Fear Has a Name: A Novel (The Crittendon Files)

by Creston Mapes

  Anyone with information regarding Pastor McDaniel’s whereabouts is urged to call the Trenton City Police Department: (740) 844-1000.

  Whoa.

  Heavy insinuation …

  Although reporter Derrick Whittaker was one of Jack’s closest friends at the paper, his stories sometimes lacked instinct and foresight. Jack headed for Derrick’s work area, excited to take over the McDaniel story.

  Derrick, who was on the phone, cupped the receiver with one hand and pointed to it with the other. “McDaniel’s wife,” he whispered. “She’s ticked!” Derrick was African-American, about thirty, and wore an inch-thick Afro and retro black glasses.

  Jack lifted two innocent hands. What do you expect when you write a front-page story speculating that her husband is suicidal? He pretended to drink from an invisible cup, thumbed toward the break room, and took off for his coffee.

  Cecil spotted him from a mile away and made a beeline toward him. Jack kept going, straight for the Bunn, determined to get himself a large black coffee before anything else could happen.

  “Crittendon,” Cecil said, “you see Whittaker’s piece on the pastor?”

  Jack finished pouring, sipped his coffee, and nodded. “I was surprised he mentioned suicide this early.”

  “What do you mean?” Cecil said. “We attributed it—to the Methodist news source.”

  “I know,” Jack said. “I would have talked to the wife first. Did he?”

  “He tried. He couldn’t reach her.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Jack turned toward Derrick’s desk. “But she’s apparently reached him now.”

  “Oh, for the love of peace.” Cecil shook his bony fists. At least he didn’t have any new white pieces of paper with him. “It’s your story now. Take it and run with it. Get with the family, go to the church, you know the drill.”

  “I’m on it.” Jack started toward his desk.

  “And I needed that water-rate-hike piece yesterday,” Cecil called.

  Jack stopped and looked back. Cecil was running his long, thin brown hair between his thumb and index finger.

  “I’m almost done with it,” Jack said.

  Derrick met up with Jack and walked with him at a good clip to Jack’s desk.

  “Man, that pastor’s wife is heated,” Derrick said. “She’s saying her husband’s never been suicidal. Couldn’t believe we ran it in the story.”

  “Dude, I would have talked to her before mentioning suicide.”

  “I tried! Repeatedly. I couldn’t get her.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have mentioned suicide. He was missing—that would have been enough to start with.”

  “That’s how I wrote it! Barton made me put it in there, about the possible suicide.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Jack looked up to give Cecil the evil eye, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “I feel bad,” Derrick said. “I mean, she was crying by the time we hung up.”

  “You have her number?”

  Derrick ripped the top sheet from his pad and stuffed it in Jack’s palm. “I told her you’d call and get her whole side of it. She’s absolutely positive he’s not suicidal.”

  “Where does she think he is then?”

  Derrick bounced his shoulders. “She has no clue. Said he’s had some personal issues but insists he’d never leave her and their boys.”

  “I thought there was a suicide note or something?”

  “There’s something. A note that turned up at the church maybe? She’s gonna explain it all to you. And she’s ready to talk now; she wasn’t yesterday.”

  “Good.” Jack looked at the number. “Where do they live?”

  “Cool Springs. Close to the church he pastors. You gonna get right on it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “’Cause I feel like a complete jerk.”

  “It’s not your fault. That was Barton’s call.”

  “I pretty much told her you’d make it right.”

  “Okay. I’ll call her in a minute.”

  “Tell me about yesterday,” Derrick said. “What happened, dude? Is Pam okay, and the girls?”

  Jack’s cell rang. He rolled his eyes. “They’re okay. Pam was pretty shaken up. The guy broke right in while they were all home. They got out the back door, to the neighbor’s.”

  Jack glanced at his phone. It was Pamela calling. “I gotta take this.”

  Derrick patted his shoulder. “All right. We’ll catch up later. Maybe lunch?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Not Golden Wok.”

