A Field of Red (26 page)

An hour later, Frank was going through his notes and the mind map again, looking for anything.

He was also keeping a nervous ear out for footsteps in the hallway. If some dirty cop was coming for him and the money, he doubted the front desk would be calling to inform Frank he had a guest.

Frank tried to relax and go through the notes. He allowed himself two glasses of the precious Maker’s Mark, trying to ration what he had left.

He’d added some items from the recent day’s investigations to the large mind map taped to the windows looking out over the parking lot. Frank had begun circling aspects of the case that might indicate a traitor in their midst. He found the reference to Glenda’s photographs and made a note to look into that tomorrow. If she was always taking photos, there was an off-chance she’d been taking pictures the morning of the kidnapping, or in the week before. Perhaps someone had been casing her neighborhood, planning the abduction. Or she might have a big stack of boxes of photos somewhere that Frank could go through. It might not hurt—

There was a knock at the door.

Usually, the front desk called up to let him know he had a guest. Which meant either the front desk wasn’t paying attention, or the person had snuck in. Either way, Frank wasn’t taking any chances—he pulled the gun from his holster, then went to the door, standing off to one side.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Peters,” the voice came through the door.

Frank smiled. Deputy Peters was, unfortunately, at the top of his dirty-cop suspect list.

The guy knew everyone and everything about the case. But was he just pretending to be klutzy and a little behind the eight ball? And he’d specifically requested to be the one to help out Frank when he joined the case.

And it made sense that Peters knew about the money—King had probably sent Peters to keep him company. Of course, there had to be someone working from the inside, and the only person Frank could really trust was Chief King. Frank hoped it wasn’t Peters, but there was only one way to be sure.

Frank pulled the door open.

“Donuts?” Peters asked, holding up another box from “Tim’s.” “It’s getting later, and I heard you were working on the files again. Plus I need to get to HarvestFest, but I was in the mood for coffee and donuts. You?”

Frank hesitated. His gun was behind the door, pointed through the wood at Peters’ head. Or maybe the young cop just came to work.

“Cool,” Frank said. “Come on in.”

Frank pulled the door open all the way, tucking his gun in his waistband for now. The young deputy entered, smiling.

“Isn’t that a little clichéd?” Frank asked. “Donuts for cops?”

Peters smiled and set the box and carrier with two coffees down on the small table by the window next to the stacks of files. “You’re not a cop. And you didn’t complain today at the ransom drop.”

“True.”

Frank looked around at the room. It certainly looked different from days before, the first time a local cop showed up at his hotel room and asked for help. It used to be clean, but now it was a mess—pizza boxes, empty coffee drink containers, and stacks of paperwork. He’d asked the housekeeper to just make the bed and leave everything else alone—when he was in an investigation, he needed his stuff just so. Of course, he usually had an office and a desk. The housekeeper had argued with him, insisting she be allowed to at least take out the trash and clean the bathroom.

 “Find anything?” Peters asked, setting down a paper bag next to the donuts and pulling out two coffees. “All that stuff with the psychic was a complete waste of time.”

“I don’t know—maybe she’s onto something.”

Deputy Peters scoffed and sat down. “Nope, just blowing smoke up…well, you know.”

Frank smiled and sat down across from Peters. He slid the gun from his waistband and aimed it under the table at the young cop.

“Peters, why are you really here?”

The young cop stopped in the middle of biting into a powdered donut, his eyes wide. There was powdered sugar on his face. It would have been comical if Frank wasn’t prepared to shoot him.

“What?”

Frank nodded. “I won’t ask again.”

Peters set the donut down slowly. “Oh, I get it,” Peters said quietly. “You think I’m here for the money?”

Frank shook his head. “Can Chief King keep anything to himself?”

“I don’t know,” Peters said. “But he trusts me, and so should you. I’m here to solve the case, or at least try. Take my gun if you want,” Peters said, raising his hands.

Frank slid his own hand out from under the table, revealing the gun aimed at Peters. The deputy looked at it, his eyes wide, but made no moves. In fact, he raised his hands even higher. Frank reached around and removed the man’s gun from the belt. The loop had still been strapped.

