Frank got out of his cruiser, shut the door, and stretched and groaned, trying to shake the achy feeling in his muscles.
On the other side, Gavin did the same. “This must be how cops feel in Los Angeles.”
“I’ve never taken so many calls in one day.” Frank twisted his lower back, hoping to relieve the pain.
They walked toward the station.
“The women at the hair salon?” Gavin said, shaking his head. “Assault with a hot iron? over a dress size? And another fight at the post office. When is this going to stop?”
Frank nodded.
“Last night,” Gavin continued, “I was having a conversation with my girlfriend and I stopped, you know? I was like, man, I don’t want everybody to know this.”
They walked a few steps and then Gavin said, “Frank, where do you go?”
Frank glanced at him.
“I know it’s none of my business, but sometimes you just kind of disappear.”
He slapped Gavin on the back. Tried a warm smile. “Nothing for you to worry about. You ask a lot of questions. Maybe you should consider a detective spot later, huh? Go get some rest. Good work today.”
“Thanks.” Gavin turned toward the locker room.
Frank went for the coffeepot.
“Frank!” Grayson was flagging him down. “Get to my office, will you?”
Frank poured himself a tall Styrofoam cup full of the cheap stuff and headed toward the captain’s office.
“Come on in.”
In the corner of the room a man with broad shoulders and a shaved head stepped forward, offering a hand. “Gary Blanco.”
“State police sent him in to help with the investigation,” Grayson said. “He does a lot of work in child porn cases.”
“Good to meet you,” Frank said as Grayson gestured for them all to sit.
“Frank, it’s been crazy out there, hasn’t it?”
Frank nodded, glancing at Blanco. “People are losing their sense of self-control and reasoning.”
“Gary was just explaining to me what he’s turned up so far.”
Gary sat comfortably in his chair, glancing over some notes he’d grabbed out of his briefcase. “Usually these things are pretty easy to crack. The first line of defense is the use of the registrar’s privacy service. This normally comes with a fee, but it protects your identity if someone wants to go searching for who the Web site belongs to. Hackers usually can get past this anyway, and a subpoena works pretty fast for the host to cough up the information.
“And a lot of times these guys will put in fake names and addresses or what have you, but normally we can trace back to the computer being used and find them in their house.”
“Normally?” Frank said. “I take that to mean this isn’t normal.”
“Yeah,” Blanco said. “Sometimes they’ll slip up and host the site on an IPS with other sites they own. A lot of times they’ll try for a PO box or some such. But again, those just cause delays. They’re hurdles we can jump over.” He checked his notes. “The name on the account and the address are fake. Looks like he paid a year in advance, possibly with a Visa prepaid money card, which is untraceable when purchased with cash. We’re still working on that. He’s apparently using a CMS, allowing him to add content from anywhere, and is most likely using public terminals to access the site.”
“And,” Grayson said, “there’s no e-mail on this Web site.”
“Right. Sometimes these guys will use disposable, untraceable e-mail accounts, where they keep rotating and dumping. A lot of times we can get them on that if they slip up in any of the steps getting those, but there is nothing on the Web site. Whoever this is, they don’t want anyone contacting them.”
“So where are we at?” Frank asked.
“Well, first we thought the guy, or perhaps lady, was running a Freenet node. Won’t go into all that, but basically that’s where you’ll find a lot of these child porn guys going. We’re still confirming, but it looks like what he’s done is selected a registrar and host that is out of our jurisdiction.”
“Meaning,” Grayson said, “he’s gone to a foreign country.”
“That’s right. Possibly China. My international contacts tell me that China’s hot for these kinds of things right now. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to bury his or her identity.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We’ll keep monitoring it, see if this guy makes a mistake. If this were a terrorist group, the CIA would get involved, send agents overseas, and hunt this provider down. Unfortunately, in this case, our hands are tied. This guy hasn’t sent any notes or threats, has he? to the paper or here at the station?”
“No,” Grayson said.
