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Micah was shocked—an on-time arrival at Ft. Lauderdale airport. He’d have to fly the first thing in the morning from now on. Aside from the usual ten-mile trip—an exaggeration, nonetheless a long walk—in the Delta terminal at Metro Airport, the trip went off without a hitch.
Metro was a Delta hub. The terminal was large and confusing. The Ft. Lauderdale terminal, also a Delta hub, was much smaller and far less complicated. Micah deplaned, rented a car, and headed west on I-595 toward Coral Springs within twenty minutes of landing. Try to accomplish that in Detroit.
He had an address on NW 111 Way in Coral Springs. He toyed with the rental’s navigation and quickly obtained coordinates and directions. He exited the freeway at University and drove approximately six miles into Coral Springs. Everything seemed fresh and new, palm trees everywhere. He understood why many northerners moved south.
After a series of lefts and rights on primary and residential streets, he found NW 111 Way. He had to double back a few times. The roads had similar names and numbers. The street system was quite confusing. Finally, he found the address. The house was a one-story stucco ranch with a screened-in pool. He looked up and down the block. Every house seemed identical except for the respective paint job. Every home had a screened-in pool. Ah, Florida.
What was life like with summer all year long? He wiped sweat from his forehead and put his nose to his armpits, immediately deciding that fall, winter or spring weren’t so bad. He checked the address on the mailbox. The Pappas family lived here. Micah went to the front door and rang the bell. A tall woman in her late thirties or early forties answered the door. Micah recognized her immediately from a picture provided by a relative. This was Mrs. O’Connell.
“Hi, may I help you?” she chirped.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Micah charmed. “My name is Micah Love, and I’m a private investigator from Detroit, Michigan. Are you Mrs. Pappas?”
The woman’s demeanor immediately turned cold.
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Pappas, and whatever you’re interested in does not interest my family or me. Have a nice day.” She started to close the door in his face.
“Mrs. Pappas,” Micah pleaded. “Please? I’ve come a long way to talk to you. I’m begging you for five minutes of your time. If you’re not interested in what I have to say, I’ll leave. I promise.”
Mrs. Pappas pondered his request. She seemed stressed and agitated, but what harm would a short chat do?
“Well, okay, five minutes. But that’s it.”
She’d be relieved to spill her guts to someone, but she’s obviously been told to keep her mouth shut. Micah knew to tread carefully, but how could he carefully tell someone her family was in danger? He decided to be blunt and quick.
“Would you like something to drink, Mr. . . .?”
“Love, Micah Love. Here’s my card. No, thanks on the drink.”
“Well then, what can I do for you?”
“I don’t really know how to start, but . . .”
“But what, Mr. Love?”
“Mrs. Pappas, your family is in danger,” he blurted.
Shock and fear registered on her face, but she remained silent.
“As I stated earlier, I am a private investigator. I was hired by the mother of two boys who were sexually abused by a clergyman in Farmington, Michigan. The clergyman is . . .”
“Gerry Bartholomew,” she uttered, burying her head in her hands. “I’ve always known someone would come. I’m afraid you’ve come a long way for nothing. I can’t help you, Mr. Love. Even if I wanted to, my husband would never let me. We must protect our kids. Besides, we made an agreement. How did you find us?”
“It wasn’t that difficult, actually. We installed unblocking equipment on your in-law’s caller ID in Berea. We traced you through the phone number when your husband called his folks. They’re very worried about you, you know.”
“I do know, but we had no choice. Leaving was the best thing we could do for our family. It had to be sudden, and we were sworn to secrecy. We weren’t even permitted to tell our parents where we were going.”
“Yes, I know,” Micah revealed. “I know the whole story. But there are some things you don’t know, related to your deal with the church, and what happened after you left.”
“Please, tell me everything,” she cried.
Micah could see the woman’s experience in Berea was not easily forgotten. Micah sought to take advantage of her suffering to gain her assistance. It certainly made Jennifer tick. He hoped the same was true for the MacLean and O’Connell matrons.
Micah told her the whole story. Gerry abused the Tracey boys, and the church tried to cover it up. He went to Berea. They murdered the janitor, silenced the town, and entered into a plea bargain in the Michigan case, déjà vu all over again. The Berea cops and court system were stonewalling, and the church was going to get away with this again.
Mrs. Pappas/O’Connell listened, tearing up as he told the story. For the most part, however, she maintained her composure. “They promised us Gerry wouldn’t be placed with children. He did this to another family? And poor Gus . . . kept to himself, the kids could be cruel, but he was a nice old man. How could they, Mr. Love?”
“Call me, Micah.”
“Micah, then. Why would my family be in danger? We’ve done everything the church asked and more.”
“I’m telling you, Mrs. O’Connell . . .”
