Nagler shook his head. “But it does. Mansell’s was written in the nineteenth century as a collection of profiles of leading businessmen and politicians. All very proper. And very Puritan American. I’ve read some of the profiles. Everyone is pure as the driven snow even if in their real life they were known as a scoundrel. A couple of the men whose names I recognized were sent to jail for theft or murder. No mention of their crimes at all. Just good Jersey folks.”
“So...”
“So that had to be some troubling incident,” Nagler said.
Dawson shrugged, “Okay. What could be so bad?”
Then both men smiled.
“Sex,” Dawson said.
“Debauchery,” Nagler said, letting the word hang dripping in the air: De-bauch-ery. “The Jefferson principal I spoke with called the Garrettson place a ‘compound.’ “
“That’s sort of cultish,” Dawson said. “A little Waco, maybe? You think Manson?”
Nagler smiled. “No, I don’t know.”
“Why’d that come up?”
“You know our missing cop, Garrett Alton? Someone who knows him told me his real name is Alton Garrett. Changed his name to hide who his family was.
“You think Garrett is a Garrettson?”
“He told me he was from Jefferson. Who knows? I looked up the surname Garrett or Garrettson and there’s about a million and half families in the country with that last name, and more than thirty thousand in Jersey.” Nagler scratched his forehead with the fingers of both hands. “Maybe there’s something there in a distant family history that explains his running away, or, I don’t know, maybe that family just caught some horrible disease and died.”
Dawson squished his cheeks together and let out a noisy breath.
“Wait a minute. Wasn’t that Atlanta guy named Garrettson, the one who drove out to Nebraska to kill himself by gasoline truck?” Dawson asked.
Nagler waved a hand. “Yeah. One too many Garrettsons.” He leaned on his elbows and covered his mouth. “But Guidrey said he’s not dead.” He leaned back and shook his head slightly. “He sent me a text, said that Randolph Garrettson was alive. God, that was almost two weeks ago. I better call him.”
“You think...”
“Jimmy, I don’t know what I think, except I need to find Alton Garrett. And...”
Before he could finish the sentence, his phone rang.
“Yeah, Nagler. Oh, shit. I’m... I’m sorry, Sister Katherine. I’m on my way.”
“What?” Dawson smiled. “Swearing at a nun?”
“The girl’s gone. Garrett took her.”
****
Eyes closed, Sister Katherine slumped in the chair behind her large desk, a younger nun pressing a cool cloth to her forehead. The creases on her cheeks seemed deeper and her skin, usually almost translucent, appeared grayer, solid. Frank Nagler sighed; he could not recall seeing the Sister in so much pain.
“I’m sorry, Frank,” she whispered. “I hadn’t thought....”
“It’s not...”
“He came into the lobby with such urgency, almost rage, Sister Margaret said. ‘Where is she? Where is she?’ He demanded. She was uncertain what to do, but because he was in uniform, she told him. While we rushed to her call in the lobby, and had other sisters running to her room, he apparently picked the girl up with a few clothes and left by the rear emergency door. Sister Denise ran outside but could not locate them. I have no idea where he went. No one saw a vehicle leave the property.” She patted the hand of the Sister who was cooling her forehead and nodded that it was fine for her to leave. “Oh, Francis, how much danger is she in?”
The details he had learned in the past few days swirled in his head. Garrett’s real name, the girl might be his sister. And Calista Knox was his friend.
He dialed Leonard’s store. No answer. He called again, and got voice mail.
He called Calista. No answer.
He called Lauren, who answered. “I’ll explain later. Can you get over to Leonard’s store?”
“Sure. Why...what ...?”
“Just go, I’ll meet you there.”
He turned to the nun. “Sister Katherine.”
His voice pulled her from a deep reverie. “Go, Francis. I’m fine. I’ll go to chapel now,” she said, her voice cracked and soft as a broken chime. “I need His guidance.”
Nagler walked around the desk and kissed her forehead. “Bless you, Sister. It’ll be fine.”
