by Ben Follows
“Thank you.”
“I appreciate it. Now that you know I’m not going to blab, what do you want? Come here to explain how the hell you did whatever it was you did?”
“No, actually. I came here looking for Remy, your son.”
Carl frowned. “Why would you want to do something like that?”
“I want to ask him about Frank.”
“You better start making some sense real quick before I do a one-eighty and tell the cops what I really saw last night. You wouldn’t like it if I did that, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Jake reached inside his jacket and took out his wallet, removing his private detective cards. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Carl took the card and looked at it, his eyes widening. “Private detective, eh? That’s impressive. But I’m more confused now.”
Jake gave him the same spiel he had given to Judith, detailing his burgeoning business and the business that finding Frank would bring.
When he was finished, Carl nodded. “You got me to talk about Frank without knowing that’s what you were doing.”
Jake shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t know you worked here.”
“I don’t. Frank is my friend. He’s employed my son for a while now, in no small part as a favor to me. If he comes back from whatever nightmare he’s going through, I want the shop to be waiting for him, with all the same customers. Remy knows the business and how to fix the cars. I think Frank was training him to take over the shop one day, although neither of them have said anything about it.” He paused. “Come into the back. I’ve set up the break room as an office. It seems disrespectful to use Frank’s.”
Jake followed him behind the desk to the back. “This is where Judith saw the argument between Frank and that man," he said.
Carl looked over his shoulder. “She told you about that, eh? Something about it seems to have really upset her. She told everyone who would listen that Frank never acted like that anytime she had ever seen before. It really broke her up.”
“Any theories about who it was?”
Carl shrugged. “No one has come forward as the guy, even though the police put a notice out, just to fill in the blanks, if you know what I mean. No one knows who he is. But I think he’s involved in this somehow. She’s right, that isn’t a wife bias going on. He never lost his temper with anyone I’ve ever seen. He was one of the most even-keeled people I’ve ever known. So much so that he was boring, too predictable. Coffee?”
Jake took a seat in the break room. “Water would be great.”
Carl got him a cup of water, which Jake took a sip of and set on the table. Carl got himself a cup of coffee, black.
“I don’t want Remy involved in this,” said Carl. “That’s my price for talking to you.”
“He might know something you don’t.”
“He doesn’t. I’ve talked to him about it a million times. I can tell you what he saw.”
“Which is what?”
“He didn’t see anything. He had headphones in, listening to rap or rock or whatever the hell it is this week, when the guy came in. He was working on a car out in the garage. He didn’t hear the fight, he didn’t see the guy come or leave. He can’t help.”
“What if he knows something about Frank you don’t?”
Carl chuckled. “Frank is my friend and his boss. I know him better. Trust me.”
“All right. Tell me about Frank. Tell me everything about him.”
Jake took a notepad out of the inside of his jacket. For Carl he took the professional approach, as opposed to the sympathetic approach he’d taken with Judith.
Carl sighed and began to talk. “Frank is a good guy. He’s a great father. He’s a great husband. He’s never forgotten an anniversary or a birthday. Heck, he remembers half-birthdays and the anniversary of their first date, their first kiss, their first night together. It’s kind of weird how devoted he is to her. He loves her with all his heart. His daughter Suzie even more so. She’s his princess. I almost wish he would have had a son, just so that the poor fucker who ends up dating his daughter never has to deal with him. If anyone ever does anything to her, I have no doubt that he would break out of that shell of placidity and kill them. It’s one of the only things I can imagine him truly getting mad about.”
Jake looked up over the notepad. “You really think he would?”
Carl nodded. “He’s a calm guy, but he has a mean streak. I’ve seen him lose his temper. We were at a bar when someone called him a pussy. He turned and smashed the guy over the head as hard as he could with the glass he was drinking from. He went from zero to a hundred,” Carl snapped his fingers, “just like that. The guy didn’t press charges on account of Frank giving him free repairs for life, paying his hospital bills, and apologizing. I think Frank did it more for Judith and Suzie than himself. I didn’t see remorse, and when he spoke about it, he wasn’t sorry. He didn’t regret it, and I think he would have killed that man if he thought it would have accomplished anything.”
“What about cheating on his wife?”
“Never in a million years. Not even a billion years. However old the universe is, fourteen billion years or whatever the newest number those science guys came out with is, never in that many years would he cheat on his wife. I’ve known a lot of guys who cheat, and he doesn’t fit the bill. He’s a lot of things, even possibly a killer if the chance presented itself, but he's loyal.”
The certainty with which Carl said it almost made Jake believe him, but he had to remember Harold’s wisdom. Harold had been at it longer than he had. He knew the terrain and the clues. He had to keep every option open.
“You have any theories for where the underwear and the emails came from?”
Carl shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve thought about it long and hard, and I have to imagine someone is trying to frame him, although I can’t imagine why.”
“Judith mentioned that there was something from his past that he might have wanted to talk about, what he might have been arguing with that guy about.”
