The Paladin's Message

by Richard Crofton

  “I understand,” Jim had commented. “Anyway, if you see him, just let him know that I don’t blame him at all. If anything, I want to thank him for being so good to her… for being someone my daughter could love. There’s only one person I blame for this, the only one responsible: the son of a bitch who took her.” He had stopped and lowered his head a bit. “Sorry, Father. Didn’t mean to swear in your office.”

  “Don’t even mention it, my good man. I couldn’t have said it better myself. It’s always a breath of fresh air to meet a man who loves and cares so much for his children. I only wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

  The conversation had lasted only a few more insignificant minutes, with meaningless chit-chat that signified that the meeting between the two men had drifted to a close. The priest had again offered his condolences, his prayers, and an encouraged invitation back anytime Jim might feel the need to see him. “Faith and hope are two of the Lord’s greatest gifts,” he had said before having parted, “and they go hand in hand. As long as we have faith, there is always hope.”

  True enough, Jim thought as he reflected on the conversation that evening back in his motel room. He was still pacing, even after he turned on the television in a vain attempt to find something else to occupy his mind before he wore the cheap carpet down to the tiles beneath it. It seemed to him that the good pastor, though he had expressed much concern for Megan, and many comforting words to Jim, lacked the faith and hope in which he spoke of, for Jim had quickly noted how he only spoke of Megan’s involvement with the church in the past tense. She was such a godsend for the community, he had complimented. Not is, but was. It’s what caused Jim to momentarily grimace at the priest. Jim suspected that Father Paul had already considered Megan a lost cause, whether it was a subconscious conclusion or not.

  Furthermore, Jim knew there was no logic or reason to it, but he still couldn’t shake the intuitive notion that every smile from the pastor’s lips, every word of consolation and comfort, every heartfelt, warm gesture, was nothing more than a surface-leveled shallowness that had no genuine depth. For some reason, Father Paul’s persona seemed like a performance, like a president on television who sheds a tear when addressing the nation about a school shooting. Does he really feel the tragedy in his heart for families that he had no ties with? Or are his words and gestures just a publicity stunt?

  Perhaps Jim was allowing bitterness in his own heart to cloud his judgment with paranoia. He considered the idea that he may feel angry at anyone who offered expressions of empathy to him. How could they really understand how he felt? How could they cry and worry in front of him? Him! Megan’s own flesh and blood. They had no idea. Their grief could not compare to his own, and to even suggest so could justify his directing his frustrations at those phonies. Yes, Jim considered that these thoughts may be coming into play, and that he was secretly being too harsh with his opinion of Father Paul, but whether he stepped outside of his own box or not didn’t change his conclusion that he didn’t trust the man.

  And, like always, he never forgot his purpose. His little confession of feelings to the priest, though true, had little to do with feeling comfortable with him. It was his way of getting the priest to feel comfortable with him. Again, his logical mind told him that manipulating the conversation to learn everything he could from Father Paul was unnecessary; regardless, it was his way.

  Jim finally stopped pacing and sat upon the edge of the quilted, firm bed. The truth of things suddenly hit him like a wave of salt water from the shore of a frigid ocean. What did he learn from Father Paul? At the end of the day, what in fact did he accomplish that he could consider a step in the right direction? That Megan was highly involved in the church. That she somewhat befriended Father Paul. That her boyfriend, whom he’d not yet gotten in touch with, really cares about her. Hardly anything that could help him solve any cases, and definitely nothing that would set his mind at ease. Taking a deep breath, time ticked away more and more slowly, and time was running out all the same.

  Jim revisited the conversation again and again. He decided to go with what he knew, without making any personal judgments of character. Father Paul was just a priest. It was folly to entertain the idea that he was anything other than what he was, shallow or not. He probably had his old MOS to thank for that. Prior training instructed him to be suspicious of everyone, but sometimes that could lead an investigator to several wild goose chases. His focus needed to be on the facts. A homeless stranger named Cliff attended Bible Study last Wednesday where he met Megan. Afterwards, Father Paul witnessed her offering this man a ride. That was the last time anyone has seen or heard from her. This Cliff was the prime suspect.