Frank checked Peters off the list. If the young Deputy had been here to kill Frank, the kid wouldn’t have had his gun strapped in. It would’ve been ready to pull. But it never hurt to be careful. If Ben Stone had been more careful before heading off to Coral Gables, he wouldn’t have died with his gun still strapped in.

“OK,” Frank said, putting his gun down.

Peters shook his head. “Wow, you’re scary.”

Frank put his gun away. “I’m having a hard time chalking this case up to bad luck,” he said. “I’ve been eliminating theories, one after another.”

“You think it’s an inside job,” Peters said.

Frank nodded.

“Who would you suspect?” Frank asked, watching Peters. This next question could be crucial. “Anyone on the team not trying their hardest?”

Deputy Peters sat back to think about it, nibbling on his donut. “I don’t know—maybe Stan Garber, but that’s because he’s dealing with a situation of his own.”

“Hitting your wife isn’t a ‘situation,’ it’s a symptom of something else,” Frank said. “It’s completely under his control.”

Peters nodded.

“OK,” Frank said and slid Peters’ gun back across the table. “But think about it. And keep an eye out for anything odd.  Now, do me a favor and review the case for me again. Just hit the high points.”

Twenty minutes later, Peters wrapped up with the discussion he’d had with Chief King only an hour ago about the possibility of a leak in the department.

“Do you have any ideas?” Frank asked while working on his second donut. Frank had to trust someone. If Peters was in on it, he was some kind of genius. And they were all screwed.

“No,” Peters answered. “It’s like the Chief said—things are off but nothing solid yet. I’m glad Graves is looking into those missing files and the 911 calls. Either one of those could prove who is dirty, if Sergeant Graves can trace it back to a badge number.”

Frank nodded at the boxes around him.

“There is a pattern emerging in the files, a disturbing line of thought that kept popping up, again and again,” Frank said quietly. “The girl was taken by someone she knew, but all of the family members and friends of the family were accounted for. That meant that the girl was taken by a person of authority or someone that she believed was a person of authority, like someone dressed like a cop.”

Peters nodded. “Or a real cop.”

“And the kidnappers waited a long time before calling in the ransom demand,” Frank said. “Something that rarely happens. In most cases, the ransom call comes within four to six hours after the initial abduction. Statistically, a ransom call has come in that late in only 3% of cases in the U.S. over the past twenty years. So why did the kidnappers delay the call?”

Deputy Peters nodded his head. “To get the girls situated,” Peters said. “And to keep us all searching, assuming it was a missing person’s case. Our department, and the volunteers, have combed every square inch of open space in Cooper’s Mill, and every public building and uninhabited home has been searched multiple times.”

“Which was probably all just a big waste of time to keep you guys distracted,” Frank said.

Peters nodded.

“Then there was the ransom drop,” Frank continued. “It was a thing of beauty—for the kidnappers. The distracting girl, the car parked behind a shop with a back door, and the easily-located tracking devices on the money. No train passing through town, and it’s like they knew where all the roadblocks were located. Once they figured out how to remove the money from sight, the kidnappers were essentially home free. No police were stationed on that side of the southern end of town. Then across the tracks and out of town. There is something else going on here, and it all points to an inside job,” Frank said, looking down at the table. “I hate to say it, but someone connected to the police department is involved in the kidnapping.”

Peters looked at the files in front of him. “It’s a very scary thought.”

Frank nodded. “I haven’t worked a lot of cases like this, where everything seems to go wrong. Let’s go back through the files again, but this time, look for holes in the information, or places where it looks like things are missing. I’ll add them to the map. And jot down who worked on what pieces of the case. There might be a pattern there, too.”

Peters glanced at his watch. “I’ve got an hour before I have to leave,” he said, grabbing a stack of files on the table.

Frank excused himself and went into the bathroom. Turning on the sink, he found the bottle of Maker’s Mark he’d hidden in the shower stall and took a long pull on the liquid, not caring anymore to ration it out. The warmth filled his belly, and his leg stopped shaking. It had been quivering for most of the conversation with Peters. Frank had thought it would go away on its own, but there was only one drink that helped – and it wasn’t the coffee that had accompanied that box of donuts.  After a minute, he left the bathroom and sat, diving into the files on the table, searching for anything that could shed a little insight.

