by Blake Pierce
There had to be a link between the three men who had been killed. Somewhere, there had to be some sort of connection. She’d heard of lapsed Catholics or people transitioning from Baptist to Lutheran and so forth. She also knew that it might be something of a culture shock for someone from a Presbyterian background to start attending a Catholic church.
But it happens, I’m sure, she thought. And while it might take forever to try to find one person who attends Living Word who has also attended Blessed Heart or Cornerstone, it might not be quite as hard to find someone who works there who can give something of an inside view.
She knew where she needed to go next. And even though she felt like her morning was on some sort of endless loop, she carried on. She said her goodbyes to Yardley and hurried to the parking garage, heading out to pay yet another visit to Eric Crouse.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Eric Crouse’s wife was understandably not happy to see Mackenzie again. After all, the last time Mackenzie had visited, her husband had been reduced to a sobbing mess. She didn’t even bother saying anything to Mackenzie when she answered the door. She simply walked away after giving Mackenzie a scowl, leaving the door open behind her. Having not been formally invited in, Mackenzie remained there on the stoop.
A few moments later, Eric came to the door. He looked much better than he had earlier that morning; he was more composed and looked to have gotten a great deal of grieving done in the hours that had passed.
“Agent White,” he said, stepping out onto the stoop and closing the door behind him. Apparently, she would not be invited in this time.
“Sorry to bother you again, but in speaking with Chris Marsh, a thought occurred to me. And I’m hoping you could maybe point me in the right direction.”
“I can certainly try,” he said. “How is Chris, by the way?”
She elected not to tell him about how Chris had tried to attack her, possibly dealing with some sort of unresolved mental issues from the stress and trauma of his last few months. Instead, she settled for a half truth. “He’s doing okay,” she said. “He’s obviously dealing with a lot but he was able to help as well as he could. But it occurred to me that my best bet at getting any kind of solid lead is going to be finding a connection between the churches or their leaders themselves. You, being a former elder at Living Word, I thought you could maybe help in that regard.”
With his arms crossed, Eric nodded. “Well, a few things come to mind. First, there are often events or conferences here in DC. They also have them in northern Virginia and parts of Maryland. It’s these events where speakers get together for leadership talks and sort of honing in on God’s word. I know for a fact that Pastor Woodall and Father Costas have attended some of those together. They weren’t friends or anything like that, but they were civil when around one another. There were always varying theological arguments between them but they were always very respectful.”
“And what about Reverend Tuttle?” Mackenzie asked.
Eric shrugged. “I don’t know him well. And at the risk of sounding like a snotty and spoiled man, you have to remember that Cornerstone Presbyterian is relatively small. Reverend Tuttle wasn’t usually in on circuits like that—conferences and things of that nature.”
“You said a few things come to mind,” Mackenzie said. “What are some others?”
“Well, I’m just thinking about a guy that used to serve at Living Word. He might still be attending there…I honestly don’t know. He served at the Welcome Center and helped out with the children’s ministries. I don’t recall his last name, but his first name is Greg. He’s coming to mind because I know for a fact that he came to Living Word after leaving Cornerstone Presbyterian. I spoke to him a few times in passing on Sunday mornings. Part of his story is how people at Cornerstone found out about his past and kind of turned their backs on him. They never actually asked him to leave, but it was clear to him that’s what they wanted.”
“What sort of past?”
“I’m not sure. He was kind of vague about it. Again, these were just quick discussions in passing in the craziness of Sunday mornings at a pretty big church.”
“When you say he served, what do you mean?”
“Well, he wasn’t an employee of the church or anything like that. At Living Word, there are ministries for just about everything. And people within the church volunteer to help within those ministries. Greg was one of them.”
“And even with a past that even he admitted is shady, he was able to serve?”
“Yes. At Living Word, they are very sincere about not judging people based on their pasts—just on the people they can be in the future with the help and love of Christ. Although, for the children’s ministry, he’d have had to go through a background check. So if that came out fine, it eliminates a lot of criminal activity in his background.”
“And was there any disagreement between him and Pastor Woodall?”
“Not really,” Eric said. “I do recall a time after a sermon on forgiveness and reconciliation that Greg pulled me to the side after service and asked questions about the message. A few things Pastor Woodall said had rubbed Greg the wrong way. But I don’t think there was anything mean about it. Just…sometimes the word of God can cut us, you know? But again, I repeat, I didn’t really know the guy all that well. But I do know he has a solid connection to Cornerstone Presbyterian and he has told me that he left there because he felt he was being judged by his past.”
“And you don’t remember his full name?”
“No, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his phone from his jeans pocket. “But if you give me a second, I can probably get it for you.”
He started typing up a text message and as he did so, Mackenzie took a moment to try to put the pieces Eric had just given her into the messy puzzle she had poured out in her head. This would be the first verifiable connection between one person who had history with both Living Word and Cornerstone. If by some strange coincidence this person was also familiar with Blessed Heart, there could be pay dirt.
