The Paladin's Message (The Keepers of White Book 2)

by Richard Crofton

  Sonny nodded again.

  “What is it you need to get what you want?”

  “Patience…”

  “That’s right, lover,” she smiled as she pulled his stiff manhood through the opening of his unzipped khakis, “patience. Didn’t I tell you to trust me?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she whispered back and placed her mouth upon him, saying nothing more.

  Sonny closed his eyes and allowed his agitation to fully vacate his being as he enjoyed Diana’s oral generosity. The mindless driver of the Cadillac continued down the highway in the darkness, eyes half-mast, completely oblivious to everything but the road ahead.

  Chapter XV

  “And just who the hell are you?” Jim Panco demanded of the young man standing before him as he straightened himself, clenching his fist.

  Slowly, softly, the fruitcake answered, “Messenger. I’m here in regard to your daughter’s disappearance.”

  “A messenger? You know where my daughter is?” Adrenaline began to flow through his veins.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Panco,” the man replied, “I can’t give you that information. I can only tell you that she’s alive. For now.”

  A hateful flame grew in the pit of Jim’s stomach. “You son of a bitch! You took her!” He wanted to leap at the stranger and take hold of his throat in a death grip from which there would be no escape.

  “No,” the man answered plainly. “That’s not my part in this.” He took a small step toward Jim. “I’m only here to give you instructions. And I highly suggest you follow them.”

  Oddly, the man was very calm. He spoke with no desperation or nervousness in his voice. His eyes, though they revealed a mysterious strength and confidence, held Jim’s cold, hard stare, but showed no malice. If Jim could take a moment to describe the appearance of him that night outside the motel room, he might have found an adjective like, careful, patient, but also, burdened: descriptions that did not seem to fit the character of one who was involved in such criminal activity, or working for one who was.

  But appearances could be deceiving, and right now, regardless of his mannerism, he was an enemy. “You Sonny? Her boyfriend?”

  The young man shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know him.”

  “That so? Who are you then?”

  “I already told you. Messenger.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”

  “You weren’t ready to listen.”

  Jim gave a look that showed nothing but contempt. It sickened him to think that this man could delay an important message by a full day, especially one that affected the life of his daughter, or any human being for that matter. “Alright, messenger boy, what’s the message?” he eventually snapped.

  “That Megan is still alive, and if you want her returned to you, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

  The whiteness in Jim’s knuckles intensified as he tightened his clenching fist. “Why should I believe anything you have to say, son?”

  The man, not taking his eyes from the hardened face in front of him, reached into the pocket of his blue jeans and slowly pulled out an item that Jim recognized immediately. “Look familiar?” he asked.

  Jim could no longer restrain his anger. The thin necklace, with a silver looking cross as an emblem attached, the same necklace that once belonged to his late wife, now belonging to his daughter, was dangling from this bastard’s hand. He lunged for him, with intent to kill.

  His enemy was within striking distance, yet Jim missed him completely and found himself falling upon the concrete walkway outside his motel. The man did not counter the attack; he simply dodged to the side as Jim leapt at him, but with such speed that he had never seen before, or thought possible.

  Laying momentarily on the walkway, he realized that he was unharmed, only surprised by what had just transpired. From behind and above him, he heard the messenger speak more quickly than before: “That will get you nowhere, sir. You need to decide, and quickly, what’s important here; taking your frustration out on me… or getting your daughter back.”

  As he picked himself up from the ground, Jim decided he was not ready to submit. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call the police right now!” He held up his cell phone for the young man to see.

  Fruitcake returned to his calm and patient demeanor. “I’ll give you two reasons, Mr. Panco. First of all, if you do, you’ll lose any chance you might have of seeing Megan again. And secondly, you can’t call the police right now because your phone is currently not working. The one in your motel room is screwed up too.”

  Jim’s eyes widened. “How do you know my phone is screwed up?”

  “Because,” he replied, lowering his voice, “I’m the one that screwed it up.”

  The old electrician suddenly felt that if his teeth weren’t so clenched together presently, that his jaw might fall from his cheeks and land hard on the concrete walkway. With some struggle, Jim found his voice again: “How… how’s that possible?”

  Fruitcake shook his head and casually placed his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, returning the necklace to where he had just retrieved it. “A magician never reveals his secrets, Mr. Panco. But if you heed my instructions, you may get to see my grand finale.”

  Jim’s engrained stubbornness refused to allow himself to facially demonstrate the awe that overtook him at that moment. He straightened up, continuing the tough-guy persona as best he could. “A magician,” he said sarcastically. “Right. So what’s the finale, Copperfield? Pulling a rabbit outta your hat?”

  “No,” the stranger replied. “Making your daughter reappear.”

  Every time the man mentioned Megan, Jim wanted to leap upon him and beat him to death with his old, bare hands, but he knew it would be useless. As much as he hated this sadistic game, he understood that his only option was to play along. He lowered his voice, speaking calmly for the first time since the start of this odd conversation: “How much is it gonna cost me?”

  “There’s no demand for ransom.”

  “What do you want from me then?”

