A Necessary Evil

by Christina Kaye

  He could see his old friend in the laughing man at the end of the bar, and Kurt’s mind went back to the day they’d sealed their friendship in blood on the riverbank. But the image of the ten-year-old version of Frankie faded and was quickly replaced by the eighteen-year-old who had stood in Kurt’s bedroom and confessed to murdering Julian McAllister. Their last words to each other beat in his ears like a bass drum. Remembering exactly why they hadn’t spoken in four years made Kurt’s stomach churn. He turned around and headed for the door.

  When the bell above the door jingled, it must have drawn Frankie’s attention, because just as Kurt was about to step out into the street, he heard his name echo above the sounds of the other patrons enjoying their drinks. Kurt stopped cold and stood like an old Roman statue. He flexed his hands a couple of times and let out a deep sigh. It was too late. Now that Frankie had seen him and called out his name, Kurt had only two choices. He could either keep walking and pretend he hadn’t heard his name called, or he could turn around and face the man he’d sworn he’d never talk to again for the rest of his life.

  Sitting there in the precinct reminiscing about this last encounter, Kurt still couldn’t remember, or even understand, why he’d ultimately turned around, but he had. When the two men’s eyes met, Kurt felt his breathing accelerate, and time had slowed to a near stop. Frankie smiled widely and motioned for Kurt to join him, as if they hadn’t told each other to screw off the last time they’d been together. As if the death of the woman they both loved and all the events that followed hadn’t torn them apart.

  Kurt was on auto-pilot when he walked across the floor toward Frankie. When he reached him, Frankie stood, wrapped one arm around Kurt’s shoulders, squeezed tightly, and introduced him as his “best friend in the whole world.” Frankie shoved a tumbler full of whiskey into Kurt’s hand and insisted he throw it back. Kurt complied without thinking, and after three more like it, the pair were laughing and telling tales about the old days.

  They’d closed down the bar and stumbled out into the street, arm in arm, telling raunchy jokes and catching up on the gossip about some of their high school buddies. When they reached Kurt’s car, Frankie had turned and looked Kurt right in the eye, suddenly seeming sober as a priest.

  “You know I love you, right, buddy?” Frankie had said.

  Kurt, full of whiskey and old memories, said, “I know, Frankie.”

  “I’m sorry,” Frankie said next. It caught Kurt so off guard, his mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. “You know what I’m apologizing for, don’t you?”

  Kurt had nodded slowly.

  “Good. Then we’ll leave it at that. And we’ll never talk about it ever again. Right? No one will ever know.”

  Again, Kurt just nodded.

  Frankie slapped Kurt on the back, told him he loved him again, and then turned and disappeared down the street. When Kurt had climbed into his car, he’d sat there stunned, wishing he’d have said something…anything to Frankie, to let him know he still wasn’t okay with what he’d done.

  When he’d sobered up the next morning, Kurt allowed himself to acknowledge exactly what had happened. Frankie had seen an opportunity to ensure that, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how pissed off Kurt might still be, he would never reveal Frankie’s deepest, darkest secret. It had absolutely nothing to do with restoring the brotherly love they’d once had for one another. Frankie simply wanted to ensure Kurt’s continued discretion. Despite the wall Kurt had built around his heart where Frankie was concerned, it shattered all over again.

  Warmth rushed through Kurt’s veins, and he realized the Percocet was kicking in and working its magic. He turned his attention back to the present and his struggle to find Frankie. Remembering their last encounter, Kurt knew he had to do the difficult thing. He had to put an end to Frankie’s criminal activities and prevent him from killing someone else, regardless of how much Collin McAllister deserved to die.

  Kurt pulled up a new screen and began typing up his final report on Mollie’s kidnapping. He may not have known where Frankie was hiding, but he was going to work this case by the book and leave no room for him to wiggle off the hook one day on a technicality. He filled in all the information requested, leaving out nothing, and typed up a short summary of what he’d been able to discover so far. It wasn’t much beyond his gut instincts and hunches, and Kurt hated that he would have to turn in his report without being able to explain exactly how she had been rescued, and he knew he’d be called on the carpet to explain the vague ending of his report, but his conscience was clear this time. He was no longer covering for a murderer, so if the higher-ups wanted to question him about Frankie, he was more than ready and willing to tell all this time.

