[Frank Harper 01.0] A Field of Red

by Greg Enslen

  She sat back on the bed and wiped the lip balm off her wrist before slipping her right hand back into the zip tie, which was still attached to the headboard.

  The door swung open. It was the young man again. The woman never came unless it was dark. The woman didn’t want Charlie to see her face, but it hadn’t worked, and Charlie had gotten a good sideways glance at her. She was one of those women who could have been beautiful, with the face of a princess. Yet she’d looked so sad and tired, her face had drooped, like she was half-asleep.

  “How are we doing tonight?” the young man asked, setting the tray of food on the bed next to her. He was always nice to her. “Need to go to the bathroom?”

  She nodded, and he cut the zip tie to let her out. Charlie walked to the bathroom and closed the door, then relieved herself. It was good to be up, walking around. Her legs were starting to ache from so many days lying in bed.

  Every time she came in here, she looked out the window for as long as she could manage. After she was done, she flushed and turned on the water, then climbed up onto the side of the tub and looked out.

  There was the edge of a roof right outside the window, and she could see the large tree. It had been the long branches she’d heard scraping the window. It had sounded like fingers to her.

  Beyond the roof, it was a straight drop down to the yard, but from this angle, she couldn’t see anything to jump down onto, or a ladder, or anything to climb down. And it looked like there was no way to get over to the tree.

  Beyond the house was a large backyard with a play set. Past that, a tall fence ran between the house and a field. And on the other side of the field, she saw trees. It looked like a forest. The window was big enough. If she could get free and get out onto the roof--

  “You done in there?”

  She jumped and climbed down, shutting off the water. Coming out into the bedroom, she nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  She climbed back up onto the bed and started to eat.

  “Can you tell me another story? About the ocean?”

  He smiled and began another story. He must’ve had dozens, because each one was new. Charlie hoped she would be long gone before she started to hear the same ones again.

  “Well, have you heard of Morro Rock?” he asked. “In California, the beach stretches for a thousand miles along the coastline, and it’s dotted with hundreds of coves and inlets. Some of them hold towns and villages, and others no one ever visits, except for the seals and sea lions. But in Morro Bay, sitting right out in the middle of the bay, there’s a giant boulder called Morro Rock. No one knows where it came from......”

  She sat back and listened to the story, eating her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and nodding in all the right places. He might be a criminal, but he’d never been mean to her, and he knew how to tell stories. She wondered if he’d always been bad. But something told her to be nice to him.

  After a while, she was done, and he wrapped up his story and began gathering up the plates and tidying the tray.

  “My arm really hurts--it’s so stretched,” she said, rubbing her left arm. “Can I just sleep normal tonight? I can’t get out if you lock the door, right?”

  The young man thought about it for a moment but shook his head.

  “Sorry, I can’t do that,” he said, smiling. “Honestly. But I could secure the other arm instead, if that helps.”

  She made a sad look on her face, hoping to sway him, but the woman downstairs started yelling again and he was distracted. After a few seconds of them listening to the woman yell, he smiled and zip tied her left arm to the headboard--again, two connected loops, one around her wrist and the other around the headboard.

  “I’m sorry your arm was hurting.” He sat back. “Anything else?”

  She shook her head. The man turned and left, and when the door clicked closed, she tried the zip tie, but it was too tight. Even with the lip balm, it would be impossible to get out.

  Charlie would have to try again when the woman came. She always let Charlie up to pee one more time before bed. After that, she’d get out the lip balm and wiggle free. Or use the pen and just pry it off. But once she did that, she’d have to escape for good.

  Chapter 46

  Two cars sat in the same grocery store parking lot as before, their driver’s windows facing each other again. Behind them, Burger King stood next to Main Street. Tonight, there was no rain.

  “And that’s it?” the man said.

  Tyler nodded. “Yup. It’s all taken care of.”

