The Paladin's Message Page 3

  Harrison was mostly interested in two subjects in this case: Father Paul, who had claimed to be the last one to have seen Megan before she went missing, and of course her boyfriend, Sonny Williams. The priest had seemed the most frantically concerned about her safety. Given the circumstances, this would seem naturally expected, but a wisp of an inkling in Harrison’s gut gave him the strangest sense that his concern was… almost too intense… so genuine that it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough to set off warning bells in his mind, and the pastor’s background information he retrieved from data sources showed nothing out of the ordinary (in fact his records were squeaky clean and full of honorable achievements). It was just one of those things that made him pause to wonder whether he was either missing something important about him, or just experiencing paranoia. In his line of work, it was often difficult to distinguish between the two.

  On the other hand, there was hardly any information about Williams’s background, as if he had no history at all. Something he would have to dig further into soon, but for now, he looked over Father Paul’s record a second time. St. Elizabeth’s pastor had one interesting tidbit that caught Harrison’s eye. He had been the pastor at the local Catholic Church for nearly ten years, but prior service showed that he had been assigned to other churches around random states in the country. Harrison knew that Catholic priests received transfers to other churches often, but they usually remained within one diocese, or so he thought. From his research, he found that a Catholic pastor served at one church for a six-year term, and could serve a second term at the same church. Therefore, it was not unusual for the priest to have been with St. Elizabeth’s for a decade.

  However, he found if odd that Father Paul Cunningham had been with so many different dioceses, and he decided it might be worthwhile, while Gibbons was out on the streets gathering intel, to dig a little further into the pastor’s history. It was probably a useless shot in the dark, but he considered doing some research on him by contacting the other congregations on Father Paul’s record, just to find out what he could.

  Before he made up his mind to start making some calls, Harrison was informed by the front desk that James Panco, Megan’s father, had just arrived at the station. Further digging on the pastor would have to wait.

  Harrison met the man in the lobby. “Mr. Panco,” he said, extending his hand. “Detective Harrison. I’m the officer handling your daughter’s case.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” the man replied. Harrison noticed he was middle-aged, though his face and brown eyes seemed to have aged further than his ID that he produced to the clerk revealed. He was slightly taller than the detective, but slimmer. His short, pepper hair was neatly trimmed, and his plain clothing (an old pair of jeans that were beginning to fray at the hem, and a brown flannel shirt) added to his naturally plain look about him. He appeared as a simple, blue-collar worker who hunched at the shoulders to express the impression of a saddened, tired, old man, but he held a firm grip when he shook Harrison’s hand, and made solid eye contact with him. Mr. Panco seemed broken… but only to an extent, as if his life was troubled, but a little shadow of a stronger man from the past still lingered, a past that was perhaps even more simple and less troubled.

  “If you don’t mind sir,” Harrison began, “why don’t we sit in my office so we can talk privately?”

  “That’ll be fine,” the man nodded, “and you can call me Jim.”

  The detective led Panco to his office, where the two took seats at his desk. He opened a folder from the top of his inbox and took out a pen. “You drove here from Erie?” he asked.

  “Meadville,” Jim answered. “About forty miles south.”

  Harrison nodded. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I know that’s a long drive for you all the way to Lancaster County. What was it, about five hours?”

  “Closer to six. If you don’t mind sir, I’d like to get right down to it. What can you tell me about my daughter?”

  Harrison nodded again empathetically. “She was last seen this past Wednesday night, leaving St. Elizabeth’s, the Catholic Church here in town. The pastor gave a statement; said he saw her offering a ride to a man we believe to be the suspect.”

  “Does anyone know this man?” Jim cut in.

  “Just a first name, Cliff, and a description. Apparently, he showed up to the weekly Bible Study at the church, where Megan attends regularly. We think he’s either homeless or a drifter.”

  “And this Cliff… he kidnapped my girl?”