  When it came time to list the evidence gathered during the course of the investigation, he attached the surveillance video from the mall parking lot and the photographs he had taken of the bunker where Mollie had been held. He drummed his fingers on the desk, trying to think of anything else he might have forgotten. There was no room for error.

  It hit him like a Mack truck that he still had Mollie’s journal, but had never had a moment to look through it. Something had made him sneak the journal out of her house that day, but he was still not quite sure what that something was. He’d gotten sidetracked when Mollie had been rescued, and then once again when he had to start looking for Frankie, and he’d never even opened it.

  He opened the top drawer, pulled out the red leather journal, laid it on top of his desk, and untied the thin leather straps. Kurt leaned forward and slid his chair closer to his desk. He furrowed his brow, turned the first page, and started reading.

  At first, her entries were similar to what any other average teenage girl might write. She talked about her friends, school, and boys. But about three pages in, his heart stopped. He reread the words one more time to make sure he hadn’t misinterpreted anything. When he was positive he had not, he jumped up, sending his chair crashing to the floor, and ran out of the office. He couldn’t get to his cruiser fast enough.

  Chapter 30

  Frankie

  The horse farm had been his ex-wife’s idea from the get-go. Back in 2009, she had begged Frankie for a farm. Susan was ready to retire from her teaching job at Henry Clay High School, but she wasn’t ready to sit at home knitting and watching Jeopardy. So, she’d convinced Frankie to buy twenty acres on Old Paris Pike, and they’d bought ten thoroughbreds, thirty head of cattle, and a dozen pigs. Within two years, the farm was turning a handsome profit, mostly from the racehorses, several of which had run and won out at Keeneland Racetrack. The pigs and cows were mainly there for extra income. When they divorced amicably in 2012, Frankie had given Susan the farm mostly because she loved it so much, and also because he didn’t really need any more property to keep up with. Besides, he never could have too many tax shelters, as well as places to conduct his less-than-legal business affairs.

  After Frankie had made his final ruling on Collin’s sentence, he had dismissed the jury with his gratitude and a substantial early Christmas bonus for each. Only Bruno, Rupert, Stanley, and Dr. Patesh had come with him to the farm. Susan was on an Alaskan cruise for two weeks, so Frankie would have the entire property to himself.

  When they arrived, Rupert and Stanley dragged Collin across the expansive lawn and into the big red barn as Frankie strode confidently behind them. He was not surprised Collin didn’t fight or struggle for freedom. Instead his head hung low and his feet scraped across the grass as the two bodyguards all but carried him. Apparently, he had accepted his fate. When he’d first grabbed Collin, there was still some fight left in him. He truly thought he might be able to escape, or that maybe Kurt would show up and rescue him. But something had changed in his captive when he’d heard what Frankie had planned for him. Which was perfectly fine with Frankie. It made his job much easier.

  At the entrance of the barn, Rupert and Stanley released their grip on Collin, and he dropped to the ground as if there were n
o bones in his body at all. They heaved the barn doors open, picked Collin up again, and dragged him toward the center. Frankie closed the doors behind them after Bruno and Dr. Patesh crossed over the threshold. He flipped the light switch, and the barn was illuminated. The smell of fresh hay and horse manure brought back memories of his time on the farm with Susan. Every now and then, he missed her. But not often. Frankie quite enjoyed being a bachelor.

  “Where should we set up, boss?” Bruno asked.

  “There’s a table over there.” Frankie pointed to the corner. “Grab it and bring it over here to the middle of the barn.”

  Bruno nodded, retrieved the table, quickly unfolded its legs, and set it upright.

  “Put him on top,” Frankie instructed.

