Blind River: A Thriller

by Ben Follows

“All the allegations made in the paper are wrong," said Frankie. "Every piece of evidence we have indicates that the girls were kidnapped, and your newspaper is intentionally lying to sell copies.”

  They stepped inside and slammed the door, shutting out Natasha’s shouted questions.

  “She has no shame," said Curtis, "does she?”

  “Doesn’t seem like it,” said Frankie. “They’re waiting for us.”

  They walked through the station to the war room.

  Trevor and Monica looked up from their conversation when the two of them entered. Chief Tucker followed and took up his seat at the back of the room. It almost seemed like Tucker was intentionally taking a background role to let Monica and Trevor run the show.

  “So,” said Trevor, “what are your initial impressions?”

  Curtis looked at the white board. “Despite what the newspaper said this morning, we believe that the kidnappings are connected. The M.O. is too similar, and the chances of all four girls disappearing in such a short time is essentially zero.”

  Trevor nodded. “Ignore Nolowinski. We all do. She thinks she deserves to be a big city reporter and doesn’t understand it takes a certain amount of honesty and integrity to get there. She has her followers, but no one takes them seriously.”

  Curtis continued. “We believe the person committing these crimes is a local. He's doing it not because he wants to but because he's addicted to the feeling of it. Eventually, he'll try again. That's the best chance we have to catch him. He's probably done it before, but not here. The FBI will be looking through similar unsolved cases in New York and surrounding states. Frankie and I will be finishing our interviews with the families today. Have you made arrangements for us to speak at the school?”

  Trevor nodded. “This afternoon. The friends of the victims will be available to speak with you one on one afterwards.”

  “Thanks," said Curtis. "We’ll need Officer Hagerty and Officer Oberman to come with us again. Try narrowing down the list of suspects. The FBI will be sending lists of similar unsolved crimes within five hundred miles. We need the list as short as possible. Any questions?”

  Monica said, “What's happening with Marino? Nolowinski must be basing that line in the paper off something, right?”

  Curtis shrugged. “I spoke to him at the prison this morning. He claims to know who the killer is, but I think he's bluffing. The FBI is setting up some information to trade with him. Frankie and I are going to head out. Let us know if we're needed for any reason.”

  Monica nodded. She leaned back and crossed her arms.

  They left Monica and Trevor at the station, ignored Natasha’s onslaught of questions as they walked to their car, and drove away. Curtis leaned back and watched Natasha as they pulled away, thankful she didn’t follow. They met up with Joe and Matt and proceeded to the next house.

  17

  They arrived at the O’Connell house around ten. It was a one-story house with a perfect lawn and plants that were cut in a way that resembled modern art.

  The door was answered by a man who looked like he had dressed up for the occasion. He wore a white dress shirt, his pants perfectly hemmed, and his hair was cut to perfection. He wore a somber expression as they made their introductions. He was Gareth O'Connell, Miranda's father.

  The inside of the house was equally perfect. Frankie felt guilty for the small amount of mud that came off her shoes as she stepped on the welcome mat. She saw Gareth glance at it, but he made no comment. They removed their shoes and walked inside.

  In the living room, a tray filled with snacks and coffee was waiting for them. There were pictures along the wall of their family. A mother, a father, a daughter. It looked like a normal family, but not quite, as thought it was a family of mannequins instead of humans.

  A woman, who introduced herself as Reba O’Connell, shook their hands as they entered. She wore a blue pantsuit and stood with the same poise and confidence her husband exuded. They sat beside one another on the couch.

  Frankie couldn’t help but think they looked like clones of one another. They sat with their knees together and their hands folded in their laps.

  The two officers stood in the doorway, not wanting to remove their shoes in case they had to leave urgently, but also not wanting to plod any dirt onto the flawless, almost mirror-like floors.

  “Thank you for meeting with us,” said Curtis as they took their seats. “I’m sure this is difficult for you.”

  “We’re just thankful that the FBI is doing everything they can to help,” said Reba. There was a politician’s cadence to her words. “Anything we can do to help find Miranda, we are more than willing to do.”

  “What can you tell us about the last day you saw her?” said Curtis. “Anything can be helpful. Details are where these cases always come together.”

  “Let’s see,” said Reba, speaking like she was the applicant in a job interview instead of a mother speaking about her missing daughter. “I dropped her off for piano lessons on the night she disappeared. We’d heard about the kidnappings, but hadn’t thought much of it. The other two girls were so different from Miranda. We couldn’t fathom that anyone would want to attack her. She’s wanted to quit piano for about a year now, but we aren’t a family of quitters. If she wants to get into an Ivy school, then she’s going to need some extra-curricular's.” Reba trailed off and looked blankly at the empty air above the coffee table. For the first time, she looked like a terrified mother.

  Her husband took over. “She normally gets a ride home from her piano teacher’s house," said Gareth. "but that night she decided to walk. Her teacher said she was adamant about it. When she didn’t come home, we thought she was just throwing a fit. She was still trying to quit the lessons and destroy her future. When she wasn’t home by ten, we got worried. That’s her curfew on nights when she has lessons. It’s nine otherwise, no exceptions. We’re not the kind of parents who let their kids run around doing whatever they want. They’re too young and too immature. They make bad decisions and could destroy their lives. She’ll thank us in the future.”

