A Necessary Evil Page 2

  “What can I do for you, Frankie? What brings you down to the station?” What would have made things even more awkward was if he’d said what he was really thinking, which was, “Why would you show your face in a police department, of all places?”

  “May we talk in private?” Frankie asked in response.

  “Sure.” Kurt turned and gestured toward the interview room. “Right this way.”

  The pair walked the few paces to the tiny room in silence. When they arrived, Kurt held the door open for Frankie, who sauntered in, leaned against the wall, and folded his arms across his chest. Kurt shut the door quietly behind him, grabbed the back of the chair, and leaned into it.

  “Frankie, what’s going on?”

  “It’s my granddaughter, Mollie. She’s missing.”

  “What do you mean, she’s missing?”

  “Exactly what I said. She’s missing. Mollie was supposed to be home from work last night around eleven, but she never arrived. Her mother—my youngest, Katherine—is worried sick. At first, we thought maybe she’d just spent the night with a friend, or some horny teenage boy.” Frankie looked at his watch, a Tag Heuer which probably cost more than Kurt’s classic Camaro. “But it’s nearly noon now, and no one’s heard from her.”

  Kurt didn’t like where his mind immediately went. The case he’d been laboring over just before Frankie had arrived involved six young women who’d vanished over the course of the last two years. The girls, all of whom ranged in age from their late teens to early twenties, had been well-behaved with good reputations. They’d disappeared from dark parking lots, dimly lit parks, or isolated jogging trails. Each had been reported missing by concerned parents who had sworn their child would never consider running away.

  Kurt had been assigned the cases after the third girl, Rachel Billups, had not shown up for her night shift at a twenty-four-hour grocery store, and though he’d exhausted every resource at his disposal, there hadn’t been a shred of evidence uncovered. It was the toughest assignment he’d ever been given, and not only had he lost hours of fitful sleep, but he’d also lost fifteen pounds. Endless questions plagued his mind every day, and the faces of the missing girls haunted him every night. He hated to assume the worst about Frankie’s granddaughter, but her disappearance fit the pattern.

  “When was the last time anyone heard from her?” he asked as he pulled a small, spiral-bound notebook and pen out of his shirt pocket.

  “Right around ten thirty. She texted her mother as soon as she clocked out from work at the mall. Kitty responded and asked her to pick up some milk on the way in, but Mollie never replied.”

  “I see.” Kurt scribbled down everything Frankie said. “Which store?”

  Frankie looked at him with confusion. He clearly had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Hm?”

  “Which store in the mall?”

  “Macy’s. She works at one of the makeup counters. Kurt…you don’t think…”

  Kurt looked at his old friend and was taken back to that awful day in 1983. The look on Frankie’s face back then had been permanently etched in Kurt’s memory, and now here he was, the same look of dejection and sorrow playing plainly across his typically stoic countenance.

  Kurt pulled out a chair and winced when it screeched across the tile floor. “Frankie, just have a seat. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Take everything one step at a time.”

  Frankie sat heavily in the metal framed chair, leaned forward, and rubbed his face with his trembling hands. Kurt sat in a chair on the opposite side and flopped his notepad down on the table. “Let’s start at the beginning. Now, tell me about Mollie.”

  Frankie shook his head slowly and sighed. “She’s a great kid, Kurt. Beautiful, smart, ambitious.” He looked up at him with sadness, and some other emotion Kurt couldn’t place. “She reminds me so much of Addie.”

  Kurt felt a tightening in his chest at the mention of Addie’s name. A name he hadn’t heard for thirty years. A name he thought he’d never hear escape the lips of Franklin Cartwright ever again.

