Murder Never Sleeps

by Douglas Hall

  “Please do. We get many guests who admire the flowers and ask if they can take pictures. They are Pastor Proctor’s way of saying welcome to Sammy Pines.”

  “I have never seen canna lilies so tall and lush. They must be three-feet tall and present an amazing display. I, especially, admire the way the pots ring the wraparound veranda with every pot having a giant lily. Most colourful and impressive.”

  King shook his head. West was really laying it on.

  “The pots are four-foot high and set five feet apart. There are twenty-six and cost over two thousand dollars each. I have an address if you would like to get one for your mother.”

  West laughed, “It wouldn’t fit into her condo. My compliments to whoever set them up.”

  “They are the handiwork of a professional horticulturalist.”

  “Why thank you. Pastor Paul has a green thumb. They are his passion and hobby. No one including the property superintendent is allowed to touch them. He is constantly replanting as the lilies grow taller, so that they keep a uniform height and do not break up the symmetry. He finds puttering away to be most therapeutic. It helps him wind down after the long days he puts in running Sammy Pines and keeping up with his pastoral duties. Since there is no Mrs Proctor, he can work long into the evening and many times does.”

  Turning to look at the clock on the wall behind her, Brockhurst said, “I think we can make our way to Pastor Paul’s study. If you will please follow me.”

  Proctor was on his feet in answer to Brockhurst’s knock. With hand outstretched he said, “Do come in and welcome.”

  “I’m the policeman, and he’s a private investigator,” King said as he held out his warrant card. West followed with his PI identification.

  “Just what brings you all this way to talk to me, I am intrigued.”

  “We are investigating the disappearance of a young woman.”

  “Are you expecting foul play?”

  “In cases such as this, we follow up all leads.”

  “Whatever led you to Sammy Pines?”

  Brockhurst had moved back to the rear wall and stood with hands folded in front of her.

  West opened his attaché case and removed the photograph of Cindy Madison. He handed it across the desk to Proctor. At the same time, King turned on his recording device.

  Proctor ignored the recorder but the flicker of his eye conformed that he saw it.

  “Have you ever seen this girl or a girl who resembled her?”

  Proctor studied the photograph and slowly shook his head. Holding out the photograph to Brockhurst he told her to have a close look, “Does it ring a bell?”

  “Not even a chime,” Brockhurst replied. She returned the photograph and started to move to the back of the study when Proctor said, “Don’t go, Brock. Have a seat. You may be able to add something as I am sure there are more questions to be asked. I think it would be helpful if Miss Brockhurst stayed, if you don’t mind.”

  “We don’t mind,” West said.

  “I see you are taping this interview, and since I am without the presence of Sammy Pines lawyer, I would feel more comfortable if I had a witness present.”

  “By all means,” West replied.

  “Thank you and just what makes you think anyone at Sammy Pines would know anything about your missing girl?”

  “When I inspected her bedroom, shortly after her father engaged me to help Inspector King with his official investigation, I found a stack of Child Waiting neatly piled up on a shelf under her night table,” West said without a change of inflection.

  “I don’t find that unusual. In fact, I think you would find many friends of Sammy Pines outreach program would have what you call ‘a stack’ of Child Waiting in their home. They find them informative and inspirational.”

  “I am sure they do, but this young lady, Cindy Madison, did more than just save your publication. Her bank, The Saint Lawrence Bank of Canada, forwards a four-figure sum every month to the Sammy Pines account in The Agronomy Bank of Alabama by way of a transfer from a numbered account in a Lichtenstein bank.”

  “Are you aware of this, Miss Brockhurst?”

  “I would have to check.”

  Proctor returned his glance from Brockhurst to West and fixed him with an icy stare, “You seem to be well informed, sir.”

  “I make it my business to be well informed. Are you saying you don’t know anything about such a sizable monthly donation to your cause from a Canadian girl not yet in her early twenties?”

  Proctor was becoming agitated and not hiding it very well, “I don’t know how to answer that. I am the president of what the world would term a large international corporation, and I can’t be expected to know details. I just know the big picture. I leave the day-to-day operation up to my trusted administrative executive Miss Brockhurst.”

  West replaced his eye contact with Proctor to a steely one with Brockhurst, “One would think you would be apprised by the Moody Brook branch of such an uncommon way a monthly donation of that size is credited to the Sammy Pines’ account.”

  “I will check into it,” Brockhurst shot back.

  “Well then I’ll let Inspector King give you a precise of what I am alluding to. It may help refresh your memory.”

  King didn’t have to refer to his notes as he had near total recall and rhymed off the money trail from Canada to Lichtenstein to Alabama.

  Proctor and Brockhurst listened with stony-faced expressions and said nothing until King finished and asked, “Do you have any questions?”

  “No,” Proctor mumbled before clearing his throat. “I have no comment to make. I do not have any information about your missing young girl either. If I had, I would be the first to tell you. I don’t believe there is anything else either Miss Brockhurst or I can add to what we have said, so I’ll say goodbye. I pray you will find the girl safe and sound.”

  “We have one more request to ask before we leave,” West said.