Sister Katherine took his hand in hers and pressed it to her cheek. “You get that bastard, Francis,” she hissed.
Nagler pounded the steering wheel as he drove. He called Ramirez.
“Hey, Maria. Garrett took the girl from the sisters’ home.”
“Crap. What’s he driving? I’ll get...”
“How about we guess he’s driving a black SUV? Get Morristown to place a car on Mendham Road, and sit someone along the main roads into Ironton. And get a foot patrol over to Leonard’s. I can’t raise anyone there. Lauren should be there by now.”
“Leonard’s?”
“I’ll explain later. Thanks.”
If you’re not the one I’m looking for, Nagler thought, recalling Garrett’s message, why am I looking for you? Fuck.
Lauren, a patrol officer, and Leonard’s assistant Bobby were in front of the store when Nagler arrived. Bobby was pointing to the warehouse and factory next door and shaking his head.
“I’ve got it, officer, thanks,” Nagler said at the curb.
Lauren tried to calm Bobby. “It’s okay.”
“But I’m supposed to watch out for him,” Bobby said, voice torn and wet. “I carry this beeper so he or Calista can call me. They didn’t.”
“Who’s around today?” Nagler asked.
Bobby squinted at the sidewalk. “Just me, I guess. Del and his boys took a load of stuff to a dealer out of town. A couple of the kids worked the morning shift, then they went to class. Calista was here for a PT session and said she’d stay for the day since her schedule was light.”
“And you?”
“I was out back, Frank. Workin’ them books, as always, Sortin’, packing, unpackin’. We keep gettin’ box after box.”
Nagler shook his shoulder. “You alright?”
Bobby rubbed his face and closed his eyes. “If anything happens...just worried, Frank.”
“Yeah, me, too, Bobby.”
Nagler and Lauren watched as Bobby trudged back to the warehouse, shaking his head, waving his arms, lost in a private conversation of remorse.
Nagler half smiled at Lauren. “Thanks for coming over.”
She took his hand and led him into the store. “What’s going on?”
“Garrett took the girl.”
“Who?”
“Alton Garrett, you know, Garrett Alton... I’ll explain later.”
Lauren gasped and leaned into Nagler. “Oh, Frank. Where...?”
“Dunno.”
“Why are we here?”
“Calista knows him, has since high school. She gave me a message from him the other day.”
Lauren leaned her head to one side and starting shaking it slowly. “Hello. Is she helping him?”
Nagler glanced around the store. “There’s gotta be something here. Not sure,” he said in response to Lauren. “His message was, ‘I’m not who you are looking for.’” His voice drifted off. “And I don’t know what that means.”
“So why come here?”
“Calista said without saying, if you get my meaning, that Garrett was in trouble.”
Nagler closed the store’s front door as the tiny bell he installed years ago tinkled in the still air. He locked the door and flipped the window sign from “OPEN” to “CLOSED.”
“What are we looking for?” Lauren asked.
Nagler ran a hand through his hair. “A note would be good. A sheet of paper with a map. A big arrow.” He chuckled.
Lauren slowly walked toward the rear of the store, lifting books, magazines, glancing under table
s. “What do we know about Calista? I mean, she just showed up and started taking care of Leonard. And we accepted her for that.”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
Lauren wrinkled her nose. “Don’t know. Hey, how about a phone?”
She picked up a bag she recognized as Calista’s and pulled out a cell phone and flicked the screen. “Whoa. How about a cell phone with a video message?”
She tossed Nagler the phone.
The video showed Calista’s half-shaded face.
She was whispering.