  Jack laughed and answered his phone.

  “How is the lovely Pamela Anne Crittendon this morning? I was just going to check in with you—”

  “This was more than a robbery, Jack,” Pam blurted. “He cut you out of one of our wedding pictures, one of the framed ones on the mantel—”

  “Wait a minute, honey, slow down—”

  “That’s not all. The locket you gave Rebecca is gone. The one with the picture of you two, that you gave her at the father-daughter thing.”

  “She probably misplaced it, honey. Now just calm down.”

  “Jack, please come home. This is creeping me out. Please. There was more to this than a robbery. Something’s wrong. We need to get the police back here.”

  “Okay, listen.” He squeezed the back of his neck and made himself stay cool. “The guy is probably mentally disturbed. He—”

  “He knew exactly what he was doing. I’m not freaking out. I’m just thinking about the girls.”

  Jack dropped into his chair, elbows to his knees.

  “Okay … listen, you look for anything else missing, or disturbed.” Of course he and Pam had done that the previous day, but apparently they hadn’t looked closely enough. “I’ve got to take care of a few things here.” He was sorting through his options as he tried to soothe her. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll get with the lead cop, DeVry, and let him know what’s going on. Call me if anything else is missing, okay?”

  He heard nothing.

  “Okay, Pamela?”

  Jack heard her fumbling with the phone.

  “Oh my Lord, Jack …”

  “What?” He shot to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Rebecca … Faye!” Pam was not talking to him anymore but was yelling into the house. “Come to Mommy, now!”

  “Pam! What is it?” His stomach bottomed, and he felt for his car keys. “What’s going on?”

  There was only silence and a slight bumping of the phone.

  “Talk to me!”

  “It’s the brown car.” Her voice came back, trembling. “He’s here …”

  5

  “He sat out there in his car for ten minutes.” Pamela felt flushed as she talked to Jack and Officer Dennis DeVry at the kitchen table. “Right in front of the house. Not trying to be inconspicuous at all. I can’t believe you guys couldn’t get here any faster—especially after this just happened.”

  Pam couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, and her palms were damp.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Crittendon,” said DeVry. “We got here as fast as we could.” The officer was not a handsome man, with his wide, pockmarked face and yellowish teeth, but his broad chest and thick arms suggested a physical strength that Pamela found reassuring. “You’re sure it was the same guy?”

  “Positive. I could see him in the car.”

  “Could you tell what he was doing?” DeVry examined the framed photo from which Jack had been cut out.

  Pamela moved to the edge of her chair. “He was looking at the house. I was sure he was going to get out of that car and come right up to the front door again.”

  Jack reached over and covered one of her hands.

  “You weren’t able to get a license number?” DeVry said.

  “I called Tommy, the neighbor you met yesterday, to see if he could go out and get the plates, but he wasn’t home. I wasn’t going out there.”

>   “And he eventually just left?” DeVry set the photo upright on the kitchen table.

  She nodded and sniffed back the emotion. “Very slowly, looking at the house the whole way.” She covered her quivering mouth with a wadded tissue. “I’m sorry. Excuse me a minute.”

  Pamela rose and hurried through the family room to the downstairs bath. Shutting the door and turning on the exhaust fan, she patted her eyes with a clean tissue, blew her nose, and stared at herself in the mirror.

  Her mascara was running, and the skin beneath her brown eyes was dark and swollen. She ran a wet finger below one eye, then the other, and patted dry with a towel. She ran her fingers through her hair and applied lipstick. That would have to do.

  She leaned all her weight through her hands onto the marble counter, sighed, and closed her eyes.

  Jack’s words from the garage the day before came back. Leave it all in God’s lap …

  Lord, help me. I’m scared. I can’t deal with this.

  She looked into the mirror again. Her bottom jaw jutted forward. Tension had carved its signature in the crevice between her eyes and the sides of her nose and mouth. Relax, Pam. But she couldn’t work up the tranquillity she had been seeking ever since the break-in.

