Blind River: A Thriller
Page 1
Blind River
Ben Follows
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Thanks for Reading
Preview of “The Absence of Screams”
Acknowledgments
About the Author
1
“Someone better be dead,” Curtis Mackley whispered as he opened the door.
His partner, FBI Agent Frankie Lassiter, stood a few feet back from the door, dressed as though she’d had hours to prepare. She was tall enough to block Curtis’s view of the streetlights.
“That’s such a dark way to start a conversation,” she said. “I was worried your doorbell didn’t work. I tried calling you, but your phone is off.”
“Yeah, my sister kept calling me. Why are you here, Frankie? We don’t need to be keeping track of that banker until seven.”
Frankie shrugged. “Someone died.”
Curtis perked up. “Someone died? We have a new assignment? Thank God. Where?”
“I don’t know,” said Frankie. “Johnson called and said we needed to be in the FBI offices by six. He said we should plan to be gone for at least a few days.”
Curtis nodded. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
He shut the door. Inside, he brushed his teeth and climbed into the shower. It was only as the water ran over his body that he thought of the promise he'd made to Melanie. He cursed, then pushed it out of his head.
After his shower, he pulled on the only dry-cleaned suit he had and packed the others. He considered letting Melanie sleep, then thought better of it. He walked upstairs and shook her awake, breaking her out of a snore.
“Curtis?” She looked up at him. “What time is it?”
“Just before six," said Curtis. "Frankie is here. We have a case.”
Melanie blinked a few times to clear away the sleep. She leaned over and turned on the light, then sat up against the headboard. She repositioned herself to more comfortably fit her growing stomach. “I thought you had that case in Manhattan. I thought you’d be here.”
“This is a real case. We might be away for a few days. I’ll be back as soon as I can. For you and the baby.”
Melanie looked him in the eyes. “Come here.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
Curtis stepped closer. Melanie took his hand and moved it so it was resting on her stomach. “This is your child,” she said, holding his hand there. “Promise me you’ll come back.”
“This is different," said Curtis. "I never loved Amber like I loved you.”
“Promise me," said Melanie.
Curtis tried to remove his hand from Melanie’s stomach, but her grip held firm. She looked at him with a doubt that hurt his soul, but he knew it was justified. He thought of Amber, of the same moments with her. That child would be eight now. He didn’t want to think of that.
“Curtis,” said Melanie. “Promise me.”
He nodded, bringing his focus back to the present. “I promise.”
Melanie looked into his eyes for a few moments before letting go of his hand and forcing a smile. “Okay. Tell Frankie I said hi.”
She turned away from Curtis and pulled the blankets over her. “Turn off the light on your way out.”
Curtis did so, looking back at Melanie for a moment before leaving the room.
Within less than ten minutes he was outside, a travel mug of coffee held tight in his hand and his suitcase trailing him. He locked the door and checked it several times. He glanced around the house to make sure there were no open windows nor easy access points.
“It’s safe,” said Frankie. “We’ll be late if you keep locking stuff up.”
Curtis nodded, tried the door once more, and followed Frankie to the car. He threw his luggage into the trunk and sat in the passenger seat.
At FBI headquarters, Frankie and Curtis flashed their identifications to the gate agent and were waved inside. On the tenth floor, they walked through the bullpen of overworked FBI agents to Director Johnson’s office.
They knocked on the door and heard, “Come in.”
Director Johnson, a broad shouldered black man with just enough white hair to make him look experienced without being out of touch, was sitting behind his desk. Drawn blinds partially blocked the view of the Hudson River.
“Thanks for coming so early,” said Johnson. “Take a seat.”
“Someone better be dead,” said Curtis as he took his seat.
Johnson let out a single laugh.
“Don’t encourage him,” said Frankie, taking her seat. “What have you got?”
“Well,” said Johnson. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Curtis, but we don’t have a murder. At least, not for sure.”
“What have you got?” said Frankie.
“Four young girls between the ages of seventeen and nineteen have disappeared from the same town. We need you to go out there and help the local police investigate.”
“Good enough,” said Curtis. “Where are we going?”
“I’m surprised you don’t already know, Curtis," said Johnson. "I would have thought you’d heard about this.”
Curtis shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“You’re going to Blind River. Your hometown.”
