by Douglas Hall
King slowly sipped his coffee between bites of the chocolate donut and silently waited as West read the e-mail and read it again before looking up, “I was going to suggest we go through the Child Waiting collection together so see if there is anything of interest in them but that can wait until a later time. This is far more important.” West called out to Mandy. When she came into the office, he handed her the e-mail, “Make three more copies: two for us and one for you to input the Cindy Madison file later. Lock the front door, bring your notebook and join us.”
“There is far more to this case than we originally suspected,” West said after Mandy brought in the copies. “First thing I want you to do when we are finished…get me everything you can on a Pastor Sammy Proctor. He was mentioned in the e-mail.” Turning to King West asked, “Ever hear of Moody Brook, Alabama?”
King had his laptop open on the desk and began typing. “I couldn’t tell you where Alabama is without a map. Have a listen to this. Moody Brook is located in the centre of Alabama’s Cherokee County. It has a total area of 4.1 square miles and according to the last census, there were 1,520 people residing in 673 households.”
West held up his hand, “Mandy, find out the fastest way to get me to the nearest airport to Moody Brook. When you have a flight confirmed, book me a car, preferably a two-door, and make sure it has GPS. While you are at it, get me $5,000 US in fifties from our bank.”
West always made it a practice to pay cash for everything when in the field. Using a credit card could leave him open to tracking should anyone be interested in finding out where he had been or where he was.
“Not going undercover, are you?”
“Why?”
“Last time you nearly got yourself killed.”
“I’m here alive and raring to go.”
“Anything else?” Mandy asked.
“Find out who polices Moody Brook, Alabama, and get me an address and contact. That’s all I can think of at the moment. I’m done.”
Mandy stood up and winked at King. “He’s never done,” she mouthed.
West thought for a moment after Mandy left the office and said to King, “See if you can get the chief to give me a letter of introduction, and while you are at it, ask him for a letter requesting permission for me to take my two guns into the States. I did it a while back and got away with it by identifying myself and declaring them. They were packed in my checked-in luggage. A letter would sure help going through security.”
“I’ll see what I can do when I get back to headquarters, if not, you could always pick up a firearm. From what I’ve heard, the Second Amendment is strong, especially in the south. If that doesn’t help, you can always see what the street has to offer.”
West reacted with mock horror, “You are not suggesting that I break the law…are you?”
“I would if I was going into the unknown and there was no other way.”
“Noted. Now just sit quiet while I call Madison and tell him that I’ll be out of the loop for who knows how long. This is our best lead and we can’t ignore it.”
“And just what am I supposed to do while you are knocking back mint julips?” King asked
“I’ll know quickly if the Moody Brook lead is a live one, and, if it is, I’ll want you with me, so we can continue to work the investigation together. Think the chief will go for you joining me in Alabama?”
“Don’t see why not. He wants this case closed, and when I told him what we had at my last update, he said, ‘You two do what you have to do to get the girl back. You have my full support and confidence.’”
West called out to Mandy, “Get Victor Madison on the phone. If he is tied up tell him it can’t wait.”
“This idea of yours, what is it?”
“Right now, $3,000 a month is deposited into Cindy’s account because technically she is still an employee making $2,000 a month with another $1,000 approved making it $3,000 each month. I asked him to increase it by $5,000 which will jack it up to eight thousand a month and leave a balance of $100 once the transfer has been made. It will do one of two things make them hungry for more or run scared.”
King didn’t have time to comment when Mandy called out, “He’s on line two.”
West picked up the phone and King could only hear the one-sided conversation, but from West’s expression, he was sure it was positive. When it was over, West called Mandy back in and filled her and King on the conversation.
“Are you surprised that he agreed so readily?” King asked.
“You should have heard his reply when I said it could be my best chance to find Cindy and get her back home. You probably noted that I used my best chance not our best chance. Madison has no idea you are working with me, and I want to keep it that way until it’s time to tell him.” Looking at Mandy he added, “Under no circumstances are you to mention our friend here in the same breath if questions come up about how I am doing in the field. Understood?”
“I don’t need a picture drawn. I have a lot to do and not much time, so I’ll get doing it,” Mandy said as she stood up and left office.
“Here is what I suggest you do immediately. Now that Madison has agreed to the additional five thousand, tell Mackenzie about it and Interpol’s involvement. When you do, mention that they will be monitoring the Lichtenstein bank to make sure there is no smell of money laundering. The mere mention of money laundering should scare the hell out of him. Suggest to Mackenzie that there is no way The St Lawrence Bank, and his branch in particular, could avoid being drawn into the issue which would hit the newspapers.”
King smiled broadly, “That’s the last thing he would want. He is getting enough heat from head office over me as it is and it could certainly open the door to his further cooperation.”
“Hopefully, I can be in Moody Brook in a couple of days and knocking back mint julips.”
“You won’t be unless I get moving and get you the two letters from the chief.”
Six
MANDY WORKED HER MAGIC and booked West on a flight to Tennessee’s Chattanooga Metropolitan Airport next day. Waiting for him was a rental car with a route map highlighted and a note attached advising him that Moody Brook was 42 miles south and a comfortable one-hour drive on the GA 114 route. West smiled at the handwritten addendum saying change your watch one hour back to Tennessee time. He knew it was Mandy’s doing when she booked the car.