  She sucked in her cheeks, took a deep breath, and headed back out.

  “Girls?” she called upstairs, where she could hear Rebecca’s and Faye’s giggles and the sound of a DVD they were watching. “You okay?”

  “Yes, Mommy,” Rebecca called.

  “Yes,” Faye echoed.

  “Pam,” Jack said as Pamela made her way back to the kitchen, “Officer DeVry is going to arrange for extra patrol.”

  “And I’ll come by myself when I’m on duty, Mrs. Crittendon.” DeVry stood and handed a white business card to each of them. “This has my cell. I want you to call me the instant you see that car again. Let’s hope you don’t.”

  “What about checking that picture for prints?” Pamela pointed to the framed photo on the kitchen table.

  “Well …” DeVry hesitated. “You and your neighbor both saw the perpetrator at different times with gloves on, and we found no prints anywhere. I’m 99 percent sure there aren’t any prints on that picture except ours.”

  “Why would he take Rebecca’s locket?” Pamela said. “I just don’t get it.”

  “Are you sure your daughter might not have misplaced the locket?” DeVry asked. “I know my kids are always—”

  “No.” Pamela shook her head. “It’s her absolute favorite. Jack gave it to her at a father-daughter banquet, and she had a special place for it in her jewelry box. She’s extremely organized for her age, and she says it was in there.”

  Jack retrieved the scarred photograph from the kitchen table. “Could you possibly have someone dust this anyway?” He handed it to DeVry. “Just to make sure.”

  DeVry took the photo from Jack and put it under his arm. “Sure. If anything turns up, I’ll let you know.”

  Pamela blinked with a nod of gratitude toward Jack.

  “Thank you.” Jack placed a hand on the officer’s shoulder.

  “Is there anything more you can do, or we can do?” Pamela asked.

  “I’m afraid not.” DeVry rested a hand on the big black gun in his holster. “I realize finding this picture makes this whole thing even scarier for you and your family. But as I told your husband, we really will get by here every time we possibly can. Try not to lose too much sleep over it. People like this rarely hit the same house twice.”

  “Then why did he come back and sit out there?”

  Office DeVry pursed his lips. “You folks need to be all eyes and ears, just as you were today. This might be some sort of stalker or someone with mental issues. Be careful. Keep the doors locked. Don’t hesitate to call us.”

  Maybe there was something else the man saw in the house that he decided he wanted, Pamela thought—like her … or one of the girls.

  The late morning sun flooded the white and yellow kitchen. Officer DeVry was back out on the hot streets of Trenton City, and Rebecca and Faye had just finished lunch and were playing with their felt-board dollies at the dining-room table. Jack took the carafe from the coffeemaker and poured the leftover coffee, now cold, into a tall glass. He set the empty carafe at the sink where Pamela was working, went to the freezer, and dumped a handful of ice into the glass and set it on the counter to chill.

  Pamela finished rinsing the sink, hit the disposal for a few seconds, and dried her hands on a daisy-print towel as she approached him.

  “I want us to get a gun,” she said.

  Jack’s face fell.

  “How else will we defend ourselves if he comes back?”

  Jack’s mouth sealed and his eyes narrowed.

  “We can’t count on a patrol car coming by here once every few days,” she said.

  He still didn’t speak.

  “If you’d have been here, you’d be thinking the same thing. It was so … brazen! This is our home. We need to defend it. It’s against the law for a stranger to break his way in here.”

  Jack took a sip of the iced coffee.

  “I want to learn to shoot,” she continued. “We can go to Amiel’s range, on the square.”

  The slightest smile curled at the corner of his lips.

  “I mean it, Jack! This is not funny. We’ve got to think of the girls. I’m not going to be put in that situation again. We were completely helpless.”

  He set the glass down, folded his arms, and leaned back against the white tile counter. “First of all, I don’t think it’s funny. I’m sorry. I started to smile because when you get an idea, you are like a heat-seeking missile.”

