The Boys in the Church

by Chris Culver

  I held the radio and listened to the static.

  “All officers, hold position,” said a male voice I didn’t recognize. “We have a sniper in an elevated position. There are multiple fatalities. Stay under cover until further notice. And stay off the radio.”

  I swallowed hard and handed Emily her radio back.

  “You heard the man,” I said. “Keep your eyes open. We need to move the civilians to the pavilion and ride it out until we get help.”

  Emily looked toward the kids. “What do we tell them?”

  I considered and raised my eyebrows. “The truth. They’ll be more cooperative that way.”

  My team agreed, and for the next three hours, we huddled beneath the pavilion and pretended its stone veneer walls and asphalt shingles would provide cover against a sniper. Thankfully, no one else fired a gun. Late in the afternoon, the same male voice who had answered my radio call earlier notified us that the scene was clear. We let the kids go home, and I drove downtown.

  Three armored vehicles had parked on the street in front of my station, shielding it from the rest of the neighborhood. There were press vans nearby, but uniformed officers had kept the reporters well away. Forensic technicians in navy FBI windbreakers collected evidence and photographed the scene with grim expressions on their faces. Though someone had removed the bodies, blood spatter covered the sidewalk.

  George Delgado and Special Agent Bryan Costa sat on the hood of a St. Augustine cruiser across the street from our station. Their heads were down as if they were praying, but neither said a word. Delgado nodded as I approached, but he didn’t meet my gaze. His eyes held little emotion. I walked slowly toward him, dreading each footfall but knowing I couldn’t stop.

  I had seen the blood. I saw the damage. We had lost people today. My arms and legs grew heavier with every step. I reached my boss and Agent Costa.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, Joe,” said Delgado without looking up from his hands.

  “Who’d we lose?” I asked.

  Neither man said anything, so I repeated the question.

  “Bruce Lawson is dead,” said Costa. “Round hit him in the heart.”

  It hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled back until I hit the rear of a Highway Patrol cruiser. The car dipped as I transferred my weight to it.

  “Who else?”

  “Special Agent Linda Parish,” said Costa. “You didn’t know her. She worked in St. Louis. Your colleagues were already deployed, so they weren’t here. He shot two Highway Patrol officers, too. One of them died on the scene. The other one died in the air ambulance on the way to St. Louis.”

  I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  “A girl named Madison died, too,” said Delgado, his voice low. “She was walking her dog and happened to be nearby. I guess he thought she looked like a good target. He didn’t give them a chance. He shot ’em as they walked out of the building.”

  I ran a hand across my face. This was why the Apostate had warned me to avoid church. He knew I’d tell my colleagues and that FBI agents from across the state would come. They had been his targets all along.

  “Agent Lawson was a good man,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  Costa nodded but said nothing.

  “Who called and said there was an active shooter at Waterford College?” I asked.

  Delgado grunted. “Kids. They hatched this idea online to protest Gallen Marshall’s arrest. They knew we’d respond in force if multiple students called and said there was a shooter on campus. When we got there, they planned to march and wave signs at us. The whole thing was streaming live on the internet. We’re still searching for the guy who set it up.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Delgado looked up and shrugged.

  “Go home and call your mom. Tell her you’re okay.”

  I straightened as some of my strength returned.

  “What about this case?” I asked.

  “The bureau will handle it,” said Agent Costa. “We’ve got a team of specialists and tactical officers flying out from DC right now.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Like your boss said, go home,” said Costa, standing. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do before my superiors get here.”

  Agent Costa left, and I looked at Delgado. He held up his hands before I could say anything.

  “Get out of here. Nobody needs you here.”

  “What happened to the girl’s dog?” I asked. “Madison. You said she was walking a dog.”

  Delgado raised his eyes. “Why would I know what happened to the goddamn dog? Five people are dead, Joe. Who cares about a stupid dog?”

  “I do,” I said. “Enough bad things have happened today.”

  Delgado narrowed his eyes. “If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

  I didn’t bother responding. I just walked away. The FBI had locked down the area around our station, but my badge let me get into most places. They didn’t know who the shooter was, but they tracked him down to the water tower. He had left his rifle. Hopefully that’d give us some clues.

  I spent half an hour walking and looking for an unattended dog, but I didn’t find one. Finally, one of St. Augustine’s uniformed officers told me the Humane Society had found him near the river. They would hold him until Madison’s parents could claim him. At least that was something.

  Even after a short walk, I knew Delgado was right: They didn’t need me. The FBI had brought a mobile command center and dozens of special agents. If I stayed, I’d merely get in the way.

  On my way back to my truck, I passed by Rise and Grind. Agent Lawson and I had gone there for a cup of coffee not too long ago. He had said he planned to move to California with his wife when he retired. Now, his wife would never see him again. I climbed into my truck and sunk deep into the seat. Delgado had told me to leave, but I didn’t want to go home. I needed a drink.

