Missing Persons

by Michael Brandman

  “You’re not sure.”

  “No,” the young man said. “Mrs. Long is not in residence at this time.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t.”

  At that point, the door to the house opened and another man came out and headed in our direction. He was obviously a person of some importance.

  “Hickham Long,” the man announced, without offering his hand.

  “Buddy Steel,” I said. “This is John Kennerly and Marsha Russo.”

  Long acknowledged us. Then he turned to the young man. “That’s all, Jeffrey. You can go.”

  Jeffrey looked at Hickham Long, then at me. He lowered his eyes and returned to the house.

  “Now,” Long said, “what can we do for you?”

  “We’re here to see Catharine Long,” I said.

  “I’m terribly sorry.” Long shook his head. “My sister-in-law is away.”

  “Your sister-in-law.”

  “That’s right. Reverend Long is my brother.”

  “I see. I’d still like to ask her a few questions. Have you any idea as to how we might contact her?”

  Long shook his head again. “Not a clue.”

  He struck me as a disagreeable type, exhibiting no discernible warmth and exuding a general attitude of impatience, condescension, and imperiousness.

  He was stocky, muscle-bound, possessing a physique molded by hours in the gym, mean-looking and sullen. His dense black hair was slicked back with pomade, rendering it strangely immobile. His face was marred by pitted chicken pox scars. He wore a black track suit with the word “Hickey” embroidered on the chest. A towel was draped around his neck. He had on black Nike sneakers. He regarded us disdainfully. “Was there anything else?”

  Mr. Long glanced at Johnny and Marsha, then returned his attentions to me when I asked, “Is your brother here?”

  “He’s called Reverend Long.”

  “Okay. Is Reverend Long here?”

  “Reverend Long is in conference just now.”

  “Can you interrupt him?”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. He’s preparing for the upcoming Heart of Our Saviour Celebration and has left strict instructions not to be disturbed.”

  “I see.”

  I stood silently, staring dead-eyed at Hickham Long.

  “I guess that will that be all, then.” Long glared at me dismissively, flashed a humorless grin, and turned away.

  “Not exactly.”

  He turned back. “What not exactly?”

  “Please inform Reverend Long that we’re here on official business.”

  “Didn’t you get the memo?” Long snapped, a regular pit bull. “He’s not available.”

  “Then make him available.”

  “What are you, hard of hearing? It isn’t going to happen, Officer.”

  “Sheriff,” I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m the County Deputy Sheriff.”

  “Good for you, Mr. County Deputy Sheriff. It still isn’t going to happen. Next time, call ahead for an appointment.”

  “Are you always such an obstructionist?”

  This caught his attention.

  “Obstructionist?”

  “You know. Someone who manages to get in the way.”

  “I know the definition. Don’t be condescending to me.”

  “I’m going to ask you one more time. Please inform Reverend Long that I’d like to speak with him.”

  A crooked smile broke out on Hickham Long’s face. He waved his hand dismissively in my direction, turned his back, and started to walk away.

  I grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and spun him around, clamped his arm, and twisted it up behind his back.

  “Cuff him, Johnny,” I said.

  Johnny Kennerly jumped to Long’s side, took the handcuffs from his kit belt, and cuffed Long’s hands behind him. Long kicked out at him. Johnny stepped back.

  Long snarled, flashing a row of yellowing teeth. “What in the fuck you think you’re doing?”

  “Book him,” I told Johnny. “Read him his rights and put him in the cruiser.”

  I headed for the house.

  “Hey,” Hickham Long called out. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I climbed the steps to the front porch.

  Long wrested himself from Johnny’s grasp and ran after me. When he reached the porch, he barreled into me, knocking me against the wall.

  He raised his voice and called into the house, “Howard. Leonard. I need help.”

  He turned and faced me threateningly.

  I called out to Johnny and Marsha. “Are you witnessing this?”

  They both nodded their assent.

  With his hands still bound behind him, Long rushed menacingly toward me. He lowered his head and attempted to butt me in the stomach.

  I sidestepped him, whirled him around, and kicked him hard in the nuts. He went down as if he’d been shot.

  “Pick him up and get him into the cruiser,” I told Johnny, who helped the still-gasping Long to his feet. He hustled the moaning man to the cruiser, opened the rear door, and slammed him inside. He locked the vehicle’s doors using his remote, making it impossible for Long to get out.

  On the porch, I unholstered my Colt Combat Commander, press checked it, then clicked off the safety.

  The front door swung open. Two men rushed out of the house wearing identical black suits and matching Oakley sunglasses. They were a whole lot tougher-looking than Jeffrey and much less friendly. They lurched to a halt in front of me, seeing my Colt pointed in their direction.

  “Hands where I can see them,” I said.

