Fear Has a Name: A Novel (2 page)

3

Pamela had gotten virtually no sleep the night of what the Trenton City police were now calling the Crittendon “home invasion.” Until yesterday, that term had been something Pamela had only skimmed in the
Dispatch
or heard in the background of the TV news. It was something that happened to
other
people, in
bad
parts of town—not in Merriman Woods, one of the nicest suburbs of Trenton City, Ohio; and never to
her
family.

Never say never.

It happened.

She was curled up on the screened porch glider with Jack’s Bible and a cup of hot tea. The girls were upstairs getting dressed for what was going to be another hot day. The humidity was already thick and heavy. The grass was blanketed in dew. A rabbit sat between two azaleas in a row Jack had planted along the boundary of their property the fall before. Birds chirped and picked at the feeders that hung from the eaves. Her daisies and blue hydrangeas had perked up thanks to the night’s dark relief from the heat, but would droop again by afternoon. She pictured the girls in their bare feet, swinging on the extra-tall swing set that Tommy had helped Jack build, and that the girls practically lived on in nice weather.

That’s about all Pamela could do: look around. She tried to concentrate on the psalms opened before her, but all she could think about was the magnitude of the previous day’s events and what
could
have happened—especially to the girls. Or what they could have witnessed …

She examined the screened door she had kicked open the day before and relived the adrenaline-packed moments.

“Thank you for getting us out,” she whispered as she watched the sun’s yellow brilliance rising over the trees beyond the property next door.

Pamela and Tommy had worked into the evening with an artist from the police department to provide a thorough description of the intruder. The artist created a fairly good black-and-white rendering of the man to distribute to the Trenton City police force.

Jack installed an extra heavy-duty dead-bolt lock that night, which worked with a key instead of a lever. He also paid a guy double to come out late and fix the broken glass next to the front door.

Even so, Pamela had spent most of the night not daring to close her eyes. Listening for the girls. Her neck and shoulders tense. Straining to hear sounds of the large, scary man she hoped, and literally prayed, would never return.

Faye cried out once in a sweat at about two thirty. Both Pamela and Jack hurried into her room. Jack covered her forehead with a cool, damp washcloth while Pamela knelt at her bedside.

“I had a dream I saw the bad man at Target.”

“The man who broke in?” Pamela asked.

Faye nodded and squeezed Pamela’s hands. “He was in my dream. I know it was him. He had on black clothes and he looked mean. He was following us.”

Jack shot Pamela a glance in the darkness. She knew what he was thinking, that he wished Faye had never seen the intruder. It would be more difficult to forget the experience.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about anything, sweetie pie.” Jack turned the cloth over to the cool side. “Because Daddy is here to protect you. You know Daddy is big and strong, right? Daddy would punch the lights out of anyone who came near our house.” Jack jabbed the blackness with his fists—“
Bam, bam, bam
”—making all three of them giggle. “And guess who’s even bigger and stronger than Daddy, who’s watching over all of us?”

“Jesus.”

“That’s right, sunshine. The maker of all the huge mountains and big oceans and bright stars and moon is here to protect us. His angels are all around us. He is
so
mighty. And he loves us so much.”

Jack may not have realized it, but his words soothed Pamela as well. They not only reassured her about God’s protection, but they also reminded her of Jack’s past. His tough streak. His ability to fight. It was a dark side that had been dormant for many years, but she’d seen a hint of it in his eyes that afternoon, when they hugged for the first time following the break-in.

“Speaking of the moon and stars”—Pamela stroked Faye’s stringy blonde hair—“how about a lullaby?” Her voice filled the quiet room, and even to Pamela it felt like a healing balm. “Baby’s boat’s a silver moon, sailing in the sky …” she sang, and Faye quickly drifted back to sleep.

Jack had stayed home that morning for an early breakfast with Pamela and the girls before heading to work. Something about a new day made the break-in a little easier to talk about. As they rehashed what had happened, both girls admitted they’d caught a glimpse of the intruder when Pamela rushed them down the steps.

“They’re gonna be fine.” Jack squeezed Pamela’s hands as they stood at his car in the garage. “We’re all going to be just fine.”

“Why did this happen?” Pamela looked into his blue eyes. Jack’s once-blond hair was getting darker, more a dirty blond now. His features were clean and simple; the bones in his forehead, cheeks, and jaw gave him a lean, rugged look. He was easy to look at and quick with a cool, bright smile. His shoulders were round and his arms firm.

He shook his head. “I don’t have an answer.”

“But we’re okay.”

“Yes.” He let go of her hands, put his arms around her, and pulled her close. “We’re okay.”

“And the police are going to catch him …”

He nodded. “He would never come back here, Pamela. He was probably so wasted, he couldn’t find our house again if he tried.”

