by BJ Bourg
“I know I am.” I leaned forward and rested my forearms on the desk. “Look, you’re safe now. He’s locked up and he won’t be going anywhere for quite some time. This is your chance to break free from him, but I need you to help me keep him locked up.”
“Me? How? What can I do?”
“You said he would kill you if you opposed him. How do you know that?”
She lowered her eyes. “I have not been the perfect wife. I stepped outside of my marriage and I ended up with child. I deeply regret my mistake, but I love Isabella dearly. Nehemiah insisted I give her up for adoption, but I refused. When I refused, he took her from me and said he would kill her if I did not reject her as my child.”
“Why didn’t you tell Dawn and me when we were out at your house?”
“I did not know where she was located and I did not know who had her. I thought if I reported him, she would surely die.”
“Isabella’s four years old. Why’d Nehemiah wait until just now to demand you reject her?” I asked. “Why didn’t he do it much sooner?”
“It is only recently that he found out about her.”
I nodded slowly. I knew the paternity test confirmed it for him, but what made him suspect she wasn’t his child? I posed the question to Gretchen.
“He said the Lord spoke the words to him.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I do not want to doubt a man of God, but…” Gretchen hesitated. “Isabella was sick and I had taken her to the doctor. Nehemiah always drives me places, but he usually stays in the waiting room while I bring the children in to see the doctor. This time he came in with us. While the nurse was examining Isabella, Nehemiah picked up her file and was reading through it. I did not think anything about it until he abruptly slammed the file down on the desk and left the room. When I looked at the file, it was open to Isabella’s latest blood work.” She lowered her head. “I knew right then that he suspected something.”
“What’s with the blood work?”
“Nehemiah and I are both O-negative and Isabella is A-positive.”
I grunted. “That’s a problem.”
“It is, but he did not say anything about it when I walked out into the waiting room. He did not say anything until a couple of weeks ago, when he said the Lord told him the truth. That is when he tried to force me to give her up. When I refused, he took her away in the middle of the night and I have not seen her until earlier today.” She wiped her tired eyes. “The following Sunday, he delivered the most hateful sermon. I have never heard such a vile message from the pulpit before. It felt as though the entire congregation was staring directly at me, but there was nothing I could do. I felt hopeless. He had my baby and I did not want to do anything to threaten her safety.”
Gretchen was crying again. I slid a box of Kleenex in her direction.
“Do you think he killed those women?”
“I know he did.”
“How’s that?”
She looked up. With tears flowing freely down her face, she said Nehemiah threatened to put her where he put Kathleen if she didn’t give up Isabella and confess the name of the man who was her father. “When Debbie Brister disappeared, he said he would continue taking women from the church until I signed papers giving up my rights to Isabella, and he demanded to know the name of her father.”
“Did you sign the documents?”
She shook her head. “I cannot give up my baby.”
“Who’s the father?” I asked.
She lowered her head. “I cannot say.”
I wanted to press her on it, but decided against it. I told her I’d be right back. After stepping out of the interview room, I walked around until I found Dawn.
“We don’t need to take Gretchen’s children from her,” I said. “She’s as much a victim as they are.”
Dawn nodded. “I agree. We need to find a place for all of them to stay—a place Nehemiah won’t be able to find them if he bonds out of jail.”
While she met with the agents from the Office of Child Protective Services, I contacted the duty judge to obtain a telephonic search warrant for Nehemiah’s DNA to compare against the DNA we’d recovered from Kathleen Bertrand’s face. After presenting the facts I’d just uncovered, the judge gave me the authorization. He also agreed that I had probable cause for Nehemiah’s arrest with regard to the child, but he told me to send him the affirmation of probable cause before he made the official determination, and he gave me a hint about the bond amount.
I retrieved a buccal swab kit from my truck and walked into the holding area, where a deputy was standing guard over Nehemiah. While I pulled on a pair of latex gloves, Nehemiah regarded me with suspicious eyes.
“You’re being charged with aggravated kidnapping,” I explained, “and your bond is going to be set at a million dollars.”