“O’Connell! Oh, Micah,” she sighed. “No one has called me by my real name in so long. It’s nice to hear it again. Go on, sorry. You were saying?”
“I know how you feel. I know a lot of people who have been placed in witness protection. It’s tough. Anyway, as I was saying, we believe they murdered Gus. He’s the only other witness. Your family and the MacLean family are the only living witnesses to Bartholomew’s prior conduct. They killed Gus. Is it such a stretch to believe they’d kill you guys, too? They know who and where you are. Who’d connect some house fire or auto accident befalling the Pappas family in Florida with the incidents in Ohio and Michigan? It’s a perfect set-up!” Micah warned.
“Oh, my God! It’s impossible to comprehend! My church would actually have people killed?” She wailed.
“I know, Mrs. O’Connell, but everything I’ve told you is absolutely true.”
“I promise to talk with my husband as soon as he comes home. I’ll do my best to convince him to help you. There’s not much more I can do. By the way, what exactly do you want from us?”
“Come to Michigan with your boys. Hopefully, you’ll bring the MacLean family with you. Testify to what happened in Berea, the whole sordid affair. The truth will set all of you free. What can happen to you once you’ve testified? You’d be helping the Tracey family and protecting future kids from harm.”
“I’ll talk to my husband. I can’t tell you what he would do, and I have no idea what the MacLean family will do,” she warned.
“Set up a meeting for me with your husband and Mr. MacLean. That’s all I ask.”
“I’ll do my best. You’ve convinced one of us if that’s any consolation.”
“It’s a great consolation,” he sighed. “Now listen to me. Whatever you decide, you must believe this: Your families are in serious danger. The bad guys may already be on their way. Go into hiding again, this time, from the church. The sooner you get to Michigan, where I can protect you, the better. Once you’ve testified, they no longer have the incentive to harm you.”
“What about revenge?” She intimated.
“I can’t fathom they’ve sunk to that level. Don’t ask me why, but I’m almost positive your testimony will set you free.”
The front door opened, and a large man walked in. He observed a stranger in his living room and went into immediate combat mode.
“Who the hell is this?” he demanded
Micah stood. “Mr. O’Connell?” He stated. “My name is Micah Love. I am a private investigator from Detroit—”
“Name’s Pappas. You’re not welcome here,” the man huffed.
“Pat . . .” Pam pleaded.
“Quiet, Pam.” Pat interrupted. He faced Micah.
“Love, if that’s your real name, I don’t know what your game is, but you’re trespassing. I want you to leave right now. Don’t make me call the police.” He nodded toward the door.
“But, Pat . . .” Pam urged.
“I told you to shut up, Pam, and I meant it,” he commanded. He turned back to Micah. “Mister, I’d like you to leave now!”
Micah started for the door. “Okay, okay,” he capitulated, hands in the air as if a gun were being pointed at him. “I’m going. Don’t do anything rash. Talk to your wife. Discuss my visit. I’m on your side, here to help. At the same time, there’s a family in Michigan that needs you. You can help them and your family at the same time.” He handed the man his card.
“Here’s my card. The phone number’s my cell. I’ll be at the Holiday Inn on University in Plantation. Room 207. Talk to your wife, and then call me. We can handle this situation together, and you won’t have to hide anymore.”
The man started toward Micah, and Micah hurried to the door. “Okay, I’m out of here, but please talk. Call me.”
“No promises, Love,” the man grumbled. “I don’t like strangers coming into my house when I am not home and filling my wife with empty promises. Get the hell out of here.”
Micah opened, exited, and closed the door in one quick motion.
***
Later that evening, Micah’s cell phone rang.
“Love Investigations, this is Micah.”
“Mr. Love? This is Pat O’Connell. You’ve got your meeting. I’m here in the lobby, with the MacLean family, my wife, and my kids. We’re willing to listen. That’s all I can promise. We will listen.”
“That’s all I ask,” Micah gasped. “I’ll be right down. There’s a small conference room we can use, or we can use the coffee shop. Do you know if you were followed?”
“Don’t think so. We’re not experts, but we’ve been looking over our shoulders since we left Ohio.”
“Understood. I’ll be right out.”
Micah literally ran out of the room, skipped the elevator, and ran down the stairs, two at a time. He met the two families. Mrs. O’Connell made the proper introductions. The hotel clerk escorted them to a small conference room, asked if they needed anything, and then closed the door, leaving them alone. Micah told the families the entire story. As promised, they all listened. When Micah finished his narrative, he took a deep breath, sipped from a glass of water, and waited.
Mr. O’Connell broke the silence.
“Mr. Love, we’d like to talk privately. Please wait outside. We’ll talk and then bring you back.”
“Sure,” Micah agreed, rising. “I’ll be right outside the door.”