  “That’s what we’re leaning towards, though we’re still gathering evidence at this point. We found her car abandoned in the parking lot of a nearby shopping center.” He handed Jim a photograph of a yellow Beetle. “This is the car registered to your daughter.”

  Jim glanced at the picture. “Yes, that’s hers,” he confirmed. His expression, which showed little emotion, and little purpose in life, remained constant throughout the conversation. “And you say she’s been missing since Wednesday night?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. She hasn’t shown up for work, hasn’t answered her phone. Her boyfriend claims he’s called her hundreds of times.”

  “Boyfriend?” Jim raised an eyebrow.

  The detective gave Jim Panco a thoughtful look. “That’s right. Sonny Williams. College kid at Millersville. You know him?”

  The man leaned back in his chair quietly for a moment. “No,” he answered finally. “She may have mentioned she was dating someone by that name once or twice when I talked to her.”

  “How long have they been dating? Do you know?”

  Jim noticed Detective Harrison eying him peculiarly. “Don’t you know? I’m guessin’ you’ve questioned him.”

  “We got his initial statement. Still trying to reach him for a follow-up. Other witnesses, who know both him and Megan, mentioned they’ve been dating for a few months now. My question was if you knew that.”

  The middle-aged man, leaned forward again, as if unable to find a comfortable position in the office chair, and placed his elbows on the desk. He started to rub his hands together as if applying lotion to them, deep in thought. “I remember her tellin’ me she was dating someone, but I couldn’t tell you when she told me or how long ago. If everyone says it’s been a few months, then I suppose that’s right.”

  Harrison remained silent for a minute as he studied the man before him. He could tell Megan’s father was hesitant to speak about something that he most likely wanted to share, but couldn’t gather up his wits to say. Being one to know people, he knew what and how to ask: “Mr. Panco… Jim... when was the last time you spoke to Megan?”

  The man kept his gaze on his own hands, still caressing each other’s knuckles, as if trying to rub away a phantom arthritis pain. “About a month ago, I guess. Maybe more.”

  Harrison waited for the man to take a couple breaths. “Would you say you two were close?”

  “She’s my daughter, ain’t she?” he spoke with a twinge of irritation. Then he continued, reverting back to the quiet tone of a tired, old man. “She’s my daughter.” Another quick moment of tense silence. “Used to be close. We only had one child, my wife and me. All our time, money, faith, and energy was used on our girl. We raised her well, as well as any couple can. But for over a year now, we haven’t spoken as much as we used to. Last time I saw her was Christmas. It was our first one without…”

  When Jim couldn’t finish his sentence, Harrison obliged as gently as he could: “Without Mrs. Panco?”

  The man nodded. “Cheryl. Everyone called her Sherry. I think I was the only one who called her Cheryl, ‘cept her parents maybe.” He paused for a moment as if trying to remember what he had been explaining before announcing his late wife’s first name. Then he began to speak again, slowly: “There wasn’t much celebrating. I don’t think we would’ve had a decent Christmas dinner if Megan didn’t bring it with her and cook it.” His voice lowered and slowed even more than he had before. “I don’t even remember what she made. Cheryl taught her how to c
ook, so it must’ve been perfect. There wasn’t much talking; anything she might have said to me would’ve gone in one ear and out the other. She left that night crying. I just sat in my rocker in front of the television with a Budweiser in my hand. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed her leaving if she didn’t yell goodbye and slam the door.”

  He eyes looked up from his hands and met Harrison’s. They appeared as if tears would form, but none did. “Never saw her after that,” he continued. “She called occasionally to see how I was doing, but the calls came less often, the conversations shorter.”

  Harrison remained quiet. He waited, as he could tell Jim had more to say.

  “I guess I never got over losing my wife. From the outside lookin’ in, you could say I just disconnected myself. I get up in the mornin’, go to work, come home, make a simple dinner, then watch the sports channels with a few beers till I fall asleep. That’s all there is to me anymore. I don’t really have the drive to keep in touch with family or friends. Just seems too exhausting. I’m not in denial, detective. When I look in the mirror, the times I force myself to get off my ass and shave now and then, I know what I’m lookin’ at. Just a shell of a man anymore.”

