Murder Never Sleeps

by Douglas Hall

  Proctor took the photograph and studied it carefully, “What a beautiful young girl, but I can, honestly, say I never saw her or someone who looked like her.” He held out the photograph to Brockhurst, “Have you ever seen a young woman who looked like this?”

  Brockhurst bristled, “No! What is more I told them they were wasting their time interviewing the staff or going through the staff records that I gave them.”

  “You supplied them copies of staff records!” asked Brunson exploded.

  “I didn’t think I had any choice.”

  “Were you aware of this?” Brunson stared at Proctor who shook his head.

  Turning to West he asked, “Did you present a warrant to Miss Brockhurst when you asked for copies of corporate records?”

  Brunson leaned forward and his eyes darted from West to King.

  “No,” replied King, “if a warrant was asked, for Sheriff Culpepper, would have no problem obtaining one for such a purpose.”

  Brunson harrumphed, “Next time, and if there is one, you are to refuse such a request until you speak to me. Do I make myself clear, Miss Brockhurst?”

  Returning his gaze to West, Brunson said, “I am curious. When you interviewed the staff, did any respond in the positive to your question about remembering anyone looking like the image in the photograph?”

  “That, counsellor, is privileged information, and since this is an ongoing investigation, I am not at liberty to answer that question.”

  “I will take that as a no,” Brunson replied dismissively.

  West and King had honed their skills for reading faces to a high degree of excellence. Both watched for changes of expression as they questioned and especially Proctor when Brunson was holding forth. It wasn’t the changes of expression that caught their interest, it was the eyes which darted from one to another that they found revealing.

  “Well gentlemen, I believe you have everything you came for. Now, may I get back to preparing my Sunday sermon?”

  “You might find this interesting,” King said as he handed the Interpol e-mail to Proctor who read it silently and dropped it on his desk.

  “Have you seen this, Gaylord?” Proctor asked.

  “Yes, and I’d like to know what prompted Interpol to send Inspector King such a signal?”

  King was quick to reply. It could be the opening he and West were looking for, “Part of our investigation concerned building a profile of Cindy Madison which covered her background and standard of living. She comes from a wealthy family and her parents doted upon her. A generous trust fund was set up for her at an early age which her father estimated that by now it would be in six-figure range with accrued interest and appreciation. In addition, she was given a monthly three-figure allowance with no questions asked. When I received a warrant to check her bank records, I found that every month her account was debited $1,000 and deposited into a numbered account. The deposits followed an interesting route from Canada to Lichtenstein to the Moody Brook branch of The Agronomy Bank of America and then credited to Sammy Pines general account.”

  In an effort to shut King up before he could reveal unwanted information such as the visits he and West had made to the bank and their questioning of Mayfield, Brunson said, “We are not here to answer questions about the financial business of Sammy Pines. You have asked if anyone on staff has any information to impart about the missing girl and received an all-encompassing no. This meeting is over, gentlemen.”

  “I ask you again, Gaylord, have you seen the e-mail?” Proctor demanded.

  “Yes.”

  Turning to Brockhurst he said, “What about you, Brock?”

  With an embarrassed expression Brockhurst nodded and breathed, “Yes.”

  “And why wasn’t I informed?” Proctor demanded. He was either totally in the dark or doing a masterful job of deflecting.

  Brunson was quick to answer, “Because we didn’t want to clutter your day with an insignificant matter that had no relevance.”

  “There you are, gentlemen. I believe both of my friends will confirm that I do not get involved in the day-to-day operation of Sammy Pines or our juvenile conjunctivitis outreach in Africa. Right from the very beginning, I have made it a practice to never become privy to how much our supporters contribute to the work or who contributes. The only time I am brought into the picture is at a regular board meeting when I am presented with the budget which only tells me if the revenue derived from the operation of Sammy Pines, plus the revenue from donors equals or exceeds expenses. I am pleased to say and I thank Almighty God that we have never been in the red from day one. Does that answer your questions?”

  “You mentioned that you found a supply of Child Waiting in the bedroom of the unfortunate young girl’s bedroom. That I find is not surprising,” observed Brunson. “What is the circulation figure per month, Miss Brockhurst?”

  “I can answer that,” Proctor cut in. “Last time I asked it was well over 5,000 and growing. I am very proud of our little publication with its information and the heart-warming stories. We get letters every month from readers who have been blessed by the stories. Every time, someone new donates to the work or writes in asking for information, they are sent a letter of appreciation personally signed by me and put on the subscription list. I am sure that at one time or another I must have signed a letter of appreciation to Miss…”

  “Cindy Madison,” King offered.

  “Yes, Cindy Madison, my apologies. I am not familiar with the name. May I ask how you obtained this information from Interpol?”

  Brunson was decidedly uncomfortable. He was fearful that Proctor would open a new door to further questioning.

  “I received it in response to my query.”

  “And just what prompted you to contact Interpol in the first place?” Proctor asked.

  “It resulted from my investigation which I am not about to discuss. I can only add that the monthly transfers from Miss Madison’s account are now a four-figure amount.”