  The men exchanged glances, then slowly raised their hands above their heads. I held my gun on the two men as Johnny Kennerly stepped up to each of them and in turn, frisked them. Both were carrying Beretta Bobcat semi-automatic pistols that he confiscated. I motioned for him to hand the weapons to Marsha Russo.

  The front door opened again. I recognized the Reverend Barry Long, Junior, as he stepped outside. He quickly took the measure of what was going on.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he said. “What in heaven’s name is happening here?”

  He waved for his men to stand down, offered his hand, and introduced himself. “Barry Long.”

  I looked at him, then snapped on the safety and holstered my Colt. I shook the Reverend’s hand.

  “Buddy Steel. San Remo County Deputy Sheriff.”

  “Whatever did we do to warrant a visit from the Sheriff’s office?”

  “I’m here to see your wife.”

  “My wife?”

  “Catharine. She is your wife, yes?”

  “Of course she is. It’s just that she’s not in residence now.”

  Long turned to the two men. “I can handle this from here.”

  One of the men pointed to Marsha and whispered something in the Reverend’s ear.

  “I told you I’d handle it.”

  Reluctantly, with sideward glances at me, the two men filed back into the house. One of them stood just inside the ornate mahogany door frame, watching.

  The Reverend Barry Long, Junior, had made his reputation as a humble preacher who claimed that his espousal of the issues of the common man had gained him access to God’s ear. He referred to himself as The People’s Pastor.

  He was a ruggedly handsome man—blue-eyed, tall, and rock-star slim. He dressed in pressed work shirts and jeans, what he referred to as the people’s clothing, except that unlike their garments, his bore the Armani label and were impeccably tailored. His snakeskin boots were polished to a high sheen. His trademark blue bandanna was tied loosely around his neck.

  Eloquently and passionately he preached the values of family, worship, and common
decency. On that platform, he built an ever-increasing worldwide following of loyalists who idolized him. He was an ecclesiastical phenomenon. His vast holdings bore testament to his stature.

  Now he stood in front of me, beaming. “What is it you want to discuss with Catharine?”

  “That’s between her and me.”

  “I’m her husband. Is there something I should know about?”

  “No.”

  “In other words, you’re not going to tell me.”

  “Correct.”

  “And you believe I have no right to know.”

  “Correct again.”

  Long said nothing.

  “Where might I find her?”

  His eyes slid sideways. “She’s gone to be with my sister back in LaGrange.”

  “She’s in Tennessee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there a contact number?”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She’s not receiving calls just now,” Long said.

  “Perhaps she’ll be willing to receive mine.”

  “Not likely.”

  “May I have her number just the same?”

  Long stared stone-eyed at me for several moments. “Of course.”

  “And her address, as well.”

  “Certainly.”

  Long turned to the man standing behind the front door.

  “Leonard, would you be so kind as to bring me Catharine’s contact information?”

  We stood awkwardly while Leonard went inside the house. After several moments he returned and handed a piece of paper to Reverend Long who, in turn, handed it to me. On it were written a series of telephone numbers and an address.

  I looked at the paper, then handed it to Marsha. “Please call the top one.”

  Marsha took out her cell phone and punched in the number. “It’s gone straight to voice mail.”

  “Leave a message. Ask her to phone me. Give her my cell number.”

  After Marsha had done so, I turned to Reverend Long.

  “What are the other numbers?”

  “My sister’s cell phone. The number of the house at which they’re staying.”

  “Will they all go unanswered?”

  Long shrugged. “I would have no way of knowing.”

  After several moments, I said, “Thank you for your help.”

  I looked at Marsha and nodded to Johnny. We all started toward the cruiser.

  The Reverend cleared his throat and took a step toward me. “I believe you have two of our weapons.”

  “We do,” I responded.

  “May I have them?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “No, you may not have them.”

  “They’re licensed.”

  “I presumed as much.”

  “Then please return them.”

  “You can pick them up at the Sheriff’s station.”

  “The station.”

  “Yes.”

  “Meaning you won’t return them to us here.”

  “Correct.”

  “Why not?”

  “Protocol.”

  “What protocol?”

  “Sheriff’s protocol.”

  Reverend Long glared at me.

  I flashed him my most beatific smile. “Was there anything else?”

  “My brother.”

  “What about him?”

  “Surely you’re not going to arrest him.”

  “I already have.”

  “On what charges?”

  “Interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty. Assault. Obstruction of justice.”

  “He meant you no harm, Sheriff.”

  Long took a few more steps toward me. “The whereabouts of my house is public knowledge. People are constantly coming here trying to gain access to me and my family. My brother was only doing his job in trying to protect me.”

  “Protect you from the County Sheriff?”

  A sheepish grin appeared on the Reverend’s face. He didn’t respond.

  I stared at him for a while. He was brimming with confidence, certain he would prevail. I came to the realization that I didn’t like him. But in the interests of comity, I decided to relent. I called out to Johnny. “Release the brother.”

