Kurt
He dragged himself into the station around eight thirty. After a fitful night of sporadic sleep—his FitBit registered only three hours of REM sleep—he was in serious need of a caffeine infusion. He trudged over to the coffee machine and poured the thick, black roast into a too-small Styrofoam cup. Normally, he added a little cream and sugar, but today, he wanted the full caffeine effect, so he drank it black.
“Hey, Whiskey,” Lonnie shouted over his shoulder. He was sitting with his feet kicked up on his desk, scrolling through his Facebook feed, as usual. “Late night? You look like shit on a stick.”
“Shut up.” Kurt tossed his keys onto his metal desk, and they landed with a loud clank. He gingerly lowered himself into his chair. His back was acting up again. Too much stress.
Lonnie pulled his feet down and scooted his chair closer to Kurt’s desk. “No, seriously, man. No joke. You look awful. I’m really worried about you. You okay?”
Much as Kurt hated to talk about serious matters with Lonnie, he really had no one else to unload on, so he figured—what the hell? “Yeah, I look like crap because I feel like crap. This damn thing says I only got about three hours of sleep. My back is killing me. And I still have no idea where Frankie Cartwright is hiding Collin McAllister.”
“Sorry, man. Here.” Lonnie reached into his pocket, pulled out an orange plastic prescription bottle with a white label, and emptied a round, blue pill into his palm. He held it out toward Kurt. “It’s a Percocet 30. It’ll help with your back pain.”
Kurt considered the pill briefly. He’d been offered narcotic pain medicine by his doctor following his surgery, but he’d declined, afraid of becoming addicted like so many of the criminals he encountered in his day to day job. But now, less than a year shy of retirement and in an enormous amount of pain, he asked himself, what was the worst that could happen?
Kurt held out his palm, accepted the tiny pill, threw his head back, dropped it in his mouth, and washed it down with a big swig of super strong coffee.
There. That ought to set me right.
“Now, as for how to find Franklin Cartwright before he kills that psycho McAllister, I’ve been thinking. Do we really, really want to stop him?”
Kurt shot Lonnie a steely glance and tilted his head.
“Now, hear me out before you preach at me about right from wrong.”
“Fine, I’ll listen. Give me your best argument.”
“Okay, see, the way I figure it, Cartwright is doing us all a huge favor. This McAllister sicko is the worst of them all. Not only did he kidnap and hold that girl, Mollie, hostage, but he murdered six girls over the past two years. We saw the proof in that weird scrapbook of his.”
“Yeah, but that still doesn’t mean—”
“You said you’d hear me out, man.” Lonnie gave Kurt a serious look.
Kurt gestured for him to carry on.
“Anyway, like I was saying, if we find him and arrest him, he’ll probably lawyer up before we can get a statement out of him. If he’s got family money—and based on that farm, I’d say that’s a pretty distinct possibility—he’ll hire some bigshot, slimy attorney to represent him. You know the kind. We see them in here all the time shutting down interviews. So, he’ll hire one of those slick bastards, and if he’s good enough, he may just be able to get him off completely. Even if he gets time, you know it won’t be enough. And he’ll serve his sentence at some cushy, minimum security facility…what do you call them?”
“Prison camps,” Kurt answered.
“Yep. That’s it. A damn prison camp. Had one perp get sent up for murder early in my career. You know where they sent him? One of those so-called camps in Florida. And this dude shot his wife in the back when he found out she was screwing around on him. Cold-blooded murder, and he gets to sit around, watching cable television, sleeping in a ‘dormitory,’ and playing pool all day long, with an ocean view. It’s just stupid. I’d hate to see that happen with this guy.”
“That still doesn’t mean we can let Frankie do whatever he wants to him. We are police, Lonnie. We can’t turn our backs on murder. Besides, weren’t you the one giving me hell a couple days ago about going soft on Frankie?”
“Yeah, but that was before. Now, I can see why someone like our old friend might have the right idea.”
“We can’t let people turn into vigilantes. No matter how much the so-called victim may deserve it. I can’t believe you’re seriously saying this.”
Lonnie shrugged. “I’m just saying. If the old dude—no offense…”
“None taken.”
“…wants to take care of this sick asshole for us, then why do we have to be in such a hurry to stop him? It’s like nature, man.”
“Nature?” Kurt looked at Lonnie, confused.
“Yeah, nature. The circle of life and all that. The predator stalks the prey. The prey becomes the predator. You know what I’m talking about.”
“No, Lonnie. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
All of a sudden, Kurt felt a warming sensation course through his veins.
The Percocet must be working its magic.
“Forget the circle of life. Just listen to what I’m telling you. If Franklin Cartwright wants to deal with this bastard his own way, why should we stop him? We don’t have to give him our blessing. Just, maybe, take our time finding him. That’s all I’m saying.”
Kurt, now feeling a lot better, found himself actually considering Lonnie’s theory. What if they did turn their backs and let Frankie do his thing? Would it be so bad? After all, Collin McAllister had caused unimaginable grief for six families, and there would have been seven victims if Frankie hadn’t tracked him down to that underground bunker and stopped him in the nick of time. Maybe the world would be a better place if he let Frankie do what he wanted and eliminated one more criminal from this earth. It would save the taxpayers time and money, and no one would likely even look for him.
Wait. What the hell am I thinking?
No way was he about to turn his back and let Frankie, once again, commit cold-blooded murder. And he had to call a spade a spade. That what it would be—cold blooded murder. It would be one thing if Frankie had caught Julian McAllister in the act of killing Addie and shot him in a fit of rage, but that wasn’t what he’d done. Though he never learned the exact details, he knew Frankie had stalked Julian for nearly a year before he’d kidnapped him from his gym and held him for hours, maybe even days, doing God only knew what to him before putting a bullet in his head and disposing of his body somewhere so well-hidden, no one ever found a trace of him. It would be the same with the son if Kurt let history repeat itself. Cold-blooded murder. Not on his watch.