Those chances are slim, though, she told herself. And one guy with a checkered past who did some church bouncing because messages and attitudes were making him uncomfortable isn’t all that uncommon. It certainly doesn’t make him a suspect. But it does make him a potential resource for how the two churches could possibly be linked.
The sound of Eric receiving an incoming text broke her concentration.
“Man, people are on the ball this morning,” Eric said. “I guess tensions are high with what happened to Pastor Woodall. Anyway, I pinged a guy that is one of the leaders back in the children’s ministry. He says the guy’s name is Greg Yoder. And he no longer attends Living Word.”
“Greg Yoder,” Mackenzie said, committing it to memory before she typed it into a text message of her own for a request for more information from headquarters. “Thanks so much, Mr. Crouse.”
She hurried back to her car, again reminded just how accustomed she had gotten to having Ellington at her side. Without him there to pull the occasional wisecrack or flirtatious comment, the morning seemed to be moving quite slow.
When she placed the request for Greg Yoder’s contact information, it was only 11:40. But the day already felt like it had stretched on forever—and also like it didn’t intend to speed up anytime soon.
That did, however, change slightly when she received a call from Harrison five minutes later.
“Mac, I think we might have something here,” he said. “It turns out that Greg Yoder has a history that is incredibly relevant to your case. As a kid, he attended Blessed Heart. More than that, he was one of two teenagers who stepped forward with claims of abuse.”
“At Blessed Heart? You’re sure?”
“I’m looking at the police report right here on my laptop,” he said. “The case was later dropped without any real reason given but yes…Greg Yoder accused a priest at Blessed Heart of sexual misconduct at the age of sixteen.”
“I think you’re right, Harr
ison. We just might have something after all. Yoder also has ties to both Cornerstone and Living Word.”
“You need me or Yardley to come meet you?”
“No, I think I’m good. A man with a history of abuse from someone he saw as an authoritarian—he won’t take kindly to being piled up on. Do you mind just sending me the address?”
“Absolutely. Good luck.”
With that, she ended the call and waited on Harrison’s text. She felt a familiar anxiousness creeping into her as she waited.
Maybe today would start speeding up after all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The morning had crept along to the point where most everyone in the city was at work. This included Greg Yoder, who worked as a manager at a downtown FedEx office. Mackenzie pulled up in front of the building, situated in the center of a strip mall, and checked the information Harrison had sent her once again. Yoder was twenty-seven and currently enrolled in a local community college. He had no criminal record, his name only appearing in police reports for the hushed abuse scandal from eleven years ago.
When Mackenzie walked into the FedEx place, there were several people standing around, a few at the front counter while others looked around at the envelopes and stationery. Lunch rush, Mackenzie assumed as she stepped forward toward the counter.
When she got there, she saw three employees behind the counter. One of them was working on a project at a large printer off to the right. He was a tall, young-looking man. When he turned just slightly in Mackenzie’s direction, she could read his name tag: Greg.
Mackenzie approached the counter, getting irritable looks from those waiting in line. The young girl behind the counter gave her a similar glare, looking from Mackenzie and then to the back of the line.
“Yeah, I know,” Mackenzie said. “But I’m here to speak with the manager.”
“He’s busy at the moment,” the girl said.
“I can see that,” Mackenzie said, nodding at Greg, still by the printer. “But I assure you, this is urgent.”
She was doing everything she could to not pull her badge and cause a scene. But if she had to, she would. Fortunately, something in her gaze must have unnerved the young girl behind the counter because she left her place at the register and went back to the printer. There, she whispered something into Greg’s ear. Greg looked up toward Mackenzie, gave a confused look, and then left the printer.
“Can I help you?” he asked quickly as he approached the counter.
Mackenzie waited for the girl to resume her place at the register before answering, “I’m Agent White with the FBI, and I need to speak with you.”
Greg gave her a look that indicated he clearly didn’t believe her. Mackenzie leaned closer to him and looked him in the eyes. “I can pull my badge and show you, but I figured you wouldn’t want your co-workers and customers to see. It’s your call.”
“There’s an office in the back,” he said rather quickly.
“Thank you. I won’t use up too much of your time.”
Greg was clearly frightened as he walked over to the girl at the register. “I know it’s busy,” he said, “but I need you to cover for me for a few minutes.”
More irritated than ever, the girl nodded. Greg opened up a waist-high hinged door along the counter to allow Mackenzie behind it. He led her past a row of copiers and printers, into a small hallway hidden away from the rest of the store. The office he led her into was indeed small and smelled like someone’s microwaved lunch.
Mackenzie closed the door behind them. There was a single desk and only one chair that neither of them used.
“You look nervous, Greg,” she said.
“I’ve kind of been expecting someone to come talk to me. I figured just the police, though. Not the FBI.”
“Why would the police come talk to you?”
