The Boys in the Church

by Chris Culver

  I don’t believe you.

  My phone went silent for a full minute before it beeped once more.

  Ask Jude how he liked the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  Jude wasn’t in the building, but I walked back to the conference room anyway. Agent Costa sat to Paige’s left, while her mom was to the right. All of them had their backs to me.

  “Hey, Paige,” I called. The three turned around. Agent Costa furrowed his brow, but I ignored him for the moment. “Does Jude like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”

  The color drained from Paige’s face. She gasped and covered her mouth, and I knew the man texting me wasn’t lying. It was him. My stomach felt as if I had just plummeted a hundred stories straight down.

  “Agent Costa, I need to talk to you in private right now,” I said.

  He nodded. We hurried outside and shut the door while Paige hugged her mother. Costa crossed his arms.

  “Tell me about this sandwich.”

  “I can’t,” I said, holding up my phone so he could see the screen. “Someone texted me and said he was the Apostate. I told him I didn’t believe him, and he told me to ask Jude about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I didn’t know what that meant. Paige does, though. She’s holding back on us.”

  Costa blinked as he took that in. Then he covered his mouth and nodded.

  “Keep him talking,” he said. “And give me the number he’s contacting you from. We’ll worry about Paige and Jude later.”

  I read him the number, and he dialed his phone and stepped away from me. I focused on my phone again.

  What’s your real name?

  I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything, but I needed to keep him talking.

  We’re not there yet.

  I then asked him what I should call him. He didn’t respond for at least a full minute.

  Doctor.

  “He wants me to call him doctor,” I said, glancing at Agent Costa. “Didn’t you guys think he could have been a doctor at one time?”

  Costa considered but then looked away.

  “Paige and Jude both said he wore a gold mask that covered his eyes. They said it had a beak. It may be a plague doctor’s mask.”

  I furrowed my brow. Costa straightened.

  “It was a mask worn by physicians in the seventeenth century,” he said. “Doctors would stuff the beak with herbs and breathe through it because they thought that would prevent them from getting the bubonic plague from their patients. It’s in a video game called Assassin’s Creed. My kid plays it late at night when he thinks I’m in bed.”

  “Kudos for video games,” I said, focusing on the phone again and typing.

  Plague doctor?

  The Apostate responded almost instantly.

  Very good, detective. You have spoken to Paige and Jude.

  I looked to Agent Costa. “Tell me you’ve got a location on this guy’s phone.”

  “We’re working on it,” he said. “He’s connected to a cell tower in St. Augustine County. I’m already mobilizing a team.”

  To catch him, we’d need to know more than the cell tower he had connected to, but I nodded anyway.

  “Good. I’ll try to keep him talking.”

  Costa grunted, and I thumbed in a message.

  I want to understand you.

  He didn’t respond immediately. My muscles felt twitchy, and my fingers trembled. I couldn’t stand still, so I paced beside my desk.

  You will. First, it’s my turn. Why do you have stairs beside your bed?

  At once, it felt as if someone had covered my feet in cement. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. Costa must have seen my reaction because he walked to me and looked over my shoulder. I sucked in a quick breath and typed a response.

  They’re for my dog. How do you know about them?

  “Don’t engage him again,” said Costa. “He’s making this personal. You don’t want a serial murderer in your head.”

  My phone buzzed, and I swore under my breath as I read the message.

  I’ll enjoy breaking you, Mary Joe.

  I clenched my jaw and showed my phone to Costa. He covered his mouth but said nothing.

  “It’s too late to avoid making this personal,” I said. “He’s been in my house.”

  23

  I went by my locker in the basement and grabbed my department-issued bullet-resistant vest. Agent Costa was in the lobby waiting for me as I climbed the steps. He was on the phone, so I turned to Jason Zuckerburg.

  “Who’s on duty tonight near my house?”

  He drew in a breath and focused on his computer for a moment. “DeAndre Simpson and JD Phillips are about a mile away. They’re looking for drunks, but fishing is light tonight.”

