Fear Has a Name: A Novel (13 page)

19

Pamela turned on the lamp next to her in the den as the evening shadows filled the room. The police had finally gone, except for the one watching the house from her patrol car out front, and Jack was upstairs giving the girls their baths and getting them ready for bed.

She looked at the old driving directions she had just dug out, the ones she always used to get to her parents’ home on Cleveland’s east side. There were a few stretches of Ohio freeway where she always got confused.

She had not told Jack she was planning to take the girls to her parents in the morning. She knew it might not go over well, but this was a battle she was prepared to fight, because she was convinced it would be the safest place for them until Granger was captured.

Pamela tried to imagine Granger’s basement apartment and the photographs of herself that Officer DeVry said they had found plastered all over the walls. Photos from old yearbooks, pictures he’d taken on her wedding day …

How could she mean so much to him? She had simply been nice to him. She’d noticed someone shy and odd and wanted him to feel like he fit in, like he had some friends.

Jack was not the least bit sympathetic, but that was between him and God. She didn’t have the time or energy to be his spiritual voice.

In the box Granger left at the front door they found Rebecca’s locket and Pamela’s jewelry. The police took it all with them as evidence, including the letter Granger had enclosed in the box.

In that cryptic, slanted handwriting of his, he’d written a lot of the same things he’d said in the confrontation out front. He was sorry, realized he had gone too far, and felt as if he was losing touch with reality.

The letter was depressing and pitiful. He was a man showing obvious signs that he had been mentally abused his entire childhood. He had no one in the world and viewed himself as a worthless loner who never should have been born.

Those were his words.

How could his parents have been so cruel? It was their fault he’d turned out this way. What had gone on in that house around the corner from hers when they were in high school? The house wasn’t visible from the street but was grown over with trees, thick brush, and weeds. Did his parents still live there?

DeVry and the other officers involved in the case insisted Granger wouldn’t get far. They thought he was driving the same brown car. One Trenton City officer thought he spotted Granger in Amiel’s gun shop on the square, trying to purchase a gun. Pamela wondered why he wanted it. To kill himself? He seemed desperate enough, and he had to know the police would track him down soon. To hold someone up for a car or money?

To come back and torment them?

She heard Jack’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Cop still out there?” he asked.

“Last I looked she was,” Pamela said. She heard him open the slats.

“Yep.”

“From what I can tell, she looks tougher than any of the guys who were here today,” Pamela said, trying to soften him a bit before broaching her trip to Cleveland.

He plopped down next to her on the couch and groaned. “I wonder where he is right now.”

“How’s your cut?” She reached toward the bandage a paramedic had put on the gash at the back of his head.

“Can’t even feel it.”

“How do the girls seem?”

“If only I had that kind of faith,” he said.

“Why? What happened?”

“Just the way Faye prayed. So much confidence God will protect us ‘from that Granger man.’”

They both laughed.

“She prayed for my boo-boos to heal and for God to help the police ‘catch the man.’”

“Aw. What about Rebecca?”

“She’s quieter about the whole thing. She’s either scared or feels sorry for the guy.”

Pamela watched as Jack found the directions lying next to her on the couch.

“What’s this for?” he said.

“I want to go to my folks’ in the morning. Take the girls. Just for a few days, till they catch him.”

“What for? We have police protection here.”

“You heard the police, though. They said he’s not going to get far in that car—”

“He can change cars, Pam.”

“But I feel like he’s still around here.”

“He’s going to be on the run!” He shifted uncomfortably. “He knows exactly where your parents live.”

“I just have a feeling we need to get away from here, out of town.”

“What about my folks’ place in Florida?”

“I thought of that, but it’s so far.”

“I know.”

“This is what I want, Jack.”

“I could work from the house, you know? We could all be together that way. It’s going to be over soon.”

She wanted to remind him that they had all been together that day, and look what had happened, but she didn’t want to make it worse than it already was.

