Blind River: A Thriller

by Ben Follows

  Trevor shrugged. “Again, your guess is as good as mine.” Someone honked outside in the driveway. “I’ve got to go.”

  Trevor walked to the front door with Frankie following. Gordon was back in his chair in the living room, a tray of drinks and snacks beside him. “Is he alright alone?” said Frankie.

  Trevor said, “He'll be fine. A nurse will be here in an hour or so. He’ll be fine until then.”

  Frankie followed Trevor out the door, but felt uneasy about leaving the former chief alone. Frankie looked back at the house one more time as she climbed into the driver’s seat of their car. Curtis was already sitting in the passenger seat.

  They pulled out of the driveway behind Monica and Trevor’s car.

  “Did you learn anything?” said Frankie.

  “What?” Curtis looked back at her.

  “About Marino. Did your dad know about it?”

  “No, he doesn’t know anything," said Curtis. "I don’t think Condra ever told him. We don’t have to worry about him. Not in that way, anyway."

  They pulled into the driveway of a two-story house behind Monica's car.

  Monica walked to the front door and unlocked it.

  Frankie and Curtis grabbed their luggage from the trunk of Monica’s car and walked inside.

  The inside of the house was decorated sparsely, as though Monica had never bothered to unpack. The only noticeable difference from a regular house was the bullet hole above the basement door.

  “What happened there?” said Curtis, indicating the hole.

  “Nothing important,” said Monica dismissively. “There’s an extra bedroom upstairs. Then there’s the couch. It’s not a pull-out, sorry.”

  “I’ll take the couch,” said Curtis. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Frankie knew Curtis was trying to be a gentleman, and she hated that, but she wasn’t about to turn down a bed. She turned to Monica. “Is there anywhere I can get a work out in the morning?”

  Monica thought for a moment. “There’s a gym downtown. I can give you directions.”

  “Thanks,” said Frankie.

  Curtis fell onto the couch. “We should meet at nine tomorrow morning and bring everyone up to speed. We’ll probably spend most of tomorrow interviewing the families and speaking at the school.”

  Frankie nodded. “I’m going to get some sleep. I want to work out the morning.”

  Frankie said her good nights and walked upstairs.

  She listened to the sounds of the house and the town, feeling an unclear dread. She’d lived in cities her entire life, and the silence of this town unnerved her. She could hear the wind blowing through the back yards and a dog barking in the distance. She was waiting for noise that would never come.

  How anyone could live in a town this small, she would never understand.

  14

  Curtis blinked and stretched his back. It was still dark outside, the only lights coming from the houses across the street. He grabbed his phone from the coffee table and checked the time. Five AM.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He tried to reposition himself on the couch, wishing he had taken the bed, knowing Frankie wouldn’t have argued with him. His back was stiff and the couch below his knees.

  After half an hour of staring at the ceiling trying to fall asleep, he chalked it up to a lost cause and sat up. The silence of the town soothed him, reminded him of loud and disruptive the city had seemed to him when he had first moved to New York to join the police force there. He'd worked as a New York Cop for seven years before joining the FBI.

  When he was certain he heard nothing in the house except his own breathing, he made a phone call to a number he had looked up on the flight. He set up a meeting at Seven-Thirty AM.

  He grabbed the car keys of their borrowed car and left a note for Frankie. She would be angry, but she wouldn’t call Johnson over this.

  He needed to do this. He hadn’t wanted to come to Blind River, but now that he was here he may as well make the most of it.

  He pulled out of the driveway, occasionally looking back at the house. No one stirred.

  He pulled out of the driveway, looking back at the house once more as the car clunked onto the road, then turned east. He drove through Blind River, and in that morning tranquility he saw the town in which he had grown up. The air felt the same as he remembered, the sun rose in the same spot, and the emptiness of the downtown was peaceful in a way that big city folk would never understand. He drove out of the downtown and back toward the airfield.

  He turned toward the Blind River Maximum Security Penitentiary.

  His FBI identification got him through security with no issues.

  “Go inside, sir,” said the last guard, buzzing him in. “Take a seat at one of the tables and the prisoner will be with you shortly.”

  “Thanks,” said Curtis. “I believe the warden wanted to speak with me.”

  “He’ll be here in about half an hour. He told us to let you speak to the prisoner first.”

  Curtis nodded and stepped inside. He took a seat on the close side of the table.

  A few minutes later, the door on the other side opened and a guard led Sam Marino into the interview room.

  Marino’s eyes widened when he saw Curtis. The guard was also familiar to Curtis, a young man named Harry Ochre he had attended high school with. He nodded to Harry in acknowledgement.

  “So, Curtis Mackley,” said Marino, taking his seat as Harry attached his cuffs to the table. “I didn’t expect to ever see you again. What brings you here?”

  Curtis looked at Marino for a few moments while Harry retreated to the door. He would watch through the window in case there were any issues, but their conversation, per the agreement Curtis had made with the warden, would be private.

  Marino had let himself go while in prison, and the years hadn't been kind to him. While once he had been fit and strong, able to fight his own battles, and with a full head of luscious black hair, he was now fat, his jowls jutting out from his orange prison shirt, and his scalp showing through where he had combed his grey hair over.

