by Douglas Hall
Mandy gave a deep sigh, “You don’t want much.”
“I’m not done. Next, cultivate Pastor Paul and see if he opens up to you,” West said.
“You are a witness,” joked Mandy as she grinned at King, “he wants me to seduce a man of God, and it’s not in my job description.”
“You’ve done it before on other cases when you went undercover and came out of it with your reputation intact.”
Mandy winked at King, “Anything more as I should get back to Sammy Pines before I’m missed. Brock will want to hear my reply to her offer.”
“Just remember,” West cautioned, “Culpepper has you monitored 24/7 and we are less than half-an-hour away.”
“Anything else?” said Mandy with a serious tone.
“Don’t leave your laptop out when you are not around.”
“No sense giving someone ideas,” added King. “You can’t leave it in your cabin. My suggestion would be to lock it up in the trunk of the car.”
“Good idea,” West added.
“What will you two be up to while I am slaving away and trying to sell my body?” At that all three erupted in laughter. It lightened up the moment.
“We’ll see Culpepper and get ready to have another go at Jayden Mayfield tomorrow morning in his lawyer’s office. Speaking of Mayfield, see if his name pops up and in what context. My gut feeling is that man has his thumb in the pie. If you are going to give Brockhurst your decision today, you had better get going before she gives the position to someone else.”
CULPEPPER LED his small office by the book. His folksy southern demeanour masked a seasoned law enforcement veteran who quickly parsed a situation in a remarkable manner. When he first met West and King, he had serious reservations about these two, who had what to him sounded like English accents and came from a country he had never visited or knew nothing about. Past experiences with law enforcement officers from north of the Mason Dixon line, who treated him like some kind of southern yokel, rankled. It wasn’t long until he accepted West and King as consummate professionals. Swearing them in as his special deputies was the highest honour he could bestow upon them, and the respect they gave him in return was their stamp of acceptance and approval. The verbal reports West and King gave him of the past couple of days were detailed and full. This one was no exception. King went first and played the recording of his meeting with Pastor Sammy. Settled comfortably in his desk chair Culpepper listened intently and made no comment. The occasional nod of the head was his only reaction until King turned off the recorder.
“I found him a most interesting and complex man,” King said. “He has come through a horrendous ten years plus and has nothing left to hide. By the time he was finished answering my questions and setting aside the fact that he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, I ended up liking him.”
“He is a scallywag, alright,” Culpepper observed. “Everybody liked Pastor Sammy. What I want to know is did you believe him?”
“Let me answer that question with a question. You know him far better than I could from just one meeting. You gave me a profile before I left for Boca Raton that was in-depth, and you just heard what he had to say…do you believe him?”
“Now that’s food for thought. He did wrong and put the almighty dollar ahead of the almighty. He couldn’t look me in the eye when I arrested him and turned him over to the federal agents. When he was questioned, he was very forthright and honest in his replies. I believed him then, and I have to say after listening to him on your recording, I believe him now.”
“So do I.”
Culpepper turned to West, “What about you?”
“Not having ever met him I’ll take both your words for it and have to say he sounded most convincing but there is one thing missing.”
“What’s that?” asked King.
“It’s not what’s that it is Jayden Mayfield,” West replied. “If we are to believe Pastor Sammy, he is guilty as sin, but all we have is his word for it. You heard him, he said the feds didn’t go after him, and you will have to agree if they found what Pastor Sammy alluded to him would have gone down with him.”
“I just had a dirty thought,” West said, “is it possible Pastor Sammy was setting him up?”
“Excellent observation,” interjected Culpepper. “Now it is up to you two to find out if he is, and you can begin with your meeting in Gaylord Brunson’s office tomorrow morning, but I give you fair warning. When you ask permission to record, Gaylord will flatly refuse. You are under my direct order to do so, and I will be here in my office if he wishes to call to voice his objections.”
“Do you think he will?” King asked.
“No, because rest assured he’ll be taping as well and won’t ask for your permission to do so.”
“Any further suggestions?” West asked.
“It’s your investigation. I wouldn’t presume. With good fortune, you might come up with some useful information I could use to feed my imagination about Jayden Mayfield’s past and present activities and your good lady might ferret out something to bring you closer to finding your missing girl. You did assure her that she is being monitored, and if there are any suspicious movements by Mandy, or her car, will alert the office, day or night and an officer will be dispatched immediately.”
“I did and she is taking great comfort from that.”
“Now go and prepare for your meeting and let me get back to serving and protecting the good citizens of this county.”
THE RECEPTION West and King received from Gaylord Brunson’s receptionist was anything but welcoming when they entered his small two-room office over a main street cleaning store. The middle-aged woman butted her cigarette and looked up from the computer screen with a blank expression. “He’s waiting for you. Go in,” she mumbled before West could tell her who they were.
Brunson neither smiled nor got up from his chair as they entered. Mayfield was seated to the side of his desk with a sour expression and made no verbal acknowledgement.