“You’re kidding me.” Curtis looked back and forth between Frankie and Johnson, but neither gave any ground. “Are you fucking kidding me? Can we go back to monitoring the banker, please?”
“No, you can’t,” said Johnson. “We’ll give the banker job to some of the incompetents who just graduated the academy. This is your assignment. Deal with it. I’m shocked you hadn’t heard about it. The request came from a police detective in Blind River named Monica Mackley. A relation of yours?”
Curtis tensed up. “That’s my sister. She’s been calling me a lot the last week. I haven’t spoken to her in five years. I didn’t know it was anything like that.”
His hands clenched the thin metal arms of the chair. Frankie watched him, then turned to Johnson.
“Sir,” said Frankie, “isn�
�t this a conflict of interest? Curtis could be directly involved with suspects in the case.”
Johnson nodded. “Curtis is a professional. I have faith in him. Detective Mackley didn’t mention Curtis by name, but if she’s calling him, that’s probably who she was hoping for. We don’t have any other agents with your skill sets who aren’t on assignment. Besides, this is a small-town thing." Johnson checked his watch. "Your plane is scheduled to leave in about an hour. You should get going.”
Frankie stood. After a moment Curtis did the same. They took the case files from Johnson and walked out of the office. Curtis paused in the door, trying to come up with a valid reason for dropping the case. He came up with nothing, and walked after Frankie.
As the elevator descended, Curtis said, “This sucks.”
Frankie looked at him. “What's so bad about Blind River? Why are you so nervous about going back there?”
Curtis didn’t answer as the elevator arrived at the ground floor.
On the street, he asked Frankie for to wait for him, then walked over to a mailbox. He took an unsealed envelope from his pocket. Inside was a wad of bills. He checked there was the right amount and that the address on the front was correct.
Once he was sure, he sealed the envelope and slipped it into the mailbox. He turned and walked away, wondering whether the intended recipient was getting the money.
He didn’t even know if Amber still lived at that address.
2
The plane took off from the tarmac of the private airfield toward the rising sun. Curtis and Frankie were the only passengers on the hour-long flight to Blind River. Curtis had been concerned the plane would be too large to land on the Blind River air strip, but had been assured it was no issue. Frankie had looked at him like he was making excuses.
From the plane phone, paid for by the FBI, Curtis called Melanie.
“Hello?” she answered. There were sounds of commotion. Melanie was probably getting dressed to go to work. She still had two weeks at the advertising firm before her pregnancy leave began.
“Hey,” said Curtis.
“Why are you calling?” said Melanie.
“Maybe I just wanted to call and talk.”
“Curtis. You never call me just to talk. That’s my job.”
Curtis looked out the window at the passing clouds. “The case is in Blind River.”
Melanie was silent for a long moment. She was the only person who knew everything that had happened there. “Will it be alright?”
“I don’t know. If Marino isn’t involved in the case it shouldn’t matter.”
Frankie looked up from the case files she was reading, but said nothing.
“There’s no shame in quitting the case," said Melanie. "I’m sure Johnson would understand.”
“No,” said Curtis, realizing he had never actually intended to drop the case. “I think it'll be good for me.”
“Your family will be there.”
Curtis sighed. “Monica is the one who was calling me.”
“When was the last time you spoke to them?”
Curtis looked down at the wedding ring on his finger. “Before I met you.”
“So they don’t know?”
“No," he said, thinking of the ultrasound and the small heartbeat. "They don’t.”
“Are you going to tell them?”
“I don’t know.”
Melanie sighed. “It would be nice if you did.”
“Melanie.”
“I know. Just think about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
Melanie sighed. “Call me if you need anything. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call ended, and Curtis lowered the phone.
Frankie, not looking away from the case file, said, “Going to call your sister?”
Curtis looked at the phone in his hand. “I’ll see her when we get to Blind River.”
“Call ahead," said Frankie. "Let her know you're coming so it isn’t such a huge shock when you meet face to face.”
Curtis looked at the phone for a few moments before dialing the number.
“Detective Mackley,” came the clipped answer. It made Curtis pause, his memories running wild of his younger sister, the person he had once sworn to protect at all costs and had then completely ignored.
“Hello?” said Monica. “Anyone there?”