  “Unless they’re occupied, send them to my house but tell them to hang back until I arrive. I’ve had a break-in.”

  Zuckerburg typed and then looked at me.

  “They’re on the way. You need anybody else?”

  I looked to Agent Costa. He had finished his phone call and walked to us.

  “Bruce Lawson and Sheriff Delgado will meet us at your place,” he said, looking to me before focusing on Zuckerburg. “Jude Lewis and his parents will be coming in. Make sure they’re comfortable in the conference room. We’ll need to talk to them again soon.”

  Zuckerburg nodded and said he’d look for them. Then Costa and I left. We took separate cars to my house, but we both parked in the driveway. Within moments, two St. Augustine County police cruisers joined us. I met the small team in front of my car.

  “My house has a door in the front and a second in the back. Agent Costa and I will clear the house room by room to make sure we’re alone. DeAndre, I want you in the front. JD, you’re in the back. Just watch the doors. If you hear us shout for help, please come in and help us. I don’t anticipate finding anyone in the home, but it’s possible. Questions?”

  The team had none, so DeAndre and JD got in position by the front and back doors, and Agent Costa and I searched the house room by room. It felt almost surreal leading a man I barely knew through my house, like it was some kind of bad dream. It wasn’t a dream, though. I felt sick.

  My place wasn’t big, so it only took a few minutes to clear it. Once we finished, we left and stood on the front lawn. Delgado and Lawson arrived a few minutes later. The two FBI agents then went to Lawson’s SUV to talk in private, leaving me alone with Delgado.

  “Jude couldn’t find the Apostate’s hideout,” said Delgado. “He tried his best, but it’s dark. He got pretty upset, so we didn’t want to push him.”

  “They’re holding back on us,” I said. “The Apostate contacted me and told me to ask about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When I did, Paige clammed up.”

  Delgado narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think they’re working together, do you?”

  I screwed up my face and shook my head. “You’ve seen them. He starved these kids. If Paige and Jude are doing the Apostate’s bidding, they’re not doing it willingly. I think they’re just scared.”

  “How’d he get your phone number?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe from the station’s website, maybe from one of my business cards.”

  Neither of us said anything more until Lawson and Costa walked toward us.

  “I have twelve FBI agents in St. Augustine County trying to track down the Apostate,” said Lawson. “Unfortunately, he turned off his phone after talking to Detective Court. We’ll keep looking, but I’m not optimistic we’ll find him without more information. In the meantime, I’d like Detective Court to walk through her house by herself and look for anything out of place. What’s he moved, what’s he touched, and what’s he taken? While you’re inside, I also want you to pack a bag. You’ll be staying elsewhere tonight. That sound okay to you?”

  I nodded, so Lawson wished me luck. Inside the house, my kitchen, living room, and first-floor powder room looked as they always did. If the Apostate had touched anything, he’d put it back. Then I walked to m
y bedroom and grabbed a gym bag from my closet. I threw in two T-shirts and a pair of pants, but when I opened my underwear and sock drawer, I stopped and felt my stomach flutter.

  I hated laundry day because it always felt like a wasted afternoon in which I could have been doing something productive. Because of that, I kept track of my clothes. If I had three pairs of clean underwear left, that meant I had two days before laundry day. This morning, I had two pairs left. Now, I had one.

  I opened the drawer with my bras inside and swore under my breath. My appearance mattered, but I had never spent a lot of money on my clothes. My one exception was a bra I had bought at a Bloomingdale’s on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. Audrey, my sister, had talked me into it when I last visited her. It cost me a hundred bucks, which meant it cost more than most of my outfits, but Audrey said I looked great in it. She didn’t say that often, but when she said it, she meant it. Now that bra was gone.

  I stepped back and looked at my bed next. I loved the feel of clean sheets, but I hated making my bed almost as much as I hated doing laundry. When I left for work that morning, my bed had been a disheveled mess. Now, somehow, it looked even worse. I was also missing a pillow.

