Everybody's Daughter

by Michael John Sullivan

  Michael could hear Detective Brady’s garbled voice leaking from the phone. “What’s he saying?” he mouthed to Dennis.

  He held a finger up and gestured for him to stay quiet.

  “He wouldn’t do that.” Dennis paused, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone. “You are way off base with this theory. Your assumptions about him are wrong.” He shook his head as if someone waved a torch near his face. “I’m afraid I have to go now. I have an appointment. Have a blessed day.” He hung up.

  Irritated, Michael said, “Don’t you think you should ask me first before you announce you’re my advisor?”

  “I’m sorry but I feel the less you talk to them the better.”

  “What did he want?” Michael asked.

  Dennis scowled. “The DNA test concluded that the blood in the car belongs to Elizabeth.” He waved to the chair. “Take a seat.”

  Michael leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m fine.”

  He sighed. “The detective wants to bring you in for questioning.”

  “I didn’t hurt her.” He unfolded his arms and dangled them by his side. “I don’t know how her blood ended up in my car.”

  “I believe you, Mike, but for some reason the police have the impression that you’re some kind of a recluse who has a hard time relating to women and is prone to fits of rage.”

  Michael shoved himself off the wall, bunching his fists. “That’s such nonsense and horse…” He stopped himself. “I did not hurt my daughter.” He rubbed his face roughly.

  Dennis put his hand up. “Right now you have to get yourself a lawyer.”

  “I’m not going to waste my time speaking to a lawyer.” Michael leaned over, gripping the back of the chair. “It would look like I’m guilty of all the things the police are thinking and trying to weasel my way out of trouble.” He straightened and let go of the chair. “And you know how lawyers can twist things.”

  Dennis sighed, frustrated with Michael’s attitude. “Listen to me. I’m not a legal expert, but I do know enough that if you go down to the police station for questioning without a lawyer it could –”

  Michael interrupted him. “I’m not leaving this church. I have to be here in case the tunnel opens up again.”

  “I can’t lie for you, Michael, you know that. If they come here looking for you –”

  “Then don’t. You certainly had no problem lying to me before.” He glared. “I’ll take my chances. If they come in with guns blazing, I’ll go voluntarily, but in the meantime, I need to do what I can to get back to Jerusalem.”

  Michael’s cell phone lit up and he glanced at the call display. “It’s Detective Brady.”

  Dennis surprised Michael when he yanked the phone out of his hand. “Don’t answer it. Most cell phones have a GPS. He may be able to track you down.”

  Michael took his phone back and opened the door. “Then I better get myself downstairs again and see what I can do to get back.”

  “Wait.” Dennis shut the door. “I have an idea.” He picked up his office phone and hit several buttons. “Rabbi, good morning. Shalom. I need your help. Can I come over? Thank you.” He waved to the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To the Temple to see Rabbi Stedman. Maybe he can help us find shelter for you until we can figure everything out about the tunnel.”

  “I thought you couldn’t lie for me? You know the cops will question you about my whereabouts.”

  “I’ll think of something.” He looked at Michael’s surprised expression. “I’m sure there’s a loop hole in the Bible for special circumstances.”

  Michael smiled for the first time that day but it was short lived as they stepped outside the church.

  “Give me your cell phone,” Dennis demanded.

  “Why?”

  “Trust me.”

  “Trust you?” He hesitated but gave it to him.

  “Go to the Temple and tell the rabbi I’ll join him shortly.”

  Michael jogged down Starlight Avenue and ran behind the old firehouse where the Temple stood. It was a place where many years ago rebel soldiers escaped the wrath of the British during the American Revolution. Last year Dennis told him that there were many tunnels that led to different parts of their town. He knocked hard on the wooden doors.

  The rabbi greeted him. “Welcome.”

  “I’m Michael Stewart. Dennis, I mean, Pastor told me to tell you he’ll join us in a few minutes.”

  “Come in, my friend.” The rabbi ushered him inside. “You’re the man on the news.”

  “If you’re referring to my daughter’s situation, yes, that would be me,” he answered as he was led down a hallway into an office.

  The rabbi invited Michael to sit and offered him a cup of coffee which he declined. The office was beautifully decorated with posh carpeting and a polished cherry wood desk. A painting of the Star of David hung on the lemon painted walls.

  “Rabbi, I’d like to explain about the gossip regarding my daughter.” He accepted the bottle of water handed to him. “I didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance.” Michael looked away for a moment. “I don’t even know where she is.”

  “I’ve known Pastor Dennis for many years. He would never protect or want to help someone who would hurt someone else.”

  “Can I wait in this office until he gets here?”

  “Certainly.” The rabbi poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot brewing on the side credenza. “In the meantime, would you like to talk? Maybe we can help you find your daughter. We can ask our members to organize groups and check places she might be.”

  “I don’t think that’s the way to go.”

  The rabbi refrained from taking another sip. “Why not?”

  Michael’s face reddened. “I don’t think she’s in Northport.”

  “Where do you think she is?”