  “Maybe there’s more,” Harrison suggested. “We called you. Told you your daughter’s missing. And you came.”

  “Yeah,” Jim nodded slowly. “Just ‘cause I stopped talkin’ to her don’t mean I stopped lovin’ or carin’ about her. Still, I guess your call lit a fire under my ass. I know I’ve screwed up, shuttin’ myself in and all. It’s ‘cause of me I’m losin’ her. And I wasn’t doin’ anything to fix things with her. Now, being told that she’s missin… it really occurred to me.”

  “What did?”

  “She’s all I got left.”

  Harrison nodded sympathetically. “You can help us find her. I’d like to ask you some things about Megan that may give us some clues…”

  Jim straightened up in his chair. “I’ll tell you anythin’ I can.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Detective Harrison asked several routine questions about Megan’s personality, known friends, whether or not she had ever run off as a child, along with questions that didn’t seem to connect to the current situation, though Jim did not have a problem answering them if he could. He knew that anything could help, even if a question didn’t make sense. He finally gave Harrison two pictures of Megan that he kept in his wallet to add to the file.

  When Harrison finished with his questions, he put his pen back into his pocket and closed the file. “Do you have a cell phone on you, Mr. Panco?”

  “Yes sir. Do you need the number?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Harrison answered. “That way we can contact you if we have any new information for you. I would keep it on you at all times. It’s also possible that, if she’s able to, she may try to call you. Anything comes up, you let us know, and we’ll do the same for you.” Jim nodded and wrote down his cell number for the detective. “Will you be staying in town for a while?” Harrison asked.

  “Figured I’d find a motel nearby. I’m self-employed, so I can stay in town as long… as long as it takes.”

  “What is it you do?”

  “Electrician. I own the business. Got a few employees that can run things just fine while I’m gone.”

  Harrison nodded again. “Ok. If there’s anything I can do for you while you’re in town, you just let me know.”

  Panco’s eyes met his. “All I ask is that you find my daughter, detective.”

  “We’ll do everything we can, sir. Now that you’ve been informed, we’re going to put this in the papers and local news. Hopefully someone will call in with info.”

  “Thank you.” Panco stood up and shook Harrison’s hand. “Also, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see Megan’s apartment.”

  “Sure,” Harrison agreed. “It’s under surveillance, but if you don’t mind following me, I’ll lead you there and escort you through the place.”

  “Thank you,” Jim repeated, his tone never ceasing to sound despondent.

  Harrison knew there was nothing he could say to help ease the man’s worries. He wished there was, but no words would have done any good. He simply found himself merely repeating what he had already said as he led Panco out of his office: “We’ll do everything we can to find your daughter, sir.”

  Chapter V

  Megan heard the footsteps approaching again. It had been what seemed like more than a day since she was visited by the man she knew, but had never known. The man who merely pretended to be her everything. The man who “got her pretty good,” as he put it. The realization of such exorbitant betrayal had led to a despair that sunk into her fibers and grew into a cancerous infestation in her heart. She did not brace herself to charge this time as the heavy door slowly opened. She was starving; the sandwich powdered with the dirt from the floor provided little to satisfy her weakening body, and she was beyond parched. She remained seated on the molding mattress and looked up to face her captor. If he was bringing her water again, she could not risk knocking it over this time in another attempted escape.

  Sonny stepped into the room, carrying a plastic plate and balancing a cup and silverware on top of it. She immediately smelled cooked food, and her mouth, which was as dry as the floor beneath her feet, somehow managed to salivate. She eyed the cup on top with a wanting look, the way a child stares at a favorite candy bar on the shelf of a convenience store. Sonny held the cup in front of her. She immediately reached out for it, but he pulled it back, smirking at her with malicious enjoyment.