  Curtis cleared his throat. “You were talking about when she wasn’t home by curfew.”

  “Right,” said Gareth, looking at the ground. “When she didn’t come home, we got worried. We called the police and they came immediately.” He let out a cry, his façade of a calm, collected, unbothered man coming undone. “I’m sorry. I just want to know what happened. Do either of you have children?”

  Curtis and Frankie shook their heads.

  “No,” said Curtis. “That’s why we brought the two officers here. They're both family members of the missing girls.”

  Gareth’s eyes looked at the two men in the hallway.

  Reba seemed comatose, staring straight ahead.

  “Don’t worry about the floors,” said Gareth, defeated. “Come in. I want to talk to someone who understands.”

  Joe and Matt walked into the living room, trailing dirt along the clean floors. They sat in the remaining chairs.

  “Have you been able to sleep?” said Gareth.

  Both officers shook their heads.

  Gareth wiped his tears with his sleeve. “I just want to be awake in case she calls or if she needs my help. I can’t keep going like this.”

  Matt stood and walked over to him. He pulled the man into an embrace. Gareth hugged him back, and the embrace lasted for a few moments. Gareth was now weeping openly.

  When Matt released him, Gareth made an obvious excuse about needing to get back to work. Reba O’Connell said nothing. Gareth put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. She nodded, her lips pressed tight together.

  Curtis and Frankie thanked them.

  Gareth and Reba managed to regain some of their composure as they stood in the doorway, thanking them and saying goodbye. They promised they would do everything they possibly could to help the police and the FBI find the missing girls. They looked professional, more like a team of lawyers than parents of a missing child, but the vacan
t stares showed their pain.

  They all climbed back into the car.

  Frankie thanked the two officers, both of whom muttered responses while they stared out the back windows.

  They turned onto the road and headed toward the last house.

  18

  “You didn’t mention the hairclip?” said Joe from the back seat of the car.

  “Things like can break a family,” said Frankie. “We want them to talk. Sometimes details make it too real. If the hairclip becomes a key part of the investigation, we’ll go back and ask them.”

  “It’s the only physical evidence?” said Joe.

  “That we have right now.”

  “Then why not ask them about it?”

  “We need them to remember this interview as a positive event that contributed to finding their daughter.”

  Oberman looked out the window as they turned toward the last house. “That’s why you brought us?”

  “Yes,” said Frankie.

  “We’re here,” said Curtis, pointing to a house on the right. The Matheson’s house was the polar opposite of the O’Connell’s.

  The house was a blue single-story house with peeling paint and overgrown grass. A rusting tricycle sat in the middle of the lawn, matching the paint job of the pickup truck in the driveway.

  They knocked twice. A twenty-something woman answered the door. She had dark eyeliner and greasy hair. A cigarette hung from between her nicotine-stained fingers. She looked them up and down, took a drag on the cigarette, let the smoke float into the air between them, and said, “You the federal people looking for Harriet?”

  “Yes,” said Curtis. “And you are?”

  “I'm Kendra, Harriet’s sister.”

  Curtis nodded and introduced the others one at a time. Kendra’s dark eyes flitted between them as they were introduced. Frankie got a sense of an unrealized intelligence lurking just beneath the surface.

  “Can we come in?” said Curtis.

  “Why not?” Kendra shrugged and turned. They followed her into the house, trailing dirt along the dust-covered floors.

  “Dad!” Kendra shouted upstairs. “The law’s here about Harriet.”

  “One minute!” came the shout from the second floor. “I’m on the shitter!”

  Kendra nodded toward the kitchen. “Sit in there. Any of you want a beer?”

  “It’s eleven in the morning,” said Curtis.

  "Is that a no?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Kendra’s index finger pointed at each of them in turn, and when they had all declined the offer, she walked to the fridge.

  The four of them took their seats around the table and waited.

  Kendra closed the fridge. She had two beers in each hand. She placed all four on the table. She opened one and took a sip before placing it back down. She leaning forward on her elbows, a fresh cigarette hanging between her fingers.

  “So,” she said, “are you going to find Harriet?”

  Curtis leaned in. “We’re doing everything in our power to find your sister. Agent Lassiter and I are highly skilled and have the training to deal with situations like this. We'll find everything there is to find.”

  “You mean you’ll find her body?” Kendra raised an eyebrow.

  Curtis paused for a moment, then said, “If it isn’t possible to bring her home alive, then yes.”

  “Made any progress?”

  “If you tell us everything about your sister, and any suspicions you might have, we can find her.”

  “How is Sam Marino involved?” said Kendra.

  Curtis flinched. “Where’d you get that from?”

  “The paper this morning. It’s cool that you know the town, even if your father is fucking useless.”

  Joe reached out a hand and put it on Curtis’s shoulder. Curtis glanced at it and unclenched his fists.

  “You know,” said Kendra, “Natasha’s a good friend of mine. I trust what she says.”

  “How can you say that?” said Curtis. “This is your sister we’re talking about.”