“If it is over soon, then we will have had a great couple days letting the girls be with my folks. Something in my spirit is telling me to go.”

“What are you going to tell your folks?” Jack said. “Your mom will have an absolute conniption.”

“I thought I’d just say we came to visit,” Pamela said. “That you’re putting in a lot of time at the paper, working on Evan’s case.”

Jack leaned forward and stuck his elbows on his knees. “I want to protect you. That’s my job,” he said. “Do you understand that?”

“I do.” She rubbed his back gently. “Of course I do. But I’m not comfortable here right now. Between the break-in and him showing up today, I just need to get out of here. I need to get the girls away. Maybe you could come too?”

“I can’t do that. I’ve got work to do. I’m way behind.”

“Well, this way you’ll have time alone to concentrate and get caught up.”

He sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“DeVry said they’ll have police on the lookout up around Cleveland Heights too,” Pamela said.

Jack stood, crossed to the window, and stared into the dark.

“Honey,” she said, “it’s not you I don’t want to be with—it’s here. This house. Trenton City. I just need to get away.”

He turned to face her. “I understand.”

Pamela got up and went to him. He rested his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her.

“I’m ready for this to be over,” she whispered and leaned her head against his chest. “I’m running out of steam.”

“You’re strong, Pam.” Jack ran a hand up the back of her neck, fingers into her hair. “You’ve been a trouper. You need to go.”

Oh, the relief.

Yes.

Leaving her head where it was, she squeezed him tightly, and whispered, “Pray for us, please …”

20

By eight the next morning, Jack was pleased with how right everything felt about the girls being on the road for Cleveland. Pam had risen when it was still dark, packed the muffins she’d made the night before, and thrown some things into one big suitcase. She woke the girls and had them in the car and on the road by seven, which should get them to Cleveland Heights by ten at the latest.

There was no reason for Jack to sit around the house. He had showered and gotten dressed for work early when Pam was still scurrying about. The girls had been amazingly chipper for that time of morning. They were giddy about making the trip and anxious to see MawMaw and PawPaw.

Sitting at his desk in the sprawling, quiet newsroom, Jack scratched out a list of things he needed to get accomplished, in no certain order, most dealing with the Evan McDaniel story.

He had let DeVry know the night before that Pam and the girls would be making the trip to Cleveland. DeVry wasn’t concerned and once again comforted Jack by explaining that, because Granger had returned their belongings and knew the police were after him, his most logical move would be to disappear.

Of course, Granger Meade had done nothing “logical” yet.

Jack remembered that Barbara Cooley got into work early at Evan’s church, so he started by phoning her. She hadn’t heard back from any other church staff about seeing Evan the morning he went missing, but Jack assumed they would contact him directly. Although his email box was brimming with thirty-nine new emails, none of them pertained to Evan.

“I did get one odd email back almost immediately, from Dr. Satterfield,” Barbara said.

“Oh? Can you tell me what he said?”

“Here, let me find it,” Barbara said. “Here we go. ‘Mrs. Cooley, obviously Mr. Crittendon convinced you there was some sort of mischief surrounding Pastor Evan’s disappearance. Please, let’s not stir up the troops. This is far-fetched media hype at its finest and will result in nothing positive. On the contrary, it will only generate innuendo and gossip. From now on, kindly restrain from sending out any more such correspondence. In Pastor Evan’s absence, please run any such communication by me for approval first.’”

“Barbara, I’m sorry about that,” Jack said. “It sounds like I got you in trouble.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” she said. “That’s nothing unusual for Dr. Satterfield. I thought it was a good idea, and I was happy to do it, for Evan’s sake; I just hope it gets some results.”

At Jack’s request, Barbara gave him cell and home phone numbers for Sherry Pendergrass. She also told him that Patrick Ashdown and Rhonda Lowe were due into the church office soon. Jack planned on going to the church unannounced that morning to speak with them. He could do it by phone, of course, but he preferred to be able to see their facial expressions and body language.

