A Field of Red (19 page)

“Thank you,” he said.

He turned and stepped down, ignoring the shouts from the reporters. Frank followed the Chief past Lola, the receptionist, who looked like she was on the verge of tears. King pushed through the double doors and led the officers and Frank back into the station offices.

As the doors closed, Frank heard Deputy Peters talking to the reporters who had gathered around the doors, answering a few remaining logistical and administrative questions. There were always those kinds of questions, before and after news conferences, where no information of substance was shared. Names were spelled, agendas and paperwork distributed, and future news conferences announced.

The other police thankfully held their outrage at Frank until the doors closed behind them.

“What the hell?” Detective Barnes said loudly to Frank. “What was that bullshit?”

“Wow,” the Chief began, agreeing. “OK, hold up, Barnes. Frank, you’ve put some information out there, that’s for sure. I don’t see how that gets us anything.” They walked over and sat back down at the conference room table. In moments, the entire investigation team was arrayed around the table, shooting daggers at him.

“That was impressive,” Agent Shale said caustically. “I didn’t realize we’d identified the kidnappers. Or asked my office in Cincinnati to help.”

Frank smiled, sitting down.

“The press can be a powerful ally,” Frank said to Shale and the others. “We don’t have much, but making them—and the kidnappers—think we have more than we do can always be helpful. We can always back off of it later, but beating the bushes never hurts.”

“I disagree,” Sergeant Graves said. “You put that kind of information out there, and people start to think things. Or they get scared, or start looking at their neighbors differently.” He looked around at the other police.

Barnes agreed. “I can’t believe you said we had identified the kidnappers. So exactly what do you want to release to the press?”

“I understand that you are angry,” Frank said. “And I apologize for springing that on you guys, especially Barnes. It’s your case, so you should be setting the pace. But we need breaks in this case, and letting those kids from the ransom drop think we’ve identified them won’t hurt.”

“What if they kill the girls?” Graves asked. “You freaking them out—”

“The girls are already dead,” Frank said.

The room fell silent. Every eye in the room turned to him.

“Or they’re not,” Frank continued quietly. “Either way, every day past the delivery of the ransom is a day they don’t have to waste. We need to set a fire under those involved. If they were going to kill the girls, they would have already done it, as soon as they got the ransom. No phone calls means that they’re not going to ask for anything else. So what’s keeping the girls alive, if they are? The kidnappers have a plan. We have to figure out what that plan is and get ahead of it. Or compress the timetable.”

Chief King nodded. Sergeant Graves seemed unimpressed and excused himself, saying he needed some fresh coffee and time to think. The others didn’t seem any happier about what Frank had done, but they accepted it. They had to—there was nothing any of them could have done anyway. After a minute, Chief King put up his hands to stop the debate, which threatened to go on for hours.

“OK, we’ll roll with it,” Chief King. “But Frank, no more surprises. Check with me first. OK, reports, please.”

 “I’ll go first,” Sergeant Burwell said, leaning forward. “Nothing yet from forensics on the water bottle. There was a fast food bag found nearby. It went in to the lab with the water bottle, but they didn’t find anything,” Burwell said, glancing at Frank. “It’s from the Sonic drive-through restaurant up in Troy, probably—there aren’t any nearer. There’s one up in Piqua as well. It might have been dropped by whoever took the girls, but the wrappers and trash yielded nothing, and all the franchises use the same distributor, so we can’t track it back to a particular location. Same goes for two other items found in the gutter that morning—a gum wrapper and several pistachio hulls.”

King nodded. “OK.”

“Unless the kidnappers had breakfast while they were waiting to kidnap the girl, you’re just chasing trash,” Ted Shale said, but no one else nodded or agreed with him.

Peters came into the room and sat down.

“Deputy,” the Chief said. “Get us up to speed on the searches.”

Peters nodded. “We did Freeman Prairie again this morning—that’s the second pass. They’re doing that field burn Sunday morning, so we wanted to check that whole area again ahead of the burn. We’ve done Kyle three times, the bike path twice, and every other field in and around Cooper’s Mill at least once.” Peters nodded at the map on the wall behind them. “We also went along the riverbanks, a mile up and downstream from the bridge. Nothing. Huber Heights is handling the river south of town.”

“Isn’t the water level too low?” Frank asked.

Peters nodded. “Too low to wash a body downstream far, without it being caught on something, but we did have a body lost for a while in the river near Dayton two years ago. They’re checking everything again.”

The men continued with their reports, going around the table, but everything was coming up zeroes. Grave came back in with a half-finished coffee and reported on the tip line—so far, nothing had come in as a result of Frank’s fictitious “news.”