“Do you think it’s okay to go to the pool?”

“Absolutely. There’ll be neighbors there. Lifeguard. It’ll be good for the girls. Get your minds off it.”

“I still can’t believe he came in here when he could see the Accord in the garage. How did he know there wasn’t a man in here … with a gun?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Jack said. “He had to have been high or drunk. He probably needed money for drugs. He’ll sell your jewelry and get his fix. It’s over, baby.” He cradled her head in his hands and gently brought it to rest against his hard chest. “It’s all over. And it’s all the more reason for us to be thankful.”

“But what if he wasn’t on drugs?” She pulled back and looked up at Jack. “What if he scoped out the house and knew you were gone?”

“The cops said this type of thing is almost always drug related—”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “He didn’t look drugged up to me. He looked like he was on a mission, like he knew exactly what he was doing.”

“All right, listen.” Jack took her hands in his and squeezed. “Let’s give this to God, the whole thing, right now. Let’s just leave it in his lap and turn around and go our way. He’s big enough, right?”

She nodded and fought back the tears as they prayed, as Jack talked to God in a way only he could. While she was dumping her fears on God, she sensed in Jack’s words that he was leaving something else with God too: that anger of his that once reigned so strong. And she felt relief; it fell over them gently, like a cool rain.

She shook an index finger at him as he backed out of the garage and rolled down the passenger window. “You let me know if the police call you. I want to know when they get him.”

“You do the same.” Jack saluted, blew her a kiss, and started out the driveway. “Use plenty of sunscreen on the girls!”

Pamela waved at his car as it rolled out of sight. Then she closed her eyes.
Thank you for such a good husband.
A gentle wind kicked up, stroking her face and blowing her hair. God was there. She didn’t understand why the trouble had arisen. She didn’t understand much of anything at that moment, except that he was there.

She shut the garage door. As she walked through the family room toward the kitchen to fix a cup of tea, something on the mantle caught her eye.

What had happened to their wedding photo?

She approached it, feeling more sick to her stomach with each tentative step.

Pamela and Jack were in the middle of the picture, surrounded by the people in their wedding party: three men to the right, three women to the left.

As she drew closer to the mantle, Pamela’s hands began to tremble. Her breathing quickened. She scanned the room, the whole downstairs, the doors, the windows …

In a flash, she grabbed the photo and dashed through the family room, up the steps two at a time. Turning Faye’s doorknob, she opened the door, stuck her head in, and caught a glimpse of Faye just as she was leaning into the closet.

She hurried down the hall to Rebecca’s room and eased the door open. The room was dark.

“Rebecca?”

No answer.

Pamela’s heart thundered as she entered the bathroom. No one there.

“Rebecca?” She yelled it this time.

“Yes?” Rebecca called.

“Oh …” Pamela’s whole body went limp as she continued down the hallway, following Rebecca’s voice. “Hey, honey. I just wondered where you were.”

“I’m in the media room.”

Thank God.

Still clutching the framed photograph, Pamela walked halfway down the hall and stopped in front of the three carpeted steps leading up to the media room.

Lying on the couch in her nightgown, her long, silky brown hair draped over her face, Rebecca was reading a library book.

Pamela held the photo against her side. “Hey, you’re not dressed yet?”

“Not yet.” Rebecca didn’t look up.

Normally Pamela would have made Rebecca look up when she was speaking to someone, but this was no time for manners training. Pamela started toward the steps.

“What are you doing, Mommy?”

“Just running around, tidying up.” She leaned back around the corner so Rebecca wouldn’t see the photograph.

“What have you got?” She nodded toward the picture Pamela held behind her back.

“Just a picture I was looking at.”

“Can I see?” Rebecca stuck her hand toward her mom.

“Maybe in a minute, sweetie. Mommy’s got to get back downstairs, and you girls need to get dressed and on with your morning chores, okay?”

“’Kay.”

Knowing Rebecca would go right back to her book, Pamela walked quickly down the hall past Faye’s room and down the steps. She entered Jack’s study, opened one of the blinds, and looked down at the photograph in her shaking hands.

From the waist up, Jack had been sliced out of the photograph.

It had been done quickly, with a knife, by the man whom Pamela was growing sickeningly afraid was much more than a robber.

4

Jack hit more traffic than usual because he’d stayed to eat breakfast with the girls, but it had been well worth it. Faye and Rebecca didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the break-in and were more jazzed up about going to the pool and trying out the new goggles Pam had found for them at Target.

Pam had accidentally burned his bagel, then snapped uncharacteristically at Faye for spilling a glass of chocolate milk. He’d done his best to reassure her of what he truly believed was a one-time break-in by a drugged-out freak. As he drove, Jack reminded himself to call Pam sometime that morning to make sure she was okay. He also planned to follow up with the officer in charge of the case, Dennis DeVry.