Carl took a long swig of coffee before speaking. “Here’s the thing, Jake. People don’t move to Crescent Point. There are three kinds of people who live here. The people who are born here, the people who came to work in the factories, and people who got tricked by some twist of fate. No one chooses to move here. Come here for a few weeks in the summer to enjoy the beaches and the amusement park with our terrible roller coaster, sure, but not to stay. It’s too remote from anything worth being close to.”
“But Frank…”
“Frank fits into the third category. Strange twists of fate. He came here because he couldn’t afford to live anywhere else. He’s never told anyone about what he was doing before, but I get the sense he was in some trouble with someone, a loan shark, the law, or a drug dealer or something.”
Closer than he thinks, thought Jake.
“He was only going to be here until he got back on his feet,” continued Carl, “but then he met Judith and fell in love with her. They were married when they had only been dating for six months, two people well past their primes who had never lost and found love before. Judith’s first husband died in a boating accident.
Suzie—” Carl paused. “I suppose you know Suzie isn’t Frank’s daughter?”
Jake nodded.
“Her father is Judith’s first husband. Suzie doesn’t know, and I don’t know if they’re going to tell her. Judith had a one-year-old daughter and was grieving when she met Frank. I know that sounds like he took advantage of her, but he didn’t. Frank stepped in and loves that girl like she’s his own flesh and blood. He’s the best father I know, and the kid isn’t even his.” He looked out into empty space for a few moments. “You can’t tell anyone I told you that. You’re an outsider.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” said Jake. He made a show of checking his watch. “I need to get going soon. Do you think that I could get a look at Frank’s comp
uter, see the suspicious emails?”
Carl hesitated.
“I might need to know what they say to figure out what happened to him, and it’s not a breach of his privacy if he didn’t write them, right?”
Carl nodded but still seemed uncertain. He placed his coffee on the break table and walked past Jake, who stood and followed him, sliding the blank notepad into the inside of his jacket.
Carl told him to wait in the hallway while he walked into the office and booted up the computer. After a few minutes, he waved Jake inside. Frank’s email was on the screen, but Carl had entered a search that left only the emails between him and a woman named Chastity Hills on the screen. Carl stood to one side, making sure Jake didn’t infringe on Frank’s privacy. Jake scrolled through the emails, looking for indications of forgery. There were emails going back over a year, speaking of hidden meetings at quaint hotels while Frank was away, his wife thinking he was headed to a conference, meeting a business associate, or scouting out new supplies at a trade show.
The conversations were filled with sexual innuendoes and dirty talk between them. Pet names were the preferred method of referring to one another. There were thirty-four emails in total, the first of which was simply Frank saying he had had a great time on the weekend, felt they had a connection, and hoped they could stay in touch.
“Have you checked these dates? Was he in town for any of those?”
“The cops checked his records and found he was out of town for every single one of those, at conferences or meeting someone.”
“Did they ever check with the conferences? Did they follow up?”
“I would guess they didn’t. But even then, most of these conferences have tens of thousands of people at them. Finding anyone who would be able to confirm he wasn’t there would be near impossible. Even finding someone who could confirm he was would be difficult, considering no one has come forward."
“Do you mind showing me a few other examples of his writing? I want to see if there’s anything in there that might be able to prove he didn’t write these emails.”
Carl did, selecting a few emails that revealed nothing but the day-to-day operations of the repair shop and his plans for conferences. Jake could see nothing out of the ordinary. The verb tenses and errors in spelling were occasionally inconsistent, but even that could be accounted for by the use of spell check and grammar check on one and not the other.
After he had exhausted every trick he knew, he had to come to the conclusion that either Frank had written these emails, or someone skilled had faked them.
“Have they tried tracking down this Chastity woman?”
“The whore? What could they do, call up all the strip clubs in Vegas and say they were looking for a stripper named Chastity Hills in connection with a missing persons case? How do you think that would go?”
Jake sighed and gave Carl the all-clear to shut down the computer, and they walked out to the front. Remy was still in the garage, rocking his head back and forth to the music only he could hear. He looked up at Jake through the window. He seemed confused, but when Carl stepped into the office, he lost interest and returned to scrubbing the car he was working on.
Jake thanked Carl. “Are you going to be at the bar tonight?”
Carl laughed. “After the twenty-four hours I’ve had, you can bet on it.” He picked up the P.I. card on the counter and flicked it, as if to check authenticity. “Guess you haven’t told the cops about this? That whole act of coming in wasted was to get them off your back?”
“Exactly,” said Jake, although he was becoming more and more concerned about the logic of his entrance. “If you don’t tell anyone else, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure.”
They shook, and Jake left the repair shop with more questions than answers.
Chapter 13
The Crescent Point Bar was just opening up, serving late lunches and people who were drinking at three on a Monday afternoon. Karen was walking through the bar cleaning tables and taking the occasional order.