  “I’m with the FBI,” said Curtis, speaking in a professional manner. “FBI Special Agent Curtis Mackley. I’m here investigating some disappearances.”

  “Huh,” said Marino, squinting at the identification Curtis held up. “Isn’t that interesting? Who disappeared?”

  Curtis stared at Marino. He had never been one to hide his emotions, but he seemed calm now. Curtis had prepared himself for death threats or worse, but Marino didn’t even seem annoyed.

  Marino tilted his head to one side.

  “Four high school girls from Blind River,” said Curtis. “All taken in the middle of the night, no trace of them except a butterfly hairclip. Have you heard anything about that?”

  “I think I’ve heard something about that.” Marino leaned forward. “Why come to me, Curtis? I’ve been locked up almost twenty years.”

  “We both know you still have connections and resources. The FBI has been keeping tabs on your movements. We know you’re still operating.”

  Marino hesitated for a moment, then broke into a deep laugh. “You almost had me for a moment there, Curtis.”

  “Are you sure? There’s a large quantity of cocaine moving around the northeast that bears your signature.”

  “No, there isn’t,” said Marino. “I would know about it.”

  Curtis shrugged. “Our information seems to indicate otherwise. Come on, Sam, you always referred to yourself as a businessman. Think of this as one businessman to another. What reason do you have not to trust me?”

  “You're a fucking FBI agent,” said Marino. “Bunch of selfish pricks is what you are. I know exactly what this is. You’re trying to trick me to get information about those girls. You really think I’m that stupid?”

  “Only if you don’t believe me.”

  Marino paused for a moment. “You were always a prick, Curtis. Figures you’d end up working for the kingdom of pricks. Tell me about the g
irls.”

  Curtis did, telling him everything except their names, including where they'd disappeared.

  When he finished, Marino grinned broadly and started laughing. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. Looks like the FBI made a mistake in picking you."

  Curtis leaned in. “What are you talking about?”

  Marino leaned back with that same smug smile Curtis had always associated with him. “Bring me the information on the cocaine. Maybe I’ll tell you who’s kidnapping and murdering those girls. I’d like to go back to my cell now.”

  Marino raised a hand to signal Harry, who came back in, unlocked him from the table, and led him out of the room.

  He didn’t look back at Curtis, who was left alone in the interview room.

  Curtis left with more questions than he'd come with. He let out a grunt before walking out of the interview room.

  A guard was there, waiting to take him to the warden’s office. He introduced himself as Nate Williams, and Curtis shook his hand. This was the man Monica had been married to. He seemed normal, if a bit boring. Nate made no mention of this connection, and neither did Curtis.

  Nate took him to a bank of elevators, which he activated using a special key card and a code. They rode the elevator up three floors and exited into a red carpeted hallway lined by portraits of past wardens.

  Nate knocked on the door at the end of the hall while Curtis waited. A deep voice from inside told them to enter.

  The door opened, and Curtis stepped into an immaculate office with one wall of windows looking out over the entire prison. The door closed behind him.

  He introduced himself and took his seat across from the warden.

  Warden Thompson defied the typical look of prison wardens. He was tall, muscular, and handsome.

  “Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you,” said Warden Thompson. “I’m sure you understand I wasn’t expecting a call from the FBI this morning. I assume you’re investigating the disappearances of those girls.”

  “Yes,” said Curtis. “Do you live in Blind River?”

  “I have a house there. I have a place in Albany as well, where I stay on my days off. It’s a tragedy what happened to those girls, but I have to ask what the connection is to Marino. He’s been in prison for almost twenty years. He isn’t eligible for parole for another ten.”

  “I don’t know,” said Curtis. “He must still have connections. And there are still questions he never answered which I wanted to ask.”

  “I haven’t heard anything," said Thompson, "but I don’t spend a lot of time with the prisoners. You'd be better off asking the guards who work with the general population.”

  Curtis looked over the prison yard. The sun was rising above the walls of the prison. Frankie would be waking up and finding his note.

  “What do you think about Marino?” he said.

  “He’s smart," said Thompson. "He knows who he can control and who he can’t. He can get most of what he wants, but he’s still in prison, and he knows that. There are guys here who don’t give two shits about hierarchy or power. They’ll have their way with him if he steps on the wrong toes.”

  “Nothing suspicious, though? No indications at an escape attempt?”

  “No.” Thompson frowned. “Do you think he’s going to try?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  Thompson nodded. “We’ll check out his cell. An FBI agent's hunch is worth something.”

  “Thank you for your time.” Curtis stood, checking his watch. “I need to get back. If I need to, I’ll be back to interview some of the guards. Let the guards who are closest to Marino know.”

  Thompson stood and shook his hand again. “I won’t be able to take them away from their duties for too long. We’re understaffed as it is.”

  “Can’t you hire more guards?”

  “It doesn’t work like that," said Thompson. "We can train them, but it’s impossible to tell who'll be able to handle the job. Most of the guards who quit do so in the first week, then we need to start the entire process over.”