  It took that moment for my feelings to catch up. My stomach roiled, and bile rose in the back of my throat. The muscles of my legs twitched. I sucked in two deep breaths, hoping to dispel my growing sense of nausea, but nothing I did could stop my hands from trembling. I felt violated.

  I stayed in the room for a few minutes, but it didn’t make me feel better. Sheriff Delgado, Agents Costa and Lawson, and several St. Augustine police officers waited on my front lawn. I walked toward my boss and the FBI agents and nodded.

  “He was here,” I said. “He went through my clothes and stole a pair of underwear and at least one of my bras. He also stole a pillow from my bed.”

  Delgado didn’t seem to know what to say, but Lawson nodded.

  “Dirty or clean?” he asked.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Your bra and underwear,” said Lawson. “They speak to different pathologies.”

  “Clean,” I said, raising my eyebrows and feeling a fresh wave of revulsion wash over me. “Jeez. I didn’t even check my dirty laundry hamper yet. That’s just gross.”

  “Yeah, it is,” said Lawson, nodding and stepping onto the porch with his hands in his pockets. I held the door open for him as he stepped inside. When he saw my living room and the files and whiteboards inside, his eyes widened. Delgado walked in a moment after us and had a similar reaction.

  “You’ve been busy,” said Lawson, walking to the whiteboard on which I had scribbled notes. “Did you put the profile together yourself?”

  Delgado walked to my coffee table and picked up a stack of documents. “You didn’t have access to these, Detective. How do you have them?”

  Warmth spread to my face and across my body. Though I tried to keep the panic from my expression, I swore over and over in my head. I had lived with the whiteboards and file boxes in my living room for so long I barely remembered I had them. Now, my gut flip-flopped, and my throat tightened. I almost swore, but I kept my mouth shut as I tried to think through my options.

  “This isn’t what you think,” I said, hoping to buy myself another moment.

  “What is it, Detective?” he asked, stepping forward. His voice held more than a hint of malice. “Because, from my vantage, it looks like you broke just about every regulation we’ve got on the books.”

  In fact, there were entire sections of Missouri’s criminal code and St. Augustine’s own manual of regulations and rules I hadn’t violated, but I didn’t think reminding him of that would get me anywhere. Instead, I drew in a breath to tell him I was just doing my job, but Agent Lawson cleared his throat before I could.

  “I gave her the papers.”

  Both of us looked at him with our brows raised.

  “You?” asked Delgado.

  “Yeah,” said Lawson, flicking his hard, green eyes toward me before fixing them on Delgado again. “When working a case like this, I find it helpful to have outside perspectives now and again. Detective Court is an intelligent officer, and I was glad to hear her opinion.”

  Even though Lawson spoke well of me, his eyes were flinty and hard, and he leaned forward and positioned his feet outside his shoulders. He looked like an animal getting ready to pounce. It was almost unnerving.

  “If you wanted a fresh perspective, you could have asked me,” said Delgado. “I’m on the task force. That’s my job.”

  “The Apostate abducted young women. I wanted a young woman’s perspective on the case. If you were thirty years old and female, I would have asked you,” said Lawson. “Since you’re not, I approached Detective Court and asked her to look over things in her free time. She was never derelict in her duty or assignment. She did nothing wrong.”

  Delgado shifted his weight over his heels and then looked at me and then to Lawson. “You two are thick as thieves, aren’t you?”

  “I appreciate your candor and help, Sheriff,” said Lawson, “but I can handle this from here. Why don’t you step outside?”

  Delgado bristled and narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Next time another law enforcement agency asks you for a favor, I expect you to clear it with me before you start.”

  I nodded, and Delgado huffed and left the room. Once my front door shut, I held up my hands toward Lawson.

  “Before you say anything, I’m sorry. This was my case before you came along, and I didn’t want to give it up. I copied the files in my station and brought them here to study on my own.”