“Please, sit down and shall we dispense with the reason for this meeting,” Brunson instructed. “My client has to get to the bank, and I have a full and busy morning ahead of me. Now what can I do for you or rather what can my client do for you that he couldn’t have done in Sheriff Culpepper’s office two days ago?”
King placed his recorder on the desk and turned it on without asking permission. It caught both Brunson and Mayfield’s attention but didn’t elicit a comment.
“We are here to get the answer to the question your client refused to give when last I put it to him. So I’ll ask it again: when was the last time you spoke to Pastor Paul Proctor?”
Brunson turned to Mayfield, “You may answer that question, Jayden.”
West and King were under no illusions. Brunson would have coached Mayfield and anything he had to say would be scripted and well-rehearsed.
“I apologise. When you asked me about my brief call to Pastor Proctor after you left my office, it had completely slipped my mind. I was just confirming a meeting with him for mid-afternoon to discuss some banking business.”
“And just what did you say in that brief call?” West asked.
Mayfield dramatically raised his head, shut his eyes, and responded with, “If memory serves, it was something like, my afternoon is clear, I’ll come around two.”
“My afternoon is clear, I’ll come around two,” parroted West.
“That was it as I recall.”
“If that’s all it was and Pastor Proctor can confirm it, we needn’t take up more of your time,” West said as he stood up. King shut off the recorder and returned it to his pocket.
“That’s all you wanted to ask him?” demanded a bewildered Brunson.
“That’s it. Good morning and thank you.”
As soon as Brunson’s door was closed, he pushed the desk phone to Mayfield, “Call him, he deserves a heads up.”
When they reached the outer door, King nudged West in the side with his elbow. The pre-meetin
g plan had worked to perfection. They had thrown Mayfield off-guard. It was a given that he would inform Proctor, and the bet was he would be on the phone before they reached the car.
“I wager you left Gaylord Brunson with his mouth hanging open,” Culpepper said with a belly laugh after West gave his report.
“He didn’t even complain when I slapped the recorder on his desk without asking permission,” King said.
“All I can say is you and your partner brought it off and hung those two out to dry. Trust me it will rankle Gaylord Brunson. Knowing him as I do, I can say with confidence that he spent hours going over his game plan for your meeting, and he doesn’t accept defeat gracefully.”
“We wanted to strike while the iron was hot and not give him time to play games which I gather he has perfected to a fine point. All we wanted to do was rattle both of them.”
“I can guarantee you that is exactly what you did,” Culpepper said.
“We’ll be on our way to Sammy Pines and let you know how we made out.”
“I’ll be here waiting. Are you going to tell Pastor Paul that you saw his father?”
“From what he had to tell me, I don’t think that I should be the one to tell him. It should come as a complete surprise when he hears it.”
“That is if he doesn’t have a snitch inside Bethesda and already knows.”
Thirteen
STEPHANIE BROCKHURST’S face broke into a wide smile when Mandy Perkins, aka Bethany Walker, said had thought about it, and since she had no one waiting for her to return to Canada, and wanted to start a new life with no ties, why not begin at Sammy Pines.
“I told Pastor Paul if you decided to join our family, you would be an answer to prayer.”
“You don’t know if I can even do the job, so hold back on the heavenly credit.”
“You told me all I needed to know when we had our earlier chat,” reassured Brockhurst. “I’ll be bluntly honest, I am totally swamped ever since I lost my last assistant and am at the point whereby I’ll take anything that can still breathe and walk. Don’t take offense, but it will give you an idea how thankful I am that the good Lord sent you to us.” The two women laughed. “Let’s have a tour of the business office, and I’ll show you your desk and computer.”
Bethany was impressed with what she saw. Everything was first class, especially her desktop computer. Brockhurst picked up a pad and wrote. Tearing off the page she handed it to Bethany, “This is the password to open up the computer, and this is the password for the general ledger file which hasn’t been reconciled for some time. Our year-end is fast approaching, and your prime job will be to bring everything up to date as quickly as possible. From what you told me about your business degree and work history, you have the background necessary to handle such an assignment. Once that is done, you can move on to getting the mailing file cleaned up with all the address changes that have piled up. Every time we mail out a new edition of Child Waiting, nearly 20 percent come back with the wrong address. This has really weighed on Pastor Paul as he says we are losing far too much needed revenue because of the problem. I won’t burden you with anything more at this time with the exception that you will also cover the reception desk and book in new guests when they arrive. Think you can handle it?”
“I’ll give it my best, but I have two conditions to settle before I begin work.”
Brock laughed, “Of course, I never told you what this job pays. We will match what you were last making in Canada. Board is included plus a room in the staff residence. It’s the small building at the rear of the administrative complex.”
“That’s very generous of you, but I would like to remain in the cabin I am now in.”
Brock thought for a moment, “The cabins are at a premium, but for you, I can arrange that.”
"I noticed from your daily schedule that each day begins with a staff prayer meeting in the dining room. I want to be exempted from it. I am not what you would call a believer, and I would feel out of place and decidedly uncomfortable.