“Frank, Alton Garrett is here with the girl. She seems fine. He said they were coming to take her and if they did, no one would see her again. I asked who, and he just shook his head. He said something like ‘they need to look in the books.’ Do you know what that means? He is very afraid. He wanted me to go with him, and I said I couldn’t leave Leonard.” She smiled. “Leonard. So brave. He started to argue with Garrett, telling him he could help him hide, if that’s what he needed to do. I think Leonard almost had him convinced, but then Garrett said, no, he had to get out of the city. He saw me with the phone and told me to leave it. But we have a phone, Leonard’s, the emergency phone I told you about, the one I programmed with 9-1-1 and your number and mine. Garrett didn’t even think to ask a blind man for a cell phone. I slipped it into an inside pocket of Leonard’s jacket.” She paused, looked across the room, and smiled slightly. “I don’t know where we’re going, but I’ll reach out as soon as I can. Trust me, Frank, nothing will happen to that little girl or Leonard. You were wrong the other day. I do trust you. I know what you did for Leonard. How could I not? Okay, we’re going.”
Nagler shut off the phone, placed it in a pocket, and walked to stare out the front window. To the right, half a block away, blue and yellow scaffolding was rising in front of a three-story Victorian with a torn roof, and two buildings further down, a long Dumpster filled the curb, the ends of some two-by-fours sticking up.
Lauren came to his side and put an arm around his waist.
“What?”
“They’re going to name this square after Leonard — Leonard Hampton Square — and put a brass plaque on the side of the book store,” He glanced at Lauren and smiled weakly. “He doesn’t know it. Rashad Jackson told me about it and said to keep it quiet. In a few weeks, they’re going to bring a weekly farmers’ market here. Leonard will be the guest of honor at the kick-off. That’s when they’ll tell him.”
“But what?”
“Right now, he’s not here.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“Is your mother ready for that court appearance?”
Lauren leaned her head on his arm and smiled.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Did I tell you he’s originally from Jersey?
Lieutenant Maria Ramirez was waiting when Nagler arrived at his desk.
“We found an old logging road on the back side of the Catholic Sisters’ Home,” she said. The head nun said she wasn’t aware of it. The road was rutted, narrow, and clearly hadn’t been used in years, but it led down to the main road about a mile away. You would have had to have known about it, Frank.”
“So how did Garrett know about it?” Nagler asked absently. “Unless he’d been there before. Any sign that anyone was living out there?”
“No,” Ramirez said. “Found some tracks. Could be an SUV.”
Nagler slapped his desk. “Something ain’t right.” Fuck. “Alright. While you were at the Sisters’ Home, Garrett collected Leonard and his physical therapist Calista Knox. They were at the bookstore. Calista left me a message on her phone. She didn’t know where they were going.”
“What’s the matter, Frank? You got a funny look.”
“Calista said she went to school with Garrett and she told me they bonded because they both had been molested. You ever heard of her, Calista Knox? Might not even be her name. Said she used to give blow jobs to high school kids.”
Ramirez scoffed. “Her and half the damn high school.”
“But she also said she knows Sister Katherine, the head nun.”
“Say what?”
“Which means that Alton Garrett also knows Sister Katherine.” Nagler slowly shook his head. “Jesus Christ, I wish I knew what that meant.”
“So wait, wait,” Ramirez said. “We got a missing girl and missing cop, and now a missing bookstore owner and his missing friend, all missing together, and an old nun who probably knows all about it. Damn.”
Nagler smiled. “And, Maria, you’ll like this. Calista said it’s possible that the missing girl is Garrett’s sister.”
“Oh, right. Cause there ain’t enough branches on this tree. But it might mean that Garrett could have been the one who dropped her on the street. Remember that video, and the girl saying ‘What if they don’t find me?’ Need I ask? So why do we care?”
“Because Garrett keeps saying that someone is after the girl,” Nagler said. “And this. Sister Katherine said something odd the first time I spoke to her about the girl. She said the girl and her circumstances mean something more than what they appear to be.” He stood and walked in a circle. “Man, she’s known about this all along. Sister Katherine is up to her crucifix in it.”
“If that’s the case, then who’s your mystery caller?” Ramirez asked as she smiled and started to leave. “Know what? I ain’t goin’ anywhere near that one. That nun, she’s all yours, buddy. And so’s your phone friend.”