  The other man nodded, looking around at a car that passed by, exiting the Burger King drive thru. “It’s not safe, us meeting.”

  Tyler, the boss, shook his head. “Don’t worry. Every cop in Cooper’s Mill is downtown, getting ready for the big party. You’re not going to give me any grief about that money?”

  “You keep it,” the other man said. “You earned it. I just want this all wrapped up by tomorrow.”

  Tyler nodded. “Good. I’m glad you’re not pressing the issue.”

  “Hey, it’s your deal,” the man said, trying to make his point for the hundredth time. For a criminal mastermind, this guy was pretty thick. “I want it over with. What will you do with the girls? Can they identify your friends?”

  Tyler shook his head. “Didn’t I say not to worry? You should pay me more respect. This whole thing has gone off without a hitch. Not that you need to know, but it’s taken care of. Beep, beep, they’re going on a trip. The girls will be transported out of state and then freed, and my contacts will be long gone.”

  The other man nodded. “Good. Just make sure it doesn’t get back to us.”

  Tyler nodded. “No problem.”

  The other man nodded, not sure of what to say. The cop was always quoting songs and repeating those weird lyrics and attributing them to his mother. That was the problem with getting in bed with a psychopath: sometimes, all you could do was nod and laugh at their jokes and count the seconds until you could get away.

  Chapter 47

  Frank was out driving again, trying to clear his head. Peters had left to help out with the HarvestFest security, and King was expecting Frank to drop by as well, but Frank just wanted to get into his car and drive. It was freeing. Over the last few days, since he’d arrived, he’d slowly gotten to know the narrow country roads surrounding the small town.

  Frank did some of his best thinking while driving, and there was nothing waiting for him back at the hotel except for those last two inches of bourbon in the bottle in his shower. Even out here, driving in the darkness, Frank could hear it calling to him. He was trying to be strong, but the headaches and nausea weren’t helping.

  The windows were down and he was listening to the Benny Golson CD again. He’d never really liked jazz until he lived in New Orleans. He’s been around jazz since birth, of course, growing up in Beaufort, just outside of the BR. But blues and jazz music had been an acquired taste. Maybe it was something you grew into, or perhaps only adults could really appreciate the music’s subtle ebb and flow.

  The CD ended--he was driving east of town, past some place called Dalton Farms--and he reached down and popped open the CD player. Even though the player was jury-rigged and skipped whenever he hit a hard bump, it still worked. He’d had it for a while now. Frank found he could easily swap out and start new CDs without taking his eyes off the wheel.

  He felt in the compartment in the dashboard that had once held an operational stereo and took out another CD, swapping it out and hitting PLAY. After a moment, blues filled the car--Earl Hooker.

  The car engine purred along as he wandered in search of answers or, at least, direction.

  Frank reached the light at the corner of 202 and 571 and turned west, approaching Cooper’s Mill. The area east of Cooper’s Mill was all open fields and low farmland and pitch black. There were no street lights or anything on this side of town to illuminate the road other than the headlights of Frank’s beat-up Taurus.

  He cross
ed the river--a black streak in the darkness below the bridge.

  It was strange, if you thought about it--rivers and lakes and streams just went about their business, flowing through the night, never stopping, oblivious to all the goings-on around them. They ebbed and flowed, rose and fell with the rain, continuously washing everything they carried to the sea. Frank didn’t like water and didn’t spend any more time on the water than he absolutely had to, but you really had to respect the overwhelming power of flowing water. As he crossed over it, the river gurgled below the bridge, loud enough to hear even over the engine noise.

  Frank passed Freeman Prairie, then climbed the hill into Cooper’s Mill, stopping at the light at First and Main.

  Downtown Cooper’s Mill was lit up and bustling with shoppers and partygoers. It was a busy Saturday night, and visitors were enjoying the brisk weather and getting out for a meal. There were signs everywhere for the “HarvestFest 2011” tonight. Held by a local volunteer group, they shut down part of Second Street and threw a huge, Halloween-themed, outdoor adult party.

