Blind River: A Thriller

by Ben Follows

  Monica was leaning against their car with her hands in her pockets.

  Trevor stood a few feet away, speaking with an elderly woman with dyed blonde hair and a somber expression. Their conversation tapered off when Curtis and Frankie approached.

  The woman was introduced as Annabeth Templeton, the principal of Blind River High School.

  “I remember you,” said Curtis. “You taught me chemistry back when you were a teacher.”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile. “I’m impressed with what you’ve managed to accomplish, Curtis. I’m sure you'll be a source of inspiration for the students. I only wish you were coming back under better circumstances.”

  “You and I both.” He introduced Frankie to Templeton. “Have you spoken to the friends of the missing girls?”

  “They’ll be waiting for you after your speech.”

  “Are they ready now?” said Curtis.

  “You’ll be speaking in the gym in about fifteen minutes. There are a lot of parents who've come to see the speech as well. I’ll get you set up.”

  Curtis, Frankie, and the detectives followed her toward the school.

  Frankie explained, “We want to make sure everyone is staying safe and isn’t afraid to come forward with information. We need to know every dirty little secret Blind River has. You’d be amazed at the things that can blow a case wide open.”

  “I’m sure the students will do anything they can to help," said Templeton.

  They walked into the gym. A microphone was set up at the front. Hundreds of eyes followed them as they walked through the center of the audience. Frankie scrunched up her shoulders.

  Curtis took the mic and gave the speech they had worked out on the way over.

  The students listened, but fidgeted. Curtis listed what they could do to avoid danger, from always walking in pairs to making sure to avoid unpopulated or empty areas. The forest in particular was to be avoided. He spoke about the need to come to the police with any suspicions. He finished strong, promising that with their help he and Frankie would bring the girls home.

  There was polite scattered applause, started by Principal Templeton. The students and parents seemed uncertain whether it was appropriate to clap.

  Curtis thanked the crowd, and they walked back through the center. Frankie scanned the audience, looking for anything looked out of place. Nothing stood out.

  A man with blond hair and a red collared shirt tight over his muscles approached them. He walked straight for Curtis, who stepped forward and put out a hand.

  “Jeff Parker,” said Curtis. “I’m surprised you’re still in Blind River. I’d have thought you would have left.”

  “I did,” said Jeff, not letting go of Curtis’s hand and holding his gaze. “I came back when I realized there was nothing out there for me. I’m teaching math here, now.”

  Curtis grinned. “I'd expect nothing less.”

  “Good luck finding those girls,” said Jeff, releasing Curtis's hand and turning around, joining the students who were leaving the gym.

  Frankie turned to Curtis.

  “Who was that?” she said.

  “Jeff Parker,” said Curtis under his breath. “A long time ago he was my best friend.”

  “What happened?”

  Curtis looked around. “I found out he'd been working for Marino.”

  Frankie shot a look at Jeff’s receding form. “What do you mean?”

  “He worked for him when he was ten or eleven. He sold drugs. He was a minor, so he got off. That just makes it worse.”

  “Do you think he’s involved with the case?”

  “He might be a problem even if he isn’t," said Curtis. "We need to keep an eye on him.”

  “You think he might be the kidnapper?”

  Curtis considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “Can’t imagine it. He’s too smart, and he would have no motive. We can put him on the list, but he isn’t a kidnapper.”

  Monica and Trevor approached with Templeton, who led them to a classroom.

  The students in the room were divided into four groups, all easily associated with one of the four missing girls. None of them seemed to have any connections to any of the other groups.

  “Thank you all for coming,” said Principal Templeton. The students looked up at the principal, the detectives and two FBI agents. “You’ve all spoken with Detectives Mackley and Marshall, but these FBI agents need some time from you as well.”

  The detectives stayed in the classroom while Curtis and Frankie were brought to an adjacent office. The students were brought in one at a time.

  With each student, Curtis and Frankie went through the statement they had made with Monica and Trevor, looking for inconsistencies or something recently remembered. Most, but not all, of the students had been with their missing friends the day they disappeared, and none had seen anything suspicious.

  A few hours later, just as the clock struck three and Curtis realized he’d eaten nothing but a muffin the entire day, they finished their interviews.

  Frankie leaned back in her chair as the last student left the room with Templeton.

  “Anything?” said Curtis.

  “No,” said Frankie, picking up her notepad. It was covered with useless notes. “I thought I had something a few times, but there’s always one victim who doesn’t fit the theory. Two were mad at their parents, three were drinking the night before, two have after school jobs, two were in relationships, none of them, allegedly, are doing any drugs, and only two use internet chat rooms. They don’t have the same classes, social groups, or after school activities. None of their parents are friends or even acquaintances. I don’t think we’re any closer than we were before.”

  Curtis ran his hands through his hair. “Without another kidnapping, we might never catch this guy. There's too many potential suspects. The butterfly hairclip from Miranda O’Connell doesn’t have any prints on it, not even any signs of a struggle. It’s a useless breadcrumb.”

  Frankie sighed. “We need someone else to get grabbed.”

  “Or the killer turns himself in."

