Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
A short time later
“I usually have to park further down the street,” Danni said as Patrick eased his vintage LTD into a spot just down from the entrance to St. Nicholas Catholic Church. “But then I go to the noon service, and it’s almost always crowded. But we’re early, hence a closer place to park.”
“You said you come here for noon Mass?”
“Yes,” Danni said. “They have what they call a healing service on Wednesday at noon, so I come to say prayers for Sara’s safe return and to light a candle. The music is nice too.”
“Wait in the car, please.” Patrick switched off the engine as she started to open the door.
“Why?”
“Just do it, please,” Patrick said exiting the car to come and open the passenger door. “I’m not taking any chances of you moving too far from me.”
They passed several smokers, wreathing themselves in a tobacco cloud just before the steps leading into the church. Other people were buying flowers from a bearded man in a skull cap standing behind a long table.
“Oh, they have roses and chrysanthemums!” Danny exclaimed. “I want to buy a bunch when we’re finished. Is that okay with you?”
Patrick shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
Inside the church the scent of candles and beeswax greeted them. A young nun who was obviously waiting for them, came forward and led them down a side aisle through the nave and then to the back of the church. She stopped before an oaken door and knocked twice. At a faint reply, she opened it, smiled and left.
“I told you ‘No police’”, a pale, thin woman seated opposite Father Ryan’s desk whined as they entered. Patrick closed the door behind them but remained standing there, with Danni standing beside him. The woman glared at them, her fingers sliding up and down the handles of her Chanel purse. “Father Ryan, you promised me no police.”
“Lieutenant Danton isn’t with the police, Christine,” Father Daniel Ryan soothed. “Though with that posture, I can see why you would think so. He’s recently retired from the army. How’s your arm healing, Lieutenant?”
“Doing quite nicely, Father,” Patrick said, trying to ignore the dagger-like stare the woman continued to send his way. He didn’t have Griff Tyler’s vast knowledge of fashion, but the woman’s outfit–from her suit to her heels to that handbag with its unmistakable logo–screamed money. Lots and lots of money.
Father Ryan gestured at two ladder-back chairs with arms placed beside the woman. “Mrs. Everett, this is Danielle Blake, and Lt. Patrick Danton,” he introduced. “Danni, Patrick, this is Mrs. Franklin Everett. We only have a little time. Mother Winnifred is stalling her driver, who thinks she’s making her confession.”
“You helped her lie?” Danni chuckled, coming to sit in one of the chairs. “Who will you confess that to?”
“Well, it’s not exactly a lie,” Father Ryan said, running a hand over his close-cropped silver hair. “But she shared something with me about Sara Turner that I thought you needed to hear.”
“You know something about Sara?” Danni hitched her chair closer to Mrs. Everett. Patrick, she noted, remained standing in front of the door, and she wondered if this was some kind of Brotherhood Protectors thing. Would he tackle poor, skinny Mrs. Everett if she tried to bolt and run?
“Who did you say she is, Father Ryan?” Suspicion pulled Mrs. Everett’s thin lips into an ugly frown.
“Danelle Blake,” Father Ryan repeated. “She’s been writing the Where are the Children series for Excelsior. The one about child trafficking.”
“Oh, Holy Mother,” Mrs. Everett moaned, crossing herself. “You aren’t going to put what I tell you in the newspaper, are you?”
“I promise I won’t,” Danni said. “I just want help in finding Sara Turner. Can you–will you help me do that?”
Christine Everett’s leather gloved fingers continued their journey around her purse handles. “My husband will be furious if he knows I’ve told you what I saw,” she said, her voice trembling.
“I’m not going to tell him,” Danni promised. “It’s about Sara Turner?”
After receiving Father Ryan’s nod of permission, Mrs. Everett said, “I would have said something before now, but my husband wouldn’t let me. He doesn’t want any trouble with the neighbors.”
“A child is missing, and your husband wouldn’t let you?” Patrick’s voice took on a dangerous edge.
“He says our neighbors’ business is theirs and ours is ours,” she argued. “Leave them alone and they’ll leave us alone.”
“Sounds as if you and your husband have something to hide,” Patrick retorted. “Do you?”
Apprehension inched its way over Danni’s skin, and she waved Patrick to silence. Checking her rising fear, she said, “Mrs. Everett, I can only guess how hard this must be to not tell your husband you’ve come here, but could you please tell us what you know or saw?”
“I was getting the mail the day Sara Turner vanished.” Mrs. Everett lowered her gaze to her clenched hands. “Or people say she vanished. Her school bus lets her out at the corner just up the street from my house.”