  The light turned green, and he drove through town to the next light. Second Street was blocked off next to O’Shaughnessy’s, and a huge banner that read “HarvestFest 2011” hung from the yellow barricades. Frank saw Chief King and Deputy Peters and several other familiar faces and decided to pull over, parking down the street in front of the library. From the reports, Chief King and Nick Martin had stood on the stoop of the library, waiting to deliver the first ransom.

  The second ransom now sat in a nondescript box in the trunk of Frank’s car, along with his boxes of case files. He’d toyed with leaving it all unattended in his hotel room, but it just made more sense to keep it with him wherever he went. It had taken two trips to bring it all out to the car.

  Frank climbed out of the Taurus and carefully locked up the car before crossing the street. To the west, the sound of the train horn drifted over the town. The gates lowered and a train appeared, the sound low and reverberating through the streets.

  A group of volunteers was setting up tables and tents and checking folks into the party. A trailer festooned with a huge “Bud Light” sign was parked inside a fenced-in area; apparently, someone had put up snow fencing all the way around to keep the beer-drinking attendees confined to a designated space. Everyone was dressed in costumes. Beyond, a stage had been set up in the middle of the road, and Frank could hear instruments being tuned. It sounded like a band was getting ready to play.

  “Hey, Deputy,” Frank said, as he walked up to the barricade.

  Peters smiled, turning to see Frank. “Long time, no see. The Chief wants to see you.”

  Chief King walked up. “Hey, Frank.”

  Frank nodded and noticed several of the volunteers setting up tables were in costume. “You need any help?”

  King shook his head. “No, everyone is pretty well behaved, though we do step up the DUI stops after the event is over. You out at Ricky’s again, questioning patrons and kicking asses?”

  “Nope, just driving,” Frank said, smiling. “Helps me think.”

  “Good--we need thinkers,” Chief King said, nodding. “Just don’t get any bright ideas tonight. We’re stretched thin, with most of the staff here working this event or out on patrol. No one gets the night off,” he smiled.

  “Sure you don’t need some help?”

  King shook his head. “No, we’re good. But stick around if you want – they put on a good show. There’s a band and costume contests.”

  “Nah, I’m OK,” Frank said, thinking about all that money in his car. It made him nervous, leaving it there on such a busy street, exposed. “After last night at Ricky’s, I could use a break.”

  “OK, we’ll see you in the morning,” the Chief said.

  Frank gave Peters a friendly wave--he was off, helping get the beer tent set up--and made a loop through the downtown on the way back to his car. He saw locations that were starting to become familiar to him--the coffee shop, the toy store, the barber shop. He saw the bench in front of O’Shaughnessy’s where Peters and Barnes had waited, and where the buxom decoy had distracted them. He walked in front of Elise’s Antiques, the small shop through which the kid had run with the ransom money.

  Frank got back to his car. As he was pulling out, another car slowed and turned on its signal, waiting for his spot. He’d never seen the town busy--of course, he’d only been here a few days, but it was good to see an old-fashioned downtown like this one still had a little life left in it.

  He drove the streets, familiar buildings moving past him. Frank reached up and grabbed a piece of paper from the dashboard. Peters had made a printout of the various properties and locations in the area owned by Martin Construction.

  Frank was still convinced the whole kidnapping plan was really an effort to bankrupt the company, so he’d been driving around and checking out the properties. Yesterday, he’d driven down to Dayton and walked around the old brick building that was slowly being converted into retail and residential space. The building managers had been extremely helpful, taking him on a tour of the space and saying how sorry they were that Martin had had to drop out of the ownership group. Frank had to agree with at least part of the assessment of the property--from the top floor conference room, there had been stunning views of the baseball stadium and the riverfront developments beyond.