  “Harriet thought she was so smart," said Kendra. "Never thanked us for anything. You should quit while you're ahead, just like your sister and that alcoholic partner of hers should have.”

  Frankie said, “Trevor quit drinking.”

  Kendra sipped her beer. “No one stays sober forever.”

  Frankie breathed through her nose.

  Curtis glanced at her.

  A thin man who looked like an accountant appeared at the bottom of the stairs and lumbered into the kitchen. There were heavy bags under his eyes.

  “How you doing?” he said as he stumbled into the room and grabbed the back of Kendra’s chair. “I'm Oscar Matheson. Nice to meet you all.”

  Once they'd made their introductions, Oscar fell into a chair and grabbed one of the beers Kendra had placed on the table between them.

  He popped it open and took a long sip.

  “So,” said Oscar as he put the beer back down and suppressed a burp, “what are you doing to find my daughter?”

  Curtis said, “We're doing everything we can. There's a team at FBI headquarters in Manhattan working around the clock to find them.”

  Oscar nodded slowly. “How can I help?”

  “What can you tell us about the day Harriet disappeared.”

  “She was out with her friends. Kendra called the cops, not me. I thought Harriet was just doing her thing.”

  “What is her thing?” said Frankie.

  “Oh,” said Oscar, “I thought you’d have been told.”

  “What?”

  Oscar shrugged. “Harriet runs away every few months or so on some half-planned life-changing journey. She always comes back. We have understanding that I don’t ask her about it. In return, she doesn’t expect me to support her if she fails out of school.”

  Curtis turned to Kendra. “What made you realize she was missing?”

  Kendra took a drag of her cigarette. “She does run off, but she always answers her phone, and even if she doesn’t she calls back within twenty-four hours. She knows I worry about her. This time, she didn’t.”

  Curtis nodded. “Do you mind if I ask where her mother is?”

  “Texas, last I heard,” said Oscar with a chuckle from the back of his throat. He took another long swig of beer. “She left the kids with me and went off to marry some rich rancher down there. If that isn’t the most Texan thing, I don’t know what is. I haven’t spoken to her in about ten years.”

  “She doesn’t pay child support?” said Curtis.

  Oscar laughed. “You’re joking, right? You know how hard it is for a single father to get child support? The lawyers say I won’t get any sympathy from a jury.”

  “We don’t need her,” said Kendra. “We’re fine.”

  Oscar nodded and looked down at his beer. “We’re fine.”

  He finished the beer and opened another, clasping it with two hands. “When you find her, tell Harriet to come home.”

  “I promise,” said Curtis.

  “Thank you.”

  Kendra stood, indicating the interview was over.

  Curtis, Frankie and the two officers followed her lead.

  Kendra walked with them to the door. Curtis and the officers walked out to the car, but Frankie looked back just as they were about to leave.

  Kendra was leaning against the doorway, as though she had more to say.

  Frankie turned back around. "Is there something else?"

  19

  For the first time, Frankie noticed the bags under Kendra's eyes.

  “You need to find Harriet alive,” said Kendra. “I’ve never seen my dad like this. He never used to drink at all. Since Harriet disappeared, he's lost any will to live. I’m worried he’ll drink himself to death. Find her, please.”

  Frankie put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

  Kendra nodded, then looked away.

  “Is there something else?” said Frankie.

  K
endra looked up at the sky. “I don’t want people to know it was me."

  “I won’t tell anyone it was you.”

  “What if there’s court or something?”

  “If you know something, tell me. Harriet’s life may depend on it.”

  “It might be nothing."

  “Kendra.”

  Kendra met Frankie's gaze. “Talk to Natasha. Not about the article. I don’t know. It might be nothing but I feel like she knows something.”

  Frankie nodded. “I’ll talk to her. Your name won’t come up.”

  “Find Harriet, please," said Kendra. "Whatever you need, just tell me.”

  She gave Frankie a quick hug and skittered inside. Frankie waited on the porch for a moment before walking to the car. Halfway there, her phone rang.

  She raised one finger to Curtis, who nodded, then answered the call.

  “This is Lassiter.”

  “Frankie, it’s Director Johnson. I wanted to check in. How’s the investigation going?”

  “We just finished interviewing all the families.”

  “How’s Curtis?”

  Frankie paused. “In what way, sir?”

  “I saw you'd requested we scrounge up some verifiable evidence to trade with Sam Marino. I don’t know if Curtis has told you about his history with Marino—“

  “He told me," said Frankie, "and if I’m being perfectly candid, Director, I have to ask why you put us on this case.”

  “You're professionals," said Johnson, "and Curtis knows Blind River better than anyone. However, I see your point. If you think Curtis should be pulled out at any time, we'll send someone else. Understood?”

  Frankie looked at Curtis. “He seems fine. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

  “Make sure you do. We’ll be sending over the evidence for Marino soon.”

  Johnson ended the call without saying goodbye, leaving Frankie wondering whether she had just lied to the Director of the FBI.

  20

  Monica and Trevor were waiting in the schools' parking lot when Curtis and Frankie pulled up. Matt and Joe had returned to their duties as patrol officers.