  “Cooperation.”

  Jim stepped away from the stranger, leaned his back against the brick wall of the motel building, and looked down at the concrete, considering and contemplating. “So,” he said as if he was starting to understand, “you want me to do dirty work for you; something highly illegal I’m guessing, and you’re using my little girl as leverage.” He looked up and stared into the cold, blue eyes of the mysterious man before him. “Tell me, Fruitcake, how do you sleep at night?”

  “Not very well, as a matter of fact, but it has nothing to do with you or your predicament.”

  “That so? What is it then? Your momma didn’t give you enough attention?”

  “You’re wasting time, Mr. Panco,” the man answered with a no-nonsense tone. “Are you going to cooperate?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Fruitcake stepped toward him. “Yes. Only one choice however, has the potential to end well for you.”

  “Whatever,” Jim spat. “Let’s get this over with. What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to understand, that if you want things to work out in your favor, you must do everything I tell you, exactly the way I tell you, and at the exact time that I tell you. No deviations. No questions. Understand?”

  As soon as Jim gave a reluctant nod, the man stepped ever nearer and handed him a white index card. It was plain and white, with straight blue lines, and it was completely unordinary, with only an address written in the middle. On the back side, where no blue lines were printed, there was written dialogue of the oddest nature. The messenger then proceeded to verbally deliver his instructions.

  Jim listened intently and carefully, but as the man’s instructions continued he became more and more uneasy. There was nothing dangerous or illegal about what he was told to do. In fact, none of it made any sense to him whatsoever.

  Chapter XVI

  Detectiv
e Harrison arrived in front of the home of Diana Palmer shortly after 9 a.m. on Monday morning and parallel-parked on the opposite side of the street. After checking with her office, he learned that she had cancelled her morning appointments and wouldn’t be taking clients until the afternoon. He was hoping he would then catch her at her place of residence before running whatever errands that apparently had given her need to take a half day off.

  He was in an upscale neighborhood, an area of Lancaster County known for aristocratic and wealthy residents. Judging by her lovely home, a two-story, modernized colonial that looked like it could have been posted on the cover of a local real estate magazine, she must have been doing well for a single mother. The paneled outer structure was the blue of a clear sky, with numerous, large, glass windows that mirrored the healthy, green lawn below. Marble, circular steps, flat and smooth, formed a patterned curve from the brick driveway, through the yard, leading to a tall, freshly painted white door. In between the pathway and door was an extended front porch that extended along the entire length of the house; Four Greek-styled pillars supported the shingled awning that served as a thin roof to the porch. A beige Mercedes sat pleasantly in the wide driveway in front of a three-car garage door, which sported the same, shiny white as the front door and pillars. Harrison was impressed. Her business in the profession of psychiatry was obviously more successful than he originally suspected.

  Before he had a chance to exit his not-so-luxurious Ford, his phone rang. “Harrison,” he answered as he accepted the call and drew the phone to his ear.

  “Detective. It’s Jim Panco again.”

  Harrison checked his watch, trying not to sigh into the speaker. Panco was definitely persistent, but if he wanted results from the police, he’d be better off not delaying their work by checking in so often. “Morning, Mr. Panco. Sorry, but you’re gonna have to make this quick.”

  “I just wanted to tell you that I agree with what you said last night, about it being best if I stay out of the way.”

  “Okay…”

  “So I’m checking out of my room. Gonna leave town and head on home.”

  Harrison raised his eyebrows. Judging Panco’s determination, he never thought he’d actually be able to convince the man to refrain from interfering with the investigation, but for him to completely remove himself was more than unexpected. “You sure?”

  “There’s nothing for me to do here but wait. Might as well wait at home where I can get back to work. Take my mind off of things.”

  Jim was making sense, but Harrison sensed something odd in his voice. There was an apprehensive shakiness to it. And his words were slow and methodical; almost as if they were rehearsed. Intuition was pricking at the detective’s neurons. “Mr. Panco, are you alright?” There was a brief silence on the other line. “Jim?”

  “Of course I’m not alright,” he finally replied with a voice that sounded more like him, “but there’s nothin’ for it. I’m gonna go. I’ll be praying that the police do a thorough job and get to the bottom of this. I’ll be praying that they can get a little luck and find my baby girl.”

  “I’m praying too sir,” Harrison answered, not knowing what else to say.

  “Till then, I’ll have my phone with me. Let me know if you find anything, please.”

  “You know I will. Hang in there, Jim.”

  “Right. Good luck detective.” Then he disconnected the call.

  Harrison took a long look at his phone, as if unsure about Jim’s sincerity, but he suddenly heard the sound of a door opening from across the street. He turned his head to see a familiar, attractive woman emerging from the house. Immediately, he returned his phone to the inside pocket of his sport coat and exited his vehicle.

  “Dr. Palmer?” he called as he approached the woman, who stopped in her tracks as she took notice of him. “Detective Harrison, State Police. We met last week regarding the disappearance of Megan Panco.”

  The woman’s momentary look of surprise quickly altered to one of welcome mixed with concern as a soft smile grew upon her. “Yes detective,” she responded. “How are you?”