He left the room and closed the door. As he waited, he heard voices but could make out no words. Voices were raised and agitated on a couple of occasions. Finally, the door opened, and Micah was waved in.
“We’ve decided to place ourselves in your hands, Mr. Love.” Pat O’Connell was palpably relieved. “We’ve seen what these people are capable of doing. They ruined our lives. It does not surprise me someone was killed by these scumbags. It wouldn’t surprise any of us if they came after us. Truth be told, we’ve been fearful of this ever since we left Ohio. They assume we’re cowards. We sold out our families and our community for money. They won’t expect this from us. We won’t wait at home for them, like sitting ducks. The best defense is a good offense. If you promise to keep us safe, we’ll come back with you.”
“Once you testify, they will no longer be in a position to harm you,” assured Micah.
“I hope you’re right. What do you want us to do?”
“I want you to stay with me. Do not go home . . .”
“But our belongings, our houses, our money . . .” cried Mrs. MacLean.
“I’ll take care of all that. Don’t worry about a thing. It’s too dangerous for you to go home. Trust me, please?” Micah implored.
“We trust you, Mr. Love. We are in your hands,” Mr. O’Connell conceded.
“I won’t let you down,” assured Micah. “Now we have to arrange aliases and get you on a plane. I’ll work out the details. We’ll leave in the morning. I have to check out of here. We’ll go to another hotel.”
“Why?” Mr. MacLean wondered.
“Because I checked in under my real name. We have to be super-careful. We’ll find a hotel on the beach somewhere, pretend to be tourists.”
“Okay, whatever you say.”
“Let’s get going.” Micah went to the front desk and checked out. Shortly thereafter, the two families and Micah drove southeast toward Ft. Lauderdale Beach. Micah found vacancies at a slightly rundown beachfront efficiency complex where rooms were rented by the week. Micah rented three rooms under an alias and paid cash in advance. Soon, everyone was safely tucked away in separate rooms. Micah sank into a recliner—satisfied he’d taken appropriate precautions.
***
He awoke to his portable alarm clock. He telephoned the families’ rooms and informed them it was time to go. Then he called the rental car company to advise them where to retrieve their car. He promised to leave the keys with the hotel desk clerk. The rental car rep was not pleased. Micah appeased him by approving additional charges to his credit card statement. He didn’t give a shit about the cost. He was more concerned about getting the hell out of Fort Lauderdale.
If the Voice and his troops were coming for the families, the odds were good that they were already in Florida, staking out houses and running checks on credit card purchases. They’d check under the family names first. They didn’t know Micah was in Florida, so it wouldn’t occur to them to check his credit purchases. At least, he hoped that was true. For the time being, he had the jump on them. He planned to keep it that way. Their very lives would depend on the decisions he made from that moment forward. He called the Coral Springs Police.
A half-hour later, Micah met the families outside. He had a green marker in his hand. He went over to their minivans and used the marker to change their license plate numbers—threes became eights, and ones became sevens. He was taking no chances. They left the hotel. Micah rode with the MacLean family. They drove west on I-595 toward the Florida Turnpike.
“I thought we were going to the airport?” John MacLean inquired, confused.
“We are, but not the airport or time they’d expect,” Micah sneered.
The two vans hit the Florida Turnpike and went north, stopping only to pay tolls, buy gas for cash, or use restrooms and grab snacks for the kids. The kids were enjoying the great adventure. Micah studied them at a rest stop. They were running, laughing, chasing each other. What resiliency! Jennifer should meet these boys. There was life after heartbreak and turmoil, after this cruel betrayal of faith.
They drove several hours to the Kissimmee exit and Walt Disney World. They drove into the grounds and up to the Lake Buena Vista Resort.
“We’re going to Disney World?” Mr. MacLean wondered aloud.
“Can you think of a better place to hide two families?” Micah beamed. “My office staff has purchased two three-day family vacations, including round-trip travel from Flint to Orlando and back to Flint. The MacLean’s are the Hayes family, and the O’Connell’s are the Johnson’s, from Flint.”
“What are we going to do here for three days?” Mrs. O’Connell inquired, aghast.
“Show the boys a good time. They’re in for an ordeal in court. Why not enjoy themselves for a few days?”
“You’re a good man, Mr. Love,” Mrs. O’Connell marveled.
“Call me Micah,” he grinned. “Let’s go check in.”
***
On NW 111 Way and SE 125th Street in Coral Springs, police cars pulled up next to surveillance vehicles sent by the Voice to watch the respective houses. The officers ordered the men to exit the vehicles and stand with their feet spread apart, palms on the hoods of their cars. Officers approached the houses and noticed both had been broken into. Nothing seemed to be missing, except, of course, the families. The officers interrogated the men, who claimed they were from out of town and got lost. Their license plates came back as rental car plates. They loaded the men into police cars and took them to headquarters for questioning.
