The Guardian (43 page)

Behind her, Mike was putting the groceries away, and Julie could hear the sound of cabinets as they were opened and closed.

"Maybe they've already caught him," Mike offered.

Julie said nothing. Singer moved beside her and nuzzled her hip. Julie's hand went automatically to his head.

"You okay?"

"No," she said, "not really."

Mike nodded. Stupid question.

"I hope Andrea's okay," he said.

When she didn't respond, Mike looked up. "We're safe here," he said. "You know that, right? There's no way he could know we're here."

"I know."

But she wasn't so sure, and her fear was so strong that she found herself instinctively backing away from the window. At her movement, Singer's ears rose to attention.

"What is it?" Mike asked.

Julie shook her head. On the beach, she could see two couples walking near the water's edge, headed in opposite directions. Both had walked by the house without a glance only minutes before. There was no one else out there.

"Nothing," she finally said.

"It's a beautiful view, isn't it?"

Julie lowered her gaze. To be honest, she hadn't noticed.

Morrison huddled with the officers outside Richard's house as he took charge, outlining what was happening and what he wanted done."Jacksonville police and the sheriff's department are looking for the car now to see if we can find this guy," he said, "but in the meantime, this is what I need you to do."

He pointed from one man to the next as he spoke.

"Haroldson and Teeter-I need you to head down to the bridge and talk to anyone on the crew who might know some of this guy's hangouts. Where he goes, who his friends are, what he likes to do. . . .

"Thomas-I need you to stay here while forensics gathers the evidence. Make sure they tag and bag everything. . . . This one has to go by the book. . . .

"Burris-I want you to go to Andrea's apartment and talk to the neighbors. I want to know if anyone else has seen this guy at her place. . . .

"Johnson-likewise for you. I need you to head to Morehead City to find out if anyone else can verify that Andrea and Richard Franklin were together. . . .

"Puck-I need you to find out who else Andrea has been seeing who might have done this. It's probable that we have the guy already, but you know how defense attorneys are. We have to look into every possible suspect. . . ."

He turned to Jennifer and Pete. "And you two-I want you to find out everything we can about this guy. Everything. And see what you can learn about Jessica, too. I want to talk to her if we can."

"What about the subpoena for J. D. Blanchard?" Jennifer asked.

Morrison met her eyes. "Let me handle that."

Like Julie and Mike, Richard Franklin stopped at the store. After pulling his car into the rear corner parking lot of the hospital-where it wouldn't draw attention by remaining parked in the same spot for a few days-he grabbed the bags from the store and walked down the block before heading into a gas station rest room. He locked the door behind him. Staring into the grimy mirror above the sink, he became his methodical self again.In the plastic bags were items necessary for the change he'd gone through once before: a razor, scissors, hair coloring, tanning cream, and a pair of inexpensive reading glasses. Not much, but enough to alter his appearance from a distance; enough to hide in plain view for the short term. Enough to find her.

There was, however, the problem of where she'd gone. And she was gone; of that he was now certain. No one had answered the phone at the salon, and when he'd called the garage, one of Henry's flunkies had said that Mike had left as well.

So she'd run, but where? Richard smiled, knowing he'd have the answer soon. Even when people tried to be careful, they made mistakes. And her mistake, he was certain, came down to this: Someone knew exactly where she was.

Henry or Emma or Mabel probably knew. And the police would know as well. They'd want to talk to her, to tell her what they'd learned, to keep their eye on her.

One of these people, he was certain, would lead him to her doorstep.

He whistled softly under his breath as he began to alter his appearance. Thirty minutes later he emerged into the sunlight, blonder, tanner, wearing glasses, and without a mustache. A new man.

All that's left is to find another car, he thought. He headed down the street, toward the mall across from the hospital.

Back at the station, Jennifer's first call was to the Denver Police Department, where she was passed from person to person until finally reaching Detective Cohen. She told him who she was and about the investigation; as she spoke, she heard the detective whistle under his breath."Yeah," he said, "I'll see what I can do. I'm not at my desk, so let me call you back in a few minutes."

After hanging up, she glanced at Pete. He was on the phone to various airlines in the Jacksonville, Raleigh, and Wilmington airports, trying to find out if Richard had indeed traveled out of town when he had told Julie he was at his mother's funeral. If so, they wanted to know where he'd gone, in the hope it would lead them to someone who could tell them about him.

Morrison was in his office, serving as the hub as information came in from the other officers. Thomas had called a few minutes earlier; he'd said that the forensics team had found evidence of semen stains on the sheets, and they were scouring the bed for additional evidence.

When Cohen called back, Jennifer picked up on the first ring.

"We've got information on a few Richard Franklins," he said. "It's not an unusual name, so more than one popped up in the system. Tell me about him."

Jennifer gave him a brief description-height and weight, hair color and eyes, approximate age, race.

"Okay, give me a just a second."

On the phone, she could hear him tapping information into the computer.

"Huh," he finally said.

"What?"

He hesitated. "I don't think we have any information for you."

"Nothing? Not even an arrest?"

"Not based on what you told me. We have records of seven individuals with the name Richard Franklin. Four of those are African Americans, one is deceased, one is in his sixties."

"What about the last one?"

"A typical druggie. He's about the same age as your guy, but nothing else about him matches up. There's not a chance he could pass for an engineer, even for a day. He's been in and out of prison for the last twenty years. And from our records, he never lived at the address you listed."

"Is there anything else? Can you track county records? Or maybe records from other cities?"

