Chapter 10

Frohike watched as the officer behind the wire cage dumped his meager possessions out onto the desk. "Thanks, Paul," he said grabbing his wallet and putting it in his hip pocket.

"No problem," said Officer O'Brien holding out the clipboard for Frohike to sign, which he did before putting on his belt and necktie.

Watching him, O'Brien said, "To tell you the truth, Mel, I'm amazed the DA let you go. He's always had it in for you."

Scooping his car keys and loose change off the counter and depositing it in his pocket, Frohike nodded. "He does but Skinner tells me the suspect woke up and started confessing to everything."

"Everything? You mean killing the Jennings girl," Paul clarified.

Frohike nodded. "Not only did he confess to killing little Molly but three other girls in Maryland and one in Virginia."

O'Brien swore softly. "Tough news about Mulder," he said. "Suspension without pay. Should have given him a medal. Should have given both of you medals for ridding the streets of that pervert."

"I'm not proud of what of what I did," Frohike said as he turned to leave.

Stepping out into the ally behind the police station, Frohike stood for a moment looking up at the sky. It was a cloudy, starless night. He had spent the time in jail thinking about what he had done. The fact that he had been able to lose it so completely scared him. If Mulder hadn't been there…

He heard a voice call out to him.

"Mr. Frohike!" The young man he'd met outside the newspaper office ran up to him with a huge grin on his face. He had to search his memory for the guy's name

"Jimmy," said Frohike finally remembering. "What do you want?"

The smile faded from Jimmy's face. "We were supposed to meet earlier."

"Yeah, well, something came up," said Frohike moving away.

"I know," said Jimmy walking quickly to keep up with him. "I heard all about it. You found that little girl's killer. You're a hero."

Frohike stopped abruptly causing Jimmy to nearly run into him. Struggling to hold his frustration in check, the private investigator said, "Look, can we talk about this later. It's been a very long, difficult day and I just want to get my car and go home."

Jimmy smiled again, "I have my car. It's right over there." He pointed down the street the other way. "Come on," he urged, "I can give you a ride."

Frohike hesitated weighing the chances of catching a taxi. The empty streets didn't look promising. "All right," he decided.

"Great, and I can tell you what I know about Yves Harlow and Professor Langly."

Talking about Yves and the Professor would help take his mind off the day's events. "Works for me," he said.

Saturday, September 28, 1940

Monica willed her phone to ring. Frohike had called her the previous afternoon with the news that his visit to the newspaper office had been a waste of time. She had not been able to accompany him because she simply had to go back to the office to get some work done.

Mel did say he had one more lead but he wasn't too hopeful that it would pan out. He'd promised to call her when he had any more information.

She had hoped to hear from him long before this but calling his office would be a waste of time. It was Saturday. There wouldn't be anyone there.

She could only wait.

At about 9:30 a.m. her phone finally rang. She picked it up on the second ring.

"Monica?"

"Yes, Mel?"

"Would you mind if I came by later? I've found someone who has some information about Yves."

Monica gripped the receiver a little tighter. "You can come right now!"

"There's something I have to do first that can't wait. I'm sorry."

Monica swallowed her disappointment. "No, I understand. Why don't you come around noon then? I can make us some lunch."

There was a short pause as Frohike spoke to someone in the background before he said, "Lunch works for us and thank you for the offer."

Shortly before noon, there was a knock at Monica's front door. Looking through the peephole, she saw Frohike and a younger, blond man standing in the hallway outside her apartment.

Monica quickly opened the door. "Hello, you're right on…"

Frohike cut her off. "You're supposed to ask who it is!" He and the other man stepped inside so she could shut and lock the door.

"I looked. I knew it was you," said Monica in her own defense. She glanced at the other man wondering who he was and why he needed to talk to her.

"You know me but you don't know him," said Frohike hitching his thumb at his companion who smiled at Monica in an unspoken greeting.

"You said you were bringing someone with you," said Monica getting irritated at the nagging.

Frohike's scowl deepened. "You shouldn't make assumptions with all that's been going on. For all you know, he could've had a gun at my back to force me to get you to open the door."