  Rupert and Stanley hoisted Collin up and laid him supine on the table.

  “Tie him down,” Frankie said. “He may look like he’s given up, but we can’t take any chances.”

  The bodyguards looked around and found a large rope hanging from a hook next to one of the stalls. They worked together to tie Collin to the table so his hands and feet could not move. One more rope was tied around his waist for good measure. Collin lifted his head slowly, observed their handiwork, and laid it back down.

  Frankie walked over to a stall and began stroking the muzzle of one of the thoroughbreds. “Lovely animals, horses. Don’t you think?”

  Those around him could tell he was speaking to Collin, so no one responded. Collin’s head rolled to the left, and his glassy eyes stared at Frankie. Apparently, he didn’t share Frankie’s enthusiasm for the equine species.

  “Such lovely brown eyes,” Frankie continued. “As a matter of fact, I bet you didn’t know that horses’ eyes are larger than any other living mammals’. And, because their eyes are on the sides of their head, they can see nearly three-hundred-sixty degrees.”

  Collin just looked through Frankie as if he wasn’t there.

  “It’s okay. I didn’t know these things, either. Not until I bought this farm and started doing my research.” Frankie patted the horse on the velvety tip of its nose, walked over to the table, and stood right next to Collin’s head. “Your eyes, on the other hand…you look defeated, Collin. That makes this whole thing a lot less fun. But no less satisfying.” Frankie turned to Dr. Patesh and motioned for him to step forward. “Go ahead and administer the drug.”

  Dr. Patesh pulled a syringe out of his pocket, and Frankie wondered if he regularly carried powerful paralytic drugs around with him everywhere he went. Then he remembered the good doc was always on call for Frankie, so he likely kept a plethora of supplies and drugs in his car. He watched with extreme pleasure as Dr. Patesh held the syringe upright and squeezed it lightly, releasing the air bubbles. The obese doctor grunted as he leaned forward and rolled up Collin’s bloody sleeve with one hand. The needle went into his vein like a knife through butter, and Collin’s head rolled so he now stared at the ceiling.

  “You’re going to pay for this,” Collin whispered.

  Frankie leaned over Collin and looked down at him. “Really? And how is that? You’re not leaving behind anyone who could avenge your death.” Frankie chuckled softly. “That is, of course, unless some woman is at home, waiting to give birth to your son. Kind of like what happened when I killed your father.”

  Fury played across Collin’s face, and it thrilled Frankie to see some emotion from him once again. He was getting to him. Good. He didn’t just want to end him. He wanted his final moments to be filled with rage and terror.

  “No,” Frankie continued, “I don’t think you have any sons on the way. In fact, I doubt you could ever get a woman to be with you. Not voluntarily, anyway.”

  Collin’s body jerked as if he wanted to lunge at Frankie. The veins bulged at his temples and his neck. “You’re going to hell for this.”

  Suddenly, he went limp again and became very still. His eyes closed, and his head rolled to the side.

  “That’s the drug taking effect,” Dr. Patesh said. “He can no longer control his muscles, but he can feel anything you do to him. He’s all yours.” The doctor held out his arm toward Collin and took a few steps backward.

  Frankie reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife he had brought with him for this special occasion. He ran it along Collin’s cheek and across his throat, controlling the temptation to dig deep and kill him with one swift motion. But remembering all the misery this man and his father had brought him over the last forty years, first with Addie’s murder and then with Mollie’s kidnapping, helped him rein in his temper. Frankie wanted Collin to suffer, especially when he thought about all the horrible things he had not only planned to do to Mollie, but had done to six innocent young women before her.

  He got a good grip on the knife’s handle and plunged it into Collin’s bullet wound. Collin’s eyes popped open wide and his body jerked in response. He began to convulse wildly. The table was shaking, and Frankie thought it might break any second.

  “What’s happening?” Frankie shouted at Dr. Patesh.

