by B. A. Morton
“Frankie’s mom is from some pizza ‘n’ pasta country,” he said eventually, “and his daddy was some kind of Eastern European gangster. What can I say? Frankie is the product of a mixed marriage and a broken home. Your basic spoiled little rich kid who’s more than a little partial to vodka.” Okay, so maybe he knew more about Frankie than he thought he did. “Why?”
“The license plate is registered to Frankie’s company,” said Marty.
“Oh yeah?” Now that was interesting. Connell sat himself up a little straighter. “So why is Frankie loaning out his car to crooked cops?”
“Your guess is as good as mine but I don’t reckon he’ll be doing it out of the goodness of his heart, do you?”
Connell wondered at the connection. Couldn’t quite fit Gibbons and Scott in the same picture as Frankie ‘I’m so wonderful’ Vasin. Gibbons was too fat, Scott was too ugly, and Frankie liked to surround himself with beautiful people. “Why would they need to use Frankie’s car, anyway? What’s wrong with taking one from the pool?” And why were they driving around in Frankie’s car when they were still on duty. It didn’t fit unless they’d specifically delayed answering the call about the disappearance of Molly Brown until they were off duty. If that was the case, then he had to wonder why.
“Maybe they didn’t want questions asked about the mileage,” replied Marty.
“Or they didn’t want to leave incriminating evidence in the trunk ...” He needed to get a look at that car. “Gibbons and Scott took time out this afternoon to warn me off,” said Connell, “which makes me think I may be stepping on some toes.”
“You okay, Tommy?” Marty had that ‘Oh no not again’ tone, and Connell felt the need to reassure him.
“Sure, Marty, just a little shocked at the turn of events.” He rubbed at his shoulder which had come out in sympathy with his scorched chest and struggled to his feet. “The thing is, Marty, they seemed to know a lot about me and Joe and Lizzie. How would they know that kind of stuff? Why would they want to know it?”
“You’ve had your head in the sand for a while, Tommy. People know what happened to you, especially cops, and the fact you threw in your badge is bound to make some folk wonder.”
“Wonder about what?”
“About which side you’re on, Tommy.”
Connell scowled. He’d had this the entire time he’d been on the force, this uncertainty about how close he trod the line. He hadn’t liked it then and he didn’t like it now.
“Does anyone actually care which side I’m on?”
Marty smiled. “Well, sure, especially those who are concerned that you’re not on theirs.”
“Gibbons and Scott?”
“For starters.”
“You think I’m on to something?”
“I think you know you are. So what’s the plan, Tommy? You going to do as you’re told and lay off, or do as you please and keep sniffing around?”
Connell pulled back the rug with his good arm and tugged up the loose board. “I don’t know, Marty, but I’m being paid to keep sniffing.” He pulled out the papers and scanned through them. “I reckon I might wrinkle my nose on the way home, just in case I happen to pick up the scent of something rotten.”
“And the kid?”
Connell checked his watch again. “I think I have an idea where she might be hanging out. I’m going to swing back that way first.”
“Seems to me like you’re doing a lot of swinging, Tommy. You want to make sure the rope doesn’t snap.”
Connell smiled and shook his head. “Always the optimist.”
“No, Tommy, always the realist. You need some help?”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
Marty laughed. “Probably both, but in this instance it’s a question. Do you want me to help you?”
Connell singled out a letter from the pile and let the others fall to the ground. It was from a loan company, an invitation to borrow probably more than the family could earn in a lifetime. It was partly completed, with full names, dates of birth and social security numbers. “Yeah, Marty, I could do with some help. Could you do me a trace on a missing husband and wife?” He read out their details.
“I thought it was the kid who’d run away?”
“Yeah, well, everybody’s playing hard to get around here.” Connell crossed back into Molly’s room and his eyes were drawn to the little bed. The pillow was on the floor and the pink pajamas were missing. “I gotta go, buddy. Call me if you get anything.”
“Tommy?”
“Yeah …”
“Remember the rules have changed, pal. You haven’t got a badge now to back you up. You get in trouble, you’re going to have to hope Gerry is there to bail you out.”
“Sure, Marty, I know what I’m doing.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“And is it worth it, Tommy?”
“It’s worth a child’s life at the very least so, yeah, I think it’s worth it.”
* * *
Connell stopped at a convenience store on his way back to the alley. He picked up a selection of batteries, a pack of marker pens, some of Joe’s favorite candy and a bottle of soda. He checked his watch when he parked his car in the alley outside the library. It was six-thirty and he still wasn’t on the home stretch yet.
He was losing his touch. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it earlier, although maybe being zapped by the equivalent of a lightning strike had helped channel his thoughts. A big cat, a little girl and one funky looking cat door. He found it right where he’d seen it, and ignored it, earlier.
Squatting down, he opened the convenience store bag and retrieved half the candy for Joe. He took the paperback book he’d found under Molly’s pillow from his jacket pocket and hesitated for just a moment before slipping it into the bag. It was evidence, he supposed, but of what he wasn’t sure, and he figured it was probably of more value to her than him. As an afterthought he tore out some loose sheets from the back of his notebook and stuffed them in the bag. No point in having colored pens without any paper to draw on.