  Chapter 3

  Frankie

  The two men had barely spoken in years, especially not about her. In fact, one of the last things Kurt had ever said to Frankie was that he never wanted to hear Addie’s name come across his lips again. Kurt had always been hyper-protective of his twin sister, so when he’d found out Frankie and Addie were in love, he’d nearly blown a gasket. Frankie never blamed Kurt for his reaction and tried to give his best friend as much space to digest the news as possible. Eventually, Kurt had come around, and though he never really accepted their courtship, he agreed to at least tolerate it, with the strong admonition that he would break Frankie’s legs if he ever hurt Addie in any way whatsoever.

  “I’m sorry,” Frankie said. And he meant it. He hadn’t meant to upset Kurt, especially not when he so desperately needed his help finding Mollie. His granddaughter really did remind him of Addie, but the statement had just tumbled out of his mouth.

  At first, Kurt looked like he might come across the table and choke Frankie with his bare hands, but after staring at him in silence for a few seconds, the detective let out a long-held-in breath and changed the subject. Apparently, Kurt still wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened to his sister.

  “Tell me about her friends. Does she have a best friend? A boyfriend?”

  Frankie shook his head. “No boyfriend. Not since Dalton. He died when they were seniors in high school. Suicide. Very tragic. Now she’s in her sophomore year at the University of Kentucky, studying creative writing. Wants to be a novelist. Can you believe that? When she’s not working or studying, she’s busy writing in her journals. But she does spend time with her best friend, Laurel Bridges. They’ve been close friends since they were toddlers.”

  “Has Kitty spoken with Laurel?”

  “It was the first call she made when Mollie didn’t come home. She assumed Mollie went to Laurel’s apartment. But Laurel hadn’t spoken to Mollie since early yesterday.”

  Frankie watched as Kurt jotted down notes on his little spiral notebook. He hadn’t exactly been thrilled about the idea of coming down to the station and asking Kurt, of all people, for help. After all, Franklin Cartwright and the Lexington Police Department rarely saw eye to eye when it came to…well, anything. He was the first to admit he lived outside the restrictions of the law and had long ago made the decision to handle situations the way he saw fit, even if his methods weren’t legal, in the strictest sense of the word.

  Kurt looked up from his notes. “What about enemies? Does Mollie have any enemies at school or at work? Anyone she’s had words with recently?”

  “Mollie? Hell, no, man. Anyone who meets Mollie falls in love with her. Like I said, she’s beautiful, smart, talented.” Then a thought came to Frankie that he hadn’t even considered until now. He silently cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.

  The detective must have noticed his silent pause. “What are you thinking?”

  “There is this one fellow at Macy’s. He’s been, how can I put this, somewhat obsessed with Mollie since he started working there a couple of months ago. Name’s escaping me right now. But she’s been pretty upset about it lately. Says he follows her all around the store. Even leaves little notes in her locker.”

  Kurt nodded as he wrote down this latest bit of information. “I see.”

  Frankie could feel his blood pressure rising as his pulse quickened. “Do you think he did something to Mollie?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Kurt said, holding up his hand. “But I’ll certainly look into it. I need to go speak with her co-workers, anyway.”

  “Just shoot me straight, man. I’ve heard about the other missing girls. The ones who disappeared without a trace.” Frankie’s stomach rolled, and he felt as if he might throw up the four cups of coffee he’d consumed so far today. “That’s why I came here. You know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think something was seriously wrong.”


  Kurt looked like he was going to be sick, as well, which told him the detective wasn’t sure how to respond. Though it had been over thirty years since they’d really interacted with one another, and though they led completely different lifestyles, he could still see his old friend in the face that was concentrating so intently on figuring out exactly what to say. He knew Kurt couldn’t reassure him on this count, not with all he’d seen in his many years as a cop.

  Kurt finally let out a sigh and shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you, Frankie. Hopefully, we’ll find her soon, and she’ll have some crazy story about how her car broke down and her cell phone died, and she’ll be back home by the end of the day.”

  “But realistically?”

  “I’m going to be honest with you. Considering the similarities to my other cases, and with what you’re telling me about her life and personality…well…I’m going to do everything in my power to find her. You have my word.”

