“I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about that. And then, last night, he showed up at the house. Out of nowhere. He’s been fucking living forty-five minutes away from me for months now, but last night he comes to see me, because of you.”
She pointed a finger at Makarowicz. “He’s afraid of you, and he’s afraid of what I might tell you.”
Makarowicz’s pulse quickened. That hadn’t happened in a long time. Not since he’d left the APD and retired to Tybee Island, where the most exciting case he’d worked in months was locking up a porch pirate who’d been stealing Amazon packages from residents’ doorsteps. Not since Jenny died.
“You said you called him out last night?”
“Yeah. Everything I just told you, I told him.”
“And what was his response to that?”
“Typical Frank Ragan gaslighting. He said I’d never been alone that night. That he’d gone outside for like, a minute, because he thought he heard a crashing noise, and he was worried a tree had fallen on the house.”
“Did you ask him where your mom was?”
“More bullshit. He said she was right there in bed. I was too young to remember anything.”
Her eyes narrowed again. “He said my brain is fried from all the drugs, so nobody could believe anything I said anyway.”
Makarowicz gripped the edge of the bench. Someday, he thought, in the near future, he would love an opportunity to kick Emma’s father in the balls.
“And what did you say to that?” he asked.
“I kicked him out. Of my house. It felt awesome.”
She reached into the bag of popcorn and flung a handful onto the pavement, then she stood up and dusted the remaining kernels off her dress.
“Detective Mak, I want you to find out what happened to my mom. If she ran off with another guy and left me behind, I can handle that. If she’s dead, I can handle it. I can even handle it if my dad did it. Like you said, I’m a pretty tough customer. But what I can’t handle anymore, is not knowing.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do my best. I guess the next step for me is to talk to your dad. Do you happen to have an address for him?”
“No. We didn’t exactly end the night on friendly terms.”
“That’s okay,” Makarowicz said. “I’ll make some phone calls.”
39
A Hail Mary Pass
Mak saw an incoming call from Mickey Lloyd, one of his detective buddies from the Atlanta PD, whom he’d called earlier that morning to ask for help in locating Frank Ragan.
“Mak? Looks like your football coach is living in a mobile home community in Richmond Hill,” Lloyd said. “I’ll text you the address and the phone number. My source says he’s working at a store called Elite Feet in the mall down there.”
* * *
Frank Ragan was easy to spot. He was the oldest employee in the sporting goods store. The rest of the employees, all dressed in their black-and-white-striped pseudo-referee shirts, were high school or college kids. The former coach looked to be in good shape. His hair was still thick, if dyed an improbable shade of auburn, but his belly was flat, and his biceps bulged beneath the sleeves of the ref shirt.
Makarowicz stood in the mall, just outside the store’s entry, watching Ragan. He was obviously flirting with a customer while ringing up her tennis shoes. Ragan’s eyes followed her as she left the store, checking her out.
Mak walked up to the cashier stand and addressed the coach, who was straightening up a display of protein bars.
“Frank Ragan?”
The former coach looked up, startled. “That’s right.”
Makarowicz kept his voice low and even. “I’m Detective Makarowicz with the Tybee Island Police Department. I’ve been trying to reach you without much success. Wondering if you’d have some time to chat.”
“Sorry. I’m kind of busy at work here.”
Mak looked around the store. “Doesn’t look all that busy to me right now. Maybe I could ask your manager if you could take a coffee break?”
“Never mind. I’m the manager on duty. Just let me get someone to cover the register. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks kiosk in five minutes.”
“That’s okay,” Mak said. “I’ll just wait here.”
* * *
They took a two-top in a corner of the food court. Makarowicz had a coffee, Ragan had a green smoothie.
“Did Emma tell you where to find me?” Ragan asked.
“No. Your daughter pointed out that she had no idea of your address, or where you were working. I guess you two aren’t so close, huh?”