It was inconceivable to me that Arnie Regan had kidnapped his son, intending to keep him away from his mother, permanently. He didn’t have the financial means to support himself and his son. I had known Arnie to do some stupid things, but nothing as daring or criminal as this. I hoped my presumption was correct.
I climbed the stairs to Gwen Regan’s apartment and knocked. When she opened the door, I was looking at a woman I had not seen before. The stress she had endured for the past twelve hours showed mercilessly on her face. I closed the door behind me and brought her to the sofa. I sat beside her. I could see a tinge of panic in her eyes. I said, “The first thing we need to do is calm you down.” I took her trembling hands and rubbed them between mine. I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to do, but I’d seen it on TV. I watched tears roll down her cheeks.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I’m so frightened.”
I used my thumb to wipe the tears from her face. She smiled.
“I need you to pull yourself together,” I said, “We need to work together to find Kevin.”
She got up and went into the bathroom. I heard water running. When she returned, she looked calmer and more refreshed. “Thank you,” she said. “I feel better now that you’re here. Can I get you something?”
I shook my head.
She went to the kitchen counter and started the single cup coffee maker. When she finished preparing her cup, she brought it to the kitchen table. I took a seat beside her.
“Do you have any idea where your husband might have taken Kevin?”
She took a large gulp of coffee before she said, “He said they were going to the park.”
“Central Park?”
“Yes. He said they might do some fishing at the lake. And that he had fishing gear in his truck.”
“Did Kevin want to go with his father?”
“He was excited about it.”
“Can you think of any place where Arnie might hideout with Kevin?”
“Hideout,” she said, “oh, my God.”
“I mean someplace where he might be with Kevin.”
She put her coffee cup down, lowered her head into her hands and closed her eyes. I thought she was about to break into tears again but, instead, she said: “Arnie’s father lives alone in North Western New Jersey since his wife died three years ago.”
When she raised her head, the stress had returned to her face.
“He and Arnie were never on the best of terms. Arnie might’ve taken Kevin there since it’s a rural, out of the way place. Then she added, “It’s just a guess.”
“It’s a good start,” I said. “What’s his name?”
“Frank,” she said, “Franklin Regan.”
“Can you think of any other place where they might have gone?”
“That’s the only possibility,” she said. “Of course, they could be anywhere.”
Gwen Regan was right. Arnie could have been driving his pickup truck across state lines as we spoke, transporting Kevin to places unknown. It was a viable scenario, but one I didn’t lend much credence to. I certainly didn’t mention it to Gwen Regan.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find them. Do you have a recent photo of Kevin?”
“I have a school photo from last year.”
“That’ll do.”
She went into the bedroom and brought back a wallet size photo of Kevin. “What will you do with the photo?” she said.
“I’m hoping, nothing,” I said. “I won’t have trouble identifying Kevin or your husband.”
“Identifying?” she said.
I had made her uncomfortable with my choice of words and quickly said: “When I find them.”
“You’re going to do this on your own?”
“I don’t think Arnie has done anything drastic,” I said. “I’d like to cut him one more break to help him get his family back. If I can keep the police out of it, we might be able to settle this to the benefit of both of you. I’m sure you would want that.”
“I do,” she said. “How can I help?”
“Stay calm and close to the phone. If you hear from Arnie, call my cell.”
I left Gwen Regan with my instructions and headed back to my apartment. I called Sandy to update her on what was happening, and then I called Danny at headquarters. I asked him to search for Franklin Regan in one of the counties in North Western New Jersey.
I took a shower and got dressed. I put on a pair of jeans, a black sweatshirt, clipped my gun to my belt and laced up my Rockport boots. I wasn’t sure just what I was getting into, but I wanted to be prepared. By the time I took my shower and finished dressing, Danny had called back with an address.
As usual, Danny was very efficient.
Chapter 29
Arnie Regan could have taken his son anywhere. There were countless possibilities. My cynicism dictated I had little chance of finding either of them. I’d give it my best effort for Gwen Regan’s sake. The most logical place for me to start looking was also the most illogical—Arnie Regan’s apartment. It wasn’t reasonable to think Arnie would’ve taken his son there if he intended to keep him away from his mother and the authorities; but then, I wasn’t sure, at this point, what Arnie Regan’s intentions were.
I arrived at Regan’s apartment on Rivington Street and parked in front of his building. I didn’t see his green pickup truck parked on the street, anywhere. I entered the building and climbed the three flights of stairs to his apartment. When I reached the top, I walked past several doors until I came to Arnie’s number. I leaned close to the door and listened. There were no sounds inside, and no light showing under the door.
I waited. After a full minute of silence. I knocked.
There was no response. I knocked again.
I slipped my old credit card between the doorframe and the lock and with a little hand magic, gained access easily. It was dark inside the apartment other than daylight streaming through a dirty front window. I gave the living room a cursory look; everything seemed in its place. I checked the bedroom and the bathroom but found nothing unusual. The entire apartment appeared as it should be. I didn’t expect to find Arnie here, but I couldn’t leave this stone unturned. My next logical move would be to drive to the senior Regan’s residence.
