The entire drive back to Spokane seemed short. Franco kept turning that last statement in his head like a broken record.
They're covering it up.
It wasn't that absurd of an idea. He had discovered more than a few instances where events were covered up, but never the disappearance of a child - unless it had something to do with the authorities, an accident of some sort.
He pulled up to his house and parked in the driveway, then sat in the darkness of his car with only the light from the dash barely illuminating the night. His mind kept wandering back to the Tyler boy and the sadness that consumed him in Lorraine Thomas' home. Perhaps it was the residual effects of the night, of the dark drive, of the story of a missing child, but something wasn't sitting right with Franco - something that made this different from all other reporters.
He finally dragged himself inside, turning on only the light above the stove in the kitchen. Franco sat at the kitchen table with just a glass and a bottle of his finest; a 1968 Glendronach. He didn't spend money on much, but he had no qualms about purchasing the bottle the night that he threw, his ex, Carol out - something she would've hated him doing. He poured just two fingers and took a drawn out swallow.
He leaned back in the chair as the mahogany liquid settled on his taste buds. He remembered the flavor as if it were his own name. The initial fresh roasted coffee bean and treacle tart mixed together, evolving into a taste of baked apples and brown sugar - reminding him of his mom. He swallowed the first drink and thought of Tyler, being raised by his aunt. Franco imagined they always lived with tension, wondering if his mother would show up and take him away.
He took another sip and thought of the woods, remembering the pitch darkness of them. Had he even made it into the woods? Was he scared? Franco knew this case would be different. It wasn't about the story anymore. The brief meeting with Lorraine had changed everything. This story was fast becoming personal and he would seek answers to the unanswered questions. Tyler deserved that, especially if Lorraine thought they were covering something up. She deserved that too. She didn't ask to bring Tyler into her life, but she took him - and then he was ripped from her arms forever.
Tyler would have been thirteen this year. He had been missing more years than he was alive.
Franco replaced the top back on the scotch and placed the bottle back in its leather box. When he stood from the kitchen table, the chair grunted against the linoleum floor. He walked through the dark rooms that he knew so well in the large, single pane, livingroom window. Looking back, he wasn't sure why he even did that. Instinct maybe - but it confirmed something that was tickling the back of his mind.
A nondescript gold Corolla was parked across the street. At a glance, it looked benign. Franco stood as still as a cat in the darkness, watching the car. There was the slightest movement that would normally have been missed by the average person. But twenty plus years as a journalist taught him better. He narrowed his eyes at the car, annoyed by its presence.
Without thinking or care he swung his front door open and pounced down the front steps. When he made it to the bottom step the Corolla's engine started. Franco quickened his steps and crossed the lawn at a borderline jog. When the car began to pull away Franco began sprinting, reaching the driver's door just as it began to pull away from the curb.
"Hey!" his voice boomed and the man glanced at him quickly. Franco didn't recognize him. He was sure he had never seen him before even though there was nothing unusual about the stranger - a man in his mid forty's, with dark-blonde, maybe light-brown hair and inquisitive eyes. Nothing about him said 'authority'. So Franco wasn't sure.
The car sped away and he watched it drive down the street until it turned off to one of the side streets. He stood in the middle of the street for several more minutes before returning to his home. He dead-bolted the front door and for the first time in more years than he cared to count, he slept with his gun next to his pillow.
~
His sleep was restless. He tossed and turned the entire night and finally gave up around 5a.m. He was anxious to get back to work on his story and knew his next step. He packed up a cooler with sandwiches, Cokes and packed up his car. He decided to pull out his expense card and stay the night in Idaho.
After making several phone calls, trying to connect with the Baxter family, he got nowhere. They were planning a funeral for Olivia and could not be reached and according to a disgruntled cousin, would be speaking to no reporters.
He was on his own, which was nothing new. As he sat at the kitchen table again, eating his cereal before leaving, the phone rang. Hoping one of the Baxter family had a change of heart, he picked it up.
"Franco."
A soft humming sound greeted him on the other side of the line.
"Hello?"
No response. The humming made him think there was a bad connection and he hung up the phone. As soon as the receiver hit the cradle, the phone rang again.
"Hello?"
The same humming sound greeted him and he furrowed his brows as he listened. It sounded like the end of a tape, where there's no music but wasn't entirely silent either. He immediately thought of the man in the Corolla from the previous night. Franco glanced at his watch and waited. After three minutes and twenty-seven seconds the line disconnected.
He immediately dialed *69 and was greeted with the operator. The call could not be connected. Franco would have been more surprised if it had. He hung up and waited a few more minutes. When there were no more calls he dumped his cereal in the sink and headed to the car, not wanting to wait any longer.
For the first three hours of the trip, Franco continuously checked his rearview mirror. Once he got on the open road he relaxed a bit, listening to country on the radio. He tried to forget the last time he had been on this road, but it was useless. Carol wasn't feeling well and had her face half out the window, trying to quell the nausea. It was no use. They needed to pull over about every thirty minutes so she could vomit on the side of the road. What was supposed to be a pleasant road trip turned into one of the most agonizing trips of his life. Franco stopped at a gas station just as he exited the I-15 to pick up some more supplies. He purchased a disposable cell phone, some maps, and a local paper. He took down some notes in his notebook just before getting into his car, writing down his location, time, and date. There was no such thing as taking too many notes when working on a case - especially one like this.
