“Right, I was a mechanic. But I also worked nights and weekends at the community college, janitorial services.” He lowered his eyes as if the admission shamed him.
“I – I didn’t know that.” Sadness swept over Frankie. How could she have been so self-absorbed? “Were we ... poor? Did we need the money?”
“Business was a bit slow then, but I wish now I’d never met the man. Anson Stark is cruel and dangerous, but I didn’t know it back then.”
“What happened?”
Her father snorted disgustedly. “What happened was he took an interest in your mother. An inappropriate interest in her.”
Sergei had gnawed on his dilemma all night, whenever the vodka fog cleared his head a minute or two. Finally, by morning he’d decided he had no choice. He hated trusting cops, but now he had no choice. As in Russia, here it was a dog-eat-dog world. And Sergei didn’t care so much to be someone’s dinner.
He hitched a ride to Placer Hills, and was waiting in the lobby when Sheriff Slater arrived at the courthouse which housed the Bigler County Sheriff’s Department. Rising on shaky legs from the liquor hangover, Sergei approached the Sheriff. “May I talk to you, please?” he asked, avoiding Slater’s eyes.
The steady gray eyes made him uneasy although the Sheriff had always been good to the homeless, always a friendly word even to the drunkest of them. “I got important information,” he added, speaking to a spot above Slater’s head.
Slater eyed the scruffy man, his torn and stinking clothes, his breath strong with alcohol. “What’s your name?”
“Sergei, sir,” he answered. “Sergei Petrovich.”
“What’s the information about?”
Sergei glanced quickly around the waiting area. “Not here. Inside your office.” When Slater hesitated, he whispered. “Please, man, don’t turn me away. Is important.”
Slater nodded, turned around, and entered his office. Sergei followed, but didn’t sit down even when the Sheriff indicated the guest chair opposite his desk.
“So what’s this about?” Slater asked, folding his hands on the desk top.
“Is about Angie, the woman at Jesus Sav – ”
“I know who she is,” Slater interrupted. “What about her? Do you know something?”
“I see the man who take her. I know this man.” Sergei looked over his shoulder again. “I need protection, man. You gotta protect me.”
“First tell me what you know. Who was the man you saw take Angie Hunt?”
“Is police,” Sergei answered, his lower lip trembling like a little kid. “Thas why I gotta be careful. Police, politsiya,” he repeated, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it himself, and didn’t expect anyone else to.
“Who? A deputy?”
“No, no man, Rosedale Police. I don’t know name, but I know face real good.”
The weight of dejection pressed down on Frankie like an anvil, heavy and weighty. Her father had given her answers – some answers – but not nearly enough. She would’ve stayed longer, insisted on details, but he was getting weaker by the moment. She could see he badly needed rest.
He insisted again that he was innocent of her mother’s murder. She believed him. She’d always believed him, even when the family and the state and the jury said otherwise. Now she knew there was another factor involved in her mother’s death – some connection with the Lords of Death white prison gang and Anson Stark.
What, though? Stark had organized his white supremacy gang nearly a decade after her mother’s death. What connection could there be?
Frankie’s mind was confused and troubled as she left the hospital. Her father had never tried to lay the blame on anyone else. Never tried to explain where he was or what he’d been doing the night of her mother’s death. Frankie knew he’d danced with her at Homecoming – that much was proof. Scores of students and teachers had seen him lead Frankie onto the gym floor in the traditional dance.
But that had been around 10:00 pm. The last she’d seen of her father was when he’d kissed her cheek and walked off through the decorated high school quad around 10:30 while she returned to mingle with her date and friends. The dance had ended at 11:00, but Frankie hadn’t gone home right away.
She and her friends had attended an after-dance party at Colleen Chin’s house. They’d goofed around, played games, and watched videos until well after 2:00 am. She wasn’t worried about breaking her curfew. This was her special night, and her parents had extended curfew because she was so reliable and trustworthy.
When her date dropped her off at 3:05 am, she had no idea what tragedy had occurred in the hours since she’d last seen her father. She had no idea her mother lay bleeding and dead from multiple knife wounds, and that Roger Franklin Milano was already in handcuffs and on his way to the police station.
Chapter 60