“There is one more thing, Mr. Crittendon.”

“Please, call me Jack.”

“Jack, okay,” Barbara said. “Since you asked for Sherry’s numbers, I thought you should know, I haven’t seen her at church at all.”

“That would be since Evan’s disappearance?”

“That’s right. Remember I told you—”

“They met weekly like clockwork, but suddenly nothing was on Evan’s calendar with her for the week he disappeared, or any other week.”

“You have a good memory.”

“That’s my job.”

“Right, well, I know it’s only been ten days or so, but you have to understand, Sherry is a fixture here—Wednesday night, Sunday morning, Sunday night, and she comes to a women’s Bible study Friday mornings.”

“She hasn’t been to any of those things?”

“No. And she wasn’t on campus at all Sunday—morning or evening.”

Jack was searching his notes for days and dates, but Barbara was a step ahead of him.

“I’ve looked back at the calendar and checked the attendance sheet,” she said. “Sherry was not at the ladies’ Bible study the Friday morning Evan went missing either.”

“Hmm.” Jack made a note of it.

“Them fish don’t fry, do they, Jack?” She
click, click, clicked
her tongue.

Boy, was she a character. And she had a point. Evan could have run off with Sherry Pendergrass.

“I’m going to try to contact her,” Jack said. “Hopefully she can provide some insight.”

“Anyway,” Barbara said, “you know I’ll be watching like a hawk for her at this end.”

Jack thanked the secretary and told her he would be seeing her soon.

Next he called the home phone number for Sherry Pendergrass but got only endless ringing. He tried her cell next, and it went straight to voice mail.

“This is Sherry. Please leave me a message.”

“Mrs. Pendergrass,” Jack said, “this is Jack Crittendon, a reporter with the
Trenton City Dispatch
. I am writing a feature story about Pastor Evan McDaniel and his disappearance. My wife and I attended a marriage seminar Evan and Wendy did at the church, and I know he is a good man.” Jack considered himself fairly deft at knowing what to say to get people to call him back. “Please give me a call. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

Pam and the girls should have been well into their trip to Cleveland by the time Jack put the phone down. He began packing up his leather satchel to head for Evan’s church when his office line rang. It was Wendy McDaniel.

“Is it too early?” she said. “I was just going to leave you a voice mail.”

“Not at all,” Jack said. “I’m hard at it. How are you? What’s the latest?”

“Oh, gosh, where do I start?” Wendy took a deep breath and exhaled. “Well, first of all, thank you for the fine story in the paper. I thought it was well done.”

“You’re welcome,” Jack said. “I wanted to let you know a couple things. One, it was not as detailed as I planned, or as you might have expected, simply because my life has been chaos the past week. Two, I had Derrick Whittaker help me with it, for that reason. But I gave him all my notes and approved the story myself. I’m hoping the next piece will have my full attention.”

“Perfect,” Wendy said. “And I want to know more about what’s happening with you and Pam and the break-in, but I’ve got some news I’m bursting to share.”

“Tell me.”

“The police believe Evan’s car was spotted on I-75 southbound by a traffic cam.”

“That’s great news, Wendy. When was this?”

“Friday. Three days ago he was alive.”

“Could they tell if he was alone?” Jack regretted it the second he said it.

There was a pause and a sniffle.

“Alone?” Wendy said. “They didn’t say. What makes you ask?”

“Oh … I don’t know.” Jack hesitated. “I guess it’s just the newsman in me.”

“Jack, have you found out something you’re not telling me?” Wendy said.

When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?

A dozen answers and ways to explain raced through his mind.

“Wendy, no,” Jack said.

“There’s something …”

He stood and silently cursed himself.

“Please, Jack, I need to know everything,” Wendy said.

“Look, this is nothing,” Jack said. “In my interviews, the name Sherry Pendergrass came up—”

“Ohh … I get it,” Wendy said. “People are telling you there was an affair.”