  Conflicted, Michael busied himself with tearing the paper off the water bottle. He’d already lied to the rabbi. He took a sip of water, thinking of how to explain it to him without sounding like a complete lunatic. “Well, you see –”

  The sound of blaring sirens interrupted him.

  “I wonder what’s going on out there?” Rabbi Stedman asked. He went to the window behind him and gasped.

  “What’s wrong?” Michael asked.

  The rabbi didn’t answer. Michael peered out the window and saw a commotion at the side of the church, near the Lady by the Bay parking lot. Four police officers surrounded the pastor’s Harley.

  Several police cars blocked off the street as traffic was redirected away from the church. He watched as Detective Brady directed the pastor into a police car as several cops raced into the church.

  “I’ve got to help him. Let me find out what’s happening,” the rabbi said.

  He opened the door and shouted, “Marla, take Michael downstairs to the safety room. Make him comfortable until I return.”

  A petite, dark-haired woman led him down a dark, narrow stairway. A cold gust of air pinched his face as he followed her into a room that looked like a 1950s bomb shelter.

  “What is this used for?” he asked.

  Marla smiled, opening a closet door and pulling out a couple of thick, black blankets. “It does get cold down here,” she said. “We do our best to keep the place warm with electric heaters. But at night it can be downright chilly. There’s a couch over there. Is there anything else you need?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll just wait until Rabbi Stedman comes back.”

  “If you do need anything, there’s a phone located in the bottom desk drawer. Dial zero and I’ll answer.”

  That’s an odd place to keep the phone. The sound of her high heels clicking against the concrete steps faded seconds later as Michael walked around the room. No TV. No radio. No computer but they did have a phone. He wondered if he could dial an outside number to call his sister.

  Michael opened drawers, searching for any modern day device
that he could use to communicate. In the bottom drawer, he discovered the phone. It was an old style rotary one, dust covering up some of the numbers. He hadn’t seen one since his college days. Maybe if I dial nine I’ll get an outside line? He closed the drawer and continued to inspect the room. There was a wooden case, three rows high and filled with books, many of them personal memoirs of people who had survived the Holocaust. Another row displayed several self-help works in the area of survival. A gap between the bookcase and the wall caught his eye.

  He tilted his head and placed his hand against the wall. As he slid it down, he felt a knob and pulled. When it wouldn’t open, he kept running his hand up and down, then side to side, trying to decipher if there was anything else behind it.

  It has to be a door. I wonder where this leads.

  His concentration was broken by the rabbi’s secretary.

  “Excuse me,” Marla said. “Can I help you with something?”

  Michael jumped back, embarrassed. “No, no, I was just looking around. It’s a very interesting room you have here.”

  He noticed Marla had changed into a pair of sneakers. No wonder he hadn’t heard her approach.

  Well, maybe she has to go up and down the stairs a lot. It’s easier to do it in sneakers. Vicki did that all the time going into work.

  Somehow he doubted that was the reason.

  * * *

  Holding onto his arm, Detective Brady dragged the pastor into a room with a table and chair. He shut the door hard. “Sit down, Dennis.”

  “You can call me Pastor.”

  “You call yourself a pastor? You wear an earring and ride a motorcycle. What kind of pastor does that?”

  “Don’t I get to make one phone call?”

  “You’re not a pastor here, Dennis. Do you want a lawyer?” He raised his voice. “Got something to hide?”

  Dennis shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. What’s your first name?”

  “I’m not in the business of playing head games. Where’s Michael Stewart?”

  Dennis remained quiet and whispered to himself.

  “What are you saying?”

  “This pastor is saying a prayer for you.”

  “For me?” The detective let out a cynical laugh. “You’re praying for the wrong dude, Dennis. Save your holy duties for your friend who’s in deep trouble and getting deeper by hiding from us.” He waved a cell phone in the air. “Why do you have Stewart’s phone?”

  Dennis didn’t answer.

  Brady scraped a chair forward, turned it around and straddled it backward. “It’s going to be a long night if you keep this up. See, this is how it goes, Dennis. I ask the questions, you answer them. Not the other way around. Now, let’s try this again. Where is Michael –”

  A knock on the door interrupted the detective. Brady waved a woman inside. She handed the detective a long file folder. “Here’s the background check for the suspect,” she said.

  The detective opened the folder and flipped through the paperwork, shaking his head. “No, not this.” He scanned more pages and smirked. “Yes.” He looked at the pastor with a triumphant smile.

  The detective placed his clipboard down on the table. Dennis’ throat seemed to close up and he started to cough. “I need some water,” he said, trying to compose himself.

  “First we talk.”

  Dennis continued coughing. The detective lit a cigarette and sent a few puffs his way, making Dennis gag.

  “Tell me where Michael Stewart is and you can get all the water you want.”

  He swallowed hard and managed to stop coughing. “He’s not in my church.”

  “Where is he then?”

  “I don’t know where he went after I left my office.”

  The detective got up and left for a few minutes, returning with a bottle of water. He twisted the cap and took a big swig. “Cold and thirst quenching.” He shot Dennis another of his cynical smiles. “We can wrap this up real fast and you can have something to drink as well. Now, once more, where did he go after he left your office?”

