by David Archer
They finished dinner, and went to watch another movie—this one was an older movie about a pro football player who found out he was the father of a six-year-old girl when she showed up at his apartment with a note telling him her mother had to go out of the country, and it was time for him to take care of his child—and it was so delightful that even Indie was laughing in spots, with sort of a, “haha, ow, haha,” pattern to it.
After that movie, Sam declared bedtime, and not even Kenzie argued. Because her Mommy was hurt, she let Sam go up and tuck her in, and by the time he got the story read and the lights out, Indie was in their bed and sound asleep. Sam crawled in beside her and put an arm around her as she slept, and it wasn't long before he felt the arms of sleep coming to cuddle him, as well.
Morning came, and for once, he woke before she did. He slipped out of bed and took his shower, found her still sleeping when he was finished, and went out to put the coffee on. While he drank his first cup, he sat down at the table and started going through all the phone messages from the night before.
Most of them, as he'd known they would be, were from reporters. He made notes of the few he would be willing to talk to, deleted the rest, and then came across one message that caught his attention. It had been the last call of the night, and had come in after they had all gone to bed.
“Mr. Prichard,” a woman’s voice began, “my name is Joellyn Finer. I'm calling because I've been told that you're the best Private Investigator in the area, and I've got a problem I need to be solved. It's probably not something you're used to dealing with, though, so I'll be brief, and I hope you'll call me back. You see, I never met my father, and I know very little about him, because he disappeared during the Vietnam war. Everyone thought he was dead, but I've just heard from someone who knew him that he's turned up alive, and I would like to hire you to find him and find out why I've never met him. If you’d call me back, I'd really appreciate it...”
BOOK VI
Prologue
“Daddy,” Kenzie said as she twirled noodles onto her fork, “is that bad man dead, now?”
He'd known the question would be coming, because the little girl had been terrified when Darrel Unger, the serial killer who had challenged Sam to catch and stop him, had come into her mother's hospital room and threatened them all. Sam looked over at his wife, Indie; they'd decided to wait and let Kenzie bring it up, rather than trying to explain it to her before she was ready to hear it.
“Yes, Sweetie, he is,” Sam said. “Did he scare you pretty bad?”
Kenzie sat there for a moment, twirling the fork, and then she set it down. “Yesterday,” she said, “at children's church, they told us about God, and how when you're in trouble you should always ask God to help you. When that bad man came in and everyone got scared, I closed my eyes and asked God to help us, and He did.”
Sam and Indie shared a glance, and Indie asked, “He did?”
Kenzie nodded her head. “Yes,” she said. “I said, 'God, help us, cause there's a bad man and he wants to hurt us,' and then Daddy came back in and I knew God sent Daddy back to make sure the bad man didn't hurt anybody. But when you were talking to him, and he said he wanted to be dead, I knew God was gonna make him be dead, too, so he wouldn't hurt anyone anymore.” She picked up her fork and took a big bite of spaghetti. “This is good, Daddy,” she said, and then went on eating.
Sam and Indie looked at each other, and Sam asked the question they were both thinking. “Do you think it's time we started going to church regularly?”
Indie smiled. “I did sort of like it there,” she said. “Caleb's a pretty good preacher.”
They finished dinner and went to watch another movie—this one was an older movie about a pro football player who found out he was the father of a six-year-old girl when she showed up at his apartment with a note telling him her mother had to go out of the country, and it was time for him to take care of his child—and it was so delightful that even Indie was laughing in spots, with sort of a, “haha, ow, haha,” pattern to it.
After that movie, Sam declared bedtime, and not even Kenzie argued. Because her Mommy was hurt, she let Sam go up and tuck her in, and by the time he got the story read and the lights out, Indie was in their bed and sound asleep. Sam crawled in beside her and put an arm around her as she slept, and it wasn't long before he felt the arms of sleep coming to cuddle him, as well.