  Brunson straightened up in his chair and his features hardened as he said, “And just how did you come by this information?”

  “I obtained a warrant to inspect Miss Madison’s bank statements.”

  “May I say something?” Proctor asked.

  “You are not obliged to say anything,” snapped Brunson in exasperation. “This is not a trial, and you are not under oath.”

  Brunson had just confirmed what Culpepper told them after they reported their first encounter. “That old codger knows ever legal wrinkle in the books, and then some, so be on your guard.”

  “I am obliged to impart this information,” Proctor said in an almost clerical voice as though he were sermonising to the unsaved, “Sammy Pines, and I personally, have undergone state and federal audits, and every time, we were given the stamp of approval. You are wasting your time to trying to dig up any questionable financial carryings on.”

  “In that case, I am sure you won’t mind telling me what an average supporter to your Child Waiting outreach would donate every month?” King asked.

  “Don’t answer that question!” thundered Brunson as he slapped the top of Proctor’s desk.

  “Pastor Proctor is obliged to answer my question or answer it in Sheriff Culpeper’s office. The choice is his.”

  The colour drained from Proctor’s face.

  “That sounds like a threat!” Brunson blurted.

  Before he could continue Proctor cut in, “I explained that I am not privy to the day-to-day business; I leave that up to Miss Brockhurst.”

  “I am instructing you to be quiet. Leave the answering up to me. This is what you are paying me for,” Brunson took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.

  “I go on record, inspector, and say that I find you and your colleagues conduct grating to the point of offensive. I intend to apprise Sheriff Culpepper that I find it in violation of Alabama’s intimidation and harassing laws. This may be the way you do things in Canada, but this is the Deep South, and we pride ourselves
on our civility and politeness. From what I have witnessed, you have not uncovered one shred of evidence that connects Sammy Pines or Pastor Proctor to your missing girl or any financial irregularities.”

  While they learned nothing new, West and King benefitted by witnessing the dynamics between the Proctor, Brockhurst and Brunson. It became apparent that Proctor was subservient to the other two with Brunson the power broker.

  “We thank you for your time. There is nothing further we need at this time, so we shall say good day,” West said.

  Without a further word, West and King left Proctor’s study, and as the door was about to close, they heard Proctor say, “I want a word with you two.” West turned on the motor and was about to back out of the parking space when there was a tap on the driver’s window. A young woman with a pained expression that bordered on frightened peered into the window which West lowered.

  She had red hair, wore glasses and said in a quivering voice, “I remember the girl in the photograph.” Before the motor could be turned off and the door opened, she hurried away and disappeared around the side of the administrative building.

  On the way back to see Culpepper, West texted Madison and asked him to scan a sample of his daughter’s signature.

  Fifteen

  THE MOMENT WEST AND KING ARRIVED, Bain followed explicit orders and called Culpepper.

  “Send them right in, save all my calls, and don’t interrupt until they leave.”

  “Yes Sheriff.” With a smile he said, “Go right in, he’s waiting for you.”

  “I thought you’d be back before now,” Culpepper said. “What have you two been up to?”

  When West gave their report, he pursed his lips then said, “Well, now sounds like something is going on at Sammy Pines, and it is time to put your girl to work.”

  West glanced at King, “Mandy has been able to connect with the staff and get herself accepted into Sammy Pines’ inner circle to the point of being offered a job. Her duties include manning the front desk, recording the daily accounts and even being trusted to make weekly deposits to the bank. Charlie and I will be brainstorming to see how best to use that door of opportunity. Once we have, we’ll fill you in.”

  “She must be good, I’m impressed, and I am not easy to impress, just ask Chester.”

  “Believe me, she is,” confirmed King.

  “Next on our agenda is for Mandy to set up a meeting with us and the redhead girl who wears glasses as soon as possible,” West said, “Hopefully, she’ll agree to talk to us.”

  Culpepper clapped his hands, “Well done, as I believe you Brits say.”

  King was on the verge of reminding him that they were Canadians with close ties to Great Britain, but didn’t pursue it.

  “She should be invaluable. What next?” Culpepper asked as he sat back in his chair and tented his fingers.

  “I’ll get to Mandy later tonight when she can take a call and talk.”

  “Should anything questionable be going on, tell her to be careful,” cautioned Culpepper.

  “I’ve trained her well,” West said.

  “Believe him,” King confirmed.

  “She can handle herself in tight situations,” West added, “just make sure that she and her car are tracked at all times. If either goes down, we move in.”

  “Don’t worry, Chester is in charge. He has had a long experience tracking,” Culpepper held up his hand and pushed a button on the intercom. “Chester, come to my office.”

  With an economy of words Culpepper reminded Chester that he was to pay special attention to the tracking of Mandy and if anything, untoward occurred, he was to be advised day or night.

  “Day or night, sheriff,” Chester assured and nodded to West and King as he left the office.

  “From what you tell me, you two have become a burr under Jayden Mayfield’s saddle.”

  “I don’t think he likes us, and believe me, the sentiment is returned. Unless we have misread the scenario, he is up to his ears in what’s going on.”