  “Jack, I’m being serious.”

  “Okay.” He lifted his open hands in front of his chest. “First of all, where would we keep it?”

  “I don’t know. In our closet, up high, with the safety on.”

  “If he broke in again, you wouldn’t have time to go upstairs to get it.”

  “Then we’d keep it down here. That’s a better idea anyway. We’d put it up in a cupboard.” She motioned to one with her head. “The girls would never know.”

  Jack exhaled. “You know, they say if you’re going to own a gun, you not only better know how to use it, you better be ready to use it first when you take it in your hand.”

  “I’d use it first,” she practically spit. “Believe me, if that monster set one foot on our property again and I had a gun, I would put—him—down.”

  “I know, I know … I hear you, baby. But they say if an intruder, someone all pumped up on adrenaline and possibly drugs, sees his victim with a gun, someone in that house is more likely to die than in a house where there is no gun. I am thinking about Rebecca and Faye. I just don’t want to add more danger.”

  “I don’t know about the statistics, Jack, I really don’t. All I know is what happened to us—and it should never be allowed to happen to anyone. We were violated! We were lucky to get out. What if I’d been upstairs and the girls were down? What if the girls had been napping? What if I’d been doing laundry? I’ve thought this through a million times.”

  She’d hit a nerve. She could see it in his facial muscles, the flare of his nostrils, the way his teeth clenched ever so briefly.

  “I know.” He nodded. “I have too.” He lifted his arms toward her. “Come here.”

  “No!” She stomped a foot, then thought of the girls and lowered her voice. “I’m not going to let you sweet-talk me out of this. We are getting a gun. Period. I’ll pay for it out of my own money.”

  “Okay, listen, honey. If we’re really going to consider it, we need to ask ourselves if it’s safe for us. What about when the girls get older and have friends over?”

  “We can get rid of it when this passes.”

  She couldn’t believe Jack wasn’t right on the bandwagon with her.

  “Your dad had a gun,” Pamela said. “Mine has one.”

  “Does that make it safe?”

 
“Safe? Let’s talk about safe! There’ll be nothing left to keep safe if he comes back and hurts us!”

  That too struck home. For a flash, Pamela felt like the devil’s advocate for riling up the old Jack. But that’s what she was trying to do. She steamed to the window near the kitchen table and stared out blankly, the stress blurring the outdoor landscape into a foggy mix of bright greens and yellows.

  “He came back, Jack.” Her voice quieted. “You said he’d never remember where we lived.” She turned to face him. “He was here, this morning, and you weren’t! I am here alone with the girls much of the day. I need protection. Period.”

  The way he looked at her with his mouth locked shut, it was as if he was forcing himself not to speak, not to say something he would regret.

  Pamela waited, resolute.

  “Look,” he finally said, “his coming back today raises the stakes, I admit it. I just think that before we buy a gun and learn to use it—which we can certainly do—we need to ask ourselves if that’s the best choice, the wisest choice. Is it what God wants? If it is, great; we’ll do it.”

  Pamela’s head dropped into her hands. She didn’t want to talk about what God wanted. Not now. She knew what she needed, and that was all there was to it. Her mind and body and spirit felt utterly spent, and the day was only half over.

  “I’m not trying to belittle you,” Jack said. “I understand you felt helpless. We just need to make sure we both agree completely before we decide to keep a weapon in this house that can take someone’s life …”

  6

  As Jack sat on the flowery couch in the McDaniels’ dark, cool living room while Wendy McDaniel went to the kitchen to get him some water, he found it difficult to believe anything could be as wrong as it was within this household, because everything seemed so right.

  A smooth blacktop driveway sloped down, then led up to the small white ranch house perched on a hill about seventy-five yards off Iradale Drive. It was a quiet residential street in Cool Springs, just outside Trenton City. The home was surrounded by towering trees that swayed and rustled in the breeze, blocked out the hot Ohio sun, and smothered the acre-or-so lot in pleasant shade.