Morning came, and for once he woke before she did. He slipped out of bed and took his shower, found her still sleeping when he was finished, and went out to put coffee on. While he drank his first cup, he sat down at the table and started going through all the phone messages from the night before.
Most of them, as he'd known they would be, were from reporters. He made notes of the few he would be willing to talk to, deleted the rest, and then came across one message that caught his attention. It had been the last call of the night, and had come in after they had all gone to bed.
“Mr. Prichard,” a woman’s voice began, “my name is Joellyn Finer. I'm calling because I've been told that you're the best Private Investigator in the area, and I've got a problem I need solved. It's probably not something you're used to dealing with, though, so I'll be brief, and I hope you'll call me back. You see, I never met my father, and I know very little about him, because he disappeared during the Vietnam war. Everyone thought he was dead, but I've just heard from someone who knew him that he's turned up alive, and I would like to hire you to find him and find out why I've never met him. If you'd call me back, I'd really appreciate it...”
1
Most private investigators never have to deal with serial killers, no matter what the novelists say. Sam Prichard wasn't most private investigators, however, and just the previous week had seen him doing exactly that. The strange case had been thrust upon him and had almost cost him his life, and the life of his wife, Indie. It had finally ended with a showdown that required Sam to outwit the man, saving his entire family in the bargain.
Indie had been wounded, grazed across her head by a bullet that had been meant to kill her, and it had taken a few days for her to get back to normal, but she was finally there. Sam had been checking phone messages, keeping track of potential cases and automatically dismissing any that involved following unfaithful wives or husbands, or trying to trap people into doing something wrong. There had been one call the day after Indie had been released from the hospital, though, that had caught his attention, and it was time to learn more about it.
Sam and Indie were in the office, working on their quarterly business reports, when the day's first (and only) appointment showed up. The woman who parked beside the sign that read Sam Prichard, Private Eye was dressed casually, but there was something that seemed elegant about her, as she entered through the office door with a smile on her face.
Indie looked up and did a double take, then found her manners. “Hello,” she said. “I'm Indiana Prichard, and this is my husband, Sam. I didn't mean to stare, but did you know you look a lot like Jennifer Aniston?”
The woman laughed. “Yeah, I hear that a lot,” she said. “I've actually been one of her stunt doubles; back in twenty ten, she did a movie called The Bounty Hunter, and I was the one who got tossed out a window for her. I was hoping it would turn into a career, but it didn't, so now I'm in the catering business.”
Indie smiled. “Catering is good, too,” she said. “I always thought I'd want to do that, if I could cook.”
“Don't believe her,” Sam said as he rose to his feet and extended a hand. “She's a wonderful cook; she just likes keeping it in the family, and I'm in favor of that, too. I'm Sam Prichard, and I'm guessing that you're Joellyn Finer.”
Joellyn shook his hand and nodded. “I am, and I'm glad to meet you. I've heard a lot of good things about you, and of course the newspapers are sort of full of your name, right now. The more I read about how you caught a serial killer that no one even knew was out there, the more sure I am that you're the man I need to talk to.”
<
br /> “Well, have a seat,” Indie said, “and tell us how we can help you.”
Joellyn sat down in the chair Indie had pointed to. “So, as I said the other day, I've been told that my father has shown up here in the area. He disappeared in Vietnam, you see, right after I was born, and I never met him; now, my uncle—his brother—says he turned up last month to come and visit their mother, my grandma, who's dying of COPD. He walked into her house like he'd never been gone, acting like nothing was out of the ordinary, until Uncle Jim got in his face, and then he said there was very little he could tell them about where he'd been for all these years. A little while later, he left, but he's been back a couple of times since.”
“That sounds like he isn't really trying to hide, then,” Indie said, but Joellyn shook her head.