“Kidnapping? I did not steal anyone!”
“You imprisoned Gretchen’s daughter with the intent to force Gretchen to give up her parental rights to the child—that’s aggravated kidnapping in Louisiana, and the penalty is life in prison.”
He started to say something more, but he shut his mouth when I stepped closer to him.
“I’ll be taking your DNA now.” I placed the swab kit on the desk next to him and asked him to open his mouth, explaining the simple collection procedure.
His eyes narrowed and he shook his head slowly, biting down hard.
“I have a warrant to retrieve your DNA, which means I can take it forcibly,” I warned. “I’m only going to ask one more time—please open your mouth.”
His jaw jutted out defiantly and he shook his head.
I immediately grabbed him by the lower jaw with my left hand and jerked him out of his chair. After bending him backward over the desk, I dug my index finger and thumb into the sides of his cheeks until he groaned in pain and his mouth slowly parted.
I motioned for the deputy to hand me the packet of swabs, and then I recovered a sample from the inside of each cheek. When I was done, I stepped back and allowed him to slide off the desk and onto the floor.
I sealed the package and took one last look at him before walking out the door. “If your DNA matches the DNA we recovered from Kathleen Bertrand, you’ll also be charged with first degree murder and you will be convicted, after which the wages of your sin will be death. I’m just sorry we can’t crucify you.”
CHAPTER 46
Later that evening…
After sending Nehemiah to the detention center, completing the arrest reports, and fast-tracking the DNA swabs to the crime lab for comparison, Dawn and I headed home to get a shower and some sleep. The sheriff had contacted District Attorney Ryder Crawford and made arrangements for us to meet at Crawford’s office first thing in the morning to consult with Nehemiah and his attorney. The plan was for the DA’s office to offer Nehemiah a deal in exchange for him leading us to Debbie.
While I felt comfortable Nehemiah was our most likely suspect, there was a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that we’d missed something. I went over everything in my head, but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t put a finger on it.
The sheriff had decided to leave several roving patrols in Plymouth East, but he had scaled back the search for Debbie Brister. After going over most of the community twice, it was clear she was nowhere to be found—and neither was her car. We had to consider the possibility she had left on her own fruition or had been taken out of Plymouth East.
“If we don’t get anywhere with Masters tomorrow,” Sheriff Chiasson had told Dawn and me earlier, “we’ll expand our search outward from Plymouth East. I’ve already gotten with dispatch and told them to put out a national alert for Debbie, just in case the killer’s gone mobile.”
The sheriff had then ordered Dawn and me to get some sleep so we’d be presentable for our meeting with the DA. He didn’t have to tell us twice.
Now, nearly two hours after meeting with the sheriff, Dawn and I stepped out of the shower together and began toweling of
f in front of the mirror. I was watching her and I caught her watching me. “I can’t remember the last time we—”
I didn’t let her finish. I pulled her wet body to mine and kissed her like it was the first time. Our hands explored each other as I backed out of the bathroom door and into our bedroom, where we fell to the bed. The droplets of water from our bodies rubbed off on the bedspread, but we didn’t care. We began making love and didn’t stop until it was almost midnight. While both of us had been exhausted from lack of sleep when we first got home, we were never too tired to make love and were now fully alert—and very much into each other.
When we were done, I rolled onto my back beside Dawn and sighed heavily.
“I needed that,” she said. “I feel so relaxed.”
“I do, too.” I closed my eyes. “I can sleep for days now.”
“Hey…” Dawn suddenly popped up to her elbow and placed a cool hand on my chest. “Earlier this morning, when I woke you up in the interview room, you mumbled something that I could barely understand. What was it?”
I was instantly awake, but kept my eyes closed. I had hoped she missed it, but I knew by the look on her face that she understood what I’d said. Trying desperately to feign delirium—which shouldn’t have been so hard to do considering how little rest we’d had since this investigation began—I mumbled something about DNA, murdering bastards, and German shepherd puppies, and then I pretended to be asleep.
I don’t know if she bought the act, because she grunted and rested her head on my chest, seemingly frustrated