  “As well as can be expected, ma’am,” he replied as he came to an appropriate distance for conversation. “I was wondering…”

  “Do you have any news about her?” she interrupted. “Have they found her?”

  “Not yet ma’am, but we’re working round the…”

  “God, the poor thing,” she spoke over him again. “I’ve been praying… everyone from the church group has been worried sick. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, being out there somewhere all alone with that maniac.”

  “I understand it can be hard for everyone, but if I could…”

  “And now, after what I saw on the news about her coworker… murdered in her apartment like that… it’s just terrible. Hearing something like that makes it hard to keep faith. God, I hope Megan’s alright. You have to find her soon, detective!”

  “Can I trouble you for a moment of your time, Dr. Palmer?” he asked, getting back to the point.

  The psychiatrist’s smile grew. “Of course; if it will help.” She checked her watch. “I only have a couple minutes, however. I’m on a tight schedule. But if you’d rather make an appointment to talk, I can free up some time later this evening.”

  “I’ll keep it short, ma’am. Just a few questions.”

  Diana nodded, keeping her smile.

  “Dr. Palmer, did you know Ryleigh Darlington or Ben Weber?”

  She shook her head. “I never met them. I don’t believe they were members of the church.”

  “Have you ever met Megan’s boyfriend, Sonny?”

  Dr. Palmer’s smile faded, as if this was the last question she would have expected. “I saw him from time to time at Sunday Mass, but never had any conversations with him. He never accompanied Megan to Bible Study. I think he has a class Wednesday nights. He’s a student at Millersville, you know.”

  Harrison started penciling notes into his Steno-pad. “Have you had any contact with Mr. Williams… Sonny, since Megan’s disappearance?”

  “Why no, I haven’t seen him. He seems like such a gentleman though. Detective Harrison, what’s this about? Why are you asking about Sonny?”

  “No one’s seen him, ma’am. We can’t get in touch with him.”

  Dr. Palmer gave a perplexed grimace. “That doesn’t make sense. Father Paul said he was falling to pieces about Megan when she never came home. Why would he run off?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure…”

  “He wasn’t even there that night!” she belted out. “Megan gave that disgusting vagabond a ride on the night of the Bible Study last week. Sonny couldn’t be involved!”

  Detective Harrison raised his eyes to her suspiciously. He jotted down another note.

  “Oh dear,” she said increasing the sound of worry in her speech, “what if Sonny was abducted too? Do you think that’s possible?”

  “Right now,” Harrison said with a slow and steady voice that implied a lack of trust in the woman, “anything is possible.”

  “I mean,” she went on, either being completely oblivious to the underlying message in his tone, or ignoring it, “if this Cliff character has Megan, he could have used her phone to call Sonny, and… I don’t even want to think of it…”

  Harrison didn’t entertain Dr. Palmer’s thoughts by responding to it. He had access to Megan’s cell number and call history from her carrier. He knew that her phone had not been used, and had most likely been turned off since she’d gone missing. So far, the police had not been able to track it.

  “It must all be connected,” the psychiatrist went on. “Megan, her boyfriend, her two friends from the news; detective, what is going on around here?” The concern in her voice had now become mixed with what sounded like genuine fear.

  “I’m not sure yet ma’am,” Harrison answered plainly, “but I’m working on it. Dr. Palmer, I just have one more question. What can you tell me about one of your pri
or clients… George Summers?”

  The woman hesitated. She eyed Harrison as if she were trying to peer into his mind and read his thoughts. “I… can only tell you what I’m allowed to. As one of my clients, a lot of the information I have on Mr. Summers is privileged. To be honest detective, I’m still trying to deal with his tragedy. It’s not easy to have learned about his apparent mental breakdown. It gives me a sense of failure to know that I wasn’t able to help him.”

  “Help him with what?”

  “Mr. Summers, George, was troubled. But from what I diagnosed he didn’t give off any warning signs that he was a danger to himself or others. He had a decent job, and functioned normally in society.”

  “What was he troubled with, ma’am”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, at least not until I’m called in to testify in the court of law.”

  “Perhaps if you could tell me off the record…”

  “I’m afraid I can’t Detective Harrison,” Dr. Palmer interrupted. “Besides, I already gave as much information as I’m allowed to the homicide department. Why are you asking me about one of my clients? If I’m correct detective, as you’re assigned to Missing Persons, not Homicide. I can understand your need for information regarding Ben Weber’s and Ryleigh Darlington’s murders, since they were friends of Megan’s, but my professional relationship with George Summers does not fall under your investigation.”

  The woman was good, Harrison decided. Normally, the everyday civilian found themselves somewhat intimidated when being questioned by any officer of authority, that they would answer any questions, relative to the case or not, without thinking twice. A person didn’t play hardball with a cop without having a strong knowledge base about police operations, or without having a steel set of balls. “I’m just trying to keep all options open, Dr. Palmer,” he countered calmly. “As you said, something is going on around here. The more information I have about every mysterious happening, the better it can help me find a connection, if there is one.”