Tired of the scolding, Monica drew a breath to tell him he was being ridiculous but he had taken off his hat and she got a good look at his face. She saw sadness deeply etched into the lines of his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. This made her realize the strain he was under and the worries he was forced to deal with, some of which were hers.

Monica knew then that he was correct and she wasn't making things any easier by arguing with him. "You're right. Next time, I'll ask."

"It's for your own safety," he said, removing his coat. His companion did the same.

"I know," said Monica as she hung them in the closet.

Frohike turned to his silent companion. "This is Jimmy Bond. He works for the DC Gazette. He's one of the reporters who talked to your sister and her professor."

Jimmy stepped up to Monica offering his hand. She shook it. "Nice to meet you, Monica," he said. "Actually, I'm a photographer but I've been trying to find them, too."

Frohike interrupted. "I figured the easiest thing to do would be to get you both together, see what we know, what we need to find out and what to do next."

"I made some coffee, would either of you like some?"

"Yes," Frohike said immediately. "Coffee would be great."

After getting an affirmative response from Jimmy, she was glad she'd made a full pot.

While Monica poured the coffee, she encouraged Jimmy, "How did you meet my sister?"

"The professor called our office saying he needed to spread the news about something he was working on. One of the reporters, Jeffery Spender, went with me to see what he had to say."

"Yves was there?" Monica asked sitting down on the couch with Frohike.

"Yes, but she seemed very uncomfortable about us being there. Mr. Spender was convinced the Professor was a nut. So, he left. But I thought there was a story and hung around for a few minutes. I took a couple pictures until your sister made it very clear that I should leave, too."

"Was Yves in any of the pictures?"

Jimmy took a sip of his coffee then nodded. "Well, that's the next part of the story. I saw your sister again at our office late the next night after almost everyone had gone home. She had broken into the files where we keep the photographs. When I found her, she said she was looking for the pictures of the professor. I told her it was too late, the pictures were already gone."

He glanced at Frohike before continuing. "I've talked this over with Mr. Frohike and we don't think your sister is just a scientist's assistant. There's definitely more going on here than that."

Monica was stunned. None of this made sense. She looked to Frohike, someone she could trust, for confirmation. "You actually believe this?"

Frohike chose his words carefully because he had no proof to back them up. "His story does explain a great deal."

Monica sat back on the couch shaking her head.

"Think about it," he went on, ticking the reasons off on his fingers. "You're being followed for no apparent reason." He touched a second finger. "A man comes to my office asking me to find his long-lost cousin who turns out to be you." Third finger. "You're apartment is broken into but the only thing taken is your correspondence with your sister." Fourth finger. "Your sister and her boss have disappeared without a trace." Fifth finger. "Her house has been thoroughly searched." He continued ticking off the points on his other hand. "And we found the FBI crawling all over it."

Frohike did not mention the fact that Monica and Yves's files were stolen from his office. She didn't need the added stress.

When Monica still did not seem convinced, Frohike continued. "Didn't you find it more than a little odd that she wanted to bring her boss with her on vacation?" Monica's gaze flicked to Frohike's face. "Why would anyone bring their employer on vacation?" He paused. "With what Jimmy told me, it all started to make sense."

"What was that?" Monica clearly looked worried.

"As I said its speculation –"

"Mel, please don't coddle me," Monica snapped. "What is it?" When he continued to hesitate she turned her gaze on Jimmy. "Well?"

Jimmy shook his head apologetically. "I didn't understand a lot of what the professor was saying but I think the gist of it was it's supposed to help figure out how to break the Nazi codes."

"I don't see what Yves bringing her employer with her on vacation has to do with –" She stopped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You think that's why the FBI was following me, searching her house and asking me questions?"

She got up, walking over to the fireplace. "No. Nothing you say will convince me Yves is a Nazi."

Frohike quickly rose from the couch and went to her in the hopes of calming her down. "No, Monica," he said gently, "I don't think she's a Nazi."

Monica searched his eyes and saw he was telling the truth. "Then what?"

"She had to bring the Professor. She was protecting him. I think she's with the British Intelligence."

"British Intelligence?" Monica exclaimed. It sounded just as ludicrous as Yves being a Nazi spy. "She would have told me. She's my sister."

"She probably couldn't," Frohike said softly. "And like I said: it's all speculation. We won't know anything for sure until we find them."