  “I-I don’t know,” the large man responded. “P-perhaps the pain you just inflicted was too much for his system and he’s going into shock. Or perhaps…”

  “Perhaps what?” Frankie was in full-on panic mode now. The thrashing of Collin’s body against the table was disturbing, to say the least.

  “Perhaps I gave him too much Sux.”

  “Oh, that’s just great, Nareej.”

  “I said perhaps. I’m not sure.”

  Just as Frankie looked back at Collin, his body stopped jerking. His head rolled to the side again, and his eyes were fixed and staring toward the left. Dr. Patesh waddled over to him and felt for a pulse in his inner wrist and then in his throat. He turned and looked at Frankie and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, boss. But he’s dead.”

  The doors to the barn slammed open, and Frankie turned to see Kurt standing in the entryway with his gun pointed right at him.

  “Stop right now, Frankie!”

  “What the hell are you doing here, Kurt?” Frankie asked with his hands instinctively held up at his shoulders. The knife he’d been holding dropped to the dirt floor.

  “Step away from him, Frankie. Right now. Slowly.”

  Frankie didn’t move a muscle. “This doesn’t concern you, Kurt. Just turn around and walk away. I’m not going to let you take me in, so this isn’t going to go as smoothly as you’d like.”

  “I said step away from him. I’m not letting you do this. Not again.” Frankie could see Kurt’s thumb move to disengage the safety and his index finger resting lightly on the trigger. Something told him that despite the fact they were once blood brothers, Kurt would pull it without hesitation.

  Kurt stepped closer but kept his gun held out in front of him. Frankie matched his steps until they were standing close enough for Kurt’s gun to nearly touch Frankie’s chest. The two men stared hard at each other for several long, uncomfortable seconds. It was a standoff, like in the old John Wayne movies he enjoyed so much. Frankie knew from experience that whoever spoke first was usually the one to lose, or at least capitulate. It sure as hell wasn’t going to be him.

  The painful silence dragged on for another few seconds as Frankie recalled the last time he’d really talked to his former best friend. They’d run into each other at a bar downtown, and though it was an icy reunion at first, the whiskey had thawed Kurt enough to let him hang loose and enjoy himself. Frankie had truly enjoyed their time together. To this day, he regretted that he’d used his last few moments with his buddy to basically coerce him into silence. But regardless of the soft spot he had for Kurt, Frankie wasn’t about to let him bring him in so he could spend the rest of his days in an eight by ten cell. No, he would not be the one to back down.

  “Why did you have to do this?” Kurt asked, surprising Frankie with his softer tone. Frankie didn’t answer. “Why did you have to put me in this position?”

  The detective looked truly conflicted, an
d Frankie found himself feeling sorry for him. But not sorry enough to turn himself in.

  “I had to finish it,” Frankie said.

  With one swift motion, he grabbed Kurt’s hand and twisted it. His gun flew several feet in the air and landed in a mound of hay. Kurt reacted quickly, and in an instant, they were on the ground, struggling. Each man was trying to get the upper hand. Frankie’s heart was in his throat, and his pulse was racing so fast he thought his veins may explode. He tried to get to an angle where he could bring Kurt down with a swift kick to his nuts, but Kurt had managed to flip Frankie onto his stomach and had his knee in the small of his back. Kurt had his arms pinned down with both hands. Frankie struggled to turn over, but Kurt was stronger in his old age than Frankie could have imagined.

  When they were kids, it was always Frankie who won when they wrestled. He’d been a few inches taller and was built slightly thicker. It wasn’t lost on Frankie that the one time Kurt had beaten him was probably the last time the two would grapple. A small part of Frankie didn’t care so much that he was now headed to prison. This part of him actually felt proud of Kurt for finally getting the best of him after all these years.

  He stopped struggling and submitted to his fate. The sound of metal handcuffs clinking together as Kurt fumbled to pull them out of his belt and secure them around Frankie’s wrists was a sound Frankie thought he’d never hear.

  “Franklin Cartwright, you are under arrest for the kidnapping and murder of Collin McAllister. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…”