“Hey,” said Jake as he approached.
“Hey yourself,” she said, smiling as she finished cleaning the table and stuck the rag into her belt, like she was sheathing a sword.
“That was quite a scene last night. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come and talk to you.”
“Yeah.” Karen laughed. “You seemed to disappear pretty abruptly. Didn’t want to talk to the cops again?”
Jake laughed. “Something like that.”
Karen reached into her pocket and held out the napkin Jake had left her. “Still want to keep your word?”
Jake laughed. “I didn’t think you’d seen it.”
“It was sweet,” said Karen. “I like the part about how I’m the smartest, wittiest, most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. It's like you were listing every adjective you know.”
“Well,” said Jake. “The offer still stands. A walk on the beach seems a little cheesy now, but how about something else. Dinner tonight at the finest restaurant in town?”
Karen raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“I mean it.”
“This isn’t still just to get information about Dirk, is it?”
“Who?”
“Guy who was talking to the chief—never mind. I’m not working the late shift tonight, so I’ll be off around eight. There’s a new steakhouse in town I want to try out. George’s steakhouse. You got any interest in that? It’s pretty expensive.”
“It would be my pleasure to take you there.”
“Awesome,” said Karen. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you tonight.”
“See you tonight,” said Jake.
Karen gave him a smirk and turned away, sliding the napkin with Jake’s love note back into her pocket.
Jake smiled and left the bar, looking over his shoulder and meeting Karen’s eyes as he left.
It was against the rules of The Compound, but he figured that every agent had to give themselves something to be happy about, no matter how small it was. They lived a hard life. They deserved it.
Chapter 14
After less than four hours of sleep, Amanda Obrasey had spent the day trying to get in contact with the chief. He’d avoided her calls, and when she finally got through to him, he told her to stop chasing stupid leads. She'd had to tell him to shut up, something she had never done to a superior officer before, and ask if he had listened to her voicemail.
“No,” he'd said. “I know what it’s going to say, more ramblings about why Frank Frederickson is being held captive in some dungeon somewhere.“
“Chief, shut up and listen to what I found.”
The chief sighed but listened as Obrasey outlined her trip over the night to Boston and what Keith had told her.
“You’re sure?” the chief said when she had finished, his skepticism evaporating. “None of this is speculation or unfounded?”
“I have the tapes.”
“All right,” he said. “Bring them in for your shift tonight. Until then, get some sleep.”
Obrasey had listened, taking the small victory. She only managed to get about an hour of sleep the phone rang, waking her up. Zach, sitting on the couch in the living room, breathing machine sitting beside him on the ground and his busted leg propped up on the coffee table, called out to her.
“Amanda! Babe!” he yelled. “It’s for you!”
She stumbled out of bed in only her underwear and grabbed the phone out of Zach’s hands. “Yes?”
“Obrasey. Get down here now,” said the chief.
Obrasey was still drowsy, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Now? My shift doesn’t start for another three hours.”
“Now. Don’t shower, don’t get some food. Get your uniform on and get your ass down here.”
The chief hung up, and Obrasey stared at the phone for a few seconds before handing it back to Zach.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Something big.”
Obrasey dressed
and walked past Zach with a travel mug of coffee in her hands. The bag containing her notes and the tapes from the club hung from her shoulder.
“I ever tell you how sassy that uniform is?” said Zach. “Sassy Officer Obrasey.” He grinned. “That’s a nice little rhyme. Sassy Officer Obrasey.”
Obrasey grinned despite herself. “I will punch you.”
“Sassy Officer Obrasey. Almost makes me want to take your last name when we get married.”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not taking yours.”
“Yeah, Sassy Officer Cameron doesn’t really work the same way.”
Obrasey grabbed a pillow off the chair and hurled it at her crippled fiancé, who held his hands up in front of his face, laughing.
“Let me know if you need anything,” said Obrasey on her way out the door.
“Stay sassy!”
Obrasey closed the door, walked out to the squad car parked in her driveway, and drove to the station, sipping coffee as quickly as she could.
The moment she entered the reception area, she could tell something was happening beyond the ordinary.
The receptionist stood. “They’re waiting in the chief’s office for you.”
Obrasey didn’t ask who “they” were. She walked into the back, through the bullpen where no work was being completed, everyone watching as she passed. Obrasey lowered her head, feeling a strange case of stage fright. The blinds to the chief’s office were pulled shut, although light and shadows snuck through. She knocked on the door.
“Come in,” came the chief’s voice.
She entered and closed the door behind her. She turned and froze.
The two FBI agents she’d seen on the tapes at the club were sitting across from the chief. They wore the same dark suits and jackets and the same flat expressions. They stood and held out their hands to the stunned Obrasey.
“Nice to meet you, Officer Obrasey,” said the black agent. “My name is Special Agent Andre Emerson.”
“Amanda Obrasey.”
The white FBI agent did the same, introducing himself as Special Agent Ken Thompson.