“Too bad. That’s usually where we can get someone like this.” Blanco got up. “I’ll keep an eye on this from my end, contact you if anything develops or we see a possible crack we can climb in. You might contact the National White Collar Crime Center. They might be able to help you with the international angle.”
The captain stood, prompting Frank to. “Well, Gary, thanks for your time. We appreciate the state stepping in to help.”
“Sure,” Blanco said. Frank offered his hand. “Best of luck to you guys. This is a little crazy. Never seen anything like it.”
Kay heard the back door open as she slid the chicken potpie casserole out of the oven. She’d spent the rest of the day taking her frustrations out by baking like a madwoman. Cakes. Cookies. Scones. And a casserole. She set it on the counter and turned just as Damien walked into the kitchen. She immediately noticed his somber body language. “Babe, you okay?”
“Huh?”
“You all right? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing, really,” he said, taking off his jacket. He pecked her on the cheek, then sat at the breakfast bar. “Just made Edgar mad today. Twice, actually.”
“Not ‘you’re fired’ mad?”
“No, nothing like that. He wanted me to write a piece on the kidnapping, and I did, but not the piece he wanted. I did it as an op-ed.”
“Well, you are the op-ed writer.”
“I felt like my words would serve a better purpose writing about the Web site. Trying to convince whoever is doing it to stop. I wrote a letter directly to the person.”
“I know. I’m hearing that all kinds of terrible things are happening. Fights. Tires being slashed. Windows broken out. It’s like we’re on the verge of a riot. And then with this kidnapping…” Tears stung her eyes for the fortieth time that day.
Damien hopped up and wrapped his arms around her. “You seem… sad.”
“I’m just in disbelief that those girls were involved in taking Gabby. And I’m horrified at myself that I didn’t see the signs.”
“How could you have known?” Damien asked, turning her around to face him.
“It’s a mother’s instinct. Jenna kept trying to tell me she didn’t want to hang out…” More tears. Damien swiped them and pulled her close. “And I tried to… Anyway, I think we’re back to not speaking.” Kay wanted to pour out her heart, but she wasn’t sure how. She never dreamed of telling Damien about her past. She’d not even told him why she and Angela stopped being friends. She couldn’t get herself to.
“How is she doing?”
“She doesn’t want to go to school tomorrow either, but I told her she had to. She’s doing okay, I guess. We had a good morning together, anyway. Talked a lot.” Kay smiled at the thought. “Kind of like old times.”
“Nothing like tragedy to bring people together.”
“I just keep picturing… I see Jenna out there, tied to that tree…”
Damien stroked her cheek. “Look, we’re all here. Everyone’s here, right? Hunter too?”
Kay nodded.
“We’re all here and safe and together.” He pointed to the casserole. “And chicken potpie casserole? You haven’t made that in a long time.”
“It’s Jenna’s favorite.”
“Where is she?”
“Her cell phone rang. She answered it and went upstairs. Can you grab the butter out of the fridge?”
He opened the door, digging beyond the yogurt and milk.
“Oh, and Frank’s coming over. He just called. Wanted to have dinner here.”
Damien emerged from the fridge with the butter as Kay poured the green beans into a bowl. “We’ve got to get Frank dating again.”
“Good luck with that,” Kay said. She walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Time to eat!”
The doorbell rang. Damien smiled. “Must be Frank, right on time.”
Kay poured the water into glasses as she listened to the kids hurry down the stairs. She hadn’t heard that kind of enthusiasm for dinner in a while.
Hunter arrived first, followed closely by Jenna. “Potpie casserole?” She grinned. “My favorite!”
“Ugh. Did you put peas in it?” Hunter asked Kay.
“Just a few.”
Kay couldn’t keep her eyes off Jenna, who looked up again and offered another smile. Softer. As if there were a lot of good words behind those lips. Kay smiled back and continued serving while holding back a few tears that wanted to escape out of sheer relief her daughter didn’t hate her.
Damien rounded the corner, followed by Frank.
“Hey, Uncle Frank!” Hunter stood to give him a sideways hug.
“Hey, gang,” Frank said, plopping down in his usual chair. “Thanks for feeding me.”
