Fear Has a Name: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) Page 5

  Jack opened the door and dropped into the driver’s seat, wondering if that nutcase really took Pam’s Bible, or if she was having one of those paranoid fits for which her mother was famous. “Babe, it’ll probably turn up—”

  “No. It won’t. It’s gone! Do you hear me? I know. Jack, this thing is freaking me out. Why is he doing this to us? I just have the weirdest feeling, like he’s stalking me.”

  7

  “Come on, girlfriend,” Rebecca said to Faye in her best mommy voice, “we need to get our babies home before another rainstorm comes. There’s a big tornado on the way … a hurricane!”

  “Okay, gewfriend,” Faye called. “Hurry … help our babies!”

  Even in her anxious state, Pamela chuckled as the girls raced their dollies in pink strollers up and down the wet sidewalk in front of the house, their big purses knocking against the backs of their skinny legs.

  A late afternoon downpour had come up suddenly, drenching the already green grass and leaving clouds of steam rolling up from the blistering streets. In the distance the sky was menacing, the color of a deep bruise, but over where Pamela stood, the sun had returned, almost white, it was so bright. The humidity was stifling.

  Wearing bright yellow slip-on gardening shoes, Pamela meandered through the wet grass in the front yard, looking for any clue the intruder may have accidentally left behind the day before. She was trying to wear the girls out before bed and waste time until Jack got home from the McDaniels’ house.

  She scanned the glistening street and nearby intersection for the infamous brown car, then double-checked the girls, who had ventured into the garage and were gabbing like two housewives next to their dad’s tool bench.

  Her neck and shoulders ached from tension. Stop it, she scolded herself, realizing she’d brought on the nagging pain by stressing too much about this whole break-in thing. Half the reason she was outside now was to overcome her fear and try to convince herself that everything was okay, that the man wasn’t nearby and was not coming back.

  Mustn’t let the girls know I’m frightened. Not like Mom …

  Pamela’s mother, Margaret, lived in utter fear. She worried in excess, about everything, and had as far back as Pamela could recall. It was even worse now. All day she was double-checking the door and window locks. She kept all the blinds closed, so they had to have lights on all the time. And when Pamela’s father, Benjamin, was away, she would pace, peering out the windows and nipping at the peppermint schnapps she kept hidden away in the broom closet until he had safely returned home.

  What is she so afraid of? Pamela wondered for the thousandth time. Physical harm? Life without Dad? Loss of possessions? Death?

  Margaret and Benjamin had brought Pamela up attending the big stone church that smelled like mothballs on Monticello Boulevard in Cleveland Heights each week. But as she grew up, became a teen, went on to college, Pamela realized that her parents didn’t bear much good fruit from the ritual. On the contrary, her dark household was often filled with strife, gossip, and bitterness. The ritual of church had not delivered the goods, and for a long time Pamela had resented church and the God who supposedly dwelled there.

  Meeting Jack had changed that. He had waltzed into her life like a vision, with a jovial countenance and graceful stability unmatched by any man she’d ever known. She not only wanted him, she wanted what he had—an uncanny, unabashed faith in God that seemed to serve as some magical, hidden reservoir of everything that was happy and good. The only chink in Jack’s armor during their first months of dating had appeared one breezy summer night.

  They’d attended a Cleveland Indians game and were leaving early because the contest was a blowout. As they headed to Jack’s car in the vast parking lot, not far from the Lake Erie shoreline, they heard a woman screaming. Walking quickly toward the shouts, they saw a brawny, bearded man in a cowboy hat, obviously drunk, twisting his girlfriend’s arm and shoving her toward his pickup truck, yelling obscenities. With the agility of a leopard, Jack locked Pamela in his car, zigzagged between vehicles, and zeroed in on the helpless woman, who had dropped to her knees in an attempt to keep from being forced into the truck.