“Well, Father Costas was murdered, right? Last I checked, the killer still hasn’t been found. I figured with my complaint filed against him as a teenager, I’d eventually be sought out for questioning.”
“How did you feel when you knew he was dead?”
“Honestly…my first thought was that karma is a bitch. If you want to know if I was sad about it, I’m not going to lie. That old bastard got what he deserved. I know it sounds harsh and very un-Christian, but…”
“Do you have any alibis for the night he was killed?”
“I stay over at my girlfriend’s apartment most nights,” he said. “She can vouch for me. If I’m not there, I’m at the library.”
“You’re going to community college, right?”
“Yeah. Getting a late start, I guess. But after I made those allegations against Father Costas, my life kind of went downhill. That damned story took up my entire life. I applied to colleges and had great grades. But no one would take me. The story about my allegations was never national news or anything, but I think it made the rounds enough to screw up my life for a few years.”
“Tell me, Greg…have you heard about any other murders in the last few days?”
He shook his head. “I don’t really watch the news. The only way I found out about Costas was from my mother calling to tell me.”
“Well, there have been two more, and they were both leaders of churches. Churches I believe you attended and had some sort of issue with.”
“What?” Greg asked, genuinely shocked. The word came out as little more than a gust of air.
“Reverend Tuttle of Cornerstone Presbyterian and, just last night, Pastor Robert Woodall at Living Word.”
“Oh my God,” Greg said, a trembling hand rising up to his mouth.
“You’ve attended those churches, correct? I have it on good authority that you even served on a greeting team and in children’s ministry at Living Word on occasion.”
“That’s right,” Greg said. “I…uh, I left Cornerstone because they were too hung up on my past. They apparently don’t believe that someone can escape their past. The congregation there…they just wanted nothing to do with me. So I left and started attending Living Word.”
“But you had issues there as well, right?” Mackenzie asked.
“No, nothing like I experienced at Cornerstone. It was just…I don’t know. The messages were a little too liberal for me. It took me no time at all to figure out that they were very accepting of me and my past but there were other things they believed that I took issue with. The message sometimes made me very uncomfortable.”
“Did you ever have direct conversations with Pastor Woodall?”
“Once. I went up to him after the service and asked him to go into greater detail about the grace that God extends to us.”
“Did it lead to an argument?”
“Not at all.”
Mackenzie weighed her options. She would of course check in on his alibis for the nights and mornings of the murders. But her gut was already telling her that Greg Yoder was not a killer. He was just an unfortunate man who was haunted by a past that it seemed like he might never escape.
“Let me ask you one last thing,” Mackenzie said. “All those years ago, when things with Father Costas went down…was it a mutual thing?”
Greg looked at her like she had just slapped him. But when he saw no judgment in her face, he sighed and wiped a stray tear away.
“The first time he tried something, it was mutual. He was very complimentary and I was at that age where I was just curious, you know? But after a few seconds…I told him no. But he didn’t like that. No one ever told him no, apparently. I remember him even saying one time, ‘Do you want to know what happens to boys that tell me no?’ It was twisted.”
“And how many times did he abuse you?”
“Twice. The first time was brief because I ran out of there. But the second time…I figured it was okay. Just get it over with, you know? But then I met another kid who was going through the same thing and…well, we decided to go public. If it happened to us, surely it was happening to others, you know?”
Mackenzie nodded. She w
as feeling another lead slip away, but at the same time, other avenues within this case were starting to open up.
Alleged abuse with Costas at Blessed Heart. Alleged abuse with Woodall at Living Word. That means motive for someone and much more than a basic connection.
“I appreciate your time, Greg,” she said.
“Sure. And with Woodall and Tuttle…were they killed the same way?”
“Yes, they were. So if you think of anyone who might have been able to carry out such an act or would even have any reason to, please let me know. Especially anyone you know who might have been abused by these men. What about the other young man that came forward with you?”
Greg frowned. “His family moved to Florida after it all went down. I got a call from his sister about a year later. He hung himself in his bedroom.”
Mackenzie had almost been expecting such news but it still shocked her. She also did her best to view it as more than just a missed opportunity for another lead, but as a tragic loss of human life at the hands of deplorable abuse.
She handed Greg one of her business cards and opened the office door. “Thanks again for your time. And please do let me know if you can think of anyone else who might be able to help.”
Greg only nodded as he pocketed the card. As Mackenzie left him in the office, it occurred to her that with each person she questioned about the case, she was uncovering scabs that had taken a while to form. And while she realized that questioning these people was essential to cracking the case, it made her feel no better.
It also made her determined to catch this bastard sooner rather than later so she could stop causing people pain by dredging up pasts that they were trying to forget.
With that, she figured she needed to start at the beginning. She thought of Father Costas and the ornate façade of Blessed Heart.
Abuse from eleven years ago and he was still the prominent figure within the church, she thought. As far as I’m concerned, that means there’s a cover-up somewhere.