“I tried hanging out at my grandma's place to see if I could meet him,” she said, “but he won't show up if I'm there. I even tried hiding my car somewhere else and sneaking in the back door, but he still seems to know and won't show up. The only time he turns up is when no one but Grandma and Uncle Jim are there.” She sighed, and looked at her hands. “I want to know where he's been, and I want to know why he never came back to my mom and me, if he was still alive. Everyone thought he was dead, you see, and this has been a real shock. My mother refuses to believe it's really him, but Uncle Jim says there's no doubt; I just need to know, Mr. Prichard, and I want you to find him and make him talk to me.”
Sam sat there for a moment, thinking about it. “Ms. Finer,” he said, “I might be able to find your father, if it really is him; however, that doesn't mean I can get him to talk to you. Unless he's done something illegal or is wanted in connection with a crime, I can't actually force him to do anything. And while I think running out on his family is a pretty despicable thing to do, it's not a crime.”
Joellyn nodded. “I know,” she said. “I guess I really just want you to find him, and tell me how I can go to him. If he still won't talk to me, then I'll deal with it somehow.”
Sam looked at her, then glanced at his wife. Indie nodded, and he turned back to the client. “I charge a thousand as a retainer, and I get two fifty a day plus any expenses I have to lay out. I'm confident I can find him, but what happens after that is up to you and him. Deal?”
Joellyn smiled. “Deal. Is cash okay?”
Sam grinned. “Legal tender, they call it,” he said as Indie made out a receipt and took the money. “Now, tell me what you can about your father and uncle.”
“Well, my father's name is Kenneth Long; Finer is my married name, even though I'm divorced, now. He was born January fourth, nineteen forty-nine. He grew up in Denver, played basketball in high school. He married his high school sweetheart, my mother Margaret Wilkins Long, in nineteen sixty-seven, and joined the army a month later. In August of sixty-eight he was deployed to Vietnam, and spent seven months there on active duty. On March fifteenth of sixty-nine, he went out on a patrol with his squad, and only a few of them were ever seen again, until he walked into my grandma's house last month. Some of them turned up as POWs and were released at the end of the war.”
Sam cocked his head. “Was he ever declared dead by the Army?”
“No, he was MIA, and because there were no reports of any fighting near where he disappeared, and the rest of the patrol was found as POWs, either alive or dead, it was assumed that he was also captured, so he was left on MIA status. That meant that my mom kept getting his pay and allowances, and she still gets them. As long as there's the slightest possibility that he's alive and not a deserter, they said, she keeps getting his pay.”
Sam grunted. “If he's running around the USA, then I'd have to say it’s highly unlikely he's been a POW all this time. Sounds to me like your mother has a vested interest in it not being him; if it is, the government may want her to pay back all that money.”
Joellyn frowned. “That hadn't occurred to me, but I guess it's a possibility. My biggest concern is finding out why I haven't heard from him before now, why he never came back to us or even got in touch.”
“There are a lot of stories about MIAs and POWs turning up alive, and at least some of them have some basis in truth. I remember one just a couple of years ago, a Sergeant Robinson, who claimed to have been captured and held prisoner for years, then escaped and started a new life with a woman who rescued him. It was a big fuss, but then a few days later, it came out that it was a hoax, and the long-lost soldier was a Vietnamese man who had been trying to pass himself off as an MIA for years. In other cases, it turned out they were never captured at all, but had either taken their discharge there and stayed, or deserted and stayed. Your father sounds like he might fit the latter category.”
Joellyn shrugged. “I can't disagree with you, but I admit I'd like to know. What else can I tell you?”
“You say it's your uncle who's seen him most?” Sam asked.
“Yes. He's seen him at my grandma's house four times, now. I asked him to tell him I want to see him, but he said my father only shakes his head and walks away when he mentions me. Uncle Jim, that's James Long, he says the only thing my father will tell them is that he was a prisoner for a couple of years, and then after he was rescued, he said he was recruited by the CIA to stay there and work for the government as a spy. If that's true, then maybe he won't be in so much trouble after all. Like I said, none of that actually matters to me; I just want to look him in the eye and find out why I grew up without a father.”
