by Cameron Bane
And here, at long last, “farsight” had happened to me. And this wasn’t the same as a psychic vision, a hunch, or a gut feeling. It was altogether different. I was almost forty years old, a world-weary, card-carrying cynic, a man light-years beyond hill country legends. Or so I thought, as I’d never experienced anything even close to what my aunt had described.
Until now.
I suppressed a shudder. An unwelcome thought had stolen its way into my mind, the certainty that of my own volition I’d just entered a dark carnival on a far bleak shore, and the mad barker had strapped me in for one hell of a ride.
Chapter Three
“Are you all right?” Leaning forward, Cahill regarded me with alarm. If the pictures caroming across my brainpan were transmitting themselves to my expression, I couldn’t blame him.
Overwhelmed, my answer was a croak. “Yeah.” I blinked, cleared my throat, and tried it again. “Yes.” My lopsided smile felt loose. “My Granny might have said I had a sudden attack of the vapors. I’m fine, though.”
And oddly, I was. Fine, that is. The tickling fingers of farsight, or whatever it was, were beginning to remove themselves joint by bony joint from my mind. And that was okay with me. It would be great if they never came back. The whole weird thing I’d just gone through had to be nothing more than superstitious hillbilly claptrap from another world and a different era. I just needed to keep telling myself that.
He started again. “Mr. Brenner, I—”
“Mr. Cahill.” I’d interrupted him more gruffly than I’d intended. “I don’t mean to be rude, but could you please cut to the chase and tell me why you’re here?”
For a second he began to bristle, and then he composed himself. “Okay, fair enough.”
Clasping his hands in his lap, he settled his weight, and for the first time I noticed how big his mitts were. The meaty wrists, the smooth hands themselves, the manicured nails, the knuckles, all seemed to belong to a much larger man. Truth to tell, Cahill appeared to be a rather tightly constructed gent all over, as if he spent an inordinate amount of time at the gym too. Maybe he had an understanding boss. Maybe being an idea guy only took a couple of hours of office time a day. Maybe a lot of things.
“You see …” He leaned forward, looking me straight in the eye, sudden pain filling his face. “My daughter Sarah is missing.”
I gave him a sharp look. “Missing? How old is she?”
“Twenty-one.”
With that, I relaxed. She wasn’t a child, but an adult. “How long has she been gone?”
He swallowed. “A week.”
“A week? And you’re only now trying to finding her?”
“Yes. We contacted the Milford police as well as the state troopers the first night she was gone. By then my poor wife was a wreck, and I wasn’t much better. They all said they’d keep their eyes open, but they see this quite a bit, and that we couldn’t file a missing person’s report until Sarah had been gone for twenty-four hours.”
“They’re right.”
“And now it’s been a week!” His voice cracked. “She could be anywhere by now!”
“I know,” I said quietly. “So the following day did you and your wife file the report?”
“We did.” Cahill sounded as desolate as the back side of the moon. “But the officer said since Sarah’s of legal age, and with no evidence of foul play, we should just wait for her to contact us. They don’t get serious about it until at least seventy-two hours have passed. He said they’d just add her name to the list. And that’s been the end.”
“Okay, did—”
“Let me get this out, please.” He scooted toward the edge of his seat. “You see, we hoped her disappearance might be just a romantic fling or something, but now…” He gulped, and tried it again. “But now, based on something we found in her room, we think maybe she’s joined a cult or something.”
Something they found in her room. I glanced down into my coffee mug. Not one of these again. Finding missing loved ones who have aligned themselves with cults usually isn’t difficult; convincing them to leave is, especially when they’re adults. In every case they were perfectly happy sitting at the feet of Swami Rubadub, and strongly resented my efforts to make them see the light. As it were. And unless the person in question was a minor, or the victim of foul play, the cards I held were few. Plus, there was always the possibility she didn’t want to be found. Experience has taught me the monsters aren’t always “out there.”
Sometimes the monster is called dad.
Reaching into his breast pocket, Cahill pulled out a piece of paper and slid the ragged edged scrap across to me. It was an ad, obviously torn from a newspaper. Picking it up, I saw the pitch was for something called Brighter Day Clinic, out on the west side of town. The gist of it went, Men and women, if you’re eighteen to twenty-five, single and in good to excellent health, here’s a chance to do some good for the world, and get paid for it. Discretion always. Free screening done at our facility. There was an address listed at the other end of High Street, along with the phone number.
“It sounds like a medical clinic. Why do you think it’s a cult?”
His voice tightened, and he held my gaze urgently. “Because I’ve heard sometimes cults use free clinics for recruitment.” So had I, but didn’t reply. I began to hand the advertisement back, but he held his hand up and nodded at it. “Keep it, please; I’ve made copies. I called the place the day as soon as I found it.”
“You called them?” Crap. It wouldn’t serve any good purpose to tell Cahill that if that clinic had Sarah, or knew who did, that call had been a mistake.
His voice tightened, and he held my gaze urgently for a moment. “They told me they’d never heard of her.”
