A Necessary Evil(28)

It wasn’t long after taking care of Julian that Frankie had begun his life of crime. He’d seen how inept the police had been with his own two eyes, and he’d vowed to never rely on law enforcement to handle any problems he might have ever again.

The rift between Kurt and Frankie had grown even wider after Frankie made this decision, and Kurt announced he would be attending the police academy after returning from his four years of Army service. The boys, who were once blood brothers, were now living on opposite sides of the law. Forty years later, nothing had changed.

When Frankie’s black Cadillac pulled up in his reserved parking spot behind Trifecta, he barely waited for the engine to turn off before leaping from his car and scrambling through the back door to look for Bruno. His burly bodyguard met him as soon as he entered the back room.

“Hey, boss.” He was holding a manila envelope in his right hand. “Got this package for you today.”

“Bruno, this is very important. Did you happen to see who delivered this?” Frankie snatched the envelope from Bruno’s hand.

“Yeah, I saw him,” Bruno said.

Sometimes Frankie wondered why he had hired this airhead, but he tried to remain patient. “Great, Bruno. Now, can you describe him for me?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. He was young. Maybe fifteen or so. White kid with brown hair.”

Obviously, Julian’s son hadn’t delivered this himself. Smart move. Frankie had employed this tactic many times. Give a street kid five bucks, and he’d do just about anything, without question. Then no one could identify who had delivered the message. The kidnapper was no idiot, this much was becoming clear.

Frankie knew he was stalling, afraid to open the envelope for fear of what may be inside. There was no blood on the outside of the envelope—a promising sign. But that didn’t necessarily mean much. He ripped it apart across the top. Part of him wondered as he opened it if he should have called Kurt and let him process the envelope for fingerprints, but he quickly brushed away this notion. He reminded himself he was handling this on his own. With the package now open, Frankie peered inside. All he could see was a second envelope, this one white and about the size of a standard business letter.

This time, Frankie slid his finger along the flap of the envelope and opened it gingerly. He looked inside, and to his horror, saw a clump of what had to be Mollie’s blonde hair, tied together at the top with a red ribbon. Frankie nearly dropped the hair, but caught it before it slipped to the ground. He looked inside the envelope again and saw a note which he hadn’t noticed at first. Unfolding the thick, white paper, he read the words that were written in large, bold, black letters.



CONFESS YOUR SINS PUBLICLY OR MOLLIE DIES, JUST LIKE THE OTHERS.



He let the letter flutter to the ground and stood staring at the lock of his granddaughter’s hair, which was gripped tightly in his right hand. The significance of her hair was not lost on Frankie. He clearly recalled the fact that Julian McAllister had kept locks of his victims’ hair in a wooden box. His son was now telling Frankie that if he didn’t “confess his sins publicly,” his beloved grandchild would suffer the same fate as Julian’s victims. The thought made his stomach turn over on itself. The room was spinning around him, and he had to steady himself by grabbing the back of a chair.

The only thing the message could possibly mean was the kidnapper wanted Frankie to literally confess his sins, either to the police or the public, or both. How else could he “confess publicly?” He had no way of reaching Julian’s son, and he assumed if he wanted to hear from Frankie directly, he’d have called again. Then he remembered the call he’d gotten earlier from him and quickly dug his cell phone out of his pocket. He found the incoming number and redialed it, but instead of ringing, a loud tone sounded, then came a prerecorded voice telling Frankie the number was no longer in service.

Panic washed over him, and for the first time in his life, he felt control slipping from his grasp. Some crazed lunatic was holding Mollie hostage to get him to admit he’d killed the man’s father. But what guarantee did he have that even if he turned himself in to the police for Julian McAllister’s murder, his son would set her free? None whatsoever.

There was no way he was going to cave to this lunatic’s demands. He needed to find him immediately. He dialed Lynx’s number, and she picked up on the second ring.

“I need you to find someone for me.”

“I’m listening.”

“I need to know the name of Julian McAllister’s son. Julian disappeared back in 1979. His son was about one year old at the time, meaning he was born around 1978, here in Kentucky, I’m sure. I need not only his name, but his last known address. Find out anything you can about the man and get back to me. Yesterday.”

“Got it, boss. I’m on it.”

Lynx hung up without saying goodbye. If anyone could find Julian’s son, it was her.

Frankie paced the back room of the restaurant, trying to formulate a plan for when he found this sick little bastard. Of course, he would have to disappear, just like his father. Not only must he be punished for taking Mollie, but he was the only other person alive, besides Kurt Jamison, who knew what Frankie had done forty years ago. He knew Kurt would never say anything. If he was going to hang Frankie, he would’ve already done so. Not to mention that he’d have to admit he had known the truth all along. That fact alone would end his career before he had a chance to retire. But Julian’s son obviously had no scruples, and if he let him live after he found Mollie and brought her home safely, he’d probably scream the truth from the mountaintops. Maybe no one would believe him, though Frankie wasn’t about to take any chances. The answer was clear. The son would pay the same way the father had.