by Chris Culver
“Jamal and his team are triangulating the Apostate’s position now,” said Costa. “He’s local.”
Lawson relayed that information to the Highway Patrol. After a few moments, Lawson looked at me.
“Highway Patrol has sent a dozen troopers our way,” he said, covering his phone once more. He looked at me. “The Apostate has contacted you twice now. Why?”
“Probably the same reason he broke into my house and took my underwear,” I said. “I think he likes me. He wants a friend.”
Lawson nodded, his eyes distant as he thought. Then he resumed his conversation with the Highway Patrol. My phone beeped again, but I ignored it for the moment and focused on Agent Costa.
“How many agents do you have in the county?” I asked.
“Just me and Bruce,” he said. “Everybody else is at the office in St. Louis or out in the field.”
“Go downstairs and talk to Doug Patricia. He’s our dispatcher. It’ll take time for the Highway Patrol to get here, but our department has officers on the ground right now. As soon as your technical people find the Apostate, we can send a team to pick him up.”
Costa looked at his boss. Lawson nodded.
“Do it.”
Agent Costa hurried toward the door. I looked at the message on my phone.
“Are you religious?” I asked, reading aloud.
“Come again?” asked Lawson.
“It’s the message the Apostate sent,” I said, typing my response. “I’m telling him I believe in God.”
Lawson told the Highway Patrol officer he’d call him back. Then he crossed the room and sat beside me and stared at my phone. Within moments, it beeped again with an incoming text.
That’s not an answer.
Lawson read it and nodded.
“Keep him talking. Elaborate, but be vague.”
I typed in a message.
God and I have a complicated relationship.
Lawson read the text and nodded, so I sent it.
“That’s good,” he said. “Ask him how he feels about religion next. Tell him you saw his church and that it intrigued you. Ask him whether he ever attended services there.”
I waited for a response from the Apostate, but none came for almost thirty seconds, giving me time to stand and think.
“That’s too aggressive,” I said. “If we push him too hard, he’ll pull away. He’s still feeling me out. We need to keep the chase going.”
My phone beeped with another incoming text message. Lawson picked it up and read aloud.
“Don’t go to church today,” he said. He paused and blinked before looking at me. “Do a lot of churches hold Saturday services here?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not a big churchgoer.”
Lawson nodded, his eyes distant. “That was a warning. The Apostate cares about you. He doesn’t want you hurt. He’s going to attack a church today and doesn’t want you there.”
“Sounds reasonable,” I said. “I guess.”
Lawson reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“You don’t seem convinced.”
“An attack on a church doesn’t fit his profile,” I said. “Everything he’s done so far has been targeted.”
“No profile is ever complete or a hundred percent accurate,” said Lawson. He dialed a number. “Stacey. It’s Bruce. Get on the phone and send the entire team back to St. Augustine. Tell them lights and sirens. I need them here now.”
As Agent Lawson spoke, Costa came back in the room.
“The Apostate’s phone is off,” he said. “We think he was on the interstate between here and St. Louis.”
Lawson nodded and looked to me.
“We need to start calling churches. If they have something going on tonight, we need to persuade them to cancel and allow my agents to search their facilities. If the Apostate hid an explosive in a church, we need to find it before people get hurt.”
“That request might sound better coming from the sheriff,” said Agent Costa.
“Then get him,” said Lawson, looking to me once more. “The Apostate knows your cell number, your address, and your life story. I need a list of everybody you’ve met while working this case.”
“I can get you the list, but I don’t know how much it will help. Angela Pritchard shared my story with the entire world, my cell number is on the Sheriff’s Department website, and my address is on the county assessor’s website. My job makes me a public person.”
Lawson sighed before nodding.
“I understand,” said Lawson. “Work with Sheriff Delgado and start calling churches. We need to put together a list of potential targets, and then we need to shut them down before he takes out anybody else.”
29
The wind held steady from the west, but even halfway up the water tower, it didn’t bother him. St. Augustine had built the tower in the early eighties when Glenn had been in college. It was a hundred and seventy feet high and held well over a million gallons of fresh water. In a power outage or disaster, the town would open the valves, and the tower would provide a day’s worth of water to the mains at almost a hundred pounds per square inch of pressure, more than enough to run showers, toilets, and major appliances across the county.
Today, that tower would serve a different purpose.
The rifle case strapped to Glenn’s back impeded his movements but not as much as the rope and harness slung over his shoulder. Helen, just beneath him on the ladder, wore a breezy top and black fingerless climbing gloves. Her expression was unconcerned, even relaxed.
“Enjoying the climb?” he asked, resting for a few seconds and looking down.
“I don’t think it’s so bad,” she said, smiling. “Nice breeze, pretty day. Are you not having fun?”
Kick her. Break her fingers.
Glenn could almost close his eyes and imagine himself giving in to his shadow’s demands. He would have enjoyed watching Helen plunge to her death, but he still needed her. She was his compass. Without her, he lacked direction. That gave her power over him. As if reading his thoughts, Helen smiled even broader.