Settling back, I steepled my fingers, looking at him.
He swallowed. “Since then I’ve called the authorities every day, but I just keep getting the runaround. It’s like—” His words hung as he looked past me. “Like she’s ceased to exist.”
I leaned forward and placed my hands on the desk. “So now you’re here.”
He met my eyes. “And now I’m here.”
My tone was even. “Mr. Cahill, I’m not sure I’m the one who can help you with this. After all, as you said, your daughter’s an adult.”
“Yes, but—” A hint of panic colored his tone. “If it’s a matter of money—”
“Money’s not the issue. I think you’re confusing what I do with what a private investigator does. But I’m not a PI.”
Cahill didn’t respond, and I could see the burgeoning hope leaving his sunken, bloodshot eyes.
I went on, “Staying with the authorities might give you faster results than you could get with me. They have the resources and the manpower.” Of course Cahill couldn’t know that over the years I’ve developed my own network of discreet resources I can call on if the need arises, but I try to play those cards infrequently.
Because some of them I can only play once.
He shook his head, his reply a rasp. “That won’t work.”
My patience was running out. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust them to give it their best effort. And … well, I’ve heard you get results when no one else can.”
“That’s the second time you said that. Who told you this?”
He paused for a moment, then said, “You recall two years ago, when you rescued that old, Japanese man the Yakuza had targeted?” I course I remembered. “I met that man, last year when I had to go to Kyoto on business. He told me what you did. How you saved his life because you wouldn’t give up. That’s what we need now, someone who simply won’t quit. Someone who … can help our daughter …”
He hung up then, his face gone gray with despair. Wearily Cahill slumped back in his chair, like all this was putting him through uncounted misery.
I felt terrible for him, and softened my tone. “Okay, before we get too deep in the weeds here, give me a little background on her.” I pulled over a five b
y seven pad of paper and a pen. I waited for a moment while Cahill composed himself.
“Yes, of course,” he said at last. “Her full name is Sarah Michelle Cahill.”
I wrote that down. “Pretty.”
“Yes. My wife Ruth named her, after her grandmother. Ruth’s I mean. Not Sarah’s.”
“What’s her height, weight, eye and hair color?”
“Five two, brunette, brown eyes I don’t know, maybe a hundred pounds?”
I was writing as he spoke. “Go on.”
He smiled a little now, his heart not in it. “She still lives with us, until this fall that is, when she starts classes at the University of Cincinnati. This whole thing is killing her by inches … Ruth, I mean. And Billy’s really too young to know what’s going on; we just told him Sarah’s with friends.”
“Are he and his sister close?”
“Very. We—” He stopped and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and dropped his face into his hands. “I’m really jumbling this up, aren’t I?” he mumbled.
“Take your time.” I felt increasingly worse for him. I’d seen pain like his before. Every day, in the mirror. “Are you sure I can’t get you some coffee? I always keep a pot going.”
“No thanks.” Pulling his hands away from his face, he stared at the floor. “I guess I’m kind of a mess.”
“You’re doing fine. So about Sarah. Has she been acting differently than normal?”
Looking up, he shook his head. “Not really.”
“How about her private life? Is she open with you and your wife? Does she keep secrets?”
He spread his hands. “How would I know?”
He had a point.
“Our daughter has always been headstrong. Somewhat immature. Even rebellious at times.” He rushed on, “Not in a bad way, you understand, but Sarah has her own way of looking at things. And sometimes it’s caused problems between us. Her changing her name, for instance—”
“She changed her name?” That would complicate things.
“Yes. Not legally. Last year she started singing at some open-mike nights at places around the area, and she began calling herself Raven. She thought using a single name was classy. Like Cher. Or Sting.”
Or Quasimodo, I thought irreverently. Or Beelzebub. Or—
He was speaking again. “We figured her abandoning her family name was a phase, although it hurt Ruth’s feelings.”
“Is she any good?”
That question produced a wry grimace. “She’s good enough to have gotten a job at The Embers dinner theater in Milford, so the raw material is there, but frankly she needs professional training. We offered to pay for some lessons, but she insisted she already had her own style, and was insulted.”
When you’re immature, it doesn’t take much to do that. With an attitude like that, I wondered if she hadn’t just gone to New York or somewhere to get discovered.
Which prompted me to ask, “Did she quit her job?”
“No. She didn’t. My daughter’s had all the standard angst. School, dating, varying career choices, you name it. She has a tender side and has even spoken once or twice about someday becoming a doctor in a Third World clinic. She hates suffering in all its forms.”
I nodded once. “Maybe you’d better give me the chronology of what happened.”
His expression brightened a little. “You’ll help us then?”
“We’ll see. Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind.”
“Thank you.” Unconsciously he began rubbing his hands together.
Below, down on the street the Madison city workers picked that exact time to start in with their jackhammers, the noise sounding for all the world like combatants in a World War II firefight.
