Everybody's Daughter (27 page)

“Well, when you put it that way –”

He huffed. “What else did they ask?”

“Detective Brady wanted to know why you hadn’t been in a relationship after Vicki died.”

“That could have been your cue to tell him that I was a dedicated father and spent my time raising my daughter.” He took another gulp of air. “And how did he know about my social life anyway?”

“They know a lot about you. More than I know.”

“How long were you on the phone with the detective?”

“Give or take thirty minutes.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“He asked me several times if you took trips anywhere.”

“What did you tell him?”

Her face turned a bright red. “I may have mentioned that you went to Jerusalem. Look, people think I’m crazy, like I’m some religious crackpot because I mentioned that snake. I don’t know what to say and who to say it to.”

He slammed his hand on the refrigerator door. “Are you kidding me?”

She raised her hands in annoyance. “Don’t worry, he thinks it’s some place in Pennsylvania.”

“What else is there?”

She winced, looking down at the ground, embarrassed.

“Connie,” he lowered his voice and forced a calm tone. “What else did he say?”

She backed up and leaned against the sink counter. “Now, don’t be mad.”

“Spill it.”

“Well, he asked if I ever saw you touch Elizabeth…you know, like…in an inappropriate way.”

“That’s a disgusting question. How dare he even think that?”

“Calm down,” she said. “I told him that even though we squabble at times and didn’t see much of each other, you aren’t that way.”

Chills ran up his spine at the thought of anyone touching Elizabeth.

“The police have to ask these things,” Connie said, interrupting the gruesome image he painted in his mind. “Especially when a young child is missing. That’s what Kevin said when I told him all about it.”

His wife’s brother? That’s all he needed.
“You called him?”

“No. He called me. He saw it on the news and he said he’s flying in to help us.”

Michael balled up a dish cloth lying on the counter and threw it against the wall. “He doesn’t want to help me! He hates me.”

“No, he cares about you and Elizabeth and wants to help find her.” She put her cup in the kitchen sink and turned the tap on. “Even if he can’t do anything himself, maybe someone at the FBI can help.” She finished rinsing the cup and opened the cupboard door to get a mop.

Michael took it from her. “I’ll clean up this mess myself.” He meant more than just the spilled hot chocolate and broken cup. As he patted the floor with the mop to soak up the liquid, he said, “Just go. I need to be alone.”

“Um, another thing. The detective came by about a couple of hours ago. He gave me this piece of paper.” She handed it to him.

““What is this search warrant for?”

“I don’t know. But they took Elizabeth’s computer and your laptop.”

“Oh, great. Just great.”

“Anything I can do before I go?”

“Yeah. Call Kevin and tell him to stay home.” He put his hand up to stop the argument. “Tell him I’ll call if I need him and that you’ll keep him updated.”

Connie left and he cleaned up the kitchen. He settled down on the couch, mentally preparing for tomorrow.

I have to bring the baby to the church. I’ll do that first thing in the morning. Talk to Pastor Dennis again about the book. Maybe he’s found out something else. Maybe another pattern? Check the basement.

He hugged the big, yellow Smile pillow Elizabeth had given him for his birthday. She told him to look at it when he felt sad and to think of her so he would smile.

He clutched the pillow closely to his heart.

Unable to sleep, Michael sat on Elizabeth’s bed in the dark.

“What are you doing tonight, Elizabeth?” he whispered. “Are you safe? Is Leah with you? Are you warm and have a bed to sleep in? I’m going to find you. Somehow, I will.”

Numb from all the emotional distress, Michael fell to the floor on his knees in the midst of the books, papers, clothes and stuffed animals. He let his body lie on the rubble, surrendering to sleep until the phone rang.

“Hello?” he said half asleep.

“This is Detective Brady.”

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“We spoke to Matt Jennison.”

“Who?”

“Matt. Matt Jennison.”

“Oh, Elizabeth’s friend. Yes, what did he say?”

“Matt told us Elizabeth appeared to be fine, happy when she went into the church. He waited several minutes before going into the church and then coming back outside. He left to take his mom...”

Before the detective could finish, Michael interjected. “Yes, for an appointment. I know. I thought I told you this.”

“He also said you put your hands on him. You’ve got quite a temper there, Mr. Stewart.”

Michael didn’t take the bait. “Is there anything else, Detective?”

“No. We’ll be in touch soon.” He hung up. Michael let the dial tone buzz the remainder of the night. He knew it would be impossible to sleep and he was in no mood to field any more phone calls.

The next morning, Michael shunned a quick shower and dressed in his worn gray sweats, a torn T-shirt and a sweatshirt. He put on his favorite black coat, picked the baby Jesus off the couch and wrapped it in a blanket given to him years ago by a young boy named Parker after Vicki died.

“Wrap your daughter in it,” Parker had told him. “You’ll feel better. I know I do when I put my blanket over me.”

He and Parker became friends, sometimes meeting for an ice cream sundae on Saturday afternoons.

As Michael walked to the church, several cop cars zoomed past him, lights flashing but no sirens blaring.
Wonder what happened?

He took a seat at the back of the church as Pastor Dennis began the morning service. The pastor spoke about how the community was planning to aid the hungry and homeless.

When the service ended, Michael met him in his office. “I have something for you.” He handed the baby Jesus to him.

“Thanks for bringing this,” said Dennis. “Cecilia and George have donated the baby for our manger since I’ve been here. How is she doing?”

“Fine. What’s in the book that we didn’t know before?”

“I do know this. I believe we’re all here at this time for something to happen. I don’t know when it will be though.”

“Did you get the parts that needed to be translated taken care of?”

“Most of them.”

“Why is it happening in this church?”

Before Dennis could answer, his phone rang. “Hello? Yes, hello Detective. He’s here but I’ve been appointed his spiritual advisor.”

What? My spiritual advisor?
Michael tamped down the urge to tell the pastor their friendship had not been renewed. The only reason he was managing to be civil to the man was to have access to the book.

“Are you sure the test is accurate?” asked the pastor. “Could it be a mistake?”

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.”