  These were pieces of evidence he already knew before he met with the pastor. And after his meeting, he had spent a good portion of the day wandering around the parking lot where Megan’s car was found, hoping to find even the smallest clue that may have been overlooked by the authorities. However, the Pennsylvania State Police proved to be no less competent than himself, for he found absolutely nothing at the supposed scene of the crime. If he were to have any sense of accomplishment from what seemed like another wasted day, he determined that he would have to connect what he gathered from his conversation with Father Paul with the facts that he already had.

  Then, after revisiting that conversation one last time, that time in which he had lost count of how many times he revisited it, something finally connected. Not much, but something. The pastor had mentioned that Megan was the church’s top recruiter of lost souls for the Outreach Program. Therefore, many of its candidates (for lack of a better title for the unfortunate) would know of Megan. Some of them may also know of this man Cliff, one of their own. Someone within the program may have had run-ins with him on the streets, maybe even know the places he frequents around town. The police had a sketch of the man from the descriptions of the witnesses. They could use it to ask around. Even though he assumed the likelihood that the veteran Detective Harrison, or his partner, had already considered and executed this option, it couldn’t hurt to call and suggest the idea nonetheless.

  Jim pulled his cell phone from his pocket and was just about to access Harrison’s number when he paused briefly. Something spoken on the television station yanked his attention toward it: a name he recognized. Ryleigh Darlington. And on the screen a picture of a young, attractive woman: the same Ryleigh Darlington from a couple of Megan’s photos on her mirror in her apartment bedroom. “Brutally murdered last night,” the news reporter announced. Along with her boyfriend, Ben Weber. When his picture was displayed on the screen, Jim’s eyes widened even larger. He recognized that young man as well; he was the bartender at McDougal’s who Jim paid his tab to using Fruitcake’s twenty. The details of the double homicide being reported on the local news were beyond disturbing. The reporter didn’t go into specifics, but the crime included torture, possible rape, and arson. A neighbor had called 911 because the apartment was on fire, a fire that had apparently started from the bed in the master room, where the scorched bodies of the couple were found.

  “State police are now enforcing their search of this man,” the reporter stated as a profile agent’s sketch of Cliff now replaced the image of the two victims, “who is also wanted for the possible abduction of local resident Megan Panco, who was last seen leaving St. Elizabeth Catholic Church with the suspect last Wednesday, May 12th, and has been missing since.” Jim was now staring into the television screen, face to face with a recent photo of his own daughter, then a still shot of the church.

  “Panco, who is employed at Maybel’s Clothing in the Lancaster Outlets, was a coworker and friend of Darlington’s.” A still shot of the clothing store now appeared.

  “Authorities have not confirmed or denied that there is evidence leading to this man as responsible for the murders, but they have reported identifying him as their prime suspect." Again, the sketch of Cliff. “Police do not know the suspect’s full name, but witnesses referred to him as
‘Cliff.’ Anyone with information concerning the suspect, or Megan Panco, should contact the police immediately. Cliff is considered armed and extremely dangerous.”

  Ryleigh Darlington. Megan’s coworker and friend. Jim frantically fought against his uncooperative, quivering fingers and commanded them to send the call to Detective Harrison. Faith and Hope had just abruptly pressed the ignition button, and launched themselves clear from the roof of Jim Panco’s motel room, far away from Lancaster, PA.

  Chapter X

  Earlier that afternoon, around the time when Jim Panco was privately searching the parking lot where Megan’s car had been discovered by state troopers, Father Paul was back in his rectory office. The Sunday services had finished for the day, and he decided to take a leisured, private break by lounging in his comfortable office chair and reading from one of the hard leather backed volumes of classic literature from his bookshelf. When his personal cell phone vibrated, he didn’t become annoyed or consider it a disturbance, but answered the call as if expecting it. “Yes?” he spoke.