  This man she had loved was now a stranger to her, but it wasn’t hard for her to figure out his game. Instead of getting up, making a strenuous effort to snatch the cup from his hands, she remained seated and looked down at the floor. Sonny watched her with interest for a few minutes. She said nothing. “Not thirsty?” he teased.

  “I’m very thirsty,” Megan answered quietly.

  “Apparently not thirsty enough.”

  “I’ve never been so thirsty in my life,” she said, still not taking her eyes from the floor; still not showing any desperation in her voice.

  Sonny held the cup toward her again. “Then take the water,” he said with a sly smile.

  Megan did not react, though she had to fight every shred of instinct within her to lunge quickly for the cup and gulp down that which her body craved more than anything. Instead, she spoke very calmly, with no emotion: “Or you could just give it to me.”

  Sonny laughed. “Where’s the fun in that? C’mon Meg, take the water from my hand… if you can.”

  Instead of pleading with him, Megan simply asked, “What day is it?”

  Sonny’s malicious smile momentarily faded. “Why?”

  “I just want to know how long I’ve been here.”

  Again, the smile. “It’s Saturday afternoon. You’ve been here for almost three days. I don’t think you’ll last much longer without some water, so you might as well reach…”

  “Why haven’t you killed me yet?” she interrupted.

  Sonny said nothing, only watched her the way a curious child watched an insect struggle to free itself from a spider’s web, fiercely writhing and turning as the spider approached. He had never witnessed an insect suddenly accept its fate and remain calm just before the kill.

  “What I mean is,” Megan continued, “if I’ve been held here for three days, why are you bringing me food and water? Don’t you intend to kill me?” She finally took her eyes from the floor and looked into his. “I know you want to. I can see it in your eyes.” And it was true. She saw nothing in them that resembled the man that she had fallen in love with. For he was no longer there, or more truthfully, he didn’t really exist to begin with. She was looking into the eyes of the real Sonny, the one he so cleverly hid from her and everyone else they associated with.

  Sonny’s awful smile left his face again. He was in the mood to play, to toy with his victim, and she wasn’t cooperating. This was not the reaction he w
anted. He wanted to see her desperate, weak and hopeless under his control. He held the cup of water, set the plate down, and with uncanny speed grabbed her wrist with his free hand. Then he bent it violently in a pressure grip that made her shriek with pain. “Take the water Megan,” he commanded in a voice that was no longer playful, but harsh and full of devilry.

  Megan struggled to reach for the cup, but Sonny pulled it back away from her. “Take it,” he ordered her. Again, she reached; again, he pulled back. Each time he did, he bent her wrist even harder. She grunted, squealed with suffering, breathed rapidly. Tears began to form in her eyes. “Take the fucking cup, bitch!”

  Suddenly, Megan stopped struggling. She stopped grasping for what was out of her reach. Through the fiery pain shooting through her wrist, she looked into his eyes again and managed to speak with as much effort as she could exert: “If you’re going… to kill me… then do it. If not… then… give me… the… fucking… cup…” He wrenched and twisted her hand harder, and the word “bitch” came from her own lips in a painful scream.

  Then it was over. Sonny released her, and watched with child-like interest as she grabbed and caressed her own throbbing wrist. He smiled again when she fell over to her side, lying on the dirt floor in the fetal position, moaning in pain.

  “That’s all you are,” she whimpered softly. “A bitch. Somebody’s bitch. You said I was just an assignment to you. You want to kill me, but you won’t… you can’t… because someone else is calling the shots… someone you have to answer to.”

  “Well,” he said matter-of-factly, the voice of hateful venom suddenly gone, “I’ve gotta hand it to you Meg. For once, you weren’t the pathetic, whiny little shit that I’ve had to put up with for the past three months.” He gently placed the cup of water and plate of food next to her. “I never thought you had it in you. You really do have a brain along with your beauty.”

  Megan lay there on the floor for several seconds, forcing back the urge to cry while nursing her hand. “Come on,” Sonny said, “Get up. Drink some water. Have your shitty meal. Steak and potatoes this time, nice and burnt. Thought you might like it extra dry.”