Detective Barnes went next, and his report was the longest. He was the lead on the case. And, theoretically, should be pursuing the best leads, but there had been no real breaks since the ransom drop. No one had spotted the car, or the people involved. Another full work-up of the Martin’s finances had been completed yesterday, along with new work-ups of close family and friends, but they’d found nothing. Those had been requested by Frank, although Chief King didn’t let on.

Today, Barnes was concentrating on having witnesses on Main Street during the ransom drop go through books of mug shot photos, trying to find the people involved. Barnes was also working an angle with the Dayton police that the kidnappers might be using an abandoned property in Dayton to keep the kidnapped girls.

Agent Shale reported on the money. He talked and talked and said nothing. No sign of the ransom money. The Bureau was tracking the serial numbers on the bills. But Frank knew that, if they were smart, the kidnappers would be sure to launder the money before spending it, or at least sit on it for a bit. Buying drugs with the money was one sure way to keep the cash out of regular circulation, at least for a while.

Frank listened to them talk, and it sounded exactly like all the other cases he’d ever worked—good men, doing the work, chasing down leads. But none of these leads were panning out.

Lola, the receptionist, came into the conference room.

“Chief King?”

“Yes?”

Frank saw that her nails were painted a different color today, a bright green. She pointed at the Chief’s office.

“It’s Nick Martin on the line. They got another call from the kidnappers.”

Frank leaned in.

“Play it again,” he said.

They were all in the Martin’s kitchen, gathered around the largest kitchen island Frank had ever seen: Nick Martin, Frank, Chief King, Detective Barnes, Sergeant Graves, Agent Shale, and Deputy Peters. Glenda was in the living room, working on what looked like a scotch and rocks. Evidently, she’d heard it enough times.

King pushed the button on the iPhone on the island. A voice came out over the tiny speaker, repeating the message again.

“Mr. Martin,” the voice said. “The payment we received was insufficient. We now require another $500,000. Deposit the money in a similar bag and leave it in the middle of the high school football field at noon on Saturday. You have 48 hours. If you do not comply, the girls will be killed.”

The call ended.

“Came in a few minutes ago,” Nick said. “They called my wife’s phone again, and the number was blocked. I told her to let it go to voicemail. We’ve been getting a lot of calls, and even the sympathetic ones make her upset. I listened to it and called you.”

“It’s not the same voice as before,” King said, glancing down at his yellow pad of paper. Frank had figured out the man never went anywhere without one of those pads. “Or at least it sounds different, or they changed the setting on their voice changer, or whatever they’re using to mask the speaker’s voice.”

Frank nodded.

“Male, late-thirties,” Detective Barnes said. “Probably not the getaway driver—doesn’t fit the age range.”

Chief King nodded.

“Spoke slower, too,” Frank added. “More deliberate.”

“Do you think they’re panicking?” Deputy Peters asked. “Because of what you said at the press conference?”

Frank shook his head.

Detective Barnes pointed at the phone. “Nick, can you get that kind of money together that fast, after what you just did to get the million?”

Nick shrugged. “I’ll have to.”

“I can’t believe how greedy they’re being,” Sergeant Graves said. “Isn’t a million dollars enough?” He looked around at the other nodding cops.

“No, I think it’s a ‘goose’,” Frank said.

“What’s a ‘goose’?” Deputy Peters asked.

“A wild goose chase,” Frank said. “We’d get these once in a while, when the kidnappers were stalling for time. Remember what I said earlier about figuring out their plan? They always have a plan. This sounds like busywork, a distraction. No idiot would ask for more money from you right now, or pick a central location like that—I’m assuming that’s central, right?”

The others nodded. “It’s near City Park,” Graves volunteered. “Right in the middle of town.”

“They know we’d go all out to not mess up another ransom drop,” Frank said, looking at the phone. “No, this is something else.”

Chief King nodded, but Nick Martin was shaking his head.

“I don’t care,” Nick said. “I still have to assume that it’s for real. I’ll get started on the money.”

Sergeant Graves nodded, agreeing. “It only makes sense. Maybe the kidnappers realized they could get more money out of Mr. Martin.”

“Yes, get the money,” Glenda said. “And Meredith will be here tomorrow,” Glenda spoke up from behind them. Everyone turned to see her standing in the doorway. Frank could smell the scotch from six feet away, but he could also see why Nick had married her. She was beautiful, even standing there sloshing her drink around in the glass in her hand. But her face was lined, drawn. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.

“Meredith’s the psychic?” King asked, and both Nick and Glenda nodded. “We’ll show her every courtesy,” King said, “but we can’t let it distract from the case.”