“I dare you to try to knock me off,” she said. “You’ll fall and break your stupid little neck.”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” he said, looking up and resuming his climb.
“Then shut up and listen,” she said. “We have a good thing together, and you’re going to ruin it for nothing.”
“I’m doing this for you,” he said. “Everything I’ve done is for you.”
“You’re doing this because your shadow wants you to. You’re weak, Glenn. You’ve always been weak,” said Helen. “You’re like Dad. Mom had balls, but you killed her before she passed them on to you.”
He said nothing and climbed the remaining seventy feet to the scaffolding at the top of the tower. The height gave him clear sightlines to Waterford College, to downtown St. Augustine, and to every building, parking lot, and park in between. The breeze was stronger that high, but he knew how to compensate for it.
“I didn’t mean to kill Mom,” said Glenn, once his sister finished climbing the ladder. “At least you got to meet her. I don’t even remember her voice.”
Helen considered him before pulling herself onto the scaffolding and sitting with her feet dangling over the edge and her chest pressed against the guardrail. Though she was five years older than him, she almost looked childish.
“I’m sorry I said that,” she said.
“No, you’re not. She died in childbirth. You never forgave me,” said Glenn, stepping into his climbing harness and then securing the long rope around the guardrail near his sister. As tall as the water tower was, it would take him four and a half minutes to climb down the ladder once he did his job. He had timed it twice already. That was four minutes too long.
As soon as he pulled the trigger, the sinners would look for him. If it took almost five minutes to get down, they’d easily find him suspended a hundred feet in the air on a ladder. A controlled d
rop from a rappelling rope shortened his descent to under thirty seconds. He’d disappear by the time the police even thought to look for him.
“I don’t understand why we’re doing this,” said Helen. “This is an unnecessary risk.”
With his harness secure, Glenn unzipped the bag in which he carried his rifle, a task made more difficult by his climbing gloves. Unlike his sister’s gloves, his had fingers. He’d leave smudges behind, but no prints.
“Your way wasn’t working,” he said, setting up the carbon-fiber tripod system that would hold his rifle steady. “I’m tired of talking to you. Let me work.”
Kill her. Throw her off the side.
Glenn didn’t know how much Helen weighed, but he doubted it was much. He could toss her over the side as his shadow suggested, and she’d careen to her doom in seconds. She wouldn’t have time to scream. His world would go quiet once more.
Only, that would simply trade one master for another. Helen watched over him. She loved him. Her embraces and sweet words had helped him through more rough patches than he remembered. His shadow was a black hole that sucked in the light. She didn’t love him. She didn’t even care about him. His shadow only wanted to be fed. Helen kept her at bay. She protected him.
He hated this. His fate had never been his own. It never would be, either.
“I hate you, Helen.”
“But you love and need me, too,” she said. “And I love and need you.”
He nodded. A weight far greater than gravity pressed down on him, threatening to buckle his knees.
“Mary Joe was never mine,” he said. “I thought she was the one for me, but she wasn’t.”
Helen took her gaze from the town and reached out a hand. He squeezed her hand between his own.
“No, she wasn’t, but I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, and you’ve always been mine,” she said, smiling her sweet, beautiful smile. Almost at once, the weight left his shoulders, his hands steadied, and his muscles relaxed. His shadow’s voice quieted. “You’re stubborn, Glenn, just like Dad was. I’m here to guide you and help you.”
“Can you tell me about Mom?” he asked.
She moved his hands toward his rifle. “Tonight, sweetheart. Now, I want you to prove how much you love me. Since we’re up here, we’ll use the platform. Kill Detective Court. As long as she lives, she’s a threat.”
Glenn nodded. Helen was right. He would die soon—even he understood that—but he had work to finish. Mary Joe could ruin everything. She needed to die.
Slowly, he nodded.
“I’ll take care of her.”
Helen patted him gently and lovingly. “Good. Let’s get to work.”
Within five minutes of the Apostate’s last message, we had six uniformed officers making calls to churches in St. Augustine and a dozen troopers with the Highway Patrol searching the interstate and surrounding roads for anyone who matched the little we knew about him. The Highway Patrol had good officers, but nobody knew what to look for. They were wasting their time.
I walked to my desk. About half the foster families with whom I had grown up went to church, so I had attended services at just about every kind of Christian church in existence. Some churches had hundreds or even thousands of members. They had softball leagues, gymnasiums, and professional coordinators who planned events. Other churches were single rooms in a strip mall. They were lucky to have a pastor.
Even if Lawson spoke to a representative from every church in the county, he’d miss events. Modern churches played so many roles in the community that few would have a single point of contact who knew everything that occurred inside their buildings.
We needed to be smarter.
Once I reached my desk, I pulled out my phone and called Rise and Grind. A young man answered, but he gave the phone to Sheryl, the owner, when I asked.
“Hey, Joe,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“Sheryl, hey,” I said. “I need your help. You’ve got people going through your shop all the time, and you hear them talk. Has anyone mentioned church events today?”