Kay set a plate in front of him. “You look exhausted.”
“Yeah. Long day.”
Hunter asked, “Have they arrested the girls?”
Kay started the casserole around. “Let’s not talk about that tonight.”
“It’s okay,” Jenna said, grabbing a roll. “Not talking about it doesn’t make it go away. A wise uncle told me that.” She smiled at Frank.
Kay nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“No charges have been filed yet. But they’re coming. The DA has to put the case together, but we’ve got more than enough evidence.”
Frank served himself the casserole, but Kay noticed he wasn’t eating. Normally he just started digging in.
“Frank? Not hungry?” Kay passed him the green beans.
“Well,” Frank said, “there is another reason I’m here.”
Kay followed his gaze. He was staring at Jenna. Kay set down her fork. An uneasiness swirled in her stomach.
“With Jenna’s permission, I’d like to tell you something,” Frank said, his voice way softer than normal.
Jenna and Frank exchanged a glance.
Kay looked at Damien, whose mouth had frozen midchew. Their eyes met, and Kay read fear. She knew that fear. It was coursing through her own body. What was Frank talking about? Was Jenna involved in the kidnapping somehow? She glanced at Jenna, who just stared at her plate.
“What is it?” Kay asked, trying to keep her voice steady and calm.
Frank held out a hand. “Relax. It’s nothing bad. In fact, it’s the opposite.”
Kay sat up straighter, tried to prepare herself for whatever she was about to hear.
“You know we found Gabby last night. The reason we found her in time is because a very brave person tipped off police. And that brave person was your daughter.”
A small whimper of relief escaped Kay.
Jenna glanced up, her eyes searching everybody for a reaction.
Damien reached for Jenna’s hand and looked at Frank. “Jenna?”
“Jenna knew something was going down. She didn’t have details, but her gut told her that those girls were involved. She alerted me to what was going on, where she thought Gabby might be. Turned out she was right.”
“But Jenna was upstairs in her room asleep that night,” Kay said.
Jenna smiled weakly. “I kind of snuck out to meet Frank. Sorry.”
Kay took a deep breath as she sorted through it all in her head.
“Sweetie,” Damien said, “why haven’t you told us any of this?”
“I didn’t think…” Jenna shook her head and looked down. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”
Damien started to say something, but Kay held up her hand. “She’s right. We haven’t been listening, have we, Jenna?”
“It’s okay. It’s just what I needed to do.”
“She’s a hero,” Frank said. “She saved Gabby’s life.”
Hunter reached over and patted her on the back. “Way to go, Sis.”
“Thanks.” She smiled at her brother like she used to when they were young.
“Jenna,” Frank said, “why don’t you tell your parents the rest?”
“The rest?” Kay asked.
Jenna pressed her lips together and took several seconds before she said, “Once the girls are charged, I might be called as a witness.” She glanced back and forth between Kay and Damien. “I want to do it. I’m not scared.”
“Scared of what?” Damien asked Frank.
“There could be some retribution at school. But we’ll keep Jenna’s name out of it as long as possible. In fact, this thing probably won’t even go to trial until next year. A lot of emotion will have passed by then, so I don’t anticipate any problems. The DA and the department understand the sensitivity of the situation.”
“A lot of people are upset; that’s all,” Jenna said. “I mean, this is hard to take.”
Kay kept nodding with each statement, trying her best to understand that Jenna’s heroic move would not be viewed as heroic by everyone. What had this world come to? She saved a life and now feared for her own?
“There’s a chance the DA might not need her testimony at all. We have confessions from both girls, so they’ll probably enter guilty pleas and be turned over to the court to decide what to do with them.”
“Okay. Sure. We understand,” Damien said, but Kay could see it in his eyes. He was unsure.
Still, to look at their daughter, to know what goodness dwelled deep inside her… it sort of wiped out all the apprehension.
“The state brought in an investigator,” Frank continued. “He’s making some headway into figuring out who is doing the Web site. As long as it’s up, he’s fairly sure he can get who is doing this.”
