Aaron spotted Shep Crawford, several feet away from the other detectives, staring at him in a way that sent a chill down his spine. Crawford didn’t look happy, which baffled Aaron. He was getting his arrest. What else did he want?

  Detective Prescott approached Aaron. “It’s about time.”

  “Okay.” Aaron told Bill to wait outside and went in to get Mick. The shower was still running, and steam floated all the way down the hall. Aaron laughed. They had always fought about showers when they were teens. Mick loved an hour’s worth of hot water, never caring that anybody else had to bathe. Still seemed to be true.

  Aaron lingered around the living room for a moment, waiting for the shower to turn off. It amazed him how quickly Mick had put everything into place. Aaron walked around the room for a moment. It had been months since he’d been in his brother’s house. Pulling out a couple of drawers out of curiosity, he picked up a stack of pictures. Pictures of Jenny and Mick. Looked like they were at the new Hawaiian restaurant. Aaron threw them back in the drawer. He got the girl, but it didn’t always feel good. It was hard seeing pictures of the two of them in better days. There had been something between them, even though in the end Jenny knew Mick wasn’t right for her.

  Aaron checked his watch and then the hallway. He noticed the absence of steam, but the shower was still running. Aaron walked toward the bathroom, but not before stealing a glance out the window, where things looked to be getting a little restless outside.

  Aaron knuckled the door. “Mick, come on. They’re waiting.”

  There was no reply.

  He gave the door a firm rap. “I know this is tough, but we gotta get out there.”

  Running water was the only reply.

  Pounding, he called Mick’s name again, then rattled the door, which was locked. “Mick!”

  Without further hesitation, Aaron stood back and kicked the flimsy wooden door in. The shower curtain was flapping ever so slightly . . . in the breeze? He yanked the curtain to the side. In front of him was an empty tub with ice-cold water running out of the showerhead.

  And a square window opened above it.

  Sammy Earle could not hold his liquor tonight. Stumbling toward his bedroom, he was half laughing, half snorting, the television remote in one hand and in the other a bottle of cognac, though he’d have preferred to be at Tiki Bob’s having a White Russian. But his publicist had told him to keep a low profile, so he was keeping one between the dark walls of his two-million-dollar home.

  “What a doll,” Sammy said, slobbering out his words as he thought of the pretty boy whose picture was now posted by the word fugitive on all the channels. There was scarcely a mention of Taylor. All the better. He hated her name. It gave him hives.

  “Mickey, Mickey,” Sammy said, dancing across the Spanish tile. He needed a cigar. A cigar, a cigar. Cause for celebration. All the sweating for nothing. His name wasn’t even mentioned in the press! For once, that was a good thing.

  “Shouldn’t have gotten yourself involved with a woman named Taylor. And I use the word woman very loosely.” Sammy snickered, burping and then nearly vomiting before he fell into his feather bed. He managed to kick his slippers off, hitting his French poodle in the head. A long blink indicated she disapproved of his antics, and she curled up in the corner of the room in her dog bed.

  “Mutt,” Sammy said, but he wasn’t talking about the dog. He rolled over onto his back, tugging at his silk robe that tangled itself between his legs. Staring out his bedroom window, he smiled, musing at the events that had unfolded over the past twenty-four hours. How differently things could’ve turned out. After all, he was in a business where justice mattered little but perception meant the world. And perception could be bought.

  The irony was not lost on Sammy that this Mick Kline character could have very well been one of his clients, had he had a little higher status in life.

  Sammy chuckled and coddled his bottle of brandy, stroking its long neck with his fingers. Taylor Franks had been bad news since the day he met her, and maybe now she’d be out of his life forever. Kidnapped. Ha. That woman was as tough as a bull. She’d have to be tranquilized first.

  Sammy thirsted for more liquor, but he was too tired to lift the bottle. With blurry vision and a mellow head, he smiled out his last conscious thought and drifted into slumber, rolling to his side, barely aware that his brandy was spilling onto his arm.