His voice grew louder over the din. “As I said, Sarah works as a server and performer at The Embers. She loves the fact she can sing and work in a place like that, and she gets along well with her co-workers. She gets along well with everyone, she always has…”
He must have realized he was beginning to wander again as he trailed off. With that infernal racket, I couldn’t blame him. Rocking back, I peered at the workers out the window through the slats of the ivory miniblinds.
With an effort he got himself back on track. “Last Monday morning she left earlier than normal. The place was launching a new menu, and they told her they needed her there by eight to familiarize herself with it. Then after that she had a rehearsal with the cast. She said she’d be home by four to get cleaned up because later that evening she and Ted were going to a club.”
“Who’s Ted?” I faced him again. “And what club?”
“Ted Larch is just a friend. He and Sarah have known each other since childhood. He’d like to be more than a friend, I’m sure, but Sarah’s not interested. She said she really isn’t ready for a deeper commitment. But as far as the name of the club … I’m sorry.”
The street noise suddenly ceased. Maybe they’d struck oil.
I began writing again. “So four o’clock came and went and no Sarah?”
“That’s correct. Ruth and I figured it was just afternoon traffic. Milford is really starting to grow. But by five we were getting worried, and Ted was due to pick up Sarah at six.”
“Surely somebody called her.”
“I did. I rang her cell, wondering if she was stuck in traffic or had stopped at a store. Then I phoned the restaurant, thinking maybe she’d worked overtime, but the manager said she’d clocked out at three forty-five. Really agitated now, I emailed her, text messaged her, everything I could think of. But there was no answer. We wondered if she might have been in a wreck and checked with the police and local hospitals. Nothing. Then we called all her friends. They hadn’t heard from her either.” Cahill grew more agitated. “By that time we were becoming frantic. Where could she be? When Ted showed up at six, we sent him right back out to see if he could spot her car on the road.”
“He didn’t have any luck?”
“None. He traveled the route twice and didn’t see a thing. So I went out to look for her too. That’s when he called and said he’d found her car parked in a municipal lot not six blocks from here. It was locked. She was gone. Vanished.”
I don’t care how immature she is, nobody abandons their car for no reason.
He went on, “And I know she didn’t take a trip or something because all her luggage and good clothes are still at home.” He dry washed his face with his hands. “We called back at her work number then. They hadn’t seen or heard from her. Then we contacted the Milford police as well as the state troopers again. We told them we’d located her car. But we still didn’t get very far with them.” Fresh anguish twisted his countenance. “Please, Mr. Brenner. We’re at the end of our rope. We know we can trust you. And …” His eyes grew moist. “I don’t know any other way to say it. You’re our only hope.”
Chapter Four
The traffic was surprisingly light as I tooled down Pershing Avenue toward home. I used that time to mull over the events of the past few hours.
After Jacob Cahill’s last remark, he’d then said, with an odd mix of sadness and desperation etched on his face, “The only salient question is, will you help us? Will you help us find our daughter?”
And what do you know? Even as I opened my mouth to tell him thanks, but no thanks, round yourself up someone else, I found I couldn’t.
“Mr. Cahill, I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.” He dropped both hands down on his thighs and nodded, his voice tinged with relief. “Thank you.”
“You realize, of course, you’re getting shoddy goods here. In the missing persons department I’m batting oh-for-three.”
“It doesn’t matter. I have complete and total faith that you’re the man.”
I shook my head wryly. “Sir, you’re a piece of work, I’ll give you that.”
“Call me Jacob.”
“John. And Jacob, I hate to bring this up, but …”
“But we need to talk about
limiting your liability, of course.”
I was glad I hadn’t had to draw him a map regarding this; business is business, after all. We spent the next few minutes going over my standard agreement, which stated I was doing this work as a favor, no money was changing hands, no promises made or implied, and so on. It went on to say that if required to in a court of law, Cahill would swear to this fact.
It’s at this point some people go a little sideways. The idea of appearing before a magistrate and vowing that whatever work I was doing for them was being done solely at the other person’s request sometimes is more than they can bear. But Cahill seemed fine, and stated the document was satisfactory.
We agreed on wording regarding time spent, saying the contract covered a week’s worth of work. I think the unsaid thing between us was we both knew that would tell the tale. In seven days Ms. Sarah Cahill would either be safe at home, or she’d never be. In today’s anything-goes climate, probably no one would ever know what had become of her, and that was simply unacceptable. After the things I’d suffered as a boy at the hands of my drunken father, I’ve never been able to tolerate the idea of the weak or helpless being abused. The thought of a girl like Sarah possibly undergoing unnamed horrors made my mouth go dry.
We stood to shake hands to consummate the deal. “I’ll need a recent photo of her. The newer the better.”
“A photo.” Cahill shook his head in frustration. “I knew I was forgetting something. I do have one, but I left it on my desk back at the office. It’s newer than the snapshot I keep in my wallet. She’s only fourteen in that one. If you’ll follow me over we can get it.”
“Fine.” We both walked out my office door and down the long carpeted hall, taking the stairs down one flight to the main floor. From there we walked out into the sunshine.