Graves and Shale shot the Chief a funny look.

“Nick, work with Agent Shale, get the money ready.” King continued. “Graves, come up with a duty roster and get eyes on that field tonight. I want surveillance through Saturday morning.”

The others filed out, but Frank hung back. When he was alone with King, he leaned in.

“This doesn’t feel right.”

King nodded. “I agree.”

Frank Harper sat in a booth at the restaurant, waiting, his head pounding.  He had never wanted a drink so badly in his life.

He was someplace called The Drunken Noodle, near the highway. Across the expanse of concrete, on the other side of the highway, he could see the sign for his hotel.

The town was small enough. He was starting to get a feel for where most of the landmarks were located. And, as he’d crossed the parking lot and entered the Asian restaurant, he started to understand why so many people preferred to live in small towns, much like the town he’d grown up in outside of Baton Rouge. Small towns were just more comfortable. This place was nice, except that everyone in town seemed on edge. Or maybe it was just because he wasn’t from around here and not a familiar face.

He stared at the frosty glass of water in front of him, wishing it was a beer or a shot of anything. Instead, he picked it up and took a long, slow sip. He needed to be steady. Frank was waiting on Laura, who had agreed to meet him for a quick lunch and suggested this place.

Shaking his head, he tried to think about the case. Thinking about beer or bourbon would only lead to another backslide. And he didn’t need that, or another dressing down by the Chief, especially after the man had brought him in on the case.

The case. It had absorbed every waking minute of his last 48 hours, ever since he’d been standing in the rain with Chief King and nodded. Now, he was starting to wonder if that had been a good idea.

Going through all the case files over and over hadn’t really helped, but it had steeped him in the facts and figures and people of the community. Looking around the busy restaurant, he wondered idly if any of those case files represented people he was looking at. But things were just not adding up. He’d worked enough cases to know when he was making progress and when he was just spinning his wheels. Usually, he had a running tally of suspects and leads in his head to work on at any one time—but with this case, everything checked out. The whole thing was too neat.

And this second ransom call didn’t make any sense. It was like getting blood from a stone, unless the kidnappers thought the Martins were swimming in cash.

Or the kidnappers knew something that Frank didn’t.

Frank heard her voice and looked up as she came in. Laura was carrying a little boy—Jackson.

Frank stood and smiled.

“You been waiting long?” she asked, walking over to the table and setting down a large purse. He couldn’t take his eyes off Jackson, who squirmed in his mother’s arms. He looked so much like her when she had been a toddler, but the shock of hair was not from the Harper side of the family.

“Dad?” she said, and he glanced at her as they sat down. “You been here long?” she asked again, smiling.

“What?” he asked, looking back at Jackson. “Oh, no, just got here,” he said, pointing at the water.

Laura slid into the seat and let Jackson go. The little boy turned around and sat at the table expectantly, like someone was going to pass him a scotch and soda.

Frank smiled.

“He looks big, bigger than I thought he’d be.”

She smiled and tousled Jackson’s hair.

“Yeah, he’s getting heavy,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “You’re gonna have to walk more, monkey!” she said to the boy, who was looking across the table at Frank.

Frank smiled. “Hi, Jackson.”

The boy looked a little wary. He glanced up at his mom for direction. Frank remembered when Laura used to do that, glancing at him or Trudy for guidance. She would always do that when something funny happened to see if it was okay to laugh.

Laura nodded. “It’s okay, Jackson,” Laura said. “This is who I was telling you about. This is my Dad, and your granddad. His name is Frank.”

Jackson looked back at Frank and, after a moment to think about it, nodded as well.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Jackson,” Frank said, smiling. “I’m Frank. Do you like to be called Jackson, or do you prefer ‘monkey’?”

“I like ‘Jackson,’” the little boy said brightly. “Monkey sounds funny to me. But Katie calls me ‘monkey’ sometimes. Katie’s my friend at school,” Jackson said matter-of-factly.

“Great, that’s great,” Frank said. “I like Jackson,” he said. Frank turned and picked up the item on the seat next to him and slid it across the table. It was a small box, wrapped in green striped paper. The woman at the toy store had done it for Frank, or the wrapping job would have looked a lot rougher around the edges.

“I got you something.”

Laura smiled in a way that Frank had not seen before. It made Frank suddenly understand that he was doing the right thing, being here in Cooper’s Mill, trying to make that connection again, or any connection. Maybe it wasn’t the old connection they’d had before, but something completely new. Her eyes teared up a little, and Frank looked away, staring at the present, as Jackson pawed the paper off.