“She lives in your neighborhood?” Danni asked.
“Yeah. It’s one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Knoxville,” Mrs. Everett boasted. “Edward Turner, her grandfather bought his house four years ago. Never knew why a single man needed such a big place, living there by himself until Sara moved in, but that’s his business, right?”
Patrick started to say something again, but Danni’s look shut him up. “You saw Sara get off the bus–?”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Everett said. “She comes walking down the street towards my house. There’s a side street leading to another part of the neighborhood with a stop sign two houses past ours, so we’re nearly at the end of the block. Sara’s grandfather lives two houses down from the stop sign in the next block. Sara once told me her momma always told her to stop and look both ways even if there isn’t any traffic coming.”
Pulse hammering so hard her wrists ached, Danni pulled in a long, silent breath. “Did Sara stop at the stop sign on the corner?” At Mrs. Everett’s nod, she asked, “What did you see her do?”
“There was a Black Honda Civic waiting there.” Mrs. Everett looped one arm through her purse’s handle, and she folded her hands together as if she were about to start praying.
“Did the car seem to be waiting for her?” When Mrs. Everett remained silent, Danni leaned in and raised her voice. “Well, did it?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Everett hedged. “Maybe. I was in my front yard.”
“But you could see her?” Danni demanded. “You said you were at your mailbox. You watched her walking toward her house towards a black Honda Civic that was waiting at that stop sign?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Everett whispered.
“Are you sure of the make and model?” Patrick’s tone was one of barely disguised contempt.
Her returning stare at him was surprisingly haughty. “My son’s first car was a black Honda Civic,” she retorted. “I know one when I see one.”
Danni’s fingers gripped the ends of the chair’s arms, as she forced the question past the scream rising in her throat. “What else did you see?”
“Sara stopped and talked to whoever was in the driver’s seat,” Mrs. Everett said quickly. “At least it looked like that’s what she was doing from where I was standing. Then the back door opened, she climbed in, and they drove off.”
“She wasn’t forced or pulled into the car?” Father Ryan joined in the questioning. “She didn’t scream or yell for help?”
“No, Father. Like I said, she talked to someone in the car and then got inside.”
“You saw Sara get into that car twelve days ago instead of her going on to her home, learned she was missing and you’re just now saying something?” Danni shouted. “We’ve been sick with worry, and you didn’t tell anyone? Not her grandfather or at least the police? What kind of monster are you?”
“And why are you saying something now?” Patrick advanced toward the now cowering Mrs. Everett and stopped behind Danni’s chair. “You say your husband doesn’t want you to get involved with your neighbors’ business. Why the change of heart?”
Tears streamed down Mrs. Everett’s rouge-stained cheeks, and she bowed her head. “I have a granddaughter who comes to see me almost every weekend,” she said, her words a half-whisper. She’s ten-years-old, like Sara. I started thinking, what if someone has been watching my house and knows when she is coming? What if someone sees her and takes her like they did Sara?”
“So, you think Sara was taken,” Danni accused.
The color fled Mrs. Everett’s face, making the smeared rouge stand out like a clown’s make-up. “No! That’s not what I meant to say–”
“Too late, Mrs. Everett,” Patrick pronounced. “You just let the cat out of the bag.”
“So, now, after all this time and you’re afraid for your family, is when you decide to say something,” Danni accused. “In all this time have you given even one thought as to what might be happening to Sara?”
She shot up, sending her chair to the floor and would have grabbed Mrs. Everett had Patrick not wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back.
“Come with me, Christine,” Father Ryan said, taking the now wailing Mrs. Everett by the arm and leading her from the study. Only until after he was gone, did Patrick say, “Much as I’d like to let you, promise me you won’t go after her and throttle her.”
“I should,” Danni snapped, struggling against his grip. “She deserves to be throttled. But I won’t. Can you let me go now, please.”
“Promise?” His grip tightened ever so slightly.
“Yes.” At his release, Danni jerked away just as Father Ryan returned.
“I took her to her driver and told him after making her confession, she was feeling very guilty and been given a very severe penance,” he said grimly. “As she should. What a mess.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” Danni huffed. “And because she didn’t share this with you in the confessional, you can talk to the police, right?”
“Absolutely,” the priest confirmed. “In fact, when she told me it was about Sara, I insisted she tell me in here. But I have Mass at noon and more confessions to hear after that so I can’t go to the police just yet.”
“We’ll tell the police, Father,” Patrick said. “We’ll go right now. Too bad she didn’t get a license plate number.”