  As far as Pamela could tell from her vantage point several cars away, there was no talk, no arguing, not a word exchanged. Beneath the neon white parking lot lights she witnessed a barrage of swirling kicks, flying elbows, and compact punches that sent the drunk man’s hat flipping into the air and his hairy head snapping back, back, back, until he literally left the ground with one last clobber.

  Jack got in the car and drove without speaking. When Pamela pressed him, all he said was, “I don’t like to see weaker people get bullied.”

  Eventually he told her that he’d learned to fight growing up near Columbus, hanging with an oddball group of characters who stayed out too late in the wrong parts of town. Beyond that, he insisted he and Pamela not speak of his temper anymore; he was embarrassed by his behavior and promised that would be the last time she would ever see him do such a thing.

  And he’d been as good as his word. It had been years since she had seen him so much as look at another person with any kind of malice or vengeance—until, of course, the strange man broke into their home.

  I just need to focus on God, like Jack does. Do something for someone else instead of focusing on myself.

  She heard a car in the distance but decided to turn her back on it and head toward the house.

  Enough of this fear. I’m a child of the King.

  The sound of the car rolling slowly down the street grew louder, closer, and slower. She ignored the urge to look.

  I have a Protector. A High Tower …

  “Hey, girls.” Pamela felt the relief from the afternoon sun the instant she set foot in the garage. “Daddy will be home soon. Let’s go in and start dinner, okay?”

  “What’re we having?” asked Faye.

  “I thought we’d do some chicken nuggets and green beans. And we have a great big watermelon too. How does that sound?”

  While the girls began bubbling about nuggets and watermelon, Pamela recognized the distinct sound of a car bumping over the entry to their driveway. She spun around.

  A black Trenton City police car rolled in.

  Her legs got rubbery, and a wave of the unknown seemed to lift her head two feet above the rest of her body.

  Did they catch the guy?

  The police car came to a halt, still running hard, fan in overdrive, air conditioner dripping steadily onto the white concrete. Although the windows were dark and sealed shut, she could make out two officers in front.

  Maybe he’s in the backseat and they want me to identify him? Would they do that?

  The car shut off and the front doors opened, almost at the same time. Two officers in dark uniforms unfolded from the car. The driver was a thin older man, sunburned, wearing black sunglasses. His partner looked like a kid, medium build, light complexion, mustache, same dark sunglasses, but he took his off as he approached Pamela.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “Mrs. Crittendon?”

  “Yes?” She automatically put an arm around each of the girls. “Is this about the break-in?”

  The officers looked at each other momentarily, then back at her.

  “Is your husband Jack Crittendon?” the older officer asked in a deep voice.

  “Yes … is everything okay?” She clutched the girls tighter. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

  “No, ma’am,” the younger one said.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Her head whirled.

  “Is he home?” the younger one continued.

  “No. He’s on his way. What’s this about?”

  The young officer looked at Rebecca, then Faye, then back to Pamela. “If we could have some privacy, Mrs. Crittendon, that would probably be good.”

  Privacy? What for?

  None of it was making sense.

  “Girls”—she knelt to their level—“why don’t you go in and set the table for Mommy, okay? And w
hen you’re done—”

  “Daddy!” Rebecca yelled and lurched toward the street.

  Jack’s green Jetta jerked to a halt at the curb. He was out in an instant. “What’s wrong? You okay?” He ran up the driveway, looking at them, then trying to see into the police car. “Did he come back?”

  “Daddy!” Faye ran to him, and he scooped her up. Rebecca attached herself to his leg.

  “It’s okay, honey.” Pamela got to him quickly as well and rubbed his arms. “We’re fine, everything’s fine. He hasn’t been back. These officers just pulled in before you got here.”

  He closed his eyes, dropped his head, and exhaled. Then he looked up at the older officer. “What’s going on? Did they catch the guy?”

  Again the officers glanced at each other.

  “You’re Jack Crittendon?” the older one asked.

  “Yeah.” He nodded and squeezed Pamela’s arm. “You’ve met Pamela, my wife? We had the break-in yesterday.”