“That’s good,” Damien said, beginning to eat. “The sooner, the better.”
“You haven’t received anything at the paper, have you? any letters to the editor from this guy? any threats?”
“No,” Damien answered.
The conversation continued throughout dinner. Damien mentioned that Reverend Caldwell had stopped by to commend Jenna for sticking up for Gabby. Then talk turned to lighter topics. It seemed like old times, if just for a little while. Frank even agreed to stay for ice cream and a game of Monopoly.
But Frank came into the kitchen as Kay was clearing the dishes and Damien was getting down bowls. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pass on ice cream and Monopoly tonight.”
“You do?”
“Sorry to back out. There’s just something I need to do.”
Kay studied Frank. The lines on his face sank deeper than normal, like how they looked after his divorce. Kay touched his arm. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, fine. Just tired.” Frank gave Damien a quick hug and a hearty slap on the back. “Thank you, my friend. You got a fine family here,” Frank said, winking at Jenna as she and Hunter came into the kitchen.
“You’re leaving?” Jenna said.
“Yeah, sorry, guys. Maybe next time. Hey, Hunter, I’ve got something for you in my truck. Want to walk me out?”
“Sure,” Hunter said.
“Kay, thanks for dinner,” Frank said. “Damien, see you soon.”
Kay and Damien watched from the window as Frank stood for a few minutes talking with Hunter.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Kay asked. “Looks like a lively conversation.”
“I don’t know,” Damien said. “But that right there is a good thing. And a good man.”
Frank pulled into the small circular parking lot and checked his watch. Ten minutes before visiting hours were over. He got out and lumbered toward the front doors, his back aching from stress.
The glass doors swooshed open, creating a short breeze against his face. Lisa Yaris, now Lisa Hall since getting married two weeks ago, was working the desk tonight, and she always had a smile for him. “Hi, Frank.” She checked her watch. “Cutting it close tonight.”
“Just throw me in a wheelchair and toss me out when you’re ready for me to go.”
Lisa laughed, stretching over the desk to pat his hand. “You know we love you.”
Frank signed in and walked toward the third hallway, room 412. He knew she’d be done with dinner, done with her bath, and would have her nightgown on.
The door was open and he walked in. She sat in her specially equipped wheelchair, strapped tightly in, with her back to the door. A silent, flickering television played an old variety show in black and white. The tiny Christmas tree he’d brought two weeks ago, with its miniature ornaments, still looked in its place and untouched.
He came around to face her, pecking her on the cheek, then sat down on her bed, eyeing the room to make sure it was well kept and everything was in its place. For a while her gowns kept disappearing, but that seemed to have stopped.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Like always, there was no response. Her contorted face didn’t move. Her eyes blinked every ten seconds. Her mouth gaped open as if it were in the middle of a bloodcurdling scream. Her neck stretched and strained to the right, causing her cheek to almost rest against her shoulder, which lifted up slightly by an arm that was permanently twisted against her chest. Her hands were frozen, clawlike.
Frank took the brush off the bedside table and moved closer to her. Her hair, still long and shiny but gray now, gently waved against her cheeks. He carefully brushed it. The scar around her neck was still there, deep purple, after all these years. He lifted her hair and touched it.
“I’m trying to save this little town,” he began, continuing to brush. “I’m not sure it wants saving. I’m not sure it can bear to know the truth.” He pulled the hair away from her face so he could see her eyes… once a deep and sparkly brown. “Kind of like you. If you could, I know you’d tell me how much you hate me for saving you that day. That you wouldn’t want to live like this-” Frank cut off his words and set down the brush. He took her hand. It was cold like usual. “I just wish you had known your worth. That’s all I wish. That you hadn’t believed all the lies other people said about you. I wish this town could learn… would listen to one another instead of talking so much.”
Willie stepped in with a mop. “Oh, hi, Frank. Didn’t know you were here. Didn’t I see you this morning?”
Frank nodded. “Needing to see her a little more these days. Will you give me a couple of minutes?”
