Fear Has a Name: A Novel (5 page)

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 officer 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 …

“I’m going to call Darlene,” Pam whispered to Jack as she stood. “Check on the girls.”

“Okay.” He leaned his head back so he could see her standing above him. “Tell them I love ’em.”

She squeezed his shoulders then quietly moved toward the door.

“Oops.” Officer Potanski barged in just then, handed the cell phone to Nielson, and made his way back to his chair. “Okay, Officer DeVry filled me in on all the details, the items stolen from your home, all that.”

Pam scooted back to her seat. Jack sat to attention. She clasped one of his hands.

“Did he tell you about our daughter’s missing locket,” Jack said, “and how he cut me out of one of our wedding pictures?”

“All that.” Potanski waved, put a fist to his mouth, stiffened, and belched silently. “This is when our police sense really needs to kick in.” He looked at Nielson, then Jack. “I’m confident these charges merit further investigation, so I’m not going to make an arrest at this time—that is, if you agree to be completely cooperative with us.”

Jack let out a lungful of air and nodded heartily. Pam leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing.

“Keep in mind, we have the goods on you,” Potanski continued. “We can pick you up anytime—tomorrow, next week, next month. Our case will still be good because of the evidence we have, so we have no worries there. What I’m saying is, I’m willing to listen to you, be sensitive to your circumstances, and give you the benefit of the doubt—but when I call, you better pick up the phone. In fact, every time I call you’d better kill yourself to get to the phone. And if you ever lie to me, I will hammer you.”

It was past ten o’clock by the time Jack walked Pam to her red Accord on the third floor of the dimly lit city parking garage and saw her off. He waited forever for the ancient elevator, took it down to the main floor, and found the Jetta by beeping its alarm from the remote.

He and Pam had agreed not to try to follow each other, because it was only about a fifteen-minute drive home and Jack needed to concentrate on a call he had to make to his editor. As he zipped down Washington Street toward the interstate, he saw a fissure of lightning off to the left, followed by a loud rumble of thunder. The humidity must’ve been close to a hundred percent. Raindrops began tapping his windshield.

“Where have you been?” Cecil Barton’s jarring voice forced Jack’s hand to his left ear.

He turned the volume down on the Bluetooth speaker attached to the visor above his head.

“Derrick had to finish the water-rate-hike piece, and I’m going crazy here wondering what’s going on with the missing pastor story. Is your voice mail working? I’ve left messages. What the heck is happening with you, Crittendon?”

Jack explained about the evening’s long meeting with the police, the accusations, and the break-in.

“For the love of peace, why didn’t you tell me about all this?” Cecil said.

“I thought you knew about the break-in.”

“No one told me! Derrick said you had some kind of minor emergency. I thought one of the girls skinned a knee for Pete’s sake—a home invasion? With Pam and the children there? You should have come to me.”

“You had your game face on.”

“We could have had the sketch of that low-life in today’s edition. You get it to me, pronto. We’ll get it in ASAP.”

“I thought we only did that for murder cases.”

“And low-life slugs who invade the homes of my reporters!”

For once Jack didn’t have a comeback for Cecil. Goose bumps rose on his arms and gave his entire frame a chill. It was one of the few times his editor had shown any sort of personal interest or commitment, and it felt good.

Jack filled Cecil in on his interview with Wendy McDaniel and informed him of his plans to go to Five Forks Methodist Church the following day to talk to as many people as possible. He planned to have an in-depth story for Cecil by that evening’s deadline.

The rain came harder. Jack signed off with Cecil and flipped the wipers to high, slowing well below the speed limit on Highway 16. He chastised himself for not having replaced Pam’s wipers; the last time he rode with her in the rain they streaked like crazy. He contemplated calling her to tell her about Cecil volunteering to run the police sketch of their intruder but didn’t want to take her concentration off the road.

They would nail this guy, he was confident, and then it would all be nothing more than a weird memory. He just prayed it would happen sooner rather than later. At least he and Pam had each other. They’d be together tonight, with the girls, all under one roof. Not so for Wendy McDaniel and her boys. They didn’t have a daddy at home tonight. In spite of Wendy’s reservations about suicide, the evidence was difficult to deny—missing meds, gun and ammo, farewell note.

Wendy might be a widow right now and not even know it.

And those boys—no father …

His cell rang, and Pam’s photo came up. While creeping along in the pelting rain, dodging lake-size puddles, Jack hit
answer
on the phone, and Pam’s voice came over the Bluetooth speaker above his head.

“I’m going to beat you,” she said.

“Where are you?” He gripped the wheel tight. “I just passed Sergeant Road.”

“Sergeant?” She paused. “I didn’t take 16. I’m going White Pond.”