In his office the night before, Jack phoned their insurance agent, who asked them to gather receipts and/or photographs of the items that were missing, so proper reimbursement could be made. Pam volunteered to do it that day.

Traffic or no traffic, Jack’s was a simple and enjoyable drive compared to his rush-hour commute when he and Pam had lived in Atlanta. He was glad to be back in central Ohio, near where he’d grown up. From their house in Merriman Woods he scooted along shady, tree-lined streets and dozens of old traditional two-story homes with large front porches and American flags. Kids often bumped their bikes along the uneven sidewalks that fronted the small green yards.

There wasn’t a whole lot of criminal activity in the area, but having done his share of police beats for the
Dispatch
, Jack knew there was crime everywhere these days. Since the break-in he had contemplated getting a security system for the house, something Pam could arm even while she and the girls were inside.

After their starter home in Atlanta and their first house in Ohio, in a different section of Trenton City, Jack and Pam agreed they’d found a lifelong home at 1422 Callanwolde Boulevard. They loved the neighborhood schools and the fact that the Cook County Public Library and the new Cook County Hospital were within a few blocks. They could walk or bike to Campolo’s Pizzeria for dinner, to the Donut Hole on Saturdays for breakfast treats, and to Gebralter’s Grocery to pick up anything they needed.

Jack smiled as he drove by the stone entrance to Crogan Park where he and Pam often took the girls for picnics. They would play Frisbee, ride bikes, hike the paved trails, and wade barefoot through the cool, clean water that funneled down from the Trenton City aqueduct and ran like a creek across the concrete riverbanks.

Dodging potholes on the Ohio interstate and passing the sprawling fiberglass manufacturing plant that kept half of Trenton City employed, Jack exited at Tenth Street and made his way past the library and Tiffany’s sandwich shop. He made a quick right on James Avenue past their church, Grace Bible Fellowship, then shot down a back alley by his all-time favorite restaurant, the Golden Wok.

After turning down various narrow alleyways that ran behind tall city buildings, Jack wheeled the VW into his usual parking spot at the rear of the
Dispatch
. As he made his way inside, he smiled and lifted the plastic photo ID that hung around his neck to grumpy Debbie who sat on a stool behind the glass at the back door.

“Good morning, Debbie.”

As always, the middle-aged blonde with amazingly thick glasses and equally thick black eyebrows managed a half smile. “Hav-a-gudday,” she droned, blinking her big, tired eyelids.

Jack hustled up the steps to the somewhat-sedate newsroom on the third floor. Things didn’t get cranking until mid- to late afternoon when the evening deadline approached. Right now, most of the reporters and photographers were out on their beats, following leads and gathering news and photos.

Throwing his leather satchel over the back of his chair, he grabbed the day’s edition of the
Dispatch
from his desk and headed for the coffeemaker. He scanned the front page for the piece on the missing pastor, thinking Cecil surely would have found someone else to write the first story.

There it was, lower-right quarter, in a blue box with a head-and-shoulders photo of Pastor McDaniel.

Trenton City Pastor Missing

By Derrick Whittaker

Evan McDaniel, 39, senior pastor of Five Forks Methodist Church in Trenton City was reported missing late Friday by Dr. Richard Billings, clerk of the Central Ohio Methodist Church Office. McDaniel, the husband of Wendy and father of Nathaniel, 14, Zachary, 11, and Silas, 7, has been the pastor of FFMC for three years.

According to
Faith Line
, the official web magazine of the Methodist Church, McDaniel took with him “a significant quantity of medication” and left behind communication “indicating his intention to take his own life.” Associate Pastor Dr. Andrew Satterfield is serving as interim pastor in McDaniel’s absence.

Anyone with information regarding Pastor McDaniel’s whereabouts is urged to call the Trenton City Police Department: (740) 844-1000.

Whoa.

Heavy insinuation …

Although reporter Derrick Whittaker was one of Jack’s closest friends at the paper, his stories sometimes lacked instinct and foresight. Jack headed for Derrick’s work area, excited to take over the McDaniel story.

Derrick, who was on the phone, cupped the receiver with one hand and pointed to it with the other. “McDaniel’s wife,” he whispered. “She’s ticked!” Derrick was African-American, about thirty, and wore an inch-thick Afro and retro black glasses.

Jack lifted two innocent hands.
What do you expect when you write a front-page story speculating that her husband is suicidal?
He pretended to drink from an invisible cup, thumbed toward the break room, and took off for his coffee.

Cecil spotted him from a mile away and made a beeline toward him. Jack kept going, straight for the Bunn, determined to get himself a large black coffee before anything else could happen.

