Kurt
With his service weapon at the ready, Detective Jamison communicated with his partner, Detective Howard, via a series of rapid hand gestures. Once Howard had given him the all clear, Kurt pushed his way through the front door of the warehouse on High Street. When he’d crashed through the door, he scanned the expanse of the open warehouse floor in a defensive crouch with his arms extended and his finger on the trigger, just in case Frankie decided he’d rather go down in a blaze of glory.
His shoulders slouched, and he brought his weapon down to his side. Feeling his pulse in his throat, he lowered his chin to his chest. The warehouse was obviously empty.
“Damn it,” Kurt muttered under his breath.
“No sign of him?” Lonnie asked as he crossed the threshold and walked up to Kurt.
“Obviously not. Crap.”
“I thought you had a hunch.” Lonnie shoved his gun back into its holster.
“I did. This is the only one of Frankie’s properties that is abandoned. When I saw the condemnation order in the court records, I thought for sure…well, I was wrong.”
“Don’t feel bad, man,” Lonnie said, not taking the opportunity to rib Kurt as he normally would. “The man knows how to cover himself. I couldn’t find any properties outside the city limits that seemed a likely hideout. He’s pulled it off.”
“I can’t let him get away with it again,” Kurt blurted as he kicked a rock across the warehouse floor.
“Get away with what again?” Lonnie’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.
As soon as Kurt saw the curious look on Lonnie’s face, he realized what he’d accidentally said. He wanted to suck the words back in like a Hoover, but it was too late. The last thing he needed was to explain to his partner why he had been covering for a murderer for nearly forty years. Lonnie knew Frankie had, in all likelihood, killed Julian McAllister, but he had no idea Kurt had known about it all this time. Maybe he would understand, but what if he didn’t? Kurt didn’t want to find out what would happen if his partner decided to report what he’d learned to the lieutenant, or worse, Internal Affairs. He didn’t think Lonnie would do that to him, but he wasn’t about to risk his pension, and maybe even his freedom, to find out. He had to think of a believable response quickly.
“Nothing specific. I’m just saying…he’s always been one step ahead of the law, and he’s never been prosecuted for a crime, even though everyone knows he does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and however he wants.”
Lonnie looked at Kurt for a few seconds, just long enough for Kurt to worry he hadn’t been convincing enough. Then, thankfully, Lonnie nodded. “Tell me about it. But don’t worry. You know the old saying. We only have to be lucky once, but the bad guys have to be lucky every single time.”
“True.”
“Let’s do a sweep of this place, just in case, but then we should head back to the precinct and see if we can find this slick SOB.”
When Kurt had done a thorough once-over of the warehouse and he and Lonnie were convinced Frankie had never had Collin McAllister there, they climbed back into the cruiser, and Lonnie drove them back down to the department.
Upon their arrival, Kurt lowered himself slowly into his chair. His back was acting up again, as it usually did when he was under a lot of stress. It felt like a dozen tiny knives were stabbing him just above his tailbone. Then he remembered Lonnie’s special stash of Percocet.
“Hey, Lonnie,” he called over toward his partner.
“’Sup, Whiskey?”
“You got any more of those…”
Lonnie turned and smiled at Kurt. “Ain’t bad, are they?”
“They’re okay,” Kurt said. He really did love the pleasure in a pill. “My back’s hurting pretty badly. Long day already.”
“Sure thing, buddy.” Lonnie opened his desk drawer, retrieved the pill bottle, and tossed it across the office. “Just keep them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I don’t need them anymore. And that old back of yours isn’t getting any better. Just promise me you’ll go see the doctor soon. Okay?”
Surprised at his partner’s seemingly genuine concern for his physical health, Kurt nodded. “Yeah. I’ll call him first thing Monday morning.”
Lonnie gave Kurt a thumbs-up and turned back to his computer screen. “Any other thoughts on how we can find Cartwright?”
Kurt opened the bottle and shook out one pill. As he was about to put the lid back on, he paused, then shook out another pill. What the hell? He threw them back and dry swallowed them both. “I have no idea. He could be anywhere. It might be time to cut our losses.”
“No,” Lonnie said. “I know what I said earlier, and yes, McAllister deserves what’s coming to him, but the truth is we can’t let him continue to do whatever the hell he wants to do. He thinks he owns this town. If we give up now, if we don’t stop him once and for all, he’ll just keep committing crimes, and we’ll keep pretending we don’t know what he’s doing. You can’t give up now, man.”
Kurt propped his elbows on his desk and rubbed tiny circles into his temples. Lonnie was right. He knew it. There was no way he could let Frankie do what he had planned. But Kurt had no idea how to find Frankie before he could torture and kill Collin McAllister, like he had done to his father nearly forty years prior. He was as helpless to stop Frankie now as he had been then.
His mind wandered back to the last conversation he’d had with his former best friend before they became virtual strangers. It was 1983, and Kurt had recently returned home from his two-year tour in South Korea. He had been honorably discharged after his four-year initial enlistment contract. Kurt and Frankie hadn’t spoken one word to one another since the day he’d left for basic, and though he missed his brother, they’d ended things on very bad terms. But how else was Kurt supposed to react upon finding out the boy he grew up with turned into a man capable of torturing and killing someone?
Kurt had thought of Frankie often during his enlistment. Especially when he was overseas, stationed at Camp Greaves near the DMZ between South and North Korea. He had grown close to his platoon buddies; it was easy when living in such close quarters in a war zone. However, his friendships with these other soldiers only made him miss his old friend more. Frankie had understood Kurt in a way no one, besides Addie, ever had. To think he would never see or talk to him again was painful in a way Kurt would never admit to anyone.
So, when he walked into Sullivan’s his first night back in Lexington and saw Frankie sitting at the end of the bar, he felt a tugging at his heart. He stood there in the doorway unable to move for a good twenty or thirty seconds. Kurt watched the way his friend threw his head back in laughter and patted his drinking buddies on the back. Frankie was only four years older than he’d been the last time Kurt had seen him, but he looked as if he’d aged ten years or more. Little streaks of early gray highlighted his jet-black hair at his temples and forehead, and he’d put on some weight in his belly. His level of confidence, however, had not changed one bit. Frankie looked in control, and each man surrounding him looked at him expectantly, as if awaiting his next command.
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.