***
Franklin Regan lived in rural Sussex County, New Jersey. I relied on the GPS on my cell phone to get me to the address. The ride would take at least an hour. I headed west on Rt. 22 with the Chevy doing a steady sixty; she rode like a Cadillac when she was in cruise speed.
Just over an hour later, I found myself in Greenwich Township in Warren County. The GPS took me over the main road through the township’s main commercial shopping area and then directed me to several secondary roads through a more rural setting. I found myself in open country where farmlands and cornfields were populating the landscape. As I drove an unpaved road, the countryside became more desolate with almost no manmade structures. There were acres of trees and expanses of open fields with no signs of human or animal life.
I was negotiating a curve on a dirt road, which made its way up a grassy hillside, when at the crest; there suddenly appeared in the distance, a large rustic looking house and a nearby barn. I surveyed the area through my windshield. The two-story house was painted dark brown, its wooden roof singles were weather-worn and loose. A large stone chimney rose from one gable end, but there wasn’t a trace of smoke rising from it. A split-rail fence ran the length of the property as far as I could see. I couldn’t detect any movement. The house and grounds seemed to be abandoned. The barn was in disrepair, and the house had been equally neglected. The possibility existed that I had somehow screwed up, and sent myself on a “wild goose chase”. I wondered if my GPS had taken me in the wrong direction until it told me I had “arrived at my destination”.
I pulled the Chevy behind a small thicket near the opened gate and cut the engine. I didn’t see a sign or mailbox indicating this was the residence of Franklin Regan. My dashboard clock re
ad: 2:15 p.m. I decided to sit and watch for any signs of life. There were no lights behind the front windows of the house, and I saw no movement inside the house. If Arnie Regan was in there with Kevin; I certainly didn’t see any evidence of it. I had no choice at this point, but to approach the house.
My only option was to walk across the open field toward the house. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being out in the open, unconcealed. My best bet was to make my way to the barn, then move around the back of the barn toward the house.
I exited the Chevy and closed the door quietly. The stand of trees would conceal me, part of the way, but once I’d passed them, I’d be in the open until I reached the barn. If someone in the house wanted to take a shot at me, I’d be an easy target.
I moved through the trees, keeping an eye on the house and the barn for any movement. Once I passed the trees, I picked up my pace but didn’t run. The house was quiet and still. When I reached the side of the barn, I peered through a small window; the barn appeared empty other than an array of rusted farming tools and an older pickup truck parked along one wall. I continued along the back wall until I reached the corner of the barn. From my position, I was about twenty yards from the house and able to see more detail now. Through the side window, I could see the usual furnishings in what appeared to be a large living area, but still no movement inside. The front door was opened behind a dirty screen, and the stairs leading up to the small porch were in dire need of repair. At this point, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I couldn’t knock on the front door and expect Arnie Regan to greet me with a smile and open arms. I wasn’t even sure if Arnie or Kevin were inside the house, or if I’d be confronted by a hostile stranger.
I was contemplating my next move when I sensed someone or something behind me. Before I could turn, I felt the cold steel of a double-barreled shotgun against the back of my neck. “Don’t turn around,” I heard a coarse voice say.
I didn’t.
“Who are ya?” the voice said.
“My name is Maxwell Graham,” I said.
“Didn’t you see the sign?”
“I didn’t see a sign,” I said.
“It says: ‘No trespassin’.”
“My bad,” I said.
“Turned around, slowly.”
When I turned, I was facing an older guy wearing soiled overalls and a tattered wide-brimmed hat. He sported a full gray beard and reeked of stale tobacco. He stepped back, but kept the shotgun pointed at my chest.
“By rights, I can shoot ya right now,” he said.
He cocked both barrels of the gun and raised it to my face. My heart began to pound as I watched his shaky finger tighten around the trigger. I thought I had run into a deranged mountain man who was about to kill me for no justifiable reason.
Deliverance came to mind.
I was about to make a move before I became a dead man, when he said, “What do ya want here?”
“I came to see Arnie.”
“What business ya got with, Arnie?”
“I want to help him.”
“You a cop?”
“I am, but I’m also his friend.”
He scrunched his face up in an expression of skepticism and said, “Why should I believe ya.”
“I can show you my badge if you want. It’s in my side pocket.”
“Take it out…slow.”
I took my ID out of my pocket and opened it for him to see. He gave it a quick look, and said, “You here to arrest Arnie?”
“No, I said I wanna help him.”
“Arnie don’t need no help.”
“I think he does.”
He uncocked the shotgun and said, “Let’s go up to the house.”
He kept the shotgun against my back as he followed me to the house. When we reached the front porch, he shouted through the screen door, “Arnie, git out here.”
When Arnie Regan appeared at the front door and saw me, he said, “Graham. I should have known it would be just a matter of time.”