  Dennis licked his dry lips. “I have no idea.”

  Another man dressed in a gray suit stuck his head in the door and knocked at the same time. “Excuse me, Detective, but there’s a rabbi here to see the pastor.”

  He laughed. “When does the pope arrive?” The detective left the room and shut the door.

  Dennis took advantage of his absence. He grabbed the top sheet of paper on top of the file and started reading. A moment later he slumped and covered his face. He wiped his eyes when Rabbi Stedman walked into the room.

  “My friend,” the rabbi said. “Why did the police bring you here?”

  “How is Michael?”

  “He’s fine. But you need to tell him the truth.”

  Dennis grimaced. “I have.”

  “How did he handle it?”

  “He has a lot more things to worry about than me.” He shook his head. “I will plead for God’s mercy.”

  “I will plead with you too. But I’m here to help. I have a friend who is skilled in the area of law. He’s in the process of getting an explanation as to why you are here.”

  Detective Brady returned, his lips set in a tight line. “You’re free to go, Dennis. If I do find out you’ve helped Michael Stewart in any way that has obstructed the investigation, I’ll bring you up on charges.”

  “Have a wonderful holiday, detective,” said Dennis as he walked out into the hallway with Rabbi Stedman.

  “Did they hurt you?” the rabbi asked.

  “No.”

  “Do they know?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did they find out?”

  “I have an idea who told them.”

  “Move forward, my friend.” The rabbi patted him on the shoulder. “Come. Let’s go back to the Temple.”

  * * *

  After a hot cup of tea, Michael lay on the couch, wrapping his body with the two black blankets. His curiosity regarding the door behind the bookcase had vanished for the moment, allowing him to sleep for an hour. Refreshed and alert, he paced around the room until heavy footsteps pounding the stairs alerted him to the doorway.

  Dennis and the rabbi walked into the room.

  Michael nodded toward Dennis. “Are you in trouble?”

  Dennis waved him off and turned to the rabbi. “I can’t let you get involved with this now.”

  “I can keep him safe if need be,” the rabbi said.

  “We may need to open up our passageway in case they come into the church.”

  The rabbi nodded. “I’ll prepare this area and make it accessible.”

  “Wishing you a peaceful holiday,” the pastor said. “Thank you for your help today. Do you mind if we take the passageway now?”

  “Go ahead.”

  He led them several feet down another hall and pulled a lever, opening up a stairway leading further into the ground. The rabbi lit a candle and handed it to Pastor Dennis. “God speed.”

  The doorway closed behind him as a rush of cold air brushed Michael’s face. The candle flickered several times as the pastor tried to steady it during the first few steps. “Stay close behind me.”

  “What’s this used for?” Michael asked.

  “It was first used to protect people from religious persecution as more and more immigrants made their way over from Europe. This even dates back to when the Pilgrims arrived. Then it was used in the 1960s to protect minorities against the Ku Klux Klan.”

  “I didn’t know there were so many passageways in this town.”

  “There’s more underneath the streets. Land owners don’t speak publicly about them, they’re afraid someone will try to use them for other reasons. So mum’s the word.”

  They climbed several steps and entered inside the church near the front, not too far from where Dennis spoke at the podium. “Hold on,” the pastor said, investigating the area. “All clear. Let’s go.”

  He directed Michael back to his office and quickly locked th
e door. “Stay quiet. Allison told me the police were already here looking for you.”

  “Allison? What has she been talking to you about?”

  Dennis furrowed his brow. “She’s a volunteer. We mainly talk about what things she can do to help around here.”

  Michael rubbed the top of his head. “I don’t trust her.”

  “I thought she was your friend.”

  “My wife’s friend.” He skewered Dennis with a dirty look. “I seem to misjudge a lot of people who I thought were friends. Look, I can’t stay here all day.”

  “I’ll lock up the church first. We have a candlelight service tomorrow for the children as we prepare for Christmas. The community is also putting on a play and they need to rehearse. Once I lock up, you’re on your own.”

  “Should I stay in the basement? Is this where you believe the tunnel will open again?”

  “I don’t have the answers. It could happen anywhere from what I’ve read.”

  “How will we know where to be?”

  “We won’t.”

  Michael inhaled and glanced at his reflection in the glass mural located behind the pastor’s desk. He saw more strands of gray creeping out and a small bald spot in the middle of his head. His hair had thinned noticeably and he looked gaunt.

  “When was the last time you ate?” Dennis asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. I’ll have Allison bring you something.”

  “No. I don’t want her around me.”

  The pastor shook his head, frustration clear in his expression. “She’s concerned about you. Whatever your differences are, put them aside now. I’ll leave you the key to my office in case you have to get back here for some reason.”

  Dennis left, leaving Michael stranded on the mini-couch in the office. He read through the first part of the black book and struggled to understand the writing. A knock interrupted his concentration. “Who is it?”

  “Allison.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Pastor said to bring you something.”

  “You eat it. I’m busy here.”

  She kicked open the door and brought in a plate piled with a hamburger, a baked potato and string beans. There was a biscuit, steaming hot and already buttered. She handed him a diet root beer.