  Frankie stood and paced the room. He’d had a friend check out Kurt’s track record at the department. Detective Jamison had a ninety percent clearing record, which meant he solved nine out of every ten cases that came across his desk. This should have instilled every confidence in Frankie, but no matter what his file said, the fact remained. Six innocent young women had vanished, had in all likelihood been killed, and Kurt hadn’t been able to find their bodies, let alone their killer. The detective was in way over his head this time.

  As Frankie continued to walk circles in the tiny interview room, his concern and frustration mounted. He rubbed the back of his neck, so full of tension it felt like his muscles were going to snap, as he thought over his options. One option was to let Kurt work this case like he’d done with the other girls and likely come up empty-handed again while Mollie suffered God only knew what kind of fate. No, that wasn’t really an option. No way was he leaving his beloved granddaughter’s fate in the hands of someone who, despite all his best efforts and intentions, had failed to stop a predator. Not only that, but could he really trust that, after what had happened all those years ago, Kurt would really be able to put the past behind them and focus on finding Mollie? He’d never forgiven Frankie. And Frankie had never forgiven Kurt, either.

  Suddenly aware of exactly what needed to be done, Frankie stopped pacing and looked Kurt square in the eyes. “I’ll do it myself.”

  “Do what yourself?” Kurt asked with eyes wide as two moons. “Frankie…what are you planning?”

  “I’m going to find her myself.”

  Kurt shot up out of his seat. “Be reasonable. You have to let me do my job. And I can’t have you going off half-cocked and—”

  “I’ve changed my mind. No offense, Kurt, but I don’t trust you or anybody else with Mollie’s life. I shouldn’t have come here. I have the money. I have the resources. I’m going to find Mollie. I’ll take care of it.”

  Kurt stood, placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward. “Like you took care of things thirty years ago?”

  Frankie’s nostrils flared, and his face turned varying shades of red. He curled his fingers into a fist then flexed them straight again. He felt an overwhelming desire to punch Kurt Jamison’s angular jaw. But most of his anger was reserved for himself. Frankie had known Kurt was upset about what had happened after Addie, but he’d come and asked for his help anyway. How stupid, how naïve he had been to think for a second that Kurt would be able to help him without taking the opportunity to throw the past in his face. Frankie took two deep breaths. Taking the bait and reacting to Kurt’s snide comment wouldn’t do anything to help bring Mollie home.

  “I’m going to find Mollie,” he repeated. “You do what you have to do. I won’t stand in the way of your investigation. But I promise I’ll find her, alive or otherwise. And then…”

  “Yeah?” Kurt planted his hands firmly on his hips and glared at Frankie. “Then what?”

  Frankie grabbed hold of the doorknob and yanked open the door. He took two steps, then turned and fixed Kurt with a glare. “Then I’m going to track down this maniac, and I’m going to make him pay.”

  Chapter 4

  Mollie

  The man was lying back against the headboard of the bed, quietly reading a book. He’d been reading for a while. Though Mollie had no sense of time down in this dungeon he kept calling The Vault, she was pretty sure many hours had passed since he’d forced her down the steps into the darkness.

  When they’d arrived, he’d immediately flicked on the lights, shoved the gun into her back, and forced her into the furthest corner. Her heart raced, and her body trembled as he forced her down to the ground. Terrifying images of what he might do to her flashed before her eyes like strikes of violent lightning. He’d stuffed the gun into the waistline of his pants behind him, knelt beside her, and pulled her legs out in front of her. Then he’d grabbed two shackles, which were attached to a long, thick, metal chain, and secured them around her ankles. Mollie watched him as tears, mascara, and blood from a cut above her eye streamed down her dirty face, over her neck, and between her breasts. His demeanor was eerily calm, and his face was cold and devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

  She’d watched him use a key to secure the locks on the shackles. Everything happened so fast, she’d not gotten a very good look at him until then. His blond hair fell to his chin and was tucked behind his ears—a style she normally found attractive on a man. He dressed in all black, and Mollie had caught a whiff of some sort of cologne when he’d first come up behind her. What kind of kidnapper wears cologne? He moved silently and robotically, making him seem almost inhuman.

