“Did any of these folks give you a number? An email address?”
“No email. The pastor, Father Paul, was the only one I talked to who had his number. He told me that he never had his number before, but that Sonny left his number with him after Wednesday night, just in case he found anything out about Megan before he did. He gave me the number that Sonny left with him; it was the same number from the statement, but it’s been recently disconnected.”
The police chief stared at him, determined and hard-faced. “So the kid’s probably a loser. Probably lied about his name and being a student and all that to impress the girl. More likely he’s got several names and numbers because he’s got several girlfriends.”
“All the more reason to be concerned about him then,” Harrison stressed. If he is involved with Panco’s disappearance, with the murders, and if he is a polygamist as you suggest, then we’ll have a hell of time preventing that ‘one more murder or kidnapping.’ Chief, I’m telling you, something smells really wrong with this guy. It’s gotta be looked into. If we ignore…”
“Okay, okay,” Biddle had stopped him. “Have Gibbons investigate.”
“Only Gibbons, sir?”
“Tell him to talk to everyone that knows the kid. Find out as much as he can. Where he works, who his friends are, any relatives, hang-out spots, where he buys his groceries, does his laundry, takes a piss... everything. Someone’s gotta know something; at least have a picture of the guy.”
Harrison nodded. “Chief,” he added, “wouldn’t more ground be covered if we both looked into it? Or if Gibbons teamed up with a couple of the guys from Homicide?”
Biddle shook his head. “We’ll have a few deputies work under him on this, but I need you and Homicide looking for this Cliff fellow.”
“But sir…”
“Listen Harrison,” the chief had gone on, “I’ll admit you’ve really got something on the Williams kid, but let me repeat that it was this homeless guy who was last seen with the Panco girl. You find him, and it’s a damn good bet you find her. Now you’re the best one equipped to track him down, and you’ve got the most experience in Missing Persons. I need you and everyone else I can afford on this. Gibbons has a good rapport with the citizens of this town and can dig for answers on Williams just fine. But with Cliff, it’s more than just an investigation. It’s a manhunt. The reason why you’re my top detective in this department is ‘cause you have a knack for tracking people. You get what I’m saying?”
“I get you Chief,” Harrison had conceded, too exhausted to protest any further.
“If the Williams boy becomes upgraded to our prime suspect over the vagabond, I’ll have you on it, don’t you worry about that. But for now, focus on Cliff. I’m counting on you, detective.”
Harrison had no intentions of disregarding his chief’s orders, and he knew he would follow through as best he could finding any leads to the mysterious vagabond, but his years of training told him to consider every possible lead, and a little side work off the clock wasn’t out of the question in his mind. Besides, he had already started investigating the mystery behind Father Paul Cunningham’s multitude of transfers during his history of priesthood, until he had apparently settled in with St. Elizabeth’s for ten years. Though every phone call he made to every diocese the pastor had been associated with checked out, with no red flags that would cause the detective alarm, he figured he had already started his side work. He might as well keep at it. The priest may have turned out to be squeaky clean (too clean, he had thought, though to pursue further investigation on Father Paul would most likely lead him to a dead end). But there were plenty of others acquainted with Megan Panco.
Through his research, he found there could be other leads, far-fetched that they may be. For instance, Homicide reported another violent, double-murder and suicide concerning a George Summers. He didn’t need to go over the gruesome details of the crime again, only to contemplate any connection to all the hell that was happening in his town.
Notes concerning all the cases decorating his desk, Harrison sipped his coffee while circling anything and everything relevant with a cheap, blue Bic pen; the cap mangled and deformed from constant chewing and gnawing: a childish habit, but it helped him think. And it seemed to work, because just then, he found one small ounce of interest.
Diana Palmer: the first witness to enter his office to give her statement. For some reason, he remembered very little about the meeting, only that the woman had nice legs. But now her name jumped out at him. Dr. Palmer ran a psychiatry clinic in town. According to his research, as well as personal testimonies on her website, she seemed to have much success with it, having helped many of her clients deal with and overcome their supposed problems. This George Summers, the man who murdered his wife and kid before slitting his own throat, was a regular client of hers. Apparently, the doctor did not have the success with him that most of her other clients had boasted about.
Through further digging, Harrison discovered that three prior clients of hers in the past five years had wound up in the Lancaster County Missing Persons files. No leads. No explanations or reasoning. Just randomly vanished. All three were males. All three had been clients of Dr. Palmer’s for some time. He never noticed this relation before because the men had not been reported missing until much time after they had stopped utilizing the services of her clinic; sometimes the gap was over a year. Furthermore, the men were loners with no immediate family; only scattered, distant relatives. And they were unemployed before they disappeared, by their own volition. All three men left their blue-collar jobs, so there was virtually no one to notice or care that they had gone missing. No one to make a report, not until someone they owed money to came looking for them.