  “We have a situation,” Chief Biddle’s voice answered immediately. “It’s the kid.”

  “Misbehaving again?” the priest almost laughed.

  “That’s an understatement. He killed two of the girl’s friends; her coworker, Ryleigh, and her boyfriend at their apartment. A cooked and bloody mess.”

  “Perfect,” Father Paul responded with chiming delight.

  There was a moment of hesitation from the chief, then he stated as if asking a question, “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “It is now, without question, part of the plan,” the priest countered.

  “Is it?”

  “The girl’s father is in town. He met with me this morning, inquiring about his daughter.”

  “Are we going to use him?”

  “No need,” Father Paul dismissed. “We’ll keep ears on him of course, but as of now he’s of no use to us. Mr. Panco is accustomed to loss and will not pursue his missing child… once he has closure. We just need to provide that closure to him when the time is right. It’s the least we can do for the poor fellow.”

  “Okay,” Chief Biddle replied, “but what does that have to do with…”

  “The police should be searching for the vagabond who is the prime suspect regarding Megan’s disappearance. Now that her friends have been murdered, they should connect that crime to the same man. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes sir. Orders?”

  “Have your men use all resources to find our friend Cliff. Contact the media and slap his sketch on all local news channels. He won’t be able to elude both the police and the entire public for long. Once he’s in custody, plant the evidence wherever needed. Pin everything on him. Even the case of the Summers family. We in turn will manipulate his mind; he’ll believe he’s guilty of the crimes. He’ll even reveal to your detectives where he disposed of Megan’s body next week. When they find her corpse, it will be easy to convict him in court. Then, Mr. Panco will have his closure and go home to live out the rest of his tragic life in despair and drunkenness.”

  “I see,” Biddle said in thought. “Everything will connect.”

  “Can you make it happen?”

  “Easy,” the police chief boasted. “Cliff has a fetish for kidnapping young girls and using them as his play toys, then tortures and kills them when he’s outgrown them.”

  “That does seem newsworthy,” Father Paul said in agreement.

  “He meets Megan at church. Likes what he sees. Then makes his move when she offers him a ride. He spots the Summers kid, Darlene, on her way home from school and Follows her. When he breaks in her house to take her, his plans are thwarted when he finds her parents home too. Kills them, then Darlene resists when he tries to force her out of the house. He decides it’s too much trouble, so he has his way with her right there and kills her too.”

  “Believable so far. And the couple from today?”

  “Even more believable,” Biddle continued. “Cliff finds a wallet-sized picture of Ryleigh in Megan’s purse. Again, likes what he sees. So he either drugs or tortures Megan to force her to tell him where she lives. Goes to her house, plans thwarted again because the boyfriend’s home. Same deal as with the Summers family.”

  “Yes,” Father Paul said with approval. “There’s a serial killer at large in Lancaster County, chief. This is a serious matter.”

  “My men will do everything to bring him in. Once we have him, he won’t break down and tell us where Megan’s body is until after the new moon.”

  “Very well,” the priest acknowledged. “It is of the highest priority that you find him. Everything depends on it, Bill.”

  “Won’t be a problem sir,” Biddle assured him. “We have more than enough manpower and resources.” After a brief pause, he added with a tone that suggested he was pleased with himself for being so clever as to concoct the idea; “Besides, all we have is a sketch of the guy. Even if we don’t find this Cliff… any homeless beggar with the same description will do.”

  “Well done, Chief,” Father Paul congratulated. “Your reputation for solving this case will warrant a well-deserved promotion, I think.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Chief Biddle said. “There’s just one loose end though.”

  “Yes? Go on.”

  “Harrison. The one leading the case. He’s searching all possibilities; he could be looking in directions we won’t want him to.”