“Crittendon,” Cecil said, “you see Whittaker’s piece on the pastor?”

Jack finished pouring, sipped his coffee, and nodded. “I was surprised he mentioned suicide this early.”

“What do you mean?” Cecil said. “We attributed it—to the Methodist news source.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I would have talked to the wife first. Did he?”

“He tried. He couldn’t reach her.”

“I didn’t think so.” Jack turned toward Derrick’s desk. “But she’s apparently reached
him
now.”

“Oh, for the love of peace.” Cecil shook his bony fists. At least he didn’t have any new white pieces of paper with him. “It’s your story now. Take it and run with it. Get with the family, go to the church, you know the drill.”

“I’m on it.” Jack started toward his desk.

“And I needed that water-rate-hike piece
yesterday
,” Cecil called.

Jack stopped and looked back. Cecil was running his long, thin brown hair between his thumb and index finger.

“I’m almost done with it,” Jack said.

Derrick met up with Jack and walked with him at a good clip to Jack’s desk.

“Man, that pastor’s wife is heated,” Derrick said. “She’s saying her husband’s never been suicidal. Couldn’t believe we ran it in the story.”

“Dude, I would have talked to her before mentioning suicide.”

“I tried! Repeatedly. I couldn’t get her.”

“Then you shouldn’t have mentioned suicide. He was
missing
—that would have been enough to start with.”

“That’s how I wrote it! Barton made me put it in there, about the possible suicide.”

“You’re kidding me.” Jack looked up to give Cecil the evil eye, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“I feel bad,” Derrick said. “I mean, she was crying by the time we hung up.”

“You have her number?”

Derrick ripped the top sheet from his pad and stuffed it in Jack’s palm. “I told her you’d call and get her whole side of it. She’s absolutely positive he’s not suicidal.”

“Where does she think he is then?”

Derrick bounced his shoulders. “She has no clue. Said he’s had some personal issues but insists he’d never leave her and their boys.”

“I thought there was a suicide note or something?”

“There’s something. A note that turned up at the church maybe? She’s gonna explain it all to you. And she’s ready to talk now; she wasn’t yesterday.”

“Good.” Jack looked at the number. “Where do they live?”

“Cool Springs. Close to the church he pastors. You gonna get right on it?”

“Yeah.”

“’Cause I feel like a complete jerk.”

“It’s not your fault. That was Barton’s call.”

“I pretty much told her you’d make it right.”

“Okay. I’ll call her in a minute.”

“Tell me about yesterday,” Derrick said. “What happened, dude? Is Pam okay, and the girls?”

Jack’s cell rang. He rolled his eyes. “They’re okay. Pam was pretty shaken up. The guy broke right in while they were all home. They got out the back door, to the neighbor’s.”

Jack glanced at his phone. It was Pamela calling. “I gotta take this.”

Derrick patted his shoulder. “All right. We’ll catch up later. Maybe lunch?”

“Maybe.”

“
Not
Golden Wok.”

Jack laughed and answered his phone.

“How is the lovely Pamela Anne Crittendon this morning? I was just going to check in with you—”

“This was more than a robbery, Jack,” Pam blurted. “He cut you out of one of our wedding pictures, one of the framed ones on the mantel—”

“Wait a minute, honey, slow down—”

“That’s not all. The locket you gave Rebecca is
gone
. The one with the picture of you two, that you gave her at the father-daughter thing.”

“She probably misplaced it, honey. Now just calm down.”

“Jack, please come home. This is creeping me out. Please. There was more to this than a robbery. Something’s wrong. We need to get the police back here.”

“Okay, listen.” He squeezed the back of his neck and made himself stay cool. “The guy is probably mentally disturbed. He—”

“He knew
exactly
what he was doing. I’m
not
freaking out. I’m just thinking about the girls.”

Jack dropped into his chair, elbows to his knees.

“Okay … listen, you look for anything else missing, or disturbed.” Of course he and Pam had done that the previous day, but apparently they hadn’t looked closely enough. “I’ve got to take care of a few things here.” He was sorting through his options as he tried to soothe her. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll get with the lead cop, DeVry, and let him know what’s going on. Call me if anything else is missing, okay?”

He heard nothing.

“Okay, Pamela?”

Jack heard her fumbling with the phone.

“Oh my Lord, Jack …”

“What?” He shot to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Rebecca … Faye!” Pam was not talking to him anymore but was yelling into the house. “Come to Mommy,
now
!”

“Pam! What is it?” His stomach bottomed, and he felt for his car keys. “What’s going on?”

There was only silence and a slight bumping of the phone.

“Talk to me!”

“It’s the brown car.” Her voice came back, trembling. “He’s here …”