  “I’m trying to be realistic here, Curtis.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Frankie told them to come in.

  Principal Templeton entered with a boy who looked to be among the older grades in the school. Templeton stood with one hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “Zach would like to speak with you.”

  “Great,” said Curtis. “Come on in, Zach. Take a seat.”

  Zach, a lanky boy who looked like a computer programmer, took his seat. He glanced behind him, and waited until Principal Templeton had closed the door before he turned back to the agents.

  “What is it?” said Frankie. “You knew one of the victims?”

  “Yeah,” said Zach. His posture was relaxed, but he looked as though he'd been trying to gather up the bravery to come and speak with them, and now that he was in the home stretch he was beginning to have second thoughts. He took a deep breath and said, “It’s about Ashley.”

  “Ashley Hagerty? What about her?”

  Zach looked up at them through his bangs and shrugged. “Well, we were dating.”

  Curtis and Frankie paused for a moment.

  “You were?” said Curtis. “How did that happen? No offense, but you don’t seem like the type of guy she’d normally be going out with.”

  Zach nodded. “I know. I live down the street from her. We’ve known each other since we were little kids, but it wasn’t until recently we started hanging out again. She didn’t want anyone to know, which I was fine with. That’s her business. I just wanted to spend time with her. When she disappeared, I didn’t know what to do. No one knew what had happened. No one knew we were going out."

  Frankie nodded. “Thank you so much for coming to speak with us. We promise this won’t get out unless you want it to, or if it becomes crucial to find her.”

  “Thanks.” Zach glanced over his
shoulder then back at them.

  Curtis said, “Is there anything that you can think of in the days leading up to Ashley’s disappearance?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’ve thought about it a lot. She had her school and her friends. She spends a lot of time at the gym, maybe people there saw something. I talked to her on the phone, but I didn’t spend any significant time with her over the last few days. I miss her so much.” He trailed off, staring at the floor.

  Frankie took a card from the inside of her jacket and passed it across the table. “If you think of anything,” she said, “let us know.”

  Zach nodded and took the card, looking at it for a moment, then sliding it into his pocket. “I will. Thank you.” He stood and walked to the door, then out into the hallway.

  Templeton leaned in. Frankie told her to send the detectives in.

  A minute later, Monica and Trevor walked into the room and took the two seats across from them. Frankie brought them up to speed, essentially declaring they knew a lot more while not having learned anything useful.

  “What about Zach?” said Trevor. “You think he’s worth investigating?”

  Frankie shrugged. “Open a file on him and see if there’s anything in his past which would indicate deviant behavior, but I can’t see it.”

  Curtis nodded. “The only possible motive he could have was anger that Ashley wouldn’t tell anyone they were dating, but that doesn’t explain the other kidnappings.”

  Monica checked her phone. “You two have a package from the FBI offices waiting for you. We’ve also got the list of suspects in the area finished. Want to head back to the station?”

  “We’ll meet you there,” said Curtis.

  Monica raised an eyebrow. “Sure?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

  Monica shrugged and stood, followed by Trevor.

  Once they were gone, Frankie turned to Curtis and said, “You aren’t going to tell her about Marino and Bobby Randall? What if it comes up later in the investigation?”

  “It isn’t important. Monica will just get concerned. What did Johnson say?”

  Frankie paused. “He just wanted to know how you were dealing, and if I suspected anything. If I did, he wants me to call him and he'll pull us out.”

  “That’s it? What did you say about me?”

  “I said you were fine.” She stood. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll drop you off at the bar to speak with Bobby Randall. I need to speak with Natasha Nolowinski.”

  “Is that what Kendra Matheson was telling you or is that just based on the article?”

  “Both," said Frankie. "If Natasha knows something, she can’t keep holding it for herself, and we need to stop the leaks from the police department.”

  21

  Curtis stepped inside the bar. His stomach was growling. He was thankful when Robert walked toward him, wearing the same jolly smile as always.

  “Curtis!” he said with a shout which caused the rest of the bar to look up before returning to their drinks. “How you doing, lad? It's so great to see you again. How’s the investigation doing? What can I do for you?”

  “I’m actually here in connection to the investigation,” said Curtis as he took a seat at the bar. “Is Bobby here?”

  Robert’s smile vanished. “Yeah, I’ll grab him for you. Want anything to drink or eat?”

  “Water and a burger would be great.”

  “Sure, you want fries?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Why don’t you have a seat at one of the tables and I’ll send him out with your food in a few?”

  Robert got him a glass of water, then turned and walked away, speaking with a few of his regulars before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Curtis grabbed the glass and walked over to an empty table. He leaned back in his seat, watching the pool balls bounce around the table as two men dragged on the game longer than any pool game should go.

  Bobby emerged from the kitchen with a serious expression, carrying a tray laden with food. He dropped off a few plates at other tables before arriving with Curtis’s burger and fries. He placed it on the table and took a seat opposite Curtis.

  “So,” said Bobby. “How did it go with Marino? You went and saw him, right?”

  “I went and saw him,” said Curtis between bites of the overcooked burger. "He didn’t seem like he had any animosity toward me. He didn’t seem to know anything about the girls, and he certainly didn’t seem like he wanted to kill me. What are your thoughts on that?”