  Father Paul considered what the police chief informed him of for a moment. “Irrelevant for now. If that should happen, Diana will simply pay him another visit. Worst case scenario: he has the unfortunate circumstance of finding Cliff and getting killed in the line of duty. Then Pennsylvania’s finest will further strengthen their efforts to apprehend the suspect, if he were to add the label of a cop-killer to his already growing rap sheet. I’ll be in touch, Chief.”

  Satisfied with the newly advanced plot, Father Paul terminated the call.

  Chapter XI

  Miles Harrison was convinced he was single-handedly keeping the coffee industry in business this weekend. It was late Sunday evening, and he was far from retiring for the night. Especially now that two more murders had taken place in town. He and Gibbons didn’t work in Homicide, but the tragic incident that occurred not twenty-four hours ago, involving the young couple, Ben Weber and Ryleigh Darlington, demanded the attention of the Department of Missing Persons. Given that Ryleigh was a coworker and friend to Megan Panco, and considering the rule of thumb that there were no coincidences in detective work, he was convinced that there had to be a connection. That connection could lead him to finding Jim Panco’s missing girl, and he was certain he could. Finding her alive and well however, bearing in mind the tragic death of her two friends last night, was a hope that he found to be diminishing.

  Earlier that day, Chief Biddle had approached him with stress written all over his face. Dealing with the media and the public had undoubtedly put pressure upon him, and as a result the entire force. Biddle had slammed a copy of the sketch artist’s drawing of the suspect who went by Cliff, and ordered him and Gibbons to, “Find this Cliff-son-of-a-bitch at all costs! We will have not one more murder, not one more kidnapping!” For the first time in years, Harrison noticed Biddle speaking with a passionate tone, as if he began to take very personally the violence that was occurring in his town, under his watch. He had made his intentions to find the vagabond very clear to the media during his report, using the sketch of the man in question to give the public a face and a name with which to place blame for the crimes. Clearly, he had his mind made up regarding who the county’s target was.

  Harrison wasn’t as certain. He wished it were that simple; it would save him a lot of time researching if he had all the clues leading to the same man. But there were too many mysteries that seemed to point him in several different directions. The most disturbing mystery was that of the Panco girl’s apparent boyfriend, Sonny Williams. He had gotten in touch with the Records O
ffice at Millersville, and became completely perplexed when they informed him that there was no student by that name enrolled at the university. Furthermore, the address that Harrison and Gibbons had on file was a four-man, more accurately a four-woman apartment off campus, currently occupied by young ladies of the Phi Mu sorority, having no connection with the case. The young women had never heard of the Williams boy, nor of Megan, Ben, or Ryleigh for that matter.

  Harrison himself had never met the kid; he only had his name and information from the report given to him by the deputy who took the initial statement. When Harrison had questioned the deputy about Sonny, the man only shrugged, stating that all he had done was taken the kid’s statement and information. He had given a description of the boyfriend as best he could, but it helped Harrison little; there was no photo of the young man in the file, and so far all of his information proved to be bogus.

  When Harrison had reported this to Chief Biddle, during his passionate outburst earlier, his evident tunnel vision, which was focused on finding “this Cliff-son-of-a-bitch at all costs,” indicated he was not all that well receptive to other possibilities.

  “You’re worrying about a kid who came in to report his girlfriend missing,” the chief had countered. “I’m worrying about a desperate, possibly drunk or high-as-a-kite nut-ball in my town, who was seen getting in Panco’s car, right before she went missing, by several eye witnesses! They all gave the same description of the man!”

  “But sir,” Harrison retorted calmly, “this Williams kid is a ghost. Absolutely none of his information on the statement checks out. We ran his license and social. There’s no record of the guy even existing. Some of the witnesses know him personally. The pastor at the church, this one witness; Diana Palmer, and some of Megan’s coworkers have met him. They all gave the same description of him too. But ever since the deputy last spoke to him, no one’s seen or heard from him.”