  32

  St. Augustine had half a dozen bars within walking distance of my truck, but the shooting and police barricades had closed those. I drove to The Barking Spider, a working-class bar on the edge of town, and parked in the lot. The sun would set soon. Drinkers were stopping by after work.

  I took my phone from my purse and called my parents’ house. Dad answered right away and gave a relieved sigh when he heard my voice.

  “I’ve been watching the news. I’m glad you called.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “Have they identified the victims yet?”

  “No,” said Dad, “but your mom called a colleague with the Highway Patrol. He said they lost two troopers, and the Bureau lost two agents. He also said a civilian got shot.”

  “Yeah,” I said, my voice low. “The civilian was a fifteen-year-old kid out walking her dog. Why would anyone do that? What could he have gotten from that?”

  Dad paused.

  “I don’t know, hon,” he said. “I’m sorry. Why don’t I come down and pick you up? You can stay with us.”

  I wiped away a tear that threatened to fall from my eye.

  “No, but thanks,” I said. “I need to stick around here. Work will need me after this.”

  “Then your mom and I will drive to you. We can bring an air mattress and sleep in your living room.”

  I almost smiled, but I shook my head.

  “That’s sweet, but you don’t need to,” I said. Jake—the bouncer at The Barking Spider—propped open the front door with a chair and lit a cigarette. “Besides, if you come here, Dylan will throw a huge party while you’re gone. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t burn the house down. I couldn’t do that to you.”

  Dad grunted. “I love your brother, but he is a shit sometimes.”

  “We can’t all be the favorite,” I said, my voice flat. I loved joking with my dad, but I couldn’t put any enthusiasm into it.

  Dad paused. “Your mom just got in. You want to talk to her?”

  My throat tightened. Dad was an optimist. Before he retired, he had been a fireman.
He was a genuine hero who rushed into burning buildings to save people. Mom had been a detective who specialized in sex crimes. She had spent her entire career talking to men and women who tried to hide how much they hurt. Where Dad believed me when I lied and said I was fine, Mom would see right through me. She’d recognize I was anything but fine.

  “I should get going,” I said. “I’ve got some—”

  The phone bobbled as Dad handed it off. Mom’s voice came on next. It was soft and understanding. My throat tightened even further.

  “Hey, honey,” she said.

  “Mom,” I said. I counted to ten, expecting her to say something. Then my mouth opened before I could stop myself. “I’m having a bad day.”

  “Your dad and I saw the news,” she said. My eyes fluttered as a tear fell.

  “A friend of mine died today.” I paused and looked at the dashboard. “I shouldn’t say he was a friend. Agent Lawson was a co-worker. He was a good co-worker, though. He worked for the FBI. I hadn’t met the other people who died, but I knew him.”

  “It’s hard when that happens.”

  I nodded. “Did you ever lose anybody at work?”

  “Once,” she said. “A detective who worked for me got into a car accident driving to a crime scene in Ballwin.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t want to keep doing this.”

  “What do you want to do, then?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t want to do this.”

  Mom said nothing for a few seconds. Then, she cleared her throat.

  “After what you’ve been through, I think it’d be a mistake to decide today,” she said. “Whatever you do, though, your dad and I will support you. If you want to quit, we can help you out. We don’t have a lot of money, but we can help support you while you find a new job.”

  I thought back to my conversation with Brenda Collins, the attorney who’d called me about my biological mother’s will.

  “You wouldn’t need to give me anything. I’ve got more money than I can spend.”

  Mom chuckled softly. “St. Augustine must pay their officers better than St. Louis. When I was your age, your father and I struggled to pay the rent with two salaries.”

  “Erin left me some money when she died,” I said. I paused. “I also know someone murdered her.”

  Mom paused for almost a minute. “Are you upset?”

  “That someone murdered Erin?”

  “That I lied to you about it,” she said.

  Mom was seventy miles north, but I shook my head as if we were in the car together.

  “You were trying to protect me. I was fragile back then. I wouldn’t have reacted well.”

  She sighed. “Still, I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. You were my mom when I needed you most. Erin gave up on me.”

  We settled into an easy silence for a moment. Then Mom cleared her throat.

  “It’s none of my business, but can I ask how much Erin left you?”

  “It’s a trust fund, and I didn’t ask about the details,” I said. “Her lawyer said the fund started with two hundred and forty thousand dollars, but it’s been in the stock market for the past eleven years. Now it’s worth over six hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Whoa,” Mom said.

  “Yeah. It’s a lot of money, but it doesn’t feel like mine.”

  Mom paused. “Where did Erin get that much money?”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “The detectives working Erin’s murder need to know about it. Erin was penniless her whole life. How did she die with a quarter million dollars?”

  I closed my eyes. “I already told Matthias Blatch. He was working her case.”

  “You keep in touch with Detective Blatch?”

  “Some.”

  “I like Matthias. He’s smart, and he’s got good judgment. He’s nice, too,” she said. She paused. “He’s single.”

  I sighed and shook my head. “We’re not going there, Mom.”

  “I was just saying,” she said. “He’s single. That’s it.”

  “The pope is single, too,” I said. “You think I should go to Mass on Sundays?”