  “And just what is that?”

  “We’d like to have a meeting with your entire staff to show them Cindy Madison’s photograph and ask if anyone has ever seen her or knows anyone who has.”

  “That won’t be possible,” Proctor replied.

  “And just why not, sir,” asked King.

  “It would be too traumatic for some of them who came to us with dark backgrounds to be questioned by the police. It could upset them to the point whereby they would leave.”

  “Just what kind of background are you alluding to?”

  Again, Proctor coughed and shot a glance at Brockhurst, “When someone comes to Sammy Pines to work with us, we do not ask for references. We assume they have their reasons for coming to us, and if we can provide shelter and comfort, we are only too pleased to do so. After all, we are a Christian organisation, and it is our duty to offer aid and comfort, no questions asked.”

  “Let me be quite blunt, pastor,” King said in a firm voice. “We are conducting police investigation with the full knowledge and support of Sheriff Culpepper. He is aware of this request. Should it be a problem and you refuse, I will have no alternative but to place a call and ask him to obtain a warrant for us to proceed including a complete search of your compound.”

  “Would you allow me to apprise our lawyer of this situation and ask him to attend before I say anything further and you place that call?”

  West looked at King, “I think that is a reasonable request, don’t you?”

  “That’s a reasonable request.”

  “What exactly is it that you want?” Proctor asked.

  “Assemble your full staff in the dining room. We will show them the photograph, take their names and a statement, then leave. It won’t take Inspector King and I long to do it. We’ve done it many times before.”

  Before Proctor could protest, West added, “We would also like a current staff roster and access to Sammy Pines employee list for the last two-and-a-half years hopefully with signatures. We would want to compare them with the sample of Cin
dy Madison’s that we brought with us.”

  The last was a complete fabrication as they were not in possession of a signature sample.

  Proctor’s face was ashen. “Brock,” he said, with an effort to control his words and tone, “assemble the staff in the dining room and give them what they want.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, phone Gaylord Brunson and tell him to drop whatever he is doing and get here immediately.”

  West stood up, “Very sensible of you. Inspector King and I will be on the veranda admiring your flower pots and will await your pleasure.”

  As they walked past the reception desk, West stopped long enough to say, “Miss Walker, if someone comes looking for us, we’ll either be on the veranda or taking a walk around the grounds. Please come and get us.”

  Mandy played her role to perfection, “I shall indeed, sir.”

  CULPEPPER ANSWERED his phone to an irate Gaylord Brunson, “Virgil, just what are your two dad-blamed carpetbaggers doing coming down from the north and ordering us around.”

  “You tell me.”

  Brunson proceeded to relate the call he had just taken from Brockhurst, leaving nothing out. He wound down with, “I take exception to the strong-armed interference that these out of country jaspers are up to. First, Jayden Mayfield and now one of the most admired residents in this area. One of them had the audacity to say said if Pastor Paul didn’t accede to their demands, you would be seeing the judge for a court order ordering him to comply.”

  “That’s correct, Gaylord. Are you calling me say that Pastor Paul is refusing to cooperate?”

  “I am on my way to Sammy Pines as soon as I hang up. I told Pastor Paul he had no choice but to cooperate and not to let them begin questioning the staff until I get there to moderate.”

  “How very sensible of you.”

  “Just what does this all mean?”

  “It means, Gaylord that my deputies are investigating the disappearance of a young girl and the possible commitment of an indictable offense, and I am giving them my full support. I can’t put it any more succinctly than that. Does that answer your question?”

  “I go on record as protesting on behalf of my client, and should they step over the line, I shall be the visiting the judge to obtain a restraining order.”

  “So be it, Gaylord. If you have said your piece, which I have duly noted, I shall say goodbye as I have to be about my duties.”

  “This is not the last you will hear from me, Virgil,” Brunson replied with irritation. He was not a man to be dismissed.

  “I am sure it won’t be,” Culpepper replied and hung up the phone.

  Fourteen

  PROCTOR WAS NOWHERE to be seen. When West asked Brockhurst if he and King should wait for him to arrive before starting, she dismissed the question with, “He won’t be attending. He is in his study preparing his sermon for Sunday’s service and can’t be disturbed.”

  The housekeeping, dining room and maintenance staff were clustered nervously in the dining room, and Mandy was not in attendance. Brockhurst reasoned that since she would not know anything pertaining to staff past or present, she was not included and was assigned to cover the front desk. Conversations were hushed and expressions questioning until Brockhurst explained that they would be shown a picture of a young girl and asked if they had ever seen her at Sammy Pines. Brockhurst’s tone of voice indicated that they should respond in the negative.

  West and King were purposely not introduced by their professional titles, at Brockhurst’s insistence, to avoid upsetting anyone for whatever reason. Brunson acknowledged West and King with a curt nod of the head and took a seat at the side of the room where he could observe.

  Brockhurst had an envelope with the requested list of employee signatures past and present which she handed to West. “These are the only signatures we have on file.”

  West took the floor and explained that a young girl, by the name of Cindy Madison, had gone missing over two years ago. Her father hired him and King to try and find her. He made no reference to his profession or King’s police connection. All the staff had to do was look at a photograph and tell him or King if they had ever seen her, or a girl looking like her, at Sammy Pines.