“No one has come out and said it,” Jack said. “The only thing that I felt was important was that she had a weekly counseling meeting with Evan, and the week he disappeared there was no meeting on his calendar.”

There, it’s out.

He wasn’t about to twist the knife by telling her Sherry hadn’t been at church since Evan disappeared.

Wendy said nothing.

“It probably doesn’t mean anything, Wendy, I’ve just got to cover—”

“Okay,” Wendy said, “here it is. Sherry Pendergrass is a lovely, beautiful, very rich widow who is extremely lonely—I would say, to the desperation point. She’s leaned heavily on Evan since her husband’s death. But to my knowledge she is a very faithful, generous, God-fearing woman.”

“Okay …”

“Evan has counseled her every Wednesday for five or six months,” Wendy said. “He’s an excellent counselor. That’s his spiritual gift. People are comfortable with him. He listens. He asks the right questions. He prays. He gives wise, biblical counsel. She’s not the only woman he meets with one-on-one, and I have never had a problem with it. It’s other people who have a problem with it, Andrew Satterfield being chief among those. I swear he’s trying to get rid of my husband.”

Jack sat back at his desk and scribbled some notes.

“But the funny things is”—Wendy was getting revved up now—“Satterfield has
encouraged
Evan to meet with Sherry Pendergrass. Can you guess why the double standard?”

“Why?”

“What’s always the bottom line?”

“I’m not tracking with you.”

“Money, Jack. Sherry likes Evan. She trusts him,” Wendy said. “Over the months she’s almost come to depend on him, to a fault. Evan and I have discussed this. There’s nothing romantic going on, he assured me of that. But the thing is—and all this is off the record—her giving has increased dramatically since Joel died. Satterfield attributes it to her relationship with Evan. And he may have something there. She’s given special gifts to the church-planting fund, which is especially dear to Evan’s heart.”

“So, Satterfield thinks it’s wrong for Evan to counsel one-on-one with women,
except
—”

“Except when it’s with a rich widow who happens to be the church’s cash cow.”

Okay, Jack understood that, but was Wendy completely naive?

What kind of man was Evan McDaniel? From what Jack had seen of him at the marriage retreat, Evan was rock solid, and so was his marriage.

But where was Sherry Pendergrass? Could she have run off with Evan? Jack imagined them driving to Miami and taking off on a flight to who knew where.

“Does Evan have a computer at home?” Jack asked. “And have you gone through it, extensively?”

The further this thing went on, the more Jack felt like it was a ministry project rather than an assignment for the
Dispatch
. He had a chance to help Wendy and her boys find their man.

“I did that the first day he was gone,” Wendy said. “The police have it now. They said they’d bring it back within a day.”

“Did you find anything?” Jack asked.

“No.” Wendy paused. “That’s what’s disconcerting.”

“What do you mean?”

“His computer was clean as far as I could tell,” she said. “No history. Emails gone. Most of his files cleaned out.” After a moment of silence, she began to weep softly.

Jack’s heart broke for Wendy as more doubts arose about her husband’s disappearance.

“I didn’t tell you that before. I don’t know why. I wanted you to believe he hadn’t run off. He hasn’t; I know he hasn’t!”

“But because his computer was recently purged you’re upset,” Jack said, “because it looks like he was preparing to leave. Is that it?”

She cried openly. “God … my boys. My boys. What are we going to do?”

Jack buried his head in his hands, closed his eyes, and remembered Rebecca’s coloring of Jesus in the fire with his three devoted servants.

“Wendy, my seven-year-old daughter Rebecca recently told me something when Pam and I were going through a really, really hard time. Can I share it with you?”

“Yes.” Her breath hitched.

“‘If you believe in God—
really believe
—he’ll take care of you. Even if you have to go into a really, really hot fire.’”

She cried openly.

“Now get this part,” Jack said. “Only from the lips of a child: ‘You have to believe, or it won’t work.’”

Wendy’s sudden laugh blended in with her sobs.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief and vowed to find Evan McDaniel.