  “Very astute,” Culpepper responded, “I told you he was a wily old coot and knows how to play all the angles to his benefit. I have always marvelled at how he has survived all this time. He knows how to manipulate people, especially those who could be a threat.”

  “Including you, sheriff?” West asked with a grin.

  Culpepper frowned, “No one manipulates Virgil Culpepper. Does that answer your question? Now let’s get down to the logistics and figure out the best way for you two to get to the red-headed girl who wears glasses aside and question her.”

  The next half hour was lively as suggestions were put forth, debated and rejected, until Culpepper asked, “Have you two been able to check out the Sammy Pines grounds?”

  “Not really,” King replied, “our centre of concentration so far has been with the lobby, dining room and Proctor’s study.”

  “You are going to have to get the girl out of the staff residence and away to some place where you won’t be seen. If she is spotted talking to you two, the jig could be up.”

  “It can’t be in Mandy’s cabin or anywhere on the grounds, too dangerous,” offered West.

  “That could be a real problem, but I know someone who just might have an idea that could work.” Culpepper barked into the intercom, “Sergeant Bain, please oblige by presenting your body.”

  Both West and King smiled at the turn of phrase.

  Chester stood in the doorway with a questioning expression.

  “Take a chair and listen to what I have to tell you and then favour us with your wisdom.” When Culpepper finished, he gave Chester a withering stare, “Well?”

  “As I see it, you want me to tell you if I know a way to get our friends onto Sammy Pines grounds and then suggest somewhere that they could meet this girl without being seen?”

  “That is correct Chester.”

  “As you know, sheriff, I was brought up on a farm just down the road from Sammy Pines entrance. Long before the resort was built, I, and my brother, used to hunt squirrels in that bush and go skinny dipping in the lake.”

  With an exasperated sigh Culpepper said, “That Chester is not the kind of information which is useful to us at this point. Let me put the question to you once again. If someone wanted to meet someone after dark at Sammy Pines, and didn’t want anybody to see them, what you would you suggest?”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Woman. Use your imagination, Chester, where would that be?”

  “In the boathouse,” Chester replied without hesitation.

  “Why the boathouse?” Culpepper demanded. “There must be other places.”

  “That’s where I would go if it was a woman I was meeting. When Pastor Sammy bought that property to build his resort, there was an old boathouse on the very spot where the new one is. I remember it like yesterday. During high school days, a bunch of us boys would sneak into the boathouse after dark to play poker, drink beer and smoke,” Chester chuckled at the thought.

  “If I had known that, I’d have raided you,” Culpepper replied with a wide smile and wink to West and King.

  “It was torn down and the new one built. It is the only place on this side of the lake where the water is deep enough to build a boathouse over the water, so a boat could be anchored under the upstairs level away from prying eyes. It has spanking living quarters as well.”

  “What do you think?” Culpepper asked.

  West looked at King, “Sounds good to me.”

  “Now we are getting somewhere, Chester. Our friends want to meet a Sammy Pines’ staff member and need to be able to have a frank discussion without being heard nor seen. Ideally, they would like to be there before this individual arrives and secure the location. Could you get them to the boathouse without anybody seeing you?”

  “No problem. I could meet them at the farm and walk them through the bush with me eyes shut. I’ll get them to the boathouse without anyone seeing them, sheriff. Have no worries.”

  “That’s what I
wanted to hear. When do you two want to give it a try?”

  “How about tomorrow night? It will give Mandy time to seek out the redhead who wears glasses to see if she will talk to us,” West replied.

  “I suggest that Chester stays with you as backup in case things get nasty.”

  “We’d be most pleased to have him,” King said.

  “I shall get to Mandy by cell phone tonight when she is alone in her cabin, so she can talk without being overheard and give her instructions. She will have all day tomorrow to set things up from her end. Should there be any problem, I’ll be back to you immediately,” West glanced at King who nodded in the affirmative.

  “Well, Chester, you have your marching orders,” Culpepper said with a clap of hands.

  Sixteen

  CHESTER RECONNOITRED the best route through the bush from the farmhouse to the boathouse and clocked the time at 11 minutes. He also checked out the boathouse and found it so well secured that there may be a problem gaining entry. The one window, on the side of the building, was covered by a metal shutter and a large lock was attached to the solid oak door.

  When he and King arrived at the farm promptly at 9:30, West told Chester that everything was on. He had talked to Mandy who confirmed that the red-headed girl who wore glass was agreeable to talk. Her name was Thelma Turner, and she came from Mobile.

  Without wasting time, Chester led them through the bush and told West of his concern about the security of the boathouse. West told him not to worry as there was not a lock that King could not pick, and he had the tools to do it on his person.

  Chester stood back and watched with admiration as King picked the lock and opened the door. Upon West’s instructions, he melted into the darkness and took up a position where he could watch for Mandy and Thelma Jean as they crossed the open area when they headed for the boathouse. If anyone spotted them, he would make a diversion, and they could return to the staff residence. During the mid-evening, a low front moved in with threatening clouds that blocked the usual brilliant moon. It would be a plus factor with the boathouse in near total darkness and keep the resort guests and staff inside.