Inside was a package of plastic dinosaurs.

“Awesome!”

Frank smiled—he was smiling a lot more than he was used to.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you, but I figured you liked dinosaurs,” Frank said. “Everyone likes dinosaurs, right?”

Jackson nodded, smiling at the package.

“What do you say?” Laura asked the boy, dabbing at the corner of her eye with a cloth napkin.

Jackson looked away from the dinosaurs and up at Frank.

“Thank you,” he said in a sing-songy, genuine way, and then tore into the packaging, using his fork to pry at the plastic. In moments, Jackson had liberated the dinosaurs, and they were growling at each other and teaming up to attack the grouping of condiments situated in the center of the table.

“Thank you,” Laura said to Frank, who was enjoying watching the dinosaurs gang up on a helpless bottle of soy sauce.

“It was no big deal,” Frank said. “I just went by the toy store downtown…”

“It is a big deal,” she said, interrupting him. “For me, and for him,” she said, nodding at the boy.

Frank nodded, and picked up the menu.

“So, what’s good?”

Laura made a couple of recommendations and helped Jackson pick out something from the Kid’s Menu. Frank needed something light—his stomach was doing flips after being cut off so abruptly from Frank’s dietary staple, alcohol.

When the waiter came around, Frank let Laura go first, and he suddenly realized how pleasant it was, just sitting here with her and Jackson and listening to her order. It was no big deal, and, at the same time, a huge deal.

After their food was ordered, he and Laura chatted for a few minutes about his hotel and what he thought of Cooper’s Mill. Then the conversation turned to the case.

 “Oh, it’s coming along,” he said, setting down his water. “I’m reviewing the case, up to this point, and trying to find anything they might have missed.” Frank hesitated, not wanting to get into the details. He didn’t need her worrying about him. And even though Jackson was busy playing with the toys, Frank didn’t want to scare him.

That was how the trouble had started with her mother—first, Trudy had been worried about him in the job, and then, after Katrina, when he was in a very dark place, she had worried about him. And what he might do to himself.

“Good,” Laura said. “They could use you, I’ll bet. They’re just a small-town police department. They are amazing at what they do, but I think kidnapping is a little bit out of their comfort zone. I doubt if anyone over there has actually investigated one before.”

“No, they’re good guys,” Frank said. “One of them went to Quantico for basic FBI training, including kidnappings, hostage taking and negotiation. Plus, we have an agent up from Cincinnati, and he’s well-versed in all the techniques.”

Frank didn’t elaborate. His daughter didn’t need to know the guy was an idiot.

They watched Jackson play for a few minutes, chatting about other things unrelated to the case. It was nice to talk about, and think about, other things. Frank had been so immersed in the case for two full days, the conversation was a welcome respite.

And, as they talked more and more, and slowly seemed to become more comfortable around each other, Frank wondered at the future of their relationship, him and his daughter. He liked this—just sitting here, together, talking. They were talking about their lives, what things were like at her salon, how Jackson was doing in school. She cracked a couple of jokes, and they laughed together. He made a wry comment about something she had done when she was young, and for a moment worried that he had gone too far too fast, but she laughed heartily, a laugh he hadn’t heard in probably ten years.

This was what life should be about, these types of moments. Not dusty fields or flooded hospitals, or obsessing about things that had already happened and could not be changed. Not running from one case to the next, worrying about completion percentages and bosses that didn’t understand that, sometimes, the case simply could not be solved.

No, Frank liked this feeling a lot. It was like he was needed.

He didn’t want to push it and upset the apple cart. When the food came, they made small talk that was, at the same time, completely pointless and heartwarmingly precious.

An hour later, Frank still didn’t want lunch to end. They had covered a far range of topics, everything from his apartment in Birmingham to her warm feelings about Jackson’s school and the staff. But the lunch had to end. Laura needed to get Jackson to school, and Frank needed to get back to the case.

Frank paid, something he was happy to be able to do. The money fronted by Chief King was really coming in handy. Being able to pay for their lunch, and being casual about it, made Frank feel an almost overwhelming sense of pride.

Frank carried her bag out as they left the restaurant and walked to her car, a small red Honda that looked like it had seen better days. Like father, like daughter, he thought, glancing over at the Taurus. She opened the car, and Frank buckled Jackson into his seat, giving him a quick peck on the forehead.

Frank smiled and went around the front of the car and, before she said goodbye and climbed into her car, Laura surprised him with a heartfelt hug, long and pleasant. She smelled vaguely of shampoo and perfume, some scent akin to tangerines. And even as he waved, as she drove away, Frank could still detect the scent in the autumn air.