She drew in a breath.
“No. Well, not really,” she said. “Father Mike came by this morning and picked up a gallon of coffee. His church is sponsoring a Habitat for Humanity house on Hickory Boulevard. Does that count?”
I nodded and wrote it down.
“Yeah. That’s great. Anything else going on?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Hold on just a second.”
She must have muffled the phone because her voice quieted as she spoke to someone else.
“Jeremy says there’s a club at his high school called the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, and they’re holding a picnic in Magnolia Park.”
I nodded and wrote it down. “Does Jeremy know anybody involved?”
After some back and forth, she gave me the faculty sponsor’s name and other details. I thanked her and hung up. Both the Habitat for Humanity build and the club picnic would involve dozens of people congregated in a small area. They’d be enticing targets.
I called the Catholic church first. It took about half a dozen phone calls to track him down, but I talked to Father Mike, who happened to be at the Habitat build site. Once I told him there was a potential threat, he agreed to shut everything down and send everybody home.
The faculty advisor for the Fellowship of Christian Athletes was a little more difficult. She told me the high school had received six threats in the previous year alone, none of which had amounted to anything, but all of which had disrupted the lives of her students. Absent a specific threat to her event, she wasn’t going to cancel it.
After wasting twenty minutes with Mrs. Busby, I hung up and walked upstairs to the conference room. Agents Lawson and Costa, Sheriff Delgado, and two uniformed Highway Patrol troopers sat around the table talking. Lawson waved me in as I opened the door.
“So far, we’ve found six churches with events today. We’ve convinced four to postpone. We’re putting teams together to search all six, and we’ll post officers outside of each during their services. Has the Apostate contacted you again?”
I shook my head. “No, but I’ve got another gathering to add to the list. It’s a picnic in Magnolia Park sponsored by the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, a club at the high school. The picnic starts in about an hour. I couldn’t persuade them to cancel.”
Lawson considered for a moment.
“An hour?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. I nodded, and he looked to the sheriff. “How quickly can you get a team together?”
“We’ll find out,” he said, standing. “Detective Court, you’re with me. Let’s go.”
I hesitated and then followed the sheriff out of the room, wondering what he wanted me for.
“Agent Lawson thinks the Apostate’s working alone,” said Delgado, talking while we walked toward the lobby. “He’s got twenty-four FBI agents with tactical training en route, and the Highway Patrol has another forty troopers in the county. I’ve called in the night shift, so we have forty-four of our own people around town. If the Apostate shoots up one of our churches, he’ll regret it.”
“We’ll get him,” I said, hoping my voice sounded more confident than I felt.
“Hell yes, we will,” said Delgado. “You don’t get to kill kids in Missouri and get away with it, not while we’re on duty.”
When we reached the front desk, Officer Doug Patricia nodded toward us both.
“Sheriff Delgado, Detective Court,” he said. “What’s up?”
“I need eight officers to meet Detective Court at Magnolia Park. The Apostate might be coming to hurt kids there. We need to make sure he fails.”
“Okay,” said Patricia, focusing on his screen. “You want anybody in particular?”
Delgado looked at me.
“Whoever’s on duty is fine,” I said. “We need a show of force. If eight marked cruisers surround the park, the Apostate should think twice before going there. We’ll stop him before he hurts anyb
ody.”
Delgado held up a hand.
“That’s not how we’ll handle this,” he said. “I appreciate your gusto, but we’ve got to consider the opportunity in front of us. The Apostate’s coming after us somewhere. If we do this right, we can get him off the streets permanently. I want your team out there, but I want them in civilian clothes, and I don’t want to hear of a police presence anywhere near the park.”
I gave Delgado a sidelong glance.
“Using kids as bait is a bad idea,” I said. “A lot can go wrong.”
“That’s why you’re out there,” said Delgado. “I need my best people on this.”
My back stiffened as the realization hit. If we caught the Apostate, Delgado would go down as the small-town sheriff who took down the most dangerous serial murderer in Missouri’s history. If the Apostate shot a kid or one of my officers, though, the blame would fall on me. Either way, Delgado got something he wanted. I didn’t even realize we were playing a game, and he had already won.
Doug Patricia made calls to put the team together, and I leaned toward the sheriff and lowered my voice so only the two of us could hear.
“If someone dies today, I’ll make sure it comes back on you.”
“I’m sure you’ll try your best, Detective,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
Delgado turned and left. Every muscle in my body tightened, and the blood flowed through my veins so quickly it sounded like a waterfall behind my ears. Arguing or fighting wouldn’t have helped anything. I had a job to do and kids to keep safe, and that started with thinking my way through the problem.
Magnolia Park had a creek to the south, Waterford College to the west, a road to the north, and a residential neighborhood to the east. The Apostate could come from almost any direction, but there’d be enough big trees for cover and ample room for his intended victims to run. Not only that, we’d have eight officers plus me on the grounds and fifty or a hundred more officers who could arrive within minutes. If he was stupid enough to show up, we’d be ready for him.