The town the Baxter's lived in reminded Franco of the Thomas location - a small town nestled in the mouth of a national forest. He decided to get some lunch in town to get a feel for the locals before checking out the Baxter home.
Maurice's Steak and Eggs stood alone in the middle of an open parking lot. It was an older building, but looked like it had been maintained with care. He wondered if Maurice still worked there.
When he stepped in the front door, an older female server greeted him from behind the counter. He took a brief look around the diner and noticed every table was filled.
"You are slammed," he remarked.
The server rolled her eyes. "Our town has turned into a circus act."
If he was going to get anywhere, he couldn't play reporter. "Really? That's a shame. I was hoping for a little escape."
She studied him briefly. "There's a small bed and bath just down ninety-eight, owned by a sweet couple. We're telling all the reporters it's booked, but they have room. Tell 'em Susan sent you."
He smiled, genuinely, which felt odd. "Susan, thank you. Any chance of getting a seat in here though?"
"Sure thing sugar, there's one at the end of the bar. I'll take care of you."
He walked to the end of the bar and could clearly see who the locals were compared to the media and morbidly curious. Susan followed right behind with the menu.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"Iced tea, please."
When she came back with his drink he took the opportunity. "So what exactly is going on here anyway?"
She sighed heavily and the sadness in her eyes was sincere. She leaned in and so he followed suit, matching her. "Poor little girl went missing for a week and they just found her dead in the house last week. No idea what happened, but that lovely family is devastated. Breaks my heart," she said as she shook her head. "And this..." she waved her hands in the air around her, "is crap I tell ya. They can't leave that family alone. They have enough to deal with."
Disgruntled victims weren't new to Franco. He had dealt with them over the years, but he was realizing how he was losing his touch. This was the first time where it was hitting home. Susan must have recognized the distress in his features.
"I know, it's sad. At least you realize how insensitive this whole thing is. None of these jerks do," she said as she walked away to handle another patron.
He stared at the menu for a few minutes but didn't pay attention to anything he was reading. By the time Susan had returned he didn't even have an inkling of what was on the menu.
"What can I get ya sugar?" she asked.
"Surprise me. Whatever's your favorite."
She smiled at him again and dashed off.
"It's not the same thing, they're acting weird." Franco overheard the table behind him talking. He quickly glanced over his shoulder at the three men sitting in the booth talking. They looked like locals - comfortable and casual in the booth.
"He's just stressed out, when was the last time Joe had to deal with this."
"It's not that, it's not just stress. When I talked to him, he seemed worried, like someone was listening in on him and he didn't want to talk to me. Joe tells me everything."
"That's because he's your brother. Maybe he is just scared of leaking something to the reporters."
"It's not, I'm telling you. There's something really wrong about this whole thing."
"Okay, so what do you think is going on?" Franco realized the third man, who had been quiet up until then, was speaking at that point.
"Something. I can't figure out what. But, something is going on. He's hiding something and I don't think it's his choice."
"Well Pat, just be patient. He's under a lot of stress now."
The booths groaned under the weight of shifting bodies as the men slid out of their seats. Franco would need to figure out who Joe was, but he didn't think it would be too hard to do. Just then, Susan returned with a plate.
"Chicken and Waffles," she said. "I know it sounds strange, but it's the best combination you'll ever have. It helps that we have the best maple syrup west of the Mississippi."
Franco thanked her and dug in. What he could taste seemed good, but he was too preoccupied with the Baxter case to focus on anything else. He put up a good act when she returned and explained how much he loved it, promising to return before he headed out. He left her a generous tip and quickly returned to the car.
He pulled out his disposable cell phone and made a call.
"Washington Gazette, this is Patricia, how may I help you?"
"Maria Delgado," he said.
"May I tell her who's calling?"
"Tell her it's Papa Bear."
He was met with a long pause and then the soft click of the phone being transferred.
"So you're alive?"
"Nice greeting Goldilocks."
"Wow, as if no time has lapsed. Are you still on the gig?" she asked.
"Barely."
"Ah, so you need my amazing research skills."
"That's why they keep you around, isn't it?"
"Sometimes I wonder," she confessed.
"Don't we all," he laughed into the phone. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he was happy to be back into friendly chatter and comfortable territory. When everything happened with Carol, Maria was the only ear he trusted to pour his heart to. "How's Tracey?" he asked at the last second, nearly forgetting his manners.
"She's doing good. Still taking pictures."
"Tell her I say, hey."
"I will, you should swing by for dinner and wine some time Franco. We'd love to have you."
"I will, as soon as I'm done with this case. I think I finally might be ready to break free of my chains. Speaking of the case, I need help with some names. Want to know who's in charge out here." Franco gave her his location and case information. "I'm also looking for someone named Joe," he paused, recalling the conversation. "He has a brother named Pat. There's also a Susan that works at Maurice' Steak and Eggs." He gave her the phone number of the disposable cell and the bed and breakfast he'd be staying at.
"Got it Papa Bear. What name ya using?"
He thought for a moment. "Tyler Thomas."