"I can't believe she would lie to me like this," Monica said in a pained voice. She'd suffered enough betrayal from family members. Yves was last person she had expected it from, someone she thought must understand how she felt about the way their father had lived his life. Her brother refused to believe it.

"Monica," Frohike said placing his hand over hers on the mantle. "Let's go back and sit down." He waited for her to move ahead of him to the couch.

Monica sat, picking up her coffee and stared into the brown liquid as if she could find some answers there.

Jimmy broke the momentary silence that had developed among them. "I have a question," he said to Monica. "If you don't want to answer it, I'll understand."

"What is it?"

"You say that you and Yves are sisters but she has a British accent and you don't."

"We're half sisters. We share the same father." This answer would have been enough of an explanation but Monica continued as if telling the whole story might help make some sense of recent events.

"My father was an ambassador. When I was not quite a year old, he was assigned to the American embassy in London. My mother wasn't willing to move away from her extended family while I was so young. At least that's what she said. My father couldn't give up such a prestigious placement and moved to London without us." Monica sighed.

"So your parents got divorced?" Jimmy surmised.

"No, they remained married; we just didn't live together as a family. As I got older, I begged my mother to change her mind and let us go to live with my father. But she became pregnant with my younger brother, Jacob. When I realized what this would mean, I asked my father to let me come live with him even if my mother refused. He told me that he loved me but that my mother needed me to help her with the new baby and maybe when my brother got older I could come stay with him, at least for a while.

"This went on for years, promises were made and broken. Sometimes we even made plans for my brother and me to join our father for the summer or the holidays. But something would always come up at the last minute, some international crisis that would make it impossible for us to visit him in England. My mother was always sympathetic but never seemed surprised by his actions.

"I'm beginning to believe now that my mother knew all along."

Jimmy watched her closely, puzzled by her last comment but he let her continue.

"She died four years ago. Shortly after this, my father retired and moved back to the states permanently. These few years were my first chance to spend any time with him. He died a year ago but, literally on his deathbed, he finally told me the truth.

"He said he'd been very lonely in London. He missed my mother and me terribly. He was so lonesome he turned to another woman, a woman he grew to love. Her name was Christine Harlow. He never told her about his family in the states. They married and had a daughter, who, as I'm sure you can guess, was Yves."

"When Christine found out about my father's second family, his infidelity, she left taking Yves with her. He begged me to find Yves. He hadn't seen her in years. It was his hope that we could be a family, the three of us, Yves, Jacob and me.

"I was stunned and hurt by his revelations but I agreed to try to find my sister. At first I did nothing. But a few weeks after his funeral, I was going through his papers and came across some photographs of Yves as a child and decided she was as much a victim of my father's poor choices as my brother and I were.

"I made some inquiries but had no luck. That's when I hired Mr. Frohike," Monica said turning to glance at the private investigator. "I used some of the inheritance from my father's estate to send him to England to find her. He's the one who figured out that Yves had taken her mother's last name and managed to track her down."

"It took a bit of convincing," said Frohike telling his part of the story, "to make her believe that Monica should not be held responsible for their father's actions. She agreed to read the letter from Monica that I'd brought with me."

Monica continued. "I was very excited to receive the first letter from her. We corresponded for a couple of months when she announced she had gotten a job here in the states and would be moving to DC."

"Her job with Professor Langly?"

"Yes."

"What about your brother?" Jimmy asked.

"Jacob's in the Army and is stationed on the west coast. He's never met Yves. I told them about each other but neither of them as even tried to contact the other." She sighed again. "I can't force them to be close. It's up to them." Her face fell. "That is if we ever find Yves."

"We're well on our way, here," said Frohike in encouragement. "We know a lot more now than we did yesterday."

Monica nodded. "She's hiding…they're hiding. But from who? And why?"

"It sounds like the professor made a big mistake in calling the newspaper," said Frohike.

Jimmy agreed. "When I went back to talk to them again they were gone. It was after that I found Yves in the newspaper office looking for the photos."

"What did she say to you?" asked Monica.

"Nothing… but her actions spoke for themselves. She was worried and willing to do anything to get those pictures back."

