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Fifty

Baltimore, Maryland

Saturday, October 25th, 1:45 PM Eastern Standard Time

As Kelly and Jack headed back to Frank’s apartment, she took a deep breath, preparing herself to play nice and to be on the offensive—especially after Paige and Brandon’s call. Not to mention that Frank had already shown them his moods were temperamental and fluctuated rather easily. And if he was hiding Michelle, things could turn ugly fast.

Jack knocked on Frank’s door, and Frank called out from inside, “Go away.”

“We have news about Michelle,” Jack shouted back.

A bald-faced lie, but it might sway him to—

The door swung open, and Frank was standing there with a shot of whiskey in his hand. He kicked it back. “What about her?”

Jack brushed past him, and so did Kelly. At least for the moment, it didn’t seem that Frank was any sort of threat to them—to his liver, possibly. They’d certainly touched a nerve to drive him to drink again. Guilty consciences were often loud, and booze could drown out the voices.

Frank slammed his door shut and stood there, back to the wall. “What happened to Michelle?”

“Let’s sit down, Mr. Evans.” Jack spoke with calm authority, and Frank did as he was asked, resuming his place on the dining chair again. Jack and Kelly sat back on the couch.

“What is it?” Frank’s hand was shaking as he met Kelly’s eyes. “She killed them, didn’t she?”

“When was it you said you last saw her?” Kelly asked, disregarding his question.

“I told you. The day I left, almost thirty years ago.” Frank averted his gaze.

“That’s right.” Kelly said it apologetically, as if she’d had a lapse in memory. “And Estella? Did you attend her funeral?”

Frank clenched his jaw. “I told you I didn’t.”

“We both know that’s not true,” she countered. The plan before had been to return as allies, not adversaries, but that was before they knew he’d lied to them, before it would seem all had been forgiven between daughter and father as they found common purpose.

Frank paled. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“You’re still sticking with that?” she volleyed back. “Who are you protecting?”

Jack got off the couch and started for the hall in the apartment that would lead to a bedroom or two and the bathroom.

Frank sprung from his chair. “Hey, wait, where do you think you’re—”

“Just using the washroom, if that’s all right.” Jack studied him, and Frank backed down.

“You could have just asked.”

The guy’s more than a little twitchy.

Frank returned to his chair and regarded Kelly. “I didn’t tell you about going to the funeral because I didn’t think you’d understand. I left Estella, broke her heart. We were childhood sweethearts, got married before we even finished college. And I turned my back on her—and none of it was her fault.” Frank’s eyes welled up with tears, but Kelly wasn’t sure she was buying his act.

Jack returned and shook his head subtly for Kelly’s benefit; Frank didn’t notice. But it told her that Jack hadn’t found Michelle in the apartment. It didn’t mean Frank wasn’t keeping her somewhere else, though.

Frank glanced at Jack but resumed talking to Kelly. “I had no right to be there, but when I saw Shelly… She looked just like her mother. I was hurled into the past, only this time, I swear to God, it hurt even more.”

Kelly noted how Michelle had become “Shelly,” indicating a closeness he seemed so intent on hiding. “Did Michelle recognize you?”

“No. I mean, why would she?”

“Was that when you showed her that picture of you and your old buddies outside the Sunset Diner?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

Kelly had thought before it would be odd for Estella to hold on to a picture that showed the faces of her rapists, but it was just as strange for Frank to keep it—unless he’d harbored it for ill intent. “Did you give her the photo to keep?” Kelly treaded delicately.

“I did, but I made a copy of it for myself,” he said, adding the latter part seemingly as an afterthought.

Strange… But if Kelly confronted him on why he’d held on to it—or asked to see it—he’d certainly become defensive and stop talking to them.

“Did you tell Michelle what they did to her mother?” Jack asked.

“I didn’t have to. She knew.”

Kelly leaned forward. “Estella told her?”

“She told me that in Estella’s last days, she’d babble, almost incoherently, and it slipped out that she might not be mine. Between that and other things she’d said, Shelly figured it out.”

“She figured out the men in the photo you showed her were the men who raped her mother?” Kelly would side in favor of Estella coming out and telling Michelle, rather than her just “figuring it out.”

“You say you held on to the picture of them,” Jack started. “Did you keep tabs on them? It seems they were never far from your mind.”

Frank licked his lips and grimaced.

“Did you know where these men were living?” Jack raised his voice with this question, and it was almost a bellow in the small apartment.

Frank crossed his arms. “I’d like a lawyer before I say anymore.”

“Fine by me.” Jack stood to his feet. “You’ll be coming with us.”

Kelly guided Frank from the chair and put him in cuffs. As she did so, she could only imagine the sadness her grandfather would have felt with her bringing in a former Marine. But good service only took a bad man so far.