  “I want you to be happy, hon,” she said. “You know that.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding, “but if you’re looking for grandkids, consider putting your eggs in another basket.”

  She didn’t respond. I almost told her goodbye, but she spoke before I could.

  “Your dad and I can come down. We love seeing you.”

  “I know, but I’ve got a lot of stuff to do,” I said, glancing at the bar. “Even with the shooting, we’ve got a case to solve. We need to get this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

  “Promise me you won’t drink too much tonight.”

  My back stiffened. “I’m not a drunk.”

  Mom paused. “I know.”

  The bouncer looked to my truck and gave me a friendly wave. Jake was in his early forties, but his wife was at least ten years younger than him. She had been a stripper at Club Serenity, but I didn’t know whether she had performed outcall services like many other girls in the club, or whether she had worked her way up the truck stop parking lot. Though I had never met his wife, Jake was a nice man. We talked when the bar wasn’t busy.

  I gave him a tight smile and focused on my phone call.

  “Sorry to cut you off, but I need to go.”

  Mom, once more, hesitated. “I love you, honey. I want what’s best for you.”

  My chest felt tight. “I know. And I love you, too.”

  “Will you call me tomorrow?”

  “I will,” I said. A moment later, I hung up and leaned my head back. Somehow, I knew anything I drank that night would taste like ashes, and I knew I’d still drink until I passed out. It wouldn’t be fun, and I’d hate myself in the morning, but at least for a while, I could forget my day. Dr. Taylor, my therapist, had given me her home number for days like this when I needed someone to talk to. As much as I appreciated that, I didn’t want to talk to her. I needed a friend.

  I nodded once more to Jake before turning on my car and driving out of the lot. As I sat in the drive-through of a fried chicken place near the interstate, my phone buzzed, signaling an incoming message. It was from Trisha, and she wanted to talk about our investigation into the Apostate. As much as I needed to talk to a friend, I didn’t want to talk about the case. The line crept forward as the driver in front of me picked up her order.

  My fingers dialed the number of the only person in St. Augustine I wanted to see.

  “Susanne,” I said, once she picked up. “It’s Joe. Is this a good time?”

  “It’s always a good time for you, dear.”

  “I’m picking up some fried chicken. Do you have dinner plans?”

  When Susanne spoke, her tone told me she was smiling.

  “I do not, and I would love to have dinner with a friend if you’re available.”

  “Thank you. I’ve had a long day. I didn’t want to eat alone.”

  “A young woman with fried chicken will never eat alone if she doesn’t want to.”

  I nodded and smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

  She said she looked forward to it and then hung up. When I got to the window, I ordered enough fried food, sides, and cherry pie for a family of five, but I didn’t care about the calories or the expense. I had dinner plans with someone who cared about me, and already, I felt better than I had in hours. I was lucky to have the friends I did.

  33

  The FBI had cleared my house, so I drove home after dinner with Susanne. I drank a few drinks, but I didn’t let myself get drunk before going to bed.

  My doorbell rang at a little before six the next morning. I rolled over and covered my face with a pillow but didn’t get out of bed. Then the doorbell rang again, and my phone buzzed from the end table. I threw my pillow down and groaned. I had gone to bed wearing an old T-shirt and little else, but still my
sheets were damp from perspiration. The air was humid and warm. That was life without central air-conditioning in central Missouri in the summer.

  I swung my legs off the bed and grabbed my cell phone. The text had come from Trisha.

  I’m at your door. We need to talk.

  I groaned again before texting her back to tell her I’d be there in a minute. When Roger had slept at the foot of my bed, I’d enjoyed a consistent morning routine. He’d yawn, fart, or roll over, waking me up as the sun rose, and then we’d go out for a run in the woods. Toward the end of his life, Roger had stopped going for the run with me, but he had always waited for me at the porch and looked excited to see me when I came back. I missed that routine. I missed my friend.

  Rather than dwell on such maudlin thoughts, I dressed and walked to the front door. Trisha was alone outside.

  “Morning,” I said, forcing a smile to my face. It was early, but I was sober. That didn’t happen often. “What’s going on?”

  “I texted you yesterday,” she said, stepping past me to go inside. “We need to talk.”

  “Make yourself at home,” I said, stepping back. I loved Trisha, but the intrusion into my quiet morning annoyed me. “You want coffee while you’re here?”

  “Yeah, sure. You alone?”

  I furrowed my brow and shut the front door. Trisha shot her eyes around the room as if she were expecting the boogeyman to jump at her.

  “I’m alone,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Are you sure you’re alone?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “How could I be confused about whether I’m alone?”

  She swallowed and nodded before looking at the ground.

  “The FBI arrested Harry early this morning.”

  My eyes popped open. “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I were. They kicked down his door at three in the morning. Irene and Carrie came to my house in tears. I called George Delgado, but he couldn’t do anything. I had nowhere else to go.”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding as my mind tried to process what she had just told me. “I’ll put on coffee. You tell me what happened.”