“Don’t get me wrong. I am prepared to follow all your rules as long as I am not expected to participate in anything religious. I knew Sammy Pines had a religious theme when I checked it out on the web. It was the ambience and location that caught my eye.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Bethany Walker, consider it done. When can you start?”
“How about right now. Give me a few moments to go back and change into something more business-like if I am to work the front desk. I don’t think you want me to greet new guests in my tennis whites.”
“I’ll wait for you here and run you through the booking-in protocol. All a visitor has to do is ring the bell on the lobby desk which is connected to the general office. Just drop what you are doing and look after them. If you have any problem, I’ll be in my office, and you can get to me very quickly. I think that is about all.”
“Thank you, Miss Brockhurst.”
“Call me Brock.”
WEST CHECKED his phone messages as King drove them to Sammy Pines. There was one he played for King to hear.
Paul,
This is Victor Madison. I know you are totally involved but I would like, no I insist, that you get back to me with an update. I have left a couple of e-mails for you, but they have gone unanswered. I am not a man who accepts being shunted into a vacuum, especially when I am paying the bills. Enough said. I expect a return call. You have my private iPhone number. Use it night or day.
“Pull over and let me get back to Madison before he has a stroke.” It was not West’s practice to apologise to anyone but Madison was an exception. “My apologies, Victor,” West said when Madison answered his call. “Things have been moving at such a fast clip I have barely had time to do anything.”
He covered the events of the previous four days and, without mentioning King, it was more than enough to calm Madison down. His demanding tone had softened by the time he was finished asking questions and follow-ups.
Madison was impressed when West told him about Culpepper appointing him a deputy sheriff in order to put some teeth into his investigation and ended by giving him his full approval and apologising for his brusque message.
“Press on and don’t let so much time go by until your next update” was his closing comment.
“MAY I BE OF HELP, GENTLEMEN?” welcomed Mandy without a flicker of recognition as King leaned across the desk and looked at the name tag on the crisp white blouse. “Indeed, you can, Miss Bethany Walker, how kind of you to ask.”
West stifled the smile that was creeping across his face as King continued, “We have come all the way from Canada to speak to Pastor Paul Proctor. I am Inspector Charles King and my friend is Private Investigator Paul West.” King replied loud enough so that anyone in the room behind the reception desk could hear it through the door that was ajar. They had mutually agreed that King should take the lead as inspector carried more weight than private investigator.
Mandy made the motion of writing their names on a pad; instead, she wrote, “Security camera upper left.” And angled it for King to see. Picking up the phone she called Brockhurst who was in her office.
It didn’t take long for her to appear at the reception desk. “I am Stephanie Brockhurst, Pastor Proctor’s administrative assistant. I understand you wish to see him. May I ask the nature of your business?”
It was West’s turn, “We have come all the way from Canada to discuss a police matter with Pastor Proctor.”
Brock straightened up to her full height. The smile left her face. “I am sorry but that won’t be possible at this time. Pastor Proctor is tied up in a meeting and can’t be disturbed.”
“Well, I am sorry, Miss Brockhurst, as I said this is a police matter, and we must insist that you ask Pastor Proctor to interrupt his meeting and see us,” replied King in the same officious cadence Brockhurst was using.
“You say you come from Canada. This is Alabama, and I don’t believe you have sufficient authority to insist that I inte
rrupt Pastor Proctor at this time. If you will give me a number where I can contact you, I shall speak to Pastor Proctor and set up a meeting. But I have to advise you his appointment book is filled, and it might be some time before I can get back to you. This is a very busy time of the year for Sammy Pines.”
“I believe we have that authority,” West interjected and pulled out his sheriff’s badge.
King followed, "We are duly authorised deputy sheriffs of the State of Alabama. If you would care to call Sheriff Virgil Culpepper, who is in his office as we speak, I am sure he will be more than pleased to confirm our status. Now will you do us the courtesy of informing Pastor Proctor? Brockhurst’s expression did not soften, instead, it hardened. She swept a wisp of hair back and glared at West and King. The atmosphere was electric. It took a moment before she recovered her composure.
“I shall see if I can have a word with Pastor Paul. Please, wait here until I return.”
The door behind the reception desk opened and Brockhurst appeared. With an icy tone she said, “I was able to have a quick word with Pastor Proctor, and he will be pleased to see you in his study as soon as he wraps up his meeting which shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”
“Not at all,” West replied, as he opened up communication. “I was about to ask Miss…” He stopped as though her name escaped him.
“Walker,” Brockhurst replied, “Bethany Walker.”
“Yes, Miss Walker,” West acknowledged with a bow of the head to Mandy, “I was captivated by the beautiful, blue ceramic pots ringing the wraparound veranda. My mother loves her flowers, especially canna lilies. May I take a picture of them before we leave?”
It was a lie because his mother had an allergy to flowers. It was the type of neutral topic he used throughout his career when he began an interview. It set the tone as friendly before he got to the hard questions.