  “I won’t take long if I speak to them.”

  "Thank you."

  Curtis walked out of the office, back down the hall to the elevator with Nate and out to his car.

  It was only once he was back on the highway, looking at the prison in his rearview mirror, that he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he'd been holding.

  15

  Frankie stretched her legs, then her arms. She jogged in spot for a few seconds and made sure her iPhone was hooked up to her headphones. The sun was just starting to rise over the trees, the perfect time to go for a run. Some FBI agents wore their guns while they worked out, they felt naked without it, but Frankie didn’t like the way it bounced against her hip when she ran. Instead, she wore a knife on her thigh.

  She walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  She tried to move quietly so as not to wake Curtis, but the couch where he had slept was empty. She picked up the note on top of the folded sheets, scanned it, then crumpled it up.

  She would talk to him later.

  She left the house and took off at a jog, Kanye West playing in her ears.

  She got to the gym in less than half an hour, the sun shining on her back as she arrived. She bought a day pass from the front desk, drank a Gatorade, and walked inside. There was a stack of free newspapers sitting on a rack. The Blind River Observer sat on the top shelf of the rack. Frankie felt her stomach contorting into a knot as she read the headline.

  “FBI agents called in to help find runaway girls,” read the headline. The author was Natasha Nolowinski.

  Frankie grabbed a paper and unfolded it, revealing a picture of Curtis and she emerging from the Hagertys home with Officer Hagerty and Officer Oberman. As she read the article, Frankie could feel her blood boiling. It read:

  “Chief Tucker and the Blind River Police Department have never been known for their skill in solving cases, but their incompetence reached a new level on Wednesday, as they called in the Federal Bureau of Investigation to solve a solved case. The case of the missing girls has been universally agreed to be the coincidental running away of teenage girls from overprotective and controlling parents. There are no crimes involved, and it is a waste of taxpayer dollars for the police, let alone the FBI, to try to find them. Ashley Hagerty, Miranda O’Connell, Darcy Oberman, and Harriet Matheson “disappeared” over the last several weeks. The disappearances were all drastically different, and the girls didn’t associate with one another outside of classes.

  “Making matters worse is the potential ulterior motive of FBI Agent Curtis Mackley, the son of former chief Gordon Mackley and sister of police detective Monica Mackley, the lead detective on the disappearances. Curtis Mackley is reputed to be obsessed with connecting the case with Sam Marino, a former crime boss serving a fifty-year sentence in Blind River Penitentiary.

  “The best course of action for the police and the FBI is to stop investigating this case, stop listening to the hysterical parents of missing girls, and pretend it never happened. If they don’t, when the girls reappear, this will look bad on everyone involved, including (Continued on page 4)”

  Frankie scrunched up the newspaper in her hands. She remembered Natasha from the previous day, and locked the image in her memory. She tossed the newspaper into the garbage can and did her workout, trying to channel her anger.

  When she was finished, she wiped off her brow, grabbed another copy of the newspaper to show to Curtis and the detectives, and walked the few miles back to the house, the sun shining in her eyes.

  When she arrived, the car she and Curtis had been given was in the driveway.

  Inside, Curtis was sitting at the counter eating toast.

  “Trevor and Monica will meet us at the station,” he said.

  Frankie glared at him. “I’m having a shower, and then you're going to do two things. One, you are going to tell me everything that happened with Marino.”

  He nodded. “And second?”<
br />
  “Explain this.” She threw the Blind River Observer onto the counter in front of him. She walked past him, only glancing back to see Curtis frown as he began to read.

  When she returned from the shower wearing a fresh suit and toweling off her short hair, Curtis was pacing back and forth across the living room, leaving footprints in the carpet, cursing Natasha Nolowinski.

  “Is any of it true?” said Frankie.

  “No,” said Curtis. “Well, she doesn’t know the parts that are true. It’s educated guesses.”

  “What parts are true?”

  Curtis hesitated, stopping his pacing and standing in place.

  “One phone call to Johnson,” said Frankie.

  Curtis nodded. He told her about Bobby Randall’s information and his meeting with Marino.

  “Marino’s probably bluffing me just like I bluffed him,” said Curtis when he finished, “but we can’t take that risk. He ruled this town for almost a decade. He’s bound to still have connections. He knows something.”

  Frankie nodded. “I’ll call Johnson and get some verifiable information about the drug trade in the northeast. You can trade it with Marino for information. Until then, we need to focus on the ongoing investigation, and assume for the time being that Marino knows nothing.”

  “I need to speak with Bobby Randall again," said Curtis. "I should do that alone.”

  “Keep me informed on this," said Frankie. "I mean, it, Curtis.”

  Curtis nodded.

  16

  They arrived at the station at eight-thirty. Natasha was standing outside the door, her camera and notepad ready.

  “What do you have to say about the allegations made in the Blind River Observer?” said Natasha as she walked up to them.

  “You mean the article you wrote?" said Frankie without breaking stride. "We'll be taking legal action for defamation and a breach of journalistic ethics."

  “What would that be?” said Natasha.

  Frankie stopped at the door to the station. Curtis stood behind her.