“Yeah, got that right,” he replied. “Oh wait,” he said and found a pen and a note pad. “This is Leonard’s cell phone number. Calista programmed in some emergency numbers. I mean it was a cheap phone, but maybe it’s got GPS.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because Calista hid it in Leonard’s coat. He has it with him.”
“Smart cookie. We’ll see what it has. Even if it doesn’t, we can call it, if we need to. That’s something. Hopefully she set it on vibrate.”
****
Nagler stared at his desk, his eyes catching the words “family court” that he had scribbled down and circled while speaking with the Jefferson school official. Maybe, he thought, now that the girl is missing again, I can use that as a way into the mysterious files of the Garrettson family. Who do I know who owes me a favor?
While he pondered that his phone rang: Guidrey. Oh, man, I owe him.
“John, hi, sorry man ...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Guidrey said. “I’ve got a drug war, and you, my friend, have an even bigger mess.”
“Don’t like the sound of that.”
Guidrey’s breath filled the phone.
“Short version is this. After we called out there, Nebraska reopened the investigation into the I80 death of Randall Garrettson. What’d you tell me you called him? Tank? Like it. Anyway, they took a second look at the remains and determined that the body they had was too small to be a 30-ish-year-old man. But it was a blood relative.”
“Crap,” Nagler said. “Say who?”
“Naw. They had no luck tracking family, but maybe it’s a brother, a son, possibly.”
“Wow. But the whole suicide by gas truck thing holds together, right?” Nagler asked.
“Yeah,” Guidrey huffed.
“Jesus Christ, John. What would force a son, if that is who it is, to drive all the way from Georgia to Nebraska to kill himself?” What’d he do? Or what was being done to him, he thought, but did not utter.
“Georgia is also reopening the cases of the missing girls, and our better-late-than-never state tax department is looking into Tank’s financials. We’re sending up the paper. Sorry it’s so much, but I thought you might want it. I’d suggest you get a forensic accountant to take a looksee. And, oh, did I tell you he’s originally from Jersey?”
Nagler held the phone but clutched his head with his free hand.
“Of course he is,” he said abstractly.
“Yeah, thought you’d like that.”
“Just what I need,” Nagler mutt
ered.
“Say what?”
“It’s the name. Garrettson. Thing that I’m poking at up here had me reading the scanty history of a Garrettson family from the 1880s. Once prosperous, they dropped out of society after an incident.”
“Probably sex,” Guidrey said. “Back then.”
“That’s what we thought, too. History book I was reading said the family vanished.”
“Down here they would have hanged whoever it was,” Guidrey said, somewhat cheerfully, Nagler thought.
“You know, Frank. Vanished, you said. Wonder if some of them vanished to Nebraska? I mean if you are going to kill yourself, wouldn’t you do it near family? Why Nebraska and not New Jersey?”
After the phone went dead, the question hung in the air like smoke caught in sunlight.
****
On his way out, Nagler left by the inside door that led to city’s hall’s lobby.
The parking lot project to repair the lights was now consuming the entire space. The department had commandeered eight parking spaces on Sussex to compensate. At first, in the semi-dark lobby, he hadn’t seen it resting on the table with the tax forms and advertising fliers; then as he got closer to the door, he stopped and stared. One more surprise in a surprising day.
A tweed hat.
Hapworth’s gravel voice filled his ears.
A tweed hat.
How many could there be?
He was going to take it, but said, no, that’d be dumb. So he fumbled with his phone and managed to snap a photo of the hat diagonally across the screen.
Who wears a tweed hat?
Too obvious, he thought. They wanted me to see it.
Which possibly meant they were in the building all this time.
Which was not a comforting thought.
Outside on Sussex, the only sounds leaked from Marty’s, a nearby bar. Every sense was tingling. I could hear footsteps a block away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The woman who escaped
Frank Nagler found himself again on Blackwell, walking the route the girl took after her forced exit from the black SUV to the grocery store. Spring rains had washed away the snow but left behind the grit and gravel that covered the patches of brown grass and crumbling sidewalks with a gray film.
The Weight of Living Page 12