  Johnny glanced at me, then walked to the cruiser and unlocked the doors. He assisted Hickham Long in exiting the vehicle. Once out, he removed Long’s handcuffs.

  Long took a few tentative steps away from the cruiser, still experiencing some pain. He winced visibly and stared weak-eyed at his brother.

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” the Reverend said. A heavenly smile made an appearance on his upturned face.

  I smiled back, then got into the cruiser, followed by Marsha and Johnny. I lowered my window.

  “It was sure nice meeting you boys,” I said to the Long brothers.

  Then I revved up the cruiser, drove down the winding driveway to the main gate, turned left and headed for the station.

  Johnny swiveled to face me.

  “What just happened back there?”

  “The opening salvo.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The Reverend Barry Long now knows we have an interest in the whereabouts of his wife. We’ve gotten his attention.”

  “Junior,” Marsha said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s Junior. Barry Long, Junior. You wouldn’t want to forget the Junior part.”

  “No, Marsha, I surely wouldn’t. And thank you so much for that clarification.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’d hate for you to get it wrong.”

  “I never knew you to be so considerate.”

  A wide grin appeared on her face. “Life is full of little surprises. So, what happens now?”

  “We make every possible effort to contact Catharine Long, nee Catharine Morecombe.”

  “In LaGrange.”

  “Yes. We won’t reach her, though. None of the numbers will answer.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m the Sheriff’s Deputy. I know everything.”

  Johnny snorted. “So why are we trying?”

  “For the record. To keep it clean. I also want to undertake an investigation into the life of Catharine Long. I want to know everything about her. What she does. Where she goes. Where and how she came into contact with Barry Long.”

  I looked at Marsha.

  “Junior,” I added. “I also want to know about her family. Her parents. Her siblings. I want to know who her friends are, her interests, what she reads, what she thinks, the kind of panties she wears…everything.”

  “You’re kidding about the panties, right?” Johnny said.

  “The panties are a metaphor.”

  “What metaphor?”

  “An illustration of the fact that there’s nothing about Catharine Long that I don’t want to know.”

  Johnny smiled at me. “You know what, Buddy?” he baited. “You’re a seriously disturbed person.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Five

  The rain began in earnest. Raging winds whipped through the trees bringing down branches and foliage. In a few instances, they even toppled the trees themselves. Power lines were down. Drenching rains filled drainage outlets to overflowing. Those few souls who ventured out were soaked within minutes. The temperature dropped twenty degrees. It was the first monsoon-sized storm of the season and it was determined to break the previously held records for September. Our return to the office was slow going.

  “So, how is he?” Johnny asked.

  “Not so good,” I said.

  I had known Johnny Kennerly and Marsha Russo for years, both personally and professionally. Johnny had
been deputized by my father at the start of his second term. He was a local boy, born and raised in Freedom, who had spent summers doing menial jobs around the station, fascinated by police work, absorbing all he could learn, and at the same time, ingratiating himself to my father.

  He was smart, a quick study, and when he graduated from Roosevelt High in north Freedom, my father quietly used his influence to have him admitted to the state university in San Luis Obispo, California Polytechnic State University, Cal Poly as it was called, and paid the tuition out of his own pocket.

  When Johnny graduated with honors, my father hired him and after two years with the department, elevated him to Undersheriff. He was like a second son to the old man, closer to him in many ways than I am.

  “He won’t talk about it. He shows up every day and goes to work,” I said. “But he’s having trouble talking and I can already feel him slipping away.”

  Marsha, seated in the back, nodded. “He is keeping his distance,” she said. “At first I thought it was me, but I now I realize it’s not.”

  I skirted around a fallen branch as we approached the outskirts of Freedom.

  “How you doing?” Johnny asked.

  I shrugged. “Conflicted. I know I agreed to do this. I don’t suppose I had much choice. But sometimes at night, when I’m lying there staring into the dark, I don’t feel so good about it. I left a life I was building for myself, and now I’m here, at his beck and call again. So far he’s been good, but one of these days he’s sure as shit gonna unload on me and I’m going to regret my choice. Regardless of his illness. It took every ounce of nerve I had to get out from under him. And as the song goes, ‘Look At Me Now.’”

  “You never know, Buddy,” Marsha said. “Illness does strange things to people.”

  “Are you referring to him or to me?”

  “Both of you.”

  ***

  I was staring out my office window, watching the last of the storm when Johnny came in and sat in the chair across from me.

  “You were right,” he said.

  “About?”

  “None of the numbers answer. They just ring and ring.”

  “I knew it.”

  “I contacted the LaGrange phone company. Apart from Catharine’s cell phone, none of the other numbers are functional. They were once registered to Barry Long, but they haven’t been in service for at least two years.”