Diana Palmer was also an active member of St. Elizabeth’s. And she claimed she was at that Bible Study meeting, where Megan was last seen. There was nothing that connected Dr. Palmer to the murders of Ben and Ryleigh that he could see, other than that they were friends of Megan’s. It wasn’t much, but still… Harrison decided there would be no harm in paying a visit to Dr. Palmer’s home or office for some casual, off-duty questioning. If nothing came of it, at least he’d get another good look at her legs, assuming she favored the types of skirts she wore when he first met her.
Harrison set his coffee down and took one last look at the lengthy reports of the disturbing cases of murders and missing persons. “This used to be a nice neighborhood,” he found himself saying aloud as he reached for his phone. But before he could lift the receiver to call Gibbons, an incoming call caused his ringer to erupt suddenly.
“State Police. Detective Harrison speaking.”
“Detective?” a familiar, gruff voice replied through the receiver, “This is Jim Panco.”
Chapter XII
“Hello Mr. Panco,” Harrison’s voice responded through the hotel phone. “How you holding up?”
“Not too good,” Jim answered, “unless you got news of my daughter.
“Nothing solid, I’m afraid,” Harrison admitted, “but I’m working on it. Getting ready to follow up on a possible lead, so I haven’t got much time. Soon as I’ve got something…”
“Just saw the news,” Jim interrupted. “The two kids murdered; the girl was Megan’s friend.”
“I know,” Harrison answered plainly.
“I saw the guy. Saw him just last night.”
“Who?”
“The kid… Ben. He was bartending at McDougal’s last night. Served my drinks. I saw him just a few hours before he was killed.” Harrison did not say anything. “Gotta be a connection,” Jim continued.
“It’s possible,” Harrison finally agreed, “but again, we’ve got nothing solid.”
“Gotta be,” Jim repeated. “And if it is, then whoever took Megan was more than just a random homeless guy. It had to be someone who knows her.”
“If there’s a connection,” Harrison informed, “you could be in danger, Jim. It might be a good idea for you to head home unti
l we get to the bottom of this.”
Jim replied with a manner that sounded more calm and collective than his actual emotions at present. “Ain’t no way I’m leaving, detective.”
Harrison’s voice was just as calm. “Figured as much.”
“This boyfriend of Megan’s. Any word?”
“No.”
“Me neither. I’ve done some asking around, but I’ve been hitting dead ends. Don’t you find it strange that there was not one picture of the kid in her apartment, and that he’s nowhere to be found?
“Mr. Panco…”
“I think the pastor at the church is holding something back too. I met with him this morning and asked him everything I could about Megan. He kept talking about her in the past tense…”
“Mr. Panco,” Harrison said again.
“I know that might seem insignificant, but for some reason it sent red flags up for me. Call it a hunch…”
“Mr. Panco… Jim,” Harrison cut off more forcefully. “I’m going to need you to steer clear of this investigation.”
There was a brief moment of silence before Jim countered. “Didn’t do anything illegal, detective. I just attended Mass. Made a few phone calls.”
“I know,” Harrison replied, trying to sound empathetic; trying not to sound like he was placating. “But, like I said, if there’s a connection, you could be in danger. What you’re doing is dangerous.”
“I ain’t scared. My daughter… if she’s still alive… she’s in danger. S’cuse me if I ain’t worried about myself right now.”
Another moment of silence. “Jim,” Harrison said with a voice of reason, “I’m really short on time here, but I’m going to give you the respect you deserve by taking a couple minutes to talk to you. In return I’d like you to consider what I have to say.”
Jim did not respond but remained on the line.
Harrison began, “I can’t even try to tell you that I know how you feel. That would be insulting to you. But I do know that you’re trying to do everything you can to help find Megan. I do know that if it were my kid, I’d be doing the same thing. And under other circumstances you’d be a valuable asset to any investigation, given your prior service that you told me about. But let me ask you something, Jim. In all your years as an MP, has anyone on your team ever handled a case that he was personally attached to?”
Jim closed his eyes at hearing this question. “No,” he answered softly.
“Why not?”
Jim knew that Harrison didn’t need the answer to this, but he answered anyway. “Because there are too many unpredictable factors. An investigator involved in a case like that could be too emotionally attached, which could be a compromise. There’s no guarantee that the MP would be able to make the exact same rational decisions that he could with any other case. His judgment would be in constant question. Not to mention the administrative consequences that would come down on the unit if something went south.”
Harrison remained quiet on the line for a few seconds; Jim figured it was probably to allow what he had just said to sink in for himself.
“I believe you’re a rational man, Mr. Panco,” Harrison said, “and I’m sure you were a fine police officer in the Army. But because you were, you know why I’m asking you to steer clear of this right now. Like I said, if I were in your shoes I would be doing the same thing. And someone else would be telling me what I’m telling you. But I’m not in your shoes, Jim. I’m the guy who has to tell you to stand down.” Another brief pause. “Please.”
Jim took a deep breath. He knew all too well that the detective was right. “All right. I’ll leave it alone. But I’d rather not leave town if it’s all the same to you. I’d like to be here for her when you find her.”
“I can live with that… as long as you’re careful.” Jim said nothing. “I’ve got to go. I promise I’ll call you when I have any news at all.”