He rolled down the top of the bag and pushed it through the cat flap as far as he could reach, before pulling his arm back fast. He didn’t much like the idea of coming into contact with those giant feline claws. He’d seen the damage they’d done to the library counter. Cats were okay, but he was more of a dog kinda guy, if truth be told. Dogs could do cool things. Cats just did as they pleased and that cat had given him a warning look.
He glanced around. When he was sure the alley was empty and there was no one nearby to raise an eyebrow at him for talking to a cat door, he flopped down wearily onto the dusty ground and called softly through the opening.
“Hi, Molly, just Tommy here. We met this afternoon.” Well, he was pretty sure they’d met. If you could call the fleeting image in the rearview mirror a meeting and if he hadn’t just been suffering the after-effects of a concussion and imagined it all.
No, he’d had worse blows to the head. He definitely hadn’t imagined it.
“Don’t know about you, kiddo, but I’ve had a kinda rough day.” He stifled a yawn. It was a mistake to sit down, he realized. Standing was better for keeping awake, for keeping on his toes. “I’m ready to hit the sack, Molly, and I expect you are too. So, kiddo, here’s the deal. First off, you’re not in trouble and I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to bail on you or forget about you either. I just want to help you out and make sure you don’t get hurt.”
He paused, listened, but didn’t expect a reply, though he was sure he heard the whisper of a held breath on the other side of the flap. Maybe he was imagining that, just hearing what he wanted to hear. He pulled up one knee and rested his arm loosely against it. Leaning his head back against the brick wall, he felt the soothing coolness through his scalp and closed his eyes. He was in a hurry but there was no way he wanted the child to know that. He imagined that too many people already had too little time for her, and it was about time
all that changed.
He rubbed at tired eyes. It was another mistake, he realized belatedly, to close them when he wasn’t able to follow through naturally and sleep, so he dragged them open and turned back to the flap.
“Kiddo, I’m going to make sure whatever it is that has you curled up on a library shelf, instead of curled up in bed at home, is fixed for you. Then, when I come back, we can maybe say hi properly and pass the time of day.” He paused again, wondering if he was wasting his time, sure in his gut that he wasn’t. “Maybe you could help me out, then, with some things that have got me pretty confused.” He resisted the urge to check his watch. “ ‘Cause your teacher, Miss Rogers, thinks you’re cool at that kinda stuff.”
More silence.
“So, Molly Brown,” he said finally, “you sit tight and enjoy your book and I’ll see you in the morning.”
He got to his feet, brushed the dirt from the seat of his pants and wondered if he was doing the right thing. He thought about forcing the door and going in to make sure. She was just a kid, after all. But despite what everyone else seemed to think, he personally thought that little Molly Brown was smarter than most. She’d a good reason for making herself scarce and she’d found herself a safe place to lay low. Until he knew why she’d done a disappearing act, he figured she was safer left where she was. No one but a midget could get through the flap and no one but an idiot would try to get past that monster cat.
He flexed his battered muscles painfully and wondered whether being a good guy was all it was cracked up to be. It seemed like the bad guys were currently way ahead and he needed to do something to put that right. The sooner he signed off on Gibbons and Scott, the sooner he could help out Molly Brown and her wayward sister. As soon as that was done he had to stop taking calls from Gerry Gesting. There was only so much a body could take before it started to look personal, and from where Connell stood, things seemed to be looking pretty much that way already.
Why were Gibbons and Scott so eager for him to back off and how come they knew so much about him? It seemed people were more interested in him now he was a regular Joe than when he was actually carrying a badge. He wondered about Frankie’s involvement and whether that was just another weird coincidence or merely an indication of how everyone was connected to everyone else in a roundabout way. He wasn’t convinced on the coincidence theory.
He rubbed at his shoulder and was reminded again of his encounter at Molly’s apartment. Something else that needed looking into. He couldn’t have some freaky guy running around randomly zapping people, only he didn’t believe it was random. The guy had been looking for something, had come to retrieve something specific, and Connell had got in his way. It could have been worse, he supposed. The guy could have been carrying a gun or a knife. He hadn’t, Connell realized, because his intention hadn’t been to kill or maim. He hadn’t expected Connell to be there, but the look on his face when he’d been confronted had simply been one of bemusement. Connell wasn’t sure what to think about that. Somehow he found it more unnerving than Gibbons’ sawed-off. But that didn’t answer the question of what exactly had been hidden beneath the boards in little Molly Brown’s apartment and why the guy thought it important enough to steal. Perhaps, when he and Molly finally got to say hi, she could help him out with that.
He gave a final sweeping glance down the alley before returning to his car. The alley was long enough so the noise from the main street at each end didn’t filter through to the middle where he stood. The resulting heavy silence gave it an eerie atmosphere and Connell got the same feeling he’d experienced in Molly’s room, that sense of something bad breathing down his neck. He was suffering from an overactive imagination, giving himself the creeps again, a sure sign he was tired and sore and he needed to go home. He missed the peace of the farm. He missed Lizzie and Joe.