“Hey, Monica,” said Curtis.
There was a pause. “Curtis?”
“Yeah.”
“Finally replying to my call?" said Monica. "It only took me calling the Federal Bureau of Investigation to get you to talk to your own sister?”
“I didn’t know about the kidnappings. I would have answered if I had known.“
“You would have answered if you had thought I wasn’t just calling as a sister?”
“Do you want my help or not?” said Curtis.
“I really don’t, honestly," said Monica. "I can solve this myself. I don’t need your help, but the chief disagrees.”
“Monica, I didn’t—“
“Dad wants to see you.”
Curtis didn’t reply for a moment, the sudden change in topic throwing him off. “How is he?” he said.
Frankie squirmed in her seat.
“Not good,” said Monica. “He misses you. He talks about you all the time.”
“Tell him I’ll see him when I get there.”
“He wants you at dinner tonight.”
“I might have to work on the case," said Curtis, "the first forty-eight hours—“
“They’ve been missing for weeks, Curtis. The first forty-eight hours don’t matter for shit anymore. Maybe if you had answered my calls, but not anymore.”
“Look, Monica,” said Curtis, his voice rising as he spoke, “I didn’t know about the case and I wouldn’t even be talking to you if I didn’t, so give it a rest, okay?”
“Come to dinner, Curtis,” said Monica. “He’s your father. You owe him that much. It shouldn’t take a bunch of girls getting kidnapped and possibly, probably, killed to get you to visit occasionally. I’ll see you when you get here.”
The line went dead. Curtis stared at the phone for a moment. Frankie crossed and uncrossed her legs a few times in his peripherals.
Curtis put the phone back into its cradle and walked through the plane to the small bathroom, where he splashed his face.
He took a few deep breaths, splashed his face a second time, checked himself in the mirror, and returned to his seat across from Frankie. He grabbed one of the case files and read through it as the plane began its descent toward Blind River.
3
Curtis was sure that the airstrip was too short to land on, but the pilot managed to land with distance to spare and come to a gentle stop.
They thanked the pilot and exited the plane, Frankie ducking through the door. The small airfield was mostly used by crop dusters and helicopters. The runway was cracked and uneven, and the hangars which dotted the airstrip were rusted and in disrepair.
Standing on the tarmac were two men and one woman. It took Curtis a few seconds to recognize the brunette woman wearing a black suit jacket and sunglasses was his sister. She stood with a poise and confidence he hadn’t seen before. She was about eight inches shorter than Frankie, but emanated the same kind of authority.
The men looked like cardboard cutouts of the many police detectives and police chiefs Curtis had met. The man he assumed was Monica’s partner was average height, but built like a stick. The other man had grey hair and his gut hung out over his belt. Curtis didn’t recognize either of the men, although he had barely recognized his own sister.
Curtis looked back at the plane before walking toward the welcome party.
Monica stepped forward.
“Thanks for coming,” she said to Curtis, holding out a hand.
Curtis shook his sister's hand, feeling an odd distance.
“Good to see you again, Monica," he said.
“Good to see you, to
o, Curtis.”
Frankie stepped in and held out a hand. “Special Agent Frankie Lassiter, nice to meet you.”
“Detective Monica Mackley," said Monica, "This is my partner, Detective Trevor Marshall." She indicated the detective. “And this is Chief Frank Tucker.” She indicated the other man. “Tucker was transferred in from another town a few years back, so Curtis won’t remember him, but Trevor was in high school with us.”
“Of course I remember Trevor,” said Curtis. He shook Trevor’s hand, not remembering him at all.
The others made their introductions.
“Let’s get going,” said Trevor. The chief stood a few steps behind him. “I’m sure you’ll want to get up and running as soon as possible.”
Curtis put his hands into his pockets. “How are we getting to the station?”
Trevor looked to the chief, who said, “You two will be riding with the detectives. My car doesn’t have enough room unless you want to sit behind the grate. We’ll get you set up with a car as soon as possible.”
They walked out of the airfield and loaded their luggage into the trunk of Monica and Trevor's car. The detectives climbed up front while Curtis and Frankie climbed into the back. As they left the airfield, the plane took off behind them.
“So, Curtis,” said Trevor from the passenger seat, “you don’t remember me at all?”