  Lawson crossed his arms and nodded, his face implacable.

  “Who else has seen them?”

  I considered lying to him, but I had never been a great liar.

  “Trisha Marshall. She’s our dispatcher, but she’s a sworn officer. Harry Grainger saw them, too. He’s the former sheriff.”

  Lawson’s expression softened as he nodded.

  “At least they’re law enforcement,” he said. “The Apostate saw them, too. He’s been in your house.”

  “I made a mistake, but I thought it was a risk worth taking. Sorry.”

  “Stop talking,” said Lawson. “It was a mistake. You made it. Own up to it. Don’t make excuses and don’t apologize. Just tell me you won’t do it again.”

  I straightened and looked him in the eye. “I won’t do it again.”

  “Good,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a key chain. He slipped a thumb drive from the ring and handed it to me. “Get in your truck and drive to your station. This thumb drive has copies of everything we’ve found. The Apostate is still alive. I want you to go through our profile and papers and tell us what we missed. Start with the victims. We thought he picked them by looking through their applications to Waterford College. Find out how he’s actually doing it.”

  I looked at the key chain. “That’s a tall order.”

  “You wanted to be part of the case,” he said. “Now get going. My team will search your house and see what they can find here.”

  Even before the words left his lips, my stomach contorted, and my breath became shallow. This building was more than four walls and a roof; it was my home. I grew up in the foster care system, so I rarely got hugs at night, and when I did, they almost always came with strings attached. If I did the laundry and cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms, I’d have a warm bed. If I did the dishes, I could have dinner. For most of my childhood, love was transactional, and hugs were the signature on a contract.

  As a child, that was okay. When I hit puberty, though, things changed. My foster fathers watched me in a way they hadn’t before. Even then, they had made my skin crawl. My foster mothers were often even worse. When I was thirteen, one foster mother called me a slut because she caught her husband taking pictures of me bending over to pick up my backpack while I wore a skirt. I had never even kissed a boy, and in this woman’s eyes, I was a slut because her husband liked looking at thirt
een-year-old girls.

  My life taught me to shut out the world. If I kept my head down, if I hid in plain sight, people almost forgot I was there. They couldn’t hurt me if they forgot I was around. I mattered in my house, though. I could be myself in those walls without worry. The Apostate creeped me out, but he was crazy. He might have tried to attack me, but he’d never be able to see the real me.

  Agent Lawson, though, profiled people for a living. He’d see a hallway devoid of family pictures, he’d see a freezer that held only frozen meals and vodka, he’d see a dog bed without a dog, and he’d see guest bedrooms without beds. He’d see how alone in the world I was. He’d see through the facade I put on every morning over the person I was. Every muscle in my body trembled at the thought.

  I swallowed all that down and embraced the cold frigidness to become the person my colleagues thought I always had been. I became the ice queen. My heart slowed, and a still calmness spread from my chest and then to my extremities. I was fine. I didn’t need others in my life. They just got in the way.

  Lawson surveyed the room. I hesitated before clearing my throat to get his attention. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side.

  “Make sure you lock up when you’re done,” I said. “If you break anything, I’ll send you a bill.”

  Lawson locked his gaze on mine. For a split second, I thought I saw some kind of recognition flicker in his eyes, but then it disappeared as a tight smile spread to his lips.

  “Good luck, Detective.”

  “You, too, Agent Lawson,” I said. I hesitated before leaving. “What do you want to do about Paige, Jude, and their families?”

  “I’ll send them home and have an officer sit in their driveways in case the Apostate tries to finish the job. We can interview them again tomorrow after they’ve slept.”

  I nodded before turning and heading toward the front door. Sheriff Delgado stood on the front lawn as I walked out, but I ignored him. I ignored the FBI’s forensic van, too. Everybody was just doing a job. It didn’t matter that they were going through my house. I had nothing to hide or feel ashamed of.