  “We don’t know about a break-in,” said the older officer, still wearing the black sunglasses. “We’re here on other business. I’m Officer Potanski, and this is Officer Nielson.”

  “Mrs. Crittendon,” said Officer Nielson, “you may want to have the girls set that table now.”

  All Pamela could do for a frozen moment was stare at him, knowing her mouth was hanging open but unable to close it or move.

  What else has that maniac done?

  “We’ll be inside in a few minutes, ladies.” Jack ushered the girls into the house. “Set the table and play. See you in a little bit.”

  Jack shut the door behind them and returned to Pamela and the officers.

  “What’s going on?” he said.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Crittendon, we received a tip from an anonymous caller.” Officer Potanski tucked his thumbs in his black belt. “Mr. Crittendon has been accused of dealing in child pornography. Buying. Selling. Possibly trafficking.”

  The officer’s mouth was still moving but his voice went to mute.

  Pamela’s eyes closed as if slamming a gate.

  Crazy black scribbling and angry scratching filled the tablet of her mind.

  Her head buzzed with static … loud static she turned up, up, up so as not to hear any more.

  8

  They took Jack’s laptop, and they took Jack.

  Thankfully, they had let him drive his own car to the station. Pam did not want to explain to their neighbors why they saw Jack hauled off in handcuffs by the police.

  Hours later, an ashen Pam showed up at Trenton City police headquarters downtown and settled into the chair next to him in a cramped, dingy yellow room with badly stained gold carpet and the overpowering smell of salami.

  “Girls are fine,” she whispered, out of breath. “Darlene’s with them at the house. She’ll put them down. Tommy will come over if we’re here long. Everything’s fine.”

  Jack nodded as she wrapped her cold hands around his wrist. She was trembling and pale, her lips almost purple. He couldn’t imagine what she must be thinking.

  “All righty.” The older officer, Potanski, reentered the room, holding something wrapped in wax paper that looked as if it had been kicked around the floor of a subway at rush hour.

  He was followed by Officer Nielson, who jabbed the record button on a desktop recorder and slumped into a seat next to Jack and Pam.

  “At initial glance,” Potanski said, “we’ve got ourselves a ton of pornographic images of minors on your laptop, Mr. Crittendon.”

  For about the third time since meeting the two officers, Jack thought he might throw up.

  “And that’s just what Officer Nielson and I found,” Potanski said. “Our experts will be able to find things no one can hide.”

  The tips of Pam’s fingers seemed to bare claws and dig into Jack’s arm. His tongue and throat felt as though they were coated with acid.

  “The informant who phoned us told us where to look for the images on your hard drive.” Potanski bit a large hunk of what turned out to be a salami sandwich, a dab of bright yellow mustard remaining at the corner of his mouth. “This individual—”

  “Where?” Jack objected.

  Pam squeezed his arm, urging him to stay cool.

  He lowered his voice. “Where were they on the computer?”

  “Most of them were within files labeled Family Outing,” Nielson said.

  “How would the informant know that?” Jack said. “If he knows a person downloads child porn, that’s one thing, but to know which folders the porn is stored in? He’d have to be sitting at the person’s computer to know that. And that’s what happened! I’m telling you, the guy who broke in did this—”

  “The informant told us”—Potanski raised his voice to drown Jack out—“that you mentioned—with a laugh—that you always store your kiddy pictures in folders marked in some way or other with the word family.”

  “He’s sick!” Jack said. “This guy is framing me for some reason.”

  And I will destroy that slug if I ever get my hands on him.

  “The photos are disturbing.” Potanski pushed the last of the sandwich into his mouth with his thumb and middle finger. “Hard-core would be putting it mildly.” He wadded the wax paper, dropped it in the trash, and moved around a small metal desk. Flipping the chair around, he sat in it backward. The leathery skin around his eyes, where the sunglasses had been, was almost white compared with the rest of his narrow face, which was the color of very rare steak.