“Sure thing. I know Miss Meredith wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Frank smiled and watched Willie exit, then looked at Meredith, then at the floor. Every single day, guilt was like the choking rope he’d found around his sister’s neck. It was always there, squeezing the life out of him. He knew Meredith would not have wanted to live endless years like this, but this was how it all turned out. If he’d come home just two minutes sooner, it might’ve turned out differently. Two minutes later and he’d have buried her. If he hadn’t changed shifts at work, he wouldn’t have come home for another four hours.
Frank folded his hands together and slumped. “I wish you could tell me how to get over Angela. She’s moved on. Like it was no big deal. And yet I can’t ever seem to get her out of my heart. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. She’s the only one I ever wanted.” He wiped his nose. “I know you’d have good advice for me.”
He sat there for a moment. Sometimes he’d imagine that they were having a conversation.
Frank unbuckled her from the five-point harness that kept her upright in her wheelchair. Sliding a gentle hand underneath her back and careful to not knock her feeding tube, he lifted her. She seemed to be weightless, just like when she was twenty. Probably barely ninety pounds.
He laid her in the bed and pulled the covers up to her chest, turning her slightly and putting a pillow against the small of her back.
Frank stared out the window for a minute, into the black, cold night, then leaned over and, like he’d done every day for two and a half decades, whispered in her ear.
From a deep sleep, Frank sat straight up, trying to catch his breath, staring wide-eyed into total blackness. He clutched his chest, gulping down air, wondering if he was having a heart attack. Slowly, like moving shadows, the dark contents of the room came into focus. But the walls closed in like a groaning, hulking beast.
He threw back damp sheets and stood for a moment, trying to get a grip. The clock read 4:02 a.m. What had he dreamed?
In the bathroom he splashed water on his face, pressed a towel to his eyes, and leaned against the sink, his head propped against the mirror.
Something stirred inside him. Some sort of warning. Something unsettling.
But he had been sleeping. Was it just a nightmare? It seemed to have already retreated to the recesses of his mind.
He finished wiping his face, throwing the towel onto the counter. He intended to go back to bed but was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. He pushed his feet into his old, ratty slippers and trudged to the kitchen.
As he opened the fridge, staring at the small selection of snack foods while letting the cold air hit his face, he again tried to remember what had caused him to awaken.
Maybe it was the stress. Angela had told him once that he didn’t handle it well. He thought he handled it fine. No, he didn’t break down and cry. He didn’t talk about it with people who didn’t care. He just handled it. He moved on. What point was there to keeping it around?
But this time, there was no denying it. A lot was happening. And it was very personal, getting more personal by the day.
He poured himself a large glass of milk and mixed some strawberry Nesquik in, then went to the living room and turned on QVC. He settled in for an hour-long infomercial about exercise equipment he swore he’d buy come January.
Noticing his cell phone on the table, he decided he should send Damien a text. He’d read it in the morning, then scold Frank for not having the courtesy to pick up the phone, regardless of the hour. Frank smiled at the thought as his fat thumbs struggled with the tiny keys. He finally got it all typed out: good talk w/ hunt-man. he didn’t admit it, but i think i sent him a clear msg w/out accusing him since we don’t know 4 sure. will try again next wk.
He’d just gulped the last of his milk when he gasped, which pulled the milk down the windpipe, throwing him into a fit of coughing that took him to his knees. As he coughed and hacked, struggling for breath, everything became clear. The fuzzy thoughts he’d been trying to capture came into focus.
He remembered. He remembered what had startled him out of sleep!
Still choking through every breath, he managed to get to his feet. He hurried to the basement door, scurrying down the cold concrete steps.
He sat down at his computer and shuffled the mouse, bringing the screen to life. Frank’s fingers flew across the keyboard. He typed in the address to Listen to Yourself.
Thanks to the early morning hour and the awful exhaustion he still felt, the words blurred for several seconds. Finally he was able to read. And reread. And read again.
“Oh no…,” he breathed. “Oh no. No. No.”
He flung himself out of the chair, taking two steps up the stairs at a time. Without turning on the light, he yanked open the drawer in his bedroom and grabbed his gun.