Page 15 of Survivor
Chapter Nine
Frank
Heart hammering in his chest, Frank surged forward, determined to catch the son of a bitch that was roughly twenty yards ahead of him. Winded, lungs protesting, legs screaming at him, every part of his body was thoroughly pissed off at Frank for giving chase. When Caleb had lit up the red truck that flew through a red light at an intersection that would have been packed during rush hour, neither of them could have known exactly who, or what, was in the truck. Turned out it was a perky brunette behind the wheel, her boyfriend riding shotgun, a nine mil in the glove box, and a milk crate of marijuana in the bed of the truck.
As luck would have it, it was the paranoid behavior of said boyfriend, eyes trained on the rearview mirror that caused the discovery of the weed. Underneath a blue tarp they found six bags, each containing what Frank thought to be a pound of marijuana, if memory served him right. “You got a license for this?” Caleb asked the guy, removing the gun from the glove box and checking that the safety was on.
“We were just on our way to the gun range,” Idiot responded with a growl. A person could have a gun in their vehicle without a license if they were, in fact, on their way to a gun range.
Frank was pretty goddamn sure that Mr. and Mrs. Marijuana were not having date night at a gun range with a crate full of wacky weed in a truck that just might be enough to push the drug charges from a misdemeanor to a felony. Caleb was bagging the gun while Frank cuffed the missus when her beau decided to make a run for it, which was why Frank was currently chasing the fucker down the longest alleyway he’d ever seen in his life. Putting every ounce of strength he had left into his legs, Frank closed most of the distance as they approached the end of the alley.…Just in time for Caleb to block the way. It was a thing of beauty, watching Idiot flip over the hood of the cruiser and land in a heap on the road on the other side of the car.
His partner was out of the car and dragging the dumbass to his feet so he could cuff him before Frank made his way around the vehicle. “You look a bit winded, Frank,” Caleb joked and Frank shot him the bird, bending and bracing his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. With both suspects cuffed and secured in the back seat, they called for a tow to impound the truck and headed back to the station to book Dumb and Dumber and sign over the evidence to a narcotics officer that was already waiting for them.
“Jesus, I’m so done with this day.” Frank moaned, falling into his desk chair.
Caleb fell into his own chair, tossing a bottle of water over to Frank. “Yeah, well, we still have to write up our report before the end of our shift.”
Typing up reports was second nature to both men after more than a decade on the job, but the gun and the drugs required additional, time-consuming paperwork. It didn’t help that Frank’s mind was already on vacation, didn’t matter that he hadn’t yet finished his shift. They were driving to Austin the following day for Taylor’s graduation—Frank, Caleb, and Justine, and he was looking forward to the trip. Two days in Austin with family and friends, then Frank had one more shift before his vacation officially started and he caught a flight to Martha’s Vineyard for three whole weeks. No uniform, no handcuffs and chasing down suspects. And the first seven days would be just Frank, his dad, Taylor, and the Stones. Caleb and Justine wouldn’t fly out until the following week as they had to spend some of their vacation time with their parents.
He looked up, blinking when Caleb snapped his fingers. “Earth to Frank, did you get a response from Narcotics on the weight yet?” It was information that needed to be added to the reports.
Flipping over to his email, Frank clicked on the message folder and, sure enough, there was an email from the duty Sergeant with the numbers. “Six pounds, partner, that makes it a felony.” Frank smiled wide. That made the tedious reports so much easier to complete.
Report done and submitted, Frank was heading out when a man in a three-piece suit approached him. “Officer Frank Moore?”
“Yeah.”
“If I could, I’d like to have a word with you and your partner.” The guy looked like a Fed, with his closely cropped high and tight cut and the frown on his face that might be a permanent feature.
Caleb was headed toward them, eyes darting from The Suit to Frank. “What’s up?”
“I was just about to ask that very question.” Frank’s eyes went from Caleb back to the stranger.
“Shit, sorry. I’m Sergeant Rand Davis from the Cold Case Squad.” The suit, not a Fed, introduced himself.
He immediately had Frank’s undivided attention. “You’re here about the Langford murders, aren’t you?”
Nodding, Davis followed them both across the room, taking a seat in an empty chair beside Caleb’s desk. “I am. At this point, I’ve only just taken on the case and I’m doing preliminary interviews with all the officers involved with the original case back in 2005. My understanding is that you two were the first officers on the scene that night.”
“We were,” Caleb answered. “So, the CCS is reopening the case, then?”
“We are and I’m in charge of the new investigation. I would appreciate any information you two could give me about that night. Sometimes, a fresh pair of eyes can see things that might have been overlooked in the previous investigation. But I have to ask, I know the two of you are quite close to the only survivor, Taylor Langford. Your relationship with him isn’t going to make the two of you a liability to me, is it?”
“No,” Frank and Caleb answered him immediately and with confidence.
“Excellent.” Rand Davis stood. “Now, let’s get started.”