Leaving nothing to chance, she had checked out the motels in and around Moody Brook and chose Black Bear Motel and Luxury Cabins which was named after Alabama’s state mammal. It was located about half-a-mile from the centre of town. The easy access to the main highway was an added benefit should a quick exit be necessary. She had pre-checked West into a two-room cabin secluded at the rear of the property. The twin beds in the smaller room were comfortable and complimented the large furnished room with its microwave, small refrigerator, wall mounted TV, twin easy chairs and a large pine table. It made for a comfortable working environment. From the pictures she sent by attachment, it looked ideal for their stay no matter how long. West stopped off at a roadside diner for lunch and checked his laptop for messages. New one was waiting for him from King. He had received permission to head for Moody Brook and would arrive in Chattanooga on the afternoon flight.
THE NEXT MORNING, West stopped off at the Moody Brook Police Department to introduce himself to Sheriff Virgil Culpepper before he left for Chattanooga to pick up West. A large black sign over the doorway identified the one-story structure as MOODY BROOK MUNICIPAL OFFICES and POLICE OFFICE. The station entrance was at the end of the building with parking space for three scout cars. The sheriff’s office had three desks for the other members of the force: a deputy and two patrol officers. At the rear was a closed door with ‘SHERIFF’ and another with ‘NO ADMITTANCE’ opened to the one cell holding area.
“Would you please ask Sheriff Culpepper if he could spare me a moment?” West asked as took out his identification and handed it to the officer who inspected it closely.
Handing it back he said, “I’ll see if Sheriff Culpepper can spare you a moment.” The door to the sheriff’s office opened to a knock closed, then reopened, “Sheriff Culpepper will be pleased to see you.”
Culpepper indicated to a chair in front of his desk. West sat down and passed his identification across the desk. Picking it up and giving close examination Culpepper said, “We don’t get many Canadian private investigators stopping off in Moody Brook; in fact, I can’t remember. You don’t look like a Canadian, and you sure don’t talk like one.”
“How is a Canadian supposed to look and talk???” West asked. “You are the second Canadian I have met. The first was married to my cousin Elvira, twice removed, she brought him to a family reunion. He had an English accent kept saying ‘eh’ and liked beer more than Kentucky bourbon.”
“You should come up for a visit, and I’ll introduce you to some Newfoundland screech. It will give your bourbon a run for its money.”
“Truth be told I’ve never been north of the Mason Dixon Line. What brings you to Moody Brook?”
West reached into his pocket and handed Culpepper the signed letter of introduction Chief Williams had provided on police stationary.
“Interesting, most interesting indeed. It says here if I want confirmation, I can call this number. It is the direct line to police headquarters, and I am to ask for local 137 which is Chief David William’s private line. Do you mind if I do?”
“By all means, I’d do the same, and I know Chief Williams will be pleased to have a word with you.”
West took the time while Culpepper was having his conversation with Williams to size the sheriff up. He was a man of indeterminable age, but a guess would place him in his early sixties. From what he could see desk sitting had impacted his physique from the days he must have spent as an active officer in the field. What immediately caught his attention was a full head of salt and pepper hair and handsome walrus moustache. His sizing up stopped abruptly when Culpepper sat up in his chair and leaned forward with both hands on his desk. He fixed West with a penetrating stare which West returned uncertain of what prompted it.
“Dark blue, yes, they are definitely dark blue.” Culpepper returned to a more comfortable sitting position. “It is indeed a pleasure having private investigator Paul West sitting across the desk from me. I shall be more than pleased to extend him, and his partner who you say will be arriving in Moody Brook tomorrow, the full services of my office and the Limestone County Police.” Culpepper grunted and got out of his chair. Walking to the closed door he opened it and called out, “Chester, get in here.”
The antithesis of Culpepper appeared in the doorway. Chester Bain was tall with an athletic body and chiselled features. “Yes Sheriff,” came the response in a southern drawl that mimicked Culpepper.
“Chester, this is Mr Paul West who is a PI from Canada and will be in Moody Brook for the unforeseen future investigating the two years old disappearance of a young woman along with his partner who you will meet tomorrow. I have had a long talk with Chief Williams of the Canadian police, and he filled me in on the purpose of Mr West’s visit. I have given him my assurance that we will extend every courtesy and cooperate with Mr West and his partner…” Culpepper paused and looked at West.
“Inspector Charles King.”
“Right, Inspector Charles King.”
“Deputy Chester Bain, please meet Mr West.”
West stood up and extended his hand, “I am usually called Paul by anyone I work with, and Inspector King answers to Charlie.”
“Everyone calls me Chester, and I’d be proud to have you call me that.”
“That’s all, Chester, you may go back to your work. Mr West, I correct myself, Paul and I have much to discuss. Don’t interrupt us and shut the door behind you.”
Culpepper settled back in his chair, “Chief Williams said you and Inspector King were investigating a two-year-old cold case, and the new evidence you have come by caused it to be reopened. He said he was sure you would fill me in, please do.”