He let the screen door slam behind him as he stepped out onto the porch. Although he was surprised to see me, I couldn’t detect the usual anger in his face; his demeanor was calm and non-confrontational, totally out of character for the Arnie Regan I knew. Gwen Regan was right, Arnie looked different. He was dressed in jeans and an open-collar shirt. He was clean shaven, and his hair had been combed neatly and parted to one side.
He turned to the old man and said, “It’s okay, pop. I know this guy.”
“Can ya trust ‘im?” the old man said.
“No, but it’s okay anyway,” Arnie said.
The old man half-heartedly lowered the shotgun to his side and walked to the front door and into the cabin, keeping a wary eye on me as he did. “I’ll be right inside if ya need me,” he said through the screen door.
“Okay, Pop,” Arnie said.
When the old man disappeared inside, I said to Arnie, “What are you up to, Arnie?”
Regan hesitated before he said, “Spending time with my son.”
“Did your wife agree to this?”
“Yeah, she did.”
“About coming here?”
He didn’t answer.
“Your wife is near hysteria,” I said.
“It’s the only way, Graham, don’t make thing difficult for me.”
“I wanna help,” I said.
“I’ve asked for your help before,” he said. “You can help me by leaving us alone.”
“You can’t do this alone,” I said. “There are laws and courts. You’ll only make things worse for yourself and Kevin. Kidnapping is a federal offense. You could spend a long time in prison.”
“Kevin is my son,” he said.
“It makes no difference; the law still applies. Come back with me and we’ll work this out.”
“I tried it your way. It didn’t work.”
“Now you have someone who’ll help make it work,” I said.
He said nothing, but I could tell he was considering my offer.
“For Kevin’s sake,” I said.
“What guarantee do I have that I won’t be arrested and wind up in jail?”
“The police don’t know about this,” I said. “It’s between you, me and Gwen. I can keep it that way if you’re willing to cooperate. I know Gwen is willing to try to makes thing work again. If that’s what you want?”
“I want to help my boy grow up. That’s all I ever wanted.”
“Then come back with me. We can make it happen.”
“I heard that before.”
“Where is Kevin?”
“Inside.”
“Can I see him?”
Arnie thought for a moment, then said, “Be careful what you say to Kevin.”
“Of course,” I said.
He turned and opened the screen door, then pointed to the stairs and said, “Watch your step.”
The cabin consisted of one large living room area and a small kitchen at the rear. A set of stairs led up to the second floor. At one end of the living room were a sofa, a coffee table, and a flat-screen TV. Lying on the floor in front of the TV was Kevin Regan. He was on his belly with his hands holding up his chin, engrossed in a series of animated videos. When he laughed aloud at the colorful antics on the screen, Arnie looked at Kevin, and let out a short laugh himself, then turned to me and smiled. I smiled back.
Paternal pride.
I had never seen Arnie that way. He was like a man I didn’t know. I wondered if my meager efforts had anything to do with his transition.
“Kevin,” Arnie said, “come meet someone.”
Kevin turned his head and looked up at us. He had that wonderful boyish innocence inherent in a well-raised ten-year-old. Being the father of two girls whom I loved dearly; I had never experienced the pleasure of a father-son relationship.
Kevin jumped up and walked over to his father. Arnie put a caring arm around his son’s shoulder. “I want you to meet, Mr. Graham,” he said.
Kevin looked up at m
e with inquisitive eyes and said, “I know you.”
“We’ve met before,” I said.
“At the rec center.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“Mr. Graham is here to take us back to mama,” he said.
“I miss, mama,” Kevin said.
Arnie Regan looked at me, then back at his son. “Then we’ll start back right away,” he said.
***
I closed the apartment door after Arnie and I stepped inside with Kevin. Gwen Regan rushed to her son and put her arms around him. She squeezed him tightly and kissed both of his cheeks. “Are you all right?” she said. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down to his hips as if to see if he had suffered any injuries.
“I’m okay, mama,” Kevin said.
She shot a look of anger at Arnie, then looked back at her son with an expression of love and understanding only a mother can have. It was the same look I had seen Marlene give our girls many times. Gwen Regan kissed her son on his forehead and said, “Go in and wash up, then go to your room and change. I’ll be in, in a bit.”
Kevin started for his room, then turned and said, “I had fun Dad. Can we do it again?”
Arnie smiled and said, “sure.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Graham,” Kevin said.
I gave him a big smile.
After Kevin had gone to his room, Gwen Regan looked at Arnie and said, “How could you have done this?”
Arnie seemed contrite when he said, “He’s my son, too.”
Gwen Regan thought for a moment, then said, in a gentle indulgent way, “Of course he is.”
She took on a sympathetic demeanor as she approached Arnie and took his hand in hers. “We have to work on things,” she said, “if you want to be a family again.”
“I do,” Arnie said.
I was beginning to feel like an intruder. I wasn’t a marriage counselor and felt that I had done all I could, for now, to help bring this family back together. The rest was up to them.
My concern was for Kevin. My daughters had gone through a trying time when Marlene and I went through our divorce proceedings, and I knew, firsthand, how such a situation can adversely affect young minds. I didn’t want that to happen to Kevin.
Other Men's Sins Page 20