He also missed the shadowy figure concealed in a doorway a little way behind him, perhaps because the figure was more interested in watching than in being seen and had gained more than a little experience in doing just that, or perhaps because Connell’s head was so full of shit he couldn’t think straight, let alone see straight.
Connell unlocked his car and slid awkwardly in behind the wheel, unaware that his every move, his every wince, was being duly noted and stored for future use. He checked his watch. Time to get moving.
He did just that and headed for an even less desirable spot.
* * *
The derelict warehouse where he’d tailed Gibbons and Scott the previous night looked less menacing in daylight. Connell was grateful for the long summer evening that meant, despite running so late, he was not at the mercy of anything inclined to go bump in the night. Not that he was scared of the dark, just naturally cautious of the sort of people and things that lurked within it.
He sat in his car parked alongside the corrugated structure and studied the way the building leaned impossibly to one side. A reversing forklift, or even the leaning of a well-made man such as Gibbons, would be all it would take to nudge the building to the ground, and Connell hesitated before leaving the relative safety of the vehicle and walking into its cavernous space.
The evening sun struggled through the grimy skylights and fractured through the gaps in the cracked, corrugated walls. The effect inside was one of intermittent light and dark, the sunlight catching dancing dust motes and causing Connell to shield his eyes, while the darkness enveloped the far corners of the building and shrouded the isolated and abandoned machinery that had outlived its usefulness, but was too heavy to steal.
There had been three cars parked up when he’d previously observed from the shadows, one belonging as he now knew to Frankie, but driven by Gibbons and Scott. The other could well have been Frankie’s own now that his involvement had been declared. But the third was as yet unknown. Connell flexed his stiffening muscles and scanned the abandoned compound, got a fix on where he thought the cars had been and checked the dirt with a scuff of his shoe for anything that may have been inadvertently discarded.
Finding nothing, he wandered slowly into the belly of the building and listened distractedly to the steel frame as it creaked and cooled under the waning heat of the sun. At the far end up a rickety set of wooden stairs sat the remains of an office. The glass windows, that looked out onto the warehouse floor had long since been smashed, probably by kids, and the whole platform sat precariously on wooden legs that sagged with age and rot.
Connell tested the first step gingerly and proceeded carefully, with one hand on the rail. The office was, as he expected, derelict, covered in graffiti and reeking of urine and beer. Okay, so this was where the local kids hung out. Maybe if he could catch himself a local kid, he might find out was going on down here after dark.
He stood on the top stair and stared down at the empty hull beneath him. His vantage point gave him a unique view and he was able to make out what he hadn’t been able to see when his feet had been on terra firma - tracks in the dirt of the factory floor, lots of tracks from something big and heavy.
If he’d still had a badge, Connell might have called someone smarter than him who could have done something astounding with a camera and come up with the brand of tire, model of truck and quite likely the name of the guy who’d driven it. But in the absence of such technology, Connell pulled out his cell phone and took some photos - that were bad but good enough - and decided he knew as much as he needed to know. Big truck equated with big cargo; he just needed to know what it was doing changing hands under cover of darkness in a building that was ready to fall down.
Interesting, thought Connell, but not interesting enough to delay his journey home any longer.
Chapter Six
It was dark when Connell finally pulled into the farmyard, and he was thankful for small mercies. Okay, so he was late and he would pay for that, but the main house lights were off, so maybe he’d get away with the fact that he’d had a difference of opinion with the tail end of a shotgun. He hauled himself wearily from the car and sto
od a moment, leaning against the cooling metal, relishing the night air and the sweet scent of pines. Taking as deep a breath as his ribs would allow, he turned and found he was looking down the barrel of yet another shotgun.
“Parker, for Christ’s sake, one of these days you’re going to take my head off with that thing.”
The old man peered over the top of his glasses through the gloom and lowered his weapon fractionally. “Is that you, Sonny?”
“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be in my car in my yard? And the name’s Tommy, not Sonny.” Connell reached back in through the open car window and retrieved Joe’s candy. “What you doin’ anyway, creeping about in the dark?”
“Keepin’ watch on them young-uns, which is what you should be doin’, Sonny.”
Oh yeah, he was a funny one, was old Parker. “Lizzie and Joe don’t need you patrolling the grounds with a shotgun, Parker. There’s nothing out here but horses and trees.” He cast a glance out into the darkness. Lots of trees. The farm’s pastures were surrounded by thickly wooded hills. It was what Lizzie loved about the place. It reminded her of home back in England, in the little village with no bus. He returned his gaze to the old man. “You keep that up and you’ll likely shoot yourself.”
“Huh! You choose to leave your family for days on end, you gotta expect another man to muscle in.”
Connell smiled. “Are you figuring on doing just that, Parker?” The old man cackled and Connell heard the dry rattle in his chest. “Because I need to know if I’ve got competition.”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I got my attractions.”
“Yeah?” Connell stepped away, leaned back on the paddock rail and gave Lizzie’s new car the once over. He had to admit it had a certain appeal. Reckoned it might be cool to take it through its paces and see how its racing tires handled the farm tracks. He doubted, though, if she’d let him loose behind the wheel of her pride and joy.