West began with Victor Madison engaging him to find his daughter and concluded with what Interpol sent King. He showed Culpepper a copy of the e-mail to authenticate what he had said.
“Well now, that is quite a story. Any idea where you want to start?”
“What can you tell me about Pastor Sammy Proctor?”
“We don’t talk much about Pastor Sammy these days. He was quite a rascal and a real disappointment to those who trusted him and gave their hard-earned money to his ministry and charity.”
“Do you mind if I record our conversation, so I can play it to my partner when he arrives?”
“Not at all, be pleased if you did.”
Culpepper spun a tale that ran the gamut from local icon to public disgrace in Limestone County. “It all began in the late 70s when television evangelists were more popular than talk show hosts and sucked money out of the gullible until brought down by scandal. Money, greed and sex were the driving force. Pastor Sammy began as a small time Southern Baptist minister with a rural church outside the town limits of Moody Bank. His folksy, down-to-earth preaching caught the imagination of the believers who packed the church and, when it got too crowded, filled a tent that was pitched in a rented field adjacent to the church. It wasn’t too long before he caught the eye of the religion editor for a large newspaper who began puffing him for his success in raising money to help African children afflicted with conjunctivitis, or red eye as we call it, and facing blindness unless treated. Within three years, he moved his ministry to an urban centre, leased an auditorium and went on local television. He was a natural and knew how to play to a camera like a lover. His wife was staff soloist. He had one son with the Biblical name of Paul, his favourite apostle, same as yours for that matter,” chuckled Culpepper at his touch of whimsy. "It’s a popular name in Alabama. Pastor Sammy’s world crashed, and he went to jail for fraud and money laundering. Unable to suffer the looks and rumours, his wife and son Paul pulled up stakes and left the state.
But that was years ago, and Moody Brook has put that hurtful episode and its one time ‘favourite son’ behind them. We all thought we had heard the last of the Proctors when low and behold about five years ago Paul appeared. His daddy had bought a chuck of land on Lake Hagerman and told everyone he planned to build a Christian retreat but never got around to it before the authorities came calling. Paul built a resort with a main lodge and cabins, and named it Sammy Pines in honour of his daddy. It’s what we Alabamians call a Christian retreat where believers go to spend their vacations and study the Word of God. Some call it a cult but I’ve never seen evidence to support that. It was a great boost to our economy and the Moody Brook merchants love it. You seldom see any of those who book into the cabins around town because, for some reason, they never leave the compound. All supplies are bought in town or at farms by a couple of workers. They come to town, by truck, twice a week, buy what they need and pay cash.
Pastor Paul is a generous donor to town events and, like his daddy, is revered. No one can say a word against him, so be careful in what you say when talking to townsfolk."
“Have you been to Sammy Pines?”
"Only once. It was a couple of years ago. The authorities were tracking an escaped convict, and we were asked to be on the lookout. Fortunately, he was captured a couple of days later.
I was warmly received by Pastor Paul. He took me on a tour of Sammy Pines, and I must say I was tremendously impressed. There is a main building which includes the administration office, dining hall and assembly hall which looks more like a church sanctuary than a school assembly hall. At the rear are private quarters for Pastor Paul who is not married. Everything is what you would call well-appointed. Scattered around the cleared grass area are rustic log cabins, I counted twenty-two with a large parking lot to the side of the main building. The property runs down to the lake. It has a sandy beach with chairs and umbrellas for sunbathers. There is a long dock with small boats fo
r fishing, paddle boats, a play area for children and, oh yes, a waterslide. There is also a private boathouse for Pastor Paul’s boat. He is seen quite often taking it out for a spin. If you want an isolated luxury getaway, Sammy Pines is for you. Pastor Paul has done his daddy proud."
“It must take a large staff to look after the place and guests?”
“I’m sure it does. I don’t know how may are employed because none come from in or around Moody Brook. From what I’ve been told, they come from all over the states and don’t come into town.”
“Don’t you find that strange?”
Culpepper shrugged, “As long as they don’t break the law or cause trouble, it’s none of my concern.”
“Any Canadians on staff?”
“Not that I have heard, but I am sure Pastor Paul would be able to tell you.”
“Where is Sammy Pines?” West asked.
“Are you thinking about having a look?”
“I am sure my partner will suggest it when he hears what you have just told me.”
“It is well hidden at the end of an old logging road.”
“We’ll find it.”
“I’ll have Chester take you.” The offer was not up for debate.
“That is very kind of you.”
“You say Interpol has traced the monthly money transfers to The Agronomy Bank?”
West opened his briefcase and took out a copy of the Interpol e-mail and handed it across the desk. Culpepper read it, all the while making sucking noises. “Well now, I assume your next move will be to drop by the bank and have a word with the manager, Jayden Mayfield?”
“That’s what I was planning to do after I pick up my partner at the Chattanooga airport. I’ll give him a call and make an appointment for first thing in the morning. It will give me time to bring my partner up to speed.”
Culpepper held up his hand and reached for the phone, “Let me give Jayden a call and recommend that he gives you his full cooperation. We go back a long way. He will do what I suggest.”