"It's all in here," Cohen said, sounding as disappointed as she did. "The system was just updated a couple of years ago. We have information on anyone arrested in the state going back to 1977. If he'd been arrested anywhere in the state of Colorado, we'd know it."

Jennifer tapped her pencil on the pad. "Could you fax me a photograph of the last guy, anyway? Or attach it to an e-mail?"

"Sure. But I don't think he's your guy," Cohen said, his tone dropping slightly. He paused. "Look-if you need anything else, let me know. Sounds like a pretty bad guy. Not the kind we want walking around in public."

After hanging up the phone, Jennifer placed a call to the Columbus Police Department, hoping for better luck.

Mabel had left the salon that morning and driven to the hospital. Now she was sitting beside Andrea in the intensive care unit, holding her hand and hoping that Andrea would somehow know she was there."You're going to be okay, sweetheart," she whispered almost to herself. "Your mom and dad are going to be here soon."

The heart monitor beeped steadily in response, and Mabel eyed the phone.

She wished she knew what was going on with the investigation. For a moment, she considered calling Pete Gandy to find out. But she was still so mad at him for letting this go on as long as it had that she didn't think she could do so without screaming at him. Mike had been right. All he'd had to do was listen to Julie and none of this would have happened. Why had that been so hard? How on earth had he ever passed training?

Mabel heard the sound of footsteps approaching and looked up to see the nurse. She'd been checking in every twenty minutes to monitor any changes.

The first twenty-four hours were critical, the doctor had said. If Andrea was going to come out of a coma without brain damage, more than likely she'd show some improvement by then.

Mabel's throat tightened as she watched the nurse in action, checking vital signs and scribbling notes.

By the look on her face, Mabel knew there was no change at all.

Jennifer hung up with the Columbus Police Department just as Morrison came out of his office."Got the subpoena," he said. "Judge Riley signed it a few minutes ago, and it's being faxed to J. D. Blanchard right now. We should have the information shortly, unless they get their legal team involved and try to stall things."

Jennifer nodded but was unable to hide the information in her expression.

"Still no luck?" Morrison asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Not a damn thing. He hasn't so much as had a speeding ticket in either Colorado or Ohio. No arrests, no record of him even being a suspect in a crime."

"The fax from Denver didn't help?"

"Not our guy. Not even close." She scanned the faxed photograph anyway. "I don't understand it. A guy like this doesn't just appear out of nowhere. I know he's done this type of thing before. There's got to be some record of it." She ran a hand through her hair. "Any news from the house?"

"It seems as if he did some cleaning recently. They were able to bag a few things, but we won't know for sure if any of it's of use until it's examined. Right now, we have someone running a blood sample down to Wilmington. The department there has one of the best labs in the state, and as soon as they get both samples, they'll run a comparison with Andrea's blood from the hospital. It's number one on the priority list, and hopefully, we'll get a match. Blood type checks out, though. Andrea is A positive, and so was the sample. It's not as common as O, so it seems likely that he's our guy."

"Anything from Morehead? Or the workers at the site?"

"Not so far. Franklin seemed to keep to himself. Haroldson and Teeter couldn't find anyone who liked the guy, let alone hung out with him. Nobody even knew where he lived. They've still got a few more people to talk to, but they're not very hopeful. As for Burris and Puck, they say that no one can remember seeing Franklin anywhere near Andrea's apartment. But they're getting information on other possible suspects, just in case. She tended to associate with some pretty rough guys, and Puck is gathering their names now."

"Richard Franklin's our guy," Jennifer reiterated.

Morrison held up his hands as if he realized that. "We'll know that for sure in a couple of hours," he said. "As for Morehead City, Johnson is showing Andrea's picture around. Good idea to grab that photo, by the way. But so far, nothing. There are a lot of bars and restaurants to cover, and they just got there a little while ago. Evening shifts in the bars and restaurants start about five, so it might take a while."

Jennifer nodded.

Morrison nodded toward the phone. "Have you been able to track down any information on Jessica yet?"

"No," she said. "Not yet. That's my next step."

Julie sat on the couch with Singer by her side, one ear cocked forward. Mike turned on the television and surfed through the channels, then turned it off. He wandered through the house, making sure the front door was locked, then looked through the window, up and down the street.Quiet. Completely quiet.

"I think I'll give Henry a call," he finally said. "Just to let him know we made it."

Julie nodded.

Pulling back her hair with both hands, Jennifer turned her attention to the photographs that had been in Richard's briefcase. Unlike Julie, Jessica appeared to have posed happily for most of them. It also seemed likely that she was indeed his wife; Jennifer noted that in a few pictures there was an engagement ring, which was later joined to a wedding band.Unfortunately, the photographs couldn't tell her anything about Jessica herself-if indeed that was her name. None had information written on the back that might reveal a maiden name or even where they were taken. The photographs themselves showed no landmarks, and after a cursory glance through them, Jennifer wondered how to find out more about her.

She searched the Internet for any mention of Jessica Franklin, looking for the obvious-anyone from Colorado or Ohio, for instance-and checked out the sites that posted a photograph. There were less than a handful of those, and none matched the woman she was looking for. It didn't surprise her. After a divorce, most women would go back to their maiden names. . . .

But what if they hadn't divorced?

He'd already demonstrated how violent he could be. Jennifer looked at the phone. After hesitating for just a moment, she dialed Detective Cohen in Denver.

"No, no problem," he said in response to her request. "Since you called, I've been thinking about that guy. For some reason, his name sounds familiar. This shouldn't be too hard to find out. Let me check."

She waited as he checked the records.