Charlie was working on the window when she heard steps on the staircase.

She turned and stuffed the small tin of lip balm back into her pocket and tiptoed back to the bed.  She’d found it in the side table next to the bed this morning, and after breakfast had found that by slathering it on her wrist, she could work free of the zip tie if it wasn’t too tight.

Charlie had seen someone do that in a movie once. They’d stuck a hair clip into a set of handcuffs and popped it off. But she was tied up with plastic zip ties, a new one each time. They were cut off and replaced every time she was let out. A stack of them sat on the dresser across the room. But with the lip balm, she could get out.

She sat back on the bed and wiped the lip balm off her wrist before slipping her right hand back into the zip tie, which was still attached to the headboard.

The door swung open. It was the young man again. The woman never came unless it was dark. The woman didn’t want Charlie to see her face, but it hadn’t worked, and Charlie had gotten a good sideways glance at her. She was one of those women who could have been beautiful, with the face of a princess. Yet she’d looked so sad and tired, her face had drooped, like she was half-asleep.

“How are we doing tonight?” the young man asked, setting the tray of food on the bed next to her. He was always nice to her. “Need to go to the bathroom?”

She nodded, and he cut the zip tie to let her out. Charlie walked to the bathroom and closed the door, then relieved herself. It was good to be up, walking around. Her legs were starting to ache from so many days lying in bed.

Every time she came in here, she looked out the window for as long as she could manage. After she was done, she flushed and turned on the water, then climbed up onto the side of the tub and looked out.

There was the edge of a roof right outside the window, and she could see the large tree. It had been the long branches she’d heard scraping the window. It had sounded like fingers to her.

Beyond the roof, it was a straight drop down to the yard, but from this angle, she couldn’t see anything to jump down onto, or a ladder, or anything to climb down. And it looked like there was no way to get over to the tree.

Beyond the house was a large backyard with a play set. Past that, a tall fence ran between the house and a field. And on the other side of the field, she saw trees. It looked like a forest. The window was big enough. If she could get free and get out onto the roof—

“You done in there?”

She jumped and climbed down, shutting off the water. Coming out into the bedroom, she nodded.

“Thank you.”

She climbed back up onto the bed and started to eat.

“Can you tell me another story? About the ocean?”

He smiled and began another story. He must’ve had dozens, because each one was new. Charlie hoped she would be long gone before she started to hear the same ones again.

“Well, have you heard of Morro Rock?” he asked. “In California, the beach stretches for a thousand miles along the coastline, and it’s dotted with hundreds of coves and inlets. Some of them hold towns and villages, and others no one ever visits, except for the seals and sea lions. But in Morro Bay, sitting right out in the middle of the bay, there’s a giant boulder called Morro Rock. No one knows where it came from…”

She sat back and listened to the story, eating her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and nodding in all the right places. He might be a criminal, but he’d never been mean to her, and he knew how to tell stories. She wondered if he’d always been bad. But something told her to be nice to him.

After a while, she was done, and he wrapped up his story and began gathering up the plates and tidying the tray.

“My arm really hurts—it’s so stretched,” she said, rubbing her left arm. “Can I just sleep normal tonight? I can’t get out if you lock the door, right?”

The young man thought about it for a moment but shook his head.

“Sorry, I can’t do that,” he said, smiling. “Honestly. But I  could secure the other arm instead, if that helps.”

She made a sad look on her face, hoping to sway him, but the woman downstairs started yelling again and he was distracted. After a few seconds of them listening to the woman yell, he smiled and zip tied her left arm to the headboard—again, two connected loops, one around her wrist and the other around the headboard.

“I’m sorry your arm was hurting.” He sat back. “Anything else?”

She shook her head. The man turned and left, and when the door clicked closed, she tried the zip tie, but it was too tight. Even with the lip balm, it would be impossible to get out.

Charlie would have to try again when the woman came. She always let Charlie up to pee one more time before bed. After that, she’d get out the lip balm and wiggle free. Or use the pen and just pry it off. But once she did that, she’d have to escape for good.