  Bobby shrugged. “That’s odd. It goes against everything I’d heard.”

  Curtis placed the burger on the plate and looked up at Bobby. “Tell me everything about your stay in prison.”

  Bobby hesitated for a moment before nodding. “I suppose I have to tell you, with you being the FBI and everything.”

  Curtis didn’t respond. He had no right to force Bobby to tell him anything without a warrant, especially since he had no probable cause that his information would be related to the missing girls. In all probability, it would have nothing to do with the missing girls, but was instead information for Curtis’s own safety in Blind River.

  “I was sentenced to six months for a variety of small crimes that piled up,” said Bobby. “I’m sure you’ve already read that in my file. Some of that stuff had to do with Marino.”

  Curtis hadn’t, but he nodded.

  “I wasn’t able to hold down any jobs, and I got involved in some bad stuff," said Bobby. "My parents went to Florida for my mom’s cancer treatment. I could never afford to visit her. I needed to stay and make money. I took the easy route, got involved with some criminal types. There are some big wigs who are still using the systems that Marino set up to traffic drugs, using Blind River as a waypoint.”

  He was giving information Curtis didn’t know and wasn’t in the FBI’s files, but Curtis wasn’t about to stop him. Bobby was speaking as though he needed to get this off his chest.

  Curtis glanced at Robert standing behind the bar, who smiled back in that grandfatherly way he had.

  Bobby continued, “There are people in town who are still keeping Marino’s network alive, trying to continue his work. I don’t know how many of them there are, but me and a few others all got caught with it. I was given six months. The warden wouldn’t let me out for my mom’s funeral. My dad threw a fit over it. He ended up fighting one of the prison guards, a guy named Harry Ochre. My dad’s not a fighter, but he’s a big guy. I’d never seen that side of him. He was arrested for it, but the guard decided not to press charges. It didn’t help my case. I got out in five months for good behavior, but I only ever got to see my mom’s gravestone.”

  Bobby stared at the table. “Sorry, what were you asking about?”

  “Marino, in the prison," said Curtis.

  “Right, sorry. It just feels good to talk, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Marino was there," said Bobby. "I never talked to him. He and his cronies had one corner of the yard under their control, and one of the first things I learned was to stay away from Marino."

  “He controlled the prison?”

  “Still does, from what I heard," said Bobby. "The other thing I heard while I was there is that he was looking for Curtis Mackley, an FBI agent. I walked past his cell one time. He had a dart board in there. He could get whatever he wanted, although the dart board was one of those magnetic ones, nothing sharp for obvious reasons. There was a picture of you on it. It looked like it was printed from the FBI website.”

  Curtis raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Bobby nodded.

  “Can you prove it? That sounds ridiculous.”

  “What do you mean can I prove it? I saw it.”

  Curtis dipped a fry into his ketchup. “Did you?”

  Bobby bit his lip then shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I heard about it, I didn’t see it. I might have misheard. I know he was looking for you, and you said you didn’t think he was. I swear to God,
he has it out for you.”

  Curtis picked up one of his fries and chewed it. “Are you sure? What did he say he would do to?”

  Bobby swallowed. “He said he would hang you from the rafters and gut you like the hogs in his butcher shop.”

  “That’s pleasant," said Curtis. "Thank you, Bobby. I appreciate you telling me what you heard. I’ll be back if I need to ask you anything else.”

  “Thanks,” Bobby stood. “You’ll save those girls, right?”

  Curtis nodded, trying to look more confident than he felt. “We’ll find them. I wish you the best of luck in the future.”

  “Thanks,” said Bobby, showing the first smile Curtis had seen on him. He turned and walked back to the bar.

  Curtis was left sitting at the table alone. He lifted up the overcooked burger and took a big bite. He was hungry enough that he wasn’t going to be too picky.

  22

  Frankie parked outside the offices of the Blind River Observer. The spot reserved for Natasha Nolowinski had a blue car sitting in it. The front desk was unmanned and Frankie walked right into the offices.

  “Excuse me,” shouted one of the reporters. “You aren’t allowed back here. Someone has to escort you.”

  “FBI,” she said, flashing her badge. “Where’s Natasha Nolowinski?”

  The man, phone still held to his ear, looking frightened, pointed to the far side of the office. Frankie nodded to him before heading that direction.

  Natasha was sitting at her desk, wearing a large pair of headphones and typing away at her computer. Her desk was cluttered with notes. Boston Red Sox bobble heads lined the top of the cubicle wall.

  Frankie leaned over the wall and looked down at Natasha, who was typing and chewing on a pen.

  Frankie reached down and waved a hand in front of Natasha’s face. It was only then that she looked up at Frankie.

  Natasha smiled and removed her headphones. She removed the pen from her mouth, one end chewed almost to the ink, and placed it on the desk. “What can I do you for, Agent?”

  “You need to tell me two things right now," said Frankie. "Who are you getting your information from? And two, what do you know about the missing girls? Withholding information about the girl’s whereabouts can be construed as obstructing an investigation.”