  He examined Pam, then Jack, with sad-looking watery blue eyes. “Based on the bits and pieces we’ve heard from you, Mr. Crittendon, I think I know how you’re going to answer this, but tell us, for the record—did you have anything at all to do with these pornographic images on your laptop?”

  Jack’s mouth was a sealed slit. His cheeks burned with indignation. He shook his head. “No, sir. Absolutely nothing.”

  “You have suggested that the images were planted on your computer,” Nielson said. “Can you explain that, briefly?”

  “Yes.” Jack gave one definitive nod, lowering his head all the way to his chest. He sat up on the edge of his chair. “Our house was broken into yesterday by a man my wife saw, who had a large bag with him when he entered. He not only took valuables and personal items, but now we’re thinking he may have left some things behind that he brought with him in the bag. I believe he got on my laptop when he was in the house and dumped the pornography onto it from some sort of mini storage device.”

  “And you say Officer DeVry is overseeing the invasion of your home?”

  “Dennis DeVry, that’s right. His artist created a sketch of the intruder.”

  “We got that this morning,” Nielson said to Potanski.

  “Much of the place was dusted for prints,” Jack said. “The man wore gloves; we’re not sure if he ever took them off. I’m thinking he may have had to in order to use the touchpad on the laptop.”

  “Our people will dust it,” Nielson said. “And our computer guys will go over it with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “Now the question is whether to arrest and hold you until our people find out more about where the porn came from, when, how … all the rest of it.” Potanski’s eyes took Jack apart, one layer at a time, and Jack just prayed the man was a good judge of character. “They’ll find out everything and then some, I promise you.”

  “And I promise you, I’m innocent.” Jack met Potanski’s glare with his own.

  Someone’s cell phone rang. Nielson’s. He answered simply by stating his last name. “Hold on.” He handed the phone to Potanski. “Officer DeVry.”

  Good. Jack squeezed Pam’s hand, then remembered that DeVry wasn’t up-to-date on the missing Bible.

  “Oh.” Jack held up a hand. “Can I say one thing to him?” He reached for the phone. “It’s about something more my wife discovered about the break-in … please.”

  Potanski swung his head lazily toward Nielson, closed his eyes, and stuck the phone out to Jack, who told the o
fficer about the missing Bible. When he was finished, Jack handed the cell back to Potanski, who put it to his ear, said, “I shall return” and left the room.

  It was quiet and close in that little room.

  Nielson stopped the recorder with the jab of a button.

  Jack felt an initial pang of guilt for not being with Rebecca and Faye, but when he remembered they were with Darlene and Tommy, he was relieved—the girls wouldn’t even think of Mommy and Daddy while they had the fun neighbors over. Tommy and Darlene had never been able to have children, and they were close to Rebecca and Faye. Darlene would give them whatever they wanted, and Tommy would let them stay up way too late. The girls would be in heaven.

  “Officer Potanski will get more of the scoop about the home invasion from Officer DeVry,” Nielson said, “and we’ll take it from there.”

  Jack debated how to phrase what he was thinking. It was a question. But it was also a plea. “You won’t arrest me, will you?”

  Nielson’s almost gray eyes widened for an instant and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and joining his fingers in the steeple position in front of his mouth. “Don’t know yet. You have no record—that’s a big plus. You seem like an honest family man. You have little girls of your own. We’re not obligated to arrest you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Every part of Jack’s body went limp. Pam covered his hand in hers and nodded at him, almost in tears.

  “I’m not promising anything,” Nielson said. “Officer Potanski’s ultimately in charge. We’ll see what he learns from DeVry. All I’m saying is, if something doesn’t feel right to us about arresting you, if we just don’t buy the charges, if we believe there’s a good chance the porn was planted—we can make the decision to let you go and continue the investigation. We confiscate the evidence now, which in this case is your laptop. And we keep watching, we observe, we see what our computer experts say.”

  Jack dropped back in his chair for the first time all evening, locking his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes. This is happening for a reason. I know it is. Help me, Lord. Find favor on me. Protect us …