“I asked her for details about the car,” Father Ryan said. “That’s all she could remember seeing. And in her defense, from where she was standing, she was too far to see a license plate.”
“But how can she not have told the police what she saw?” Danni fought to return her voice to a normal level. “And why is she so afraid of her husband? We’re talking about a missing, very likely kidnapped ten-year-old child! This is the twenty-first century for Heaven’s sake!”
“Her husband is very old school when it comes to marriage,” Father Ryan explained. “Wives submit yourself to your husbands in the strictest sense. He pretty much runs her life and that driver of hers spies on her for Everett. I’m surprised Everett lets her leave the house to come to church and then only for early Mass on Sunday. She always insists on being introduced as Mrs. Franklin Everett, which is surprising, considering how young she is.”
“And what does this paragon of a husband do?” Patrick asked.
“He’s a senior VP at La Belle Monde . What’s wrong, Danni?”
“Ed Turner, Sara’s grandfather works for La Belle Monde,” Danni told him. “He’s their Chief Financial Officer. Working at that level, he must know Mr. Everett, who must know about Sara’s disappearance. And they live on the same street? Doesn’t that seem awfully coincidental?”
Suspicion replaced Father Ryan’s angry expression. “What are you saying, Danni?”
“I don’t know,” Danni admitted. “But I think the sooner we talk to Sergeant Miller the better.” Gathering up her purse, she said, “Thank you, Father Ryan. This is an enormous help.”
“I don’t know about that,” Father Ryan sounded regretful. “All I did was call you.”
“We know that Sara willingly got into that car,” Patrick said slowly, as if considering the facts. “That means she knew the driver and maybe whoever else might have been with them.”
Concern darkened the priest’s eyes. “You know,” he said softly. “I think that scares me even more than thinking a stranger somehow grabbed Sara and forced her to go with them.”
“Like whom?” Danni’s fear returned. “Who would she go with?”
But Father Ryan just shook his head and they let themselves out of his office to step into the hall that led back to the nave. At the front doors, a few parishioners followed them outside. The smokers were gone and only the flower vendor remained. From the belfry the bells began to toll the noon hour, their deep and solemn tones pulsing through the air.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Patrick announced as they descended the steps to the sidewalk. The temperature was dropping, and a chilling wind beat against the church’s flag. “For a moment I thought you were gone to take off Mrs. Everett’s head.”
“Stupid woman,” Danni muttered. “I hope the police arrest her and her husband both for withholding information in Sara’s case. Sara might be home by now if they’d said something.”
“Then let’s go tell the police,” Patrick said. “It’s too cold to stand here and talk about it. When we’re done, we’ll go back to the Safehouse and discuss what to do next.”
His phone buzzed and taking it from his pocket, he glanced at the screen. “It’s Hank Patterson.”
“You talk to him while I go buy those flowers,” Danni told him. “It looks like the vendor only has a few bouquets left.”
She left before he could tell her to wait. Hitting the accept button, he said, “‘Morning Hank.”
“How are things in Knoxville?” His boss asked.
“It’s worse than we thought, Hank,” Patrick said grimly, watching Danni speak to the vendor and then, head down, start searching through her purse. “Some fool of a woman saw the girl–Danni! Drop and roll!”
Patrick’s shout had her on the ground just as the hypodermic syringe in the vendor’s clenched hand hit the table. Patrick threw his phone as he ran, launching himself through the air to come down on the vendor and his table. It broke beneath them, flattening pre-made bouquets, along with a stack of flower filled boxes and piles of cellophane sleeves. Gasping, Patrick got to his feet and snatched the man up by his collar. “You sick son-of-a-”
The heavy plastic tray crashing against his face sent Patrick staggering backwards, his head reeling. The vendor threw the tray as Patrick fumbled for his weapon while blood slid into his eyes, blurring his vision.
But not so much that he didn’t see Danni pull a 9 mm Smith and Wesson Equalizer from her purse and fire twice in the running man’s direction. The bullets hit the church’s far brick wall as the man slipped around a side street. Around Patrick, people who had just come out of the church were screaming and then Father Ryan was there, helping him to sit on the steps. So much for noon Mass.
“Damn it!” Danni lowered her gun, and catching sight of him, nearly dropped it. “Patrick!”
“That’s me,” he muttered, as she scooped up his phone and came to sit beside him, still holding her gun. Holding up his blood-stained fingers he asked, “You don’t happen to still have that napkin from breakfast with you, do you? I forgot my handkerchief.”