“Just one more thing, detective.” The thought in Jim’s mind, which he had been dwelling on all day, suddenly resurfaced to his mind. “Some information you might find useful.”
“Go ahead.”
“It’s the reason I called you in the first place. Almost forgot all about it after seeing the news. The pastor at the church, Father Paul… he mentioned that Megan has been highly involved in a program they got goin’ on over there, where they work with and help the needy to get back on their feet. She must’ve had personal contact with a lot of the homeless in town through that program. So it’s possible this guy Cliff met her through that program. If the needy people had to register for the program, then the church should have records. Maybe you can pick up a trail on your suspect that way.”
There was no response on the other end of the line.
“Detective? … Detective Harrison? … Hello?”
Within seconds the earpiece of the motel phone emitted the annoying buzz that indicated that the call had been disconnected. Jim pressed his finger on the lever of the phone rest and let it up, but no dial tone came. He tried again with rapid depressions; still nothing.
“Figures,” Jim commented. He would have to let the desk manager on duty know that his phone had stopped working, but for now he had to make sure the call didn’t disconnect before Harrison received his last bit of information. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and was equally disgruntled to find the display screen read, “No Signal.”
He found this minor inconvenience to be somewhat odd, but not uncommon in such places, because he hadn’t had signal issues with his cell phone in this motel room until now. Still, he thought little of it and decided to step outside the confines of the old building and into the parking lot, hoping that he would have better luck making a connection.
The cool Pennsylvania air this late at night seemed to revive Jim to some extent as he paced back and forth in front of his motel room door, and he noticed that outside it was strangely, yet peacefully quiet. There was no activity that he could hear amongst his temporary neighbors. The highway, Route 30, that ran adjacent to the motel’s untended parking lot revealed no travelers passing by, save the sporadic semi that blew past, and even their usually rambunctious growling from downshifting gears seemed eerily muffled, as if the engines themselves were showing respect to the stillness that commanded the perimeter.
Even the natural nightlife was calm. Normally Jim would hear busy commotion of crickets, frogs, and other nocturnal creatures that resided in the weeds and bush behind the complex, and the night was not cold enough to quell their songs, yet they were somehow at rest. Not completely gone, just partially sedated. Whatever was going on, Jim was aware of it. Nevertheless, it didn’t send chills up his spine. On the contrary, he almost felt a sense of peace; that the semi-stillness of his immediate surroundings was a harbinger of some sort of a presence that was good. And for a moment, Jim felt the fears and anxieties within him, brought on by all that had been occurring, suddenly ease. The feeling wasn’t strenuously euphoric, but still caused his frantic mind to relax.
Jim shook the crazy ideas from his thoughts and refocused on the task at hand. He brought his attention back to his cell phone, and noticed to his frustration that he still had no signal. “Sonovabitch,” he whispered to himself. He let out a sigh and decided there was nothing left but to use the phone at the front desk.
“Hello again,” Jim heard a voice greet from his right, before he even began to start for the main office. He turned his head to see a familiar figure, not ten feet away, approaching down the walkway outside the row of motel room doors. Fruitcake, Jim’s mind recognized. As still as the night was just then, as alert as he felt, he was surprised that he didn’t notice the young man before he had gotten so close to him. The man had a tired smile upon his face, which was mostly shadowed due to inadequate outside lighting. He drew casually nearer to Jim, and in a nonthreatening manner.
Jim gave him a look, then a nod. “You again,” he said plainly, then looked back down at his cell phone in his hand, pretending not to be amused with or interested
in the man. “You following me, son?” he asked; half joking, half seriously.
Fruitcake’s reply was full of sincerity: “As a matter of fact, sir, I am. I’ve been following you ever since you left Megan Panco’s apartment the other day. I take it you’re her father?”
Jim nearly dropped his phone as his head whipped back to his right in the man’s direction. He was too stunned to say anything.
“Can I buy a moment of your time now?”
The momentary sense of peace that somehow entered Jim Panco’s being clocked out as suddenly as it had arrived, and the more familiar anxieties of the past weekend once again punched in.
Chapter XIII
Detective Harrison checked the dial tone of his desk phone in the same manner that Jim Panco had checked his own in his motel room, and found a dial tone. Whatever had caused the call from Megan’s father to disconnect, the problem wasn’t on his end. He didn’t hear everything Panco said, but it was enough. The last he heard was something about Megan volunteering at St. Elizabeth’s to help the needy. He knew about the church’s Outreach Program, and even though his conversation with Panco was cut short, he understood what the man was indicating.
He thought of calling him back to get the rest of what he had missed, just in case there was more to learn; as a detective he readopted the same motto his older brother once advised to him in high school: Get as much as you can, as fast as you can. Though his brother had been using that philosophy for a completely different, less honorable purpose, at least back in the days of their youth, Harrison now found it to be a decent adage to live by when gathering information on a case. At any rate, he couldn’t live up to that standard at present because his return call to Jim would not go through.
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