  A beefy man in work clothes asked, “What makes you think we would know anything about her?” His tone was belligerent and his body language aggressive.

  “When her father posted a missing person report, a number of leads were followed by the police until it became what they call a cold case,” West explained, “that’s where my friend and I entered the picture at her father’s request. We have spent some time following up leads and one was Sammy Pines.”

  “Care to explain?” the man asked in a belligerent tone.

  “I am not in a position to answer that question at this time.”

  “Are you suggesting that Sammy Pines is involved in the disappearance of a missing girl?”

  “I am not suggesting anything,” West paused in mid-sentence, “and just who are you, sir?”

  Rising to his full height the man replied, “My name is Arnold Gould. I am the property and maintenance manager. I started with Pastor Paul when he first had the idea to build Sammy Pines, and we have been with him ever since.”

  “You say we?”

  Gould reached back and grabbed the arm of a young man, in equally scruffy work clothes, who was standing behind him, and yanked him forward, “This is my son Orville.”

  King had his notebook out and was writing as the exchange continued.

  “We tend the grounds and keep the buildings in good order.”

  “And what a wonderful job you have done,” complimented West.

  Gould’s facial expression softened with the complement.

  “Shall we begin with you and your son first, Mr Gould, so you can get back to your duties or chores, as we Canadians call them?” King asked.

  “Just one further question. You are not suggesting that Sammy Pines is one of those cults, are you?”

  West knitted his brow, “And just why you would ask such a question?”

  “A while back, the newspaper ran a story about a cult that was shut down over the border in South Carolina. They would truck young people all over the place to go door-to-door begging for money to help children in Africa. Sammy Pines is not a cult, and our young people don’t go around begging.”

  “I never meant to imply that Sammy Pines was a cult. It is far too beautiful a place to be tagged with that,” King was at his stroking best.

  “Now, let me and Orville see your picture, and we’ll tell you if we ever saw someone who resembled it.” Both responded with a rousing “no” in unison. It didn’t take West and King long to work the room.

  The last to be interviewed was a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She was petite, wore glasses and had striking red hair. She shook her head, mumbled “no” and hurriedly left the room.

  Brockhurst returned to the room. “There is no Cindy Madison in the employee file, and I have no idea why some signatures are missing. Now, if you will come with me, I’ll take you to see Pastor Paul and please make it quick. He allows no one to interrupt him when he preparing his sermon, but in your case, he is making an exception.”

  Neither knew what to expect when Brockhurst opened the study door and said, “Pastor Paul, may I bring in Mr West and Inspector King?”

  Proctor was sitting behind a large ornate walnut desk. The ambience of the study was not what either expected for a pastor’s study. Originals of landscapes hung on the wall. Behind Proctor was an oil of him sitting in a carved straight back chair that more resembled a throne than a pastor’s chair with its ornate carvings. He was dressed in white from head-to-toe, including tie and shoes. Not a hair was out of place, and there were no wrinkles to be seen. The eye was immediately drawn to the walnut side table with a large black Bible. His right hand rested on top.

  Comparing the portrait to the man who was rising from his chair with a welcoming smi
le and outstretched hand spoke to the licence the skilled portrait artist employed. Instead of white attire, Proctor was dressed in designer blue jeans, monogrammed blue shirt to match and Italian loafers. It didn’t take a close inspection to see traces of wrinkles and the full head of jet-black hair that was touched up to hide the grey. This was a vain man who embellished his image and preened without apology.

  Sitting in a chair to the right of Proctor’s desk was Gaylord Brunson. He nodded icily to West and King.

  “Gentlemen, do have a seat,” invited Proctor. “Since you are acquainted with Mr Brunson, I won’t go into detail as to why I asked him to sit. One can’t be too careful.”

  “Not at all,” King said as he took out his recording device which he turned on and set it on the desk. “I am sure you can appreciate that like you, we can’t be too careful, especially should there be questions as what has been said.”

  Not to be bested Brunson said, “I instructed Miss Brockhurst to set up Pastor Paul’s recording device, and I assume that it is now recording. Is that correct Miss Brockhurst?”

  An affirmative nod of the head was his answer.

  “Shall we begin?” suggested Proctor. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I heard that you were in Moody Brook and had become quite the celebrities with your appointments as deputy sheriffs. You are the talk of our small town. Now tell me what brings you to Sammy Pines.”

  “We are looking for a young Canadian girl who disappeared over two years ago and talking to anyone who might be able to point us in a new direction,” West responded.

  Brockhurst cleared her throat and made eye contact with Proctor. “Do you want me stay, Pastor?” The questions had vocal overtones suggesting an affirmative reply.

  “By all means, I’d appreciate it if you would. Is that acceptable, gentlemen?”

  “We have no objections. Miss Brockhurst might be able to add to the discussion, and we would welcome her input,” West said, “I’ll ask you the same question we asked your assembled staff before we came to see you. Have you ever seen a young woman who looked like this or resembled the one in this photograph?”