  “Why are you doing this?” she’d said in a hoarse whisper. Her throat was scratchy and dry from screaming so much, and it felt like she’d swallowed razor blades.

  “Shut up, Mollie.” When he’d secured her to the chain, he’d stood and stared down at her with an unnerving smile. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

  Imagined? What the hell does that mean? She opened her mouth to ask him, but before she could get a word out, he drew his hand back and said, “Don’t speak unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”

  Mollie had nodded and wiped her face with her sleeve. For the first time in her life, she’d actually thought she might pee on herself out of sheer fright.

  “Here,” he’d said as he pulled a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and tossed it to her. “Clean yourself up. I want to see that lovely face nice and clean.”

  Mollie had done as he’d commanded and wiped her face. When she was done, she’d handed it back to him without saying a word.

  “That’s my girl. Now, I’m going to lie down for a bit. It’s been an exciting night, don’t you think? You should probably try to get some sleep too.”

  He’d turned around and walked toward the bed. Mollie wanted to ask for a blanket, but was terrified to make a sound without his permission. So instead, she’d curled up into a ball and wrapped her arms around her legs. She’d watched as the man kicked off his boots and lay back on the bed, on top of the covers. He must have caught her staring, because he’d sat up and propped himself on one elbow.

  “I can see that you’re scared, so I’ll tell you a little secret. I’m not going to kill you. Not for a while, anyway. I have big plans for you, Mollie. But for now, I need to rest. You should do the same.”

  Within a few minutes, he was snoring lightly. Mollie had sat there for God only knew how long and dreamed of ways to escape from this lunatic, until finally he’d woken up, brought her a small cup of water, grabbed a book off the shelf, and returned to the bed to read.

  Now he seemed engrossed in whatever he was reading, and Mollie was shivering in the corner, trying with all her might not to break down and cry. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Plus, it would do her no good. He’d made that perfectly clear. But she couldn’t just give up and accept her fate. She was made of tougher stuff than that. And she was a writer. She had a creative mind, and surely she could use her talent to come
up with a way to escape. But first, she had to try to get him to let his guard down. She remembered seeing a Dateline NBC story about a girl who’d been abducted. This girl had talked to her kidnapper calmly but relentlessly and had finally gotten him to see her as a human being, not some nameless, disposable victim, and he’d released her. But what could she say?

  She studied the man as he continued reading his book. Something about him was different than any person she’d ever encountered before. When he stared at her, it was like there was nothing at all behind his eyes. No compassion, no remorse, no guilt. He truly did not look human. His chin-length hair was smooth and tucked behind his ears, and his nails were neatly trimmed. The features of his face were angular and symmetrical, and had he not been a monster who’d kidnapped her, chained her to a wall, and held her captive in a dungeon, she might even have said he was attractive. Her overly-exhausted and terrified mind wondered briefly if he was a vampire, but she was still alert and sane enough to remind herself there was no such thing. He was a normal human being, so there had to be a way to get through to him.

  It was clear he already knew her name, which meant she wasn’t chosen at random. This realization sent another chill up her spine, and she knew that if he had chosen her specifically, there must be a reason. She had to find out what that reason was. Mollie gulped back her fear and tucked her feet underneath her, careful not to rattle the chains.

  “What are you reading?” she asked in a near whisper.

  At first, he didn’t answer. He simply licked his finger then flipped the page on his book.

  She summoned her courage and told herself that being nice to this crazy man might be her only hope of getting out of this alive. “I can’t tell from here, but it looks like a big book. Do you like to read?”

  He tilted the book away from his face and looked at her with bemusement. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I love to read too. In fact, I want to be a writer one day. I keep a journal and—”