"What we need from you," said Frohike, "are any thoughts you might have on where she would go. Obviously the FBI is looking for her, so she didn't get any help from them. Where would she feel safe and secluded?"

Monica thought about it but nothing leapt to mind immediately.

She heard an odd noise and turned towards the sound. Jimmy had a sheepish grin on his face, his hand on his stomach. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh, no, don't worry about it," Monica insisted. "I've kept you talking for so long. I have lunch ready."

They talked through lunch, all of them suggesting possible places where Yves could have taken the professor. When they were done eating and the dishes were cleared away, they still hadn't come up with a satisfactory answer. Frohike had written down some places they wanted to check out but so far they had failed to come up with one location that stood out as a best place to start.

Monica made a second pot of coffee since Frohike couldn't seem to get enough. As it was brewing, he had a revelation. "Wait a minute. I've got something in the car that might help." He got up and walked quickly out of the apartment.

Jimmy and Monica just looked at each other, neither having any idea what he was talking about.

Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Jimmy chuckled as Monica got up to answer it. "Make sure to ask him who it is," he said.

Monica turned to smile at him. "Don't worry. I will."

She stood with her hand on the knob. "Who is it?"

"It's me, open the door," growled Frohike. When he stepped inside the apartment, he noticed that Monica's smile lacked the sadness that had been prevalent all afternoon. He handed a large manila envelope to Monica. "This is the envelope the letter from Yves came in. Look at the postmark," he said pointing to the upper right hand corner. "It meant nothing to me but maybe you can think of some connection that might give us a clue as to where they are hiding. "

Monica looked closely at envelope. She could barely make out the letters. When she finally did, she turned to smile at Frohike saying, "I think I know where they might be."

C.B. Spender glanced up at the knock at his door. He snubbed out the cigarette he was holding leaving the butt in the company of several of its brethren that were huddled together in the overly full ashtray.

"Yes?" he said knowing full well who it was.

His secretary opened the door. "Mr. Fletcher is here to see you, sir."

"Send him in."

Morris Fletcher entered the office and sat in the chair Spender absent-mindedly pointed out to him, his attention on a stack of papers on his desk. Fletcher had the good sense to wait until he was spoken to before he began defending himself.

Spender picked up a pack of Morleys off his desk and, with an expert flip of the wrist, coaxed a single cigarette forward. He took it between his lips. He didn't offer Fletcher one but this was not expected. He lit it taking a deep drag. "Have you found it yet?" He asked smoothly not bothering to look at the other man while waiting for an answer.

Fletcher shifted uneasily in his seat. "Uh, no, sir. I haven't found it yet."

"What seems to be the problem?" His exhaled smoke drifted upwards.

"That private investigator who wouldn't play ball got himself thrown in jail for beating some guy senseless. He's not going anywhere, so that's a dead end."

"You're certain of that?" Spender asked blowing smoke in Fletcher's direction.

"I can't follow someone who's in jail."

Spender tossed a folded copy of the most recent edition of the D.C. Gazette into Fletcher's lap who picked it up with a confused look on his face. "Look at the headline."

Local PI Catches Child Killer

Fletcher quickly scanned the accompanying article by Carla Mason. It detailed how Melvin Frohike had apprehended a serial child molester and murderer. The mayor and the city council were proclaiming him a hero.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know. I didn't think…"

Spender snubbed out his cigarette. "Obviously," he said, his tone menacing.

Fletcher made as if to stand. "I can find him again. He's probably gone home or is at his office."

"Don't bother," said Spender. "I have something better for you." He held up a small stack of handwritten sheets. The papers were smaller than regular notepaper and the writing had a woman's flowery touch. "I've been doing some light reading. I believe I know where our elusive Miss Harlow has taken her charge."

"Where?"

Spender held up a framed picture of two women. They were standing side by side each with one arm wrapped around the other's waist. They were smiling for the camera. Behind them, Fletcher could see the breakers of the Atlantic Ocean. Spender set the picture down and held out a folded piece of paper.

Assuming it held the address of where he was supposed to go, Fletcher stood and took the paper. "Take one of our friends from the FBI with you," said C.B. Spender.

Fletcher turned to leave. "I want this problem solved." He stopped and looked back. There was a short pause as Spender lit another Morley. "Permanently."