“No way, man,” he finally told Lonnie. He was feeling good now, but no matter how good he felt, he knew he couldn’t stand by and let Frankie do whatever he wanted. “Like I said, we’re police. It’s our job to catch murderers, and if at all possible, prevent them.”
Lonnie hung his head and nodded, as if he’d known what Kurt’s answer would be all along. “Yeah, I kind of figured you’d say that.”
Kurt continued. “No matter what Collin McAllister has done, no matter what he deserves, we can’t stand by and let someone like Franklin Cartwright decide someone’s fate. He already…”
He was about to let it slip about Julian, but caught himself.
Damn, Percocet is a hell of a drug.
He straightened his shoulders and continued, hoping Lonnie didn’t ask any questions. “He already thinks he can do whatever he wants because he has money and influence in this town. I’m not about to stand by and let him continue to run this town. Especially not commit murder. Now, that’s the end of it.”
“I hear ya, Whiskey. You’re right.” Lonnie said, though he looked a bit disappointed.
“We’re going to search every property he has in his name. He had to take him somewhere he owns. He couldn’t carry out his plans, whatever they are, in a public place. Unfortunately, Frankie owns half the city, so it’s going to be like finding a very tiny needle in a very large haystack.”
“Where do we start?” Lonnie rolled his chair back toward his own desk and opened his computer screen. “You lead the way.”
Kurt smiled as he turned to his own computer and pulled up a search screen. He was doing the right thing. It wasn’t the easy thing, to be sure. But it was definitely the right thing. “You start with the rural properties outside the city limits, but within the county. He won’t have gone far. I’ll start with the commercial sites. If I were Frankie, I’d probably hide Collin somewhere industrial, like a warehouse, or an abandoned property of some kind.”
“Sounds good,” Lonnie said as he typed away at his keyboard. After a few seconds of silence, he raised his head. “Hey, Whiskey?”
“Yes, Lonnie?” Kurt tried not to sound irritated, but he knew he wasn’t hiding it well.
“How’s that pill working out for you? Feeling any better?”
Kurt sighed. “Yes. I feel a lot better. Thanks, Lonnie.”
“No problem. I’ve got a whole bottleful from my knee surgery last summer. I keep them for special occasions. But if you need another, let me know. I’ve got you covered.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need any more.” But as soon as the words came out of Kurt’s mouth, he knew he was lying, both to Lonnie and to himself. He felt too good, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t even feel the pain in his back. Now he understood how and why people became addicted to the stuff. But what the hell. He was retiring soon. What was the harm in feeling good for once in his life? He’d worked too long and too hard to deny himself the warm, euphoric pleasure that was now washing over him. He deserved it.
And there was another perk to the tiny blue pill. Suddenly, he had the energy he needed to focus on the task at hand. It was an amazing feeling. He smiled as he opened a new search page and entered “Franklin Cartwright” into the “property owner” field. After clicking SUBMIT, he watched as the department’s slower than molasses internet searched for results. A few seconds later, the results appeared on the blue screen before him. According to the Property Valuation Administrator, Franklin Cartwright owned exactly four residential properties and twelve commercial properties within the city limits. In an instant, his good mood turned sour.
He looked at the clock on the wall, which was protected, for reasons Kurt never understood, by a metal cage. It was nine fifteen. Frankie had found Collin’s hideout approximately twelve hours ago. If Kurt was going to stop Frankie from killing Collin in cold blood, he had to figure out a way to narrow down the list. There was no way he could search sixteen properties in time to stop his former best friend. Hell, it might already be too late.
Think, damn it. Think.
Where would Frankie go to hide from the police? But not just the police. He’d have to take Collin somewhere he could be alone and where there were no nosy neighbors who might report suspicious behavior. That ruled out all the residential properties, in Kurt’s mind. They included his house in The Pinnacle, Kitty’s house in Chevy Chase, Frankie’s ex-wife Susan’s house in Hartland, and a weekend condo he owned downtown on historic Mill Street. No, there was no way he was using any of these places to hide Collin. It had to be one of his commercial properties. Unless Lonnie was on the right track with the rural properties.
“Finding anything over there?” he called across the room to his partner.
“He’s got three properties out in the county, outside the city limits, but they’re all residential. Nothing that looks right to me. I’ll keep looking, though.”
Kurt nodded and turned his attention back to his screen. Twelve commercial properties. This included his most famous property, the Trifecta Lounge. But Kurt and Lonnie had already been there, and if Frankie had had Collin there, he’d moved him before they arrived. But where to?
He looked at the list of properties again. His eyes were becoming sore with the strain of staring at the bright screen two feet away. But surely soon something would stand out to him. He’d been police for over thirty years. His instincts would guide him, as they had in the past.
The phone at his desk rang, and Louise told him he had a visitor.
“Who is it this time?” Kurt asked. Last time he’d had an unexpected visitor, Frankie had shown up in his life, and this whole circus had begun.
“A lady named Katherine Cartwright.”
“Kitty?”
“I don’t know, sir. She just said her name is Katherine. She’s here with her daughter, Mollie. I thought maybe you’d want to—”
“I’ll be right there,” Kurt interrupted. He hung up the phone and snapped his fingers at Lonnie. “Mollie’s here.”
“Mollie? As in Mollie, Mollie?”
“Yes, dummy. Mollie Cartwright.”
“Why do you think she’s here?”
“Well, we did tell her we needed a formal statement.”
“Maybe she’s ready to talk,” Lonnie said.
“Let’s hope. Because if she can’t help us find Frankie, I’m afraid it’s too late.”