  Thump.

  Sammy’s bloodshot eyes flew open. Stared into Taylor’s face.

  She was looking through the window at him, her hair tousled over her face, her eyes glowing with rage. Her hands were plastered against the glass.

  A gurgle rose from his throat, and he twisted himself the other direction, trying to scramble off the bed. He landed on the other side, unable to catch his breath, smelling like he’d bathed in cognac.

  Closing his eyes and clasping his mouth with a trembling hand, Sammy willed himself awake. He’d had nightmares before. From Vietnam. Which was why he’d started drinking in the first place. Usually hard liquor put him out of any misery that wanted his attention.

  He talked himself back to sanity. He would open his eyes again and be staring at the ceiling and an empty window, where the rain had begun to mist down from the sky. Yes, it was just a dream.

  But when he opened his eyes, he was on the floor next to his bed, half his body drenched with a wretched, wet odor. Sammy staggered to his knees, peering over his bed.

  A black, lightless window stared back.

  At 4 a.m., Aaron’s head bobbed and he startled himself awake, blinking at a fuzzy television screen. He’d fallen asleep? In his lap was his phone, still silent. He’d prayed all night that Mick would call.

  He pulled an afghan that Jenny had brought over a few weeks ago around his shoulder and gazed out at the pitch-black night. His emotions had finally settled into a somewhat comforting numbness.

  He still couldn’t believe it.

  His brother had run.

  Knock, knock.

  Aaron jumped to his feet, bolting for the door. Without even looking through the peephole, he swung the door open.

  “Hi,” Jenny said softly, her eyes swollen.

  “Jenny,” Aaron said, unable to hide his surprise. “Come in.” He ushered her inside, his arm around her shoulders. “I thought you might be Mick.”

  “No word?”

  Aaron shook his head. “What are you doing here? You should be asleep.”

  Jenny
set a box of donuts on the table. “I can’t sleep.” She glanced toward the front window where the curtains were drawn. “You know they got a car out there?”

  He nodded, going back to the living room and sitting on the couch. His eyes stung from fatigue.

  “Are you okay?” She joined him on the couch, touching his arm and folding her fingers into his.

  “I don’t know what’s more insulting: Mick taking off on me, using me like he did; or my department not trusting me enough that they send a car out here to watch the house. Of course I’d turn Mick in if he showed up.”

  Jenny studied him. “Are you sure?”

  Aaron’s gaze darted to hers. “Of course I’m sure.”

  Jenny sighed. “Look, Aaron . . .”

  Aaron watched her struggle for words. “What?”

  “He’s innocent.”

  Aaron looked away.

  “He’s innocent,” she repeated.

  Aaron could say nothing.

  “Don’t you believe that?” Jenny asked.

  “I thought I did,” Aaron said angrily, fleeing her embrace and walking to the fireplace, leaning on the mantel and looking into its black, ash-covered hole.

  “I’m not saying it’s right,” Jenny said, sitting cross-legged on the couch, the way she did when she was up for a long, friendly debate. “But your brother has never been conventional, and he’s always balked at authority, ever since he was young, as you tell it.”

  Aaron smiled as a memory floated through his mind of Mick sticking his tongue out at a police officer while the two boys walked by. As he recalled, the police officer followed them, grabbed Aaron, and lectured him, even though it was Mick who’d done it. “Control your kid brother,” the officer had huffed.

  Aaron had tried his whole life, but it had backfired at every turn.

  “But what a stupid thing to do!” Aaron said. “Now he’s a fugitive. They’re going to hunt him down like an animal. He had a chance to prove his innocence and now it’s gone.”

  “I think Mick is a pretty smart guy, Aaron. And I think he sensed there would be some injustices done.”

  Aaron crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall next to the fireplace. “You know, he’s the only one I’ve heard show any concern for that lady. Everybody else is treating this like a crime that needs to be solved. Mick still thinks there’s a woman out there to save.”