  He shook his head in wonder at those types of people who could walk through a dilapidated, waterlogged hovel and see through the dirt and mess to envision a thriving retail shop or a beautifully-appointed home. It took a special kind of focus, he thought, to ignore all the details and just hone in on the possibilities that came at the intersection of careful planning and hard work.

  Frank had also dropped in on a few of the other properties that had recently been part of the Martin Construction portfolio--open fields, an apartment building, and one sad strip mall between Cooper’s Mill and Troy, the larger town to the north.

  There was a train passing through town, and he slowed and stopped, waiting for it to pass. He glanced at the papers and saw, near the top, a listing for “Holly Toys Lofts,” one location he’d not visited yet. The building had apparently been near and dear to Nick Martin, who had let it go only after much discussion. Nick had grown up near the place and been particularly fond of it. Nick had been able to come to an agreement with his business partner, Matt Lassiter, and the sale made it possible for Martin to gather the entire ransom.

  It had been mentioned several times in the files and reports, but Frank hadn’t seen it in any of his treks around town. Following Peter’s crude map--he’d drawn one for each property--Frank crossed the tracks after the train was gone and slowed, turning right onto North Sixth. Frank found the massive brick building with no problem.

  Chapter 48

  The exterior of the Holly Toys building wasn’t anything special to look at, but the building was immense. At four stories high, it was one of the tallest in Cooper’s Mill and nearly a block long. The massive, 40,000 square foot brick building ran along the train tracks north of Main Street, surrounded by large parking lots on both sides.

  Frank slowed at the curb but did not pull in; he wanted to loop around the property before getting out.

  It looked like an abandoned warehouse, except for the large, weathered sign out front, advertising the new loft condos that would be available after the building was gutted and converted. Large, attractive renderings showed what the condos would look like, along with a number to call for inquiries. A large, faded banner across the bottom proclaimed, “Coming Spring 2009,” so the project was over two years’ past schedule. And, from what Frank could remember about the property, they hadn’t sold a single condo.

  Nick Martin seemed pretty fastidious about marketing, as did his partner on this project. Frank wondered why they had left up that “Coming Spring 2009” sign. It looked bad and would hamper any future sales. Frank wondered if the phone number was even still active.

  He continued on, past
the large brick building and tried to make a right on Plum, only to find that it was one-way the other direction. He continued up Sixth, did a U-turn, then passed the warehouse, and turned on Walnut, driving past more houses. As he crossed the tracks, he looked to his left and saw the massive brick building running along the tracks, finally getting a real feel for just how large the building was.

  He drove on, taking two more lefts and coming back up Plum. The warehouse stretched the length of the block, but the building had definitely seen better days.

  Slowing, he turned into the parking lot and stopped his car, climbing out of the Taurus. He thought about what his car held for a moment, but Frank was just going to walk around the building, maybe take a peek inside. He wouldn’t be out of sight of the car for more than a few minutes. Besides, it was an empty parking lot, and no one was around. And no one would suspect a half-a-million dollars in cash would be hiding in the trunk of such a dilapidated vehicle.

  According to the reports, the downward economy had stalled the project in mid-2009, making it impossible for Martin Construction to complete the conversion. Neither Nick Martin nor his business partner had been able to buy the other out or front the kind of money required to complete the project or overcome the bad economy, so now it sat here, or at least it had until yesterday, when Nick had sold his half to Lassiter.

  He was no architect, obviously, but Frank could see the potential. It was a beautiful brick building, and he could see how condos or apartments could be attractive. The bottom floor was supposed to be set aside for retail spaces, if he remembered correctly, making it an even cooler place to live.

  And Peters had said there weren’t any other high-end apartments or condos in town, so the building owners could probably charge whatever they wanted to.

  Frank started across the empty parking lot. It was cracked from the hundreds of heavy trucks that had once delivered raw materials or picked up completed toys for delivery. Nick Martin had said in the report on the project that the Holly Toys factory had operated for nearly sixty years out of this location before closing down in the late nineties.