Sam sighed. “Okay, I'm going to need all the information you can give me on your father, your uncle, your mother and grandmother, everyone connected to this. I'll find him if it's possible, and tell you if it isn't.”
The three of them sat and talked, and Indie made notes, writing down everything Joellyn said that related to her father or the case in any way. Sam made sure they got addresses and phone numbers for everyone that they could, knowing the magic that Indie could work through the internet when it came to tracking people down. They got everything they could think of, told Joellyn they'd be in touch if they needed anything else, and said goodbye as she left.
“I'll get Herman on this, see if there's any info he can find on Mr. Long,” Indie said. “You're gonna start with his brother?”
Sam nodded. “That's what I'm thinking, yeah. If good old Uncle Jim can't tell her anything, though, then he won't have anything to tell me, either, so there's no point wasting time asking questions. I think we'll see what I can find out by just keeping an eye on him. If Daddy doesn't know I'm watching, then he shouldn't have a reason to hide, right?”
“Right,” Indie said, “but if you talk to the uncle first, and he mentions to Daddy that there's a PI looking for him...”
“Exactly. Then he disappears into the woodwork like a cockroach when the light comes on.”
Indie looked closely at Sam. “Something about this case is really bugging you, isn't it?” she asked, and after a moment's hesitation, he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I'm trying to get myself into the mind of a man who has a family, but either runs out on them, or doesn't do everything he can to get back to them when he gets the chance. If he just bugged out and decided not to come home, I wanna know why—but if he really was captured, and then didn't come home when he finally got rescued or escaped, then I want to know what the hell is wrong with him, what did they do to him that would make him refuse to come home to his wife and daughter?” He ran a hand over his face, and then looked Indie in the eye. “I've got you and Kenzie,” he said, “and if something took me away from you for a long time, I'd spend every waking moment trying to escape and get back to you, and if I managed to get free, there is nothing on earth that would keep me from coming home.”
Indie smiled and reached over to touch his hand. “I know,” she said. “And I want you to know that if anything ever did happen to you, I'd never give up believing you were coming back, unless they showed me your dead body—and I'm not sure even that would stop you!” She added the last part with a
wink, and both of them laughed.
“Yeah, well,” Sam said. “Me and Death have been getting to know each other a lot better than I like, lately. I can't say he's a guy I really like hanging out with, though, so if he ever wants to come for me, he'd better bring help!”
Indie squeezed his hand. “Okay, then,” she said, “let's see what Herman can find out about this guy. What should I put in the filters?”
Sam thought about it for a moment. “Well, we've got his name, date of birth, and the date of his disappearance, so let's begin with those. I wish we had the names of the other men who disappeared with him; there might be more of the missing ones who have turned up alive, if he did.”
Indie smiled and tapped at her keyboard. “Let me have Herman search the news stories around that date, and we might find them. With a little effort, I think I can get you anything you want on those guys, all of 'em. What else?”
“Let's just go with that, for starters, and I'm gonna do a little old-fashioned detective work on the phone. There's one guy I can think of who might be able to help me get a line on this clown, and I haven't talked to him in a few days.”
Indie was nodding, a big smile on her face. “Harry Winslow,” she said. “Tell the old codger I said hi, please.”
Sam grinned and took his phone out of his pocket, then tapped the icon he'd put in to identify Harry's number—a cartoon picture of Elmer Fudd. He heard ringing on the other end, and then the southern drawl of Harry Winslow answered the phone.
“Sam, boy,” the old man said with a smile in his voice, “to what earth-shattering disaster do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“Harry, now, that hurts,” Sam said. “You're implying that I only call you when there's something wrong, or when I need something. Can't I just call up and say hi to an old friend?”
There was a chuckle on the other end. “Well, of course you can,” Harry said, “but the question is, will you? Never mind that, Sam, how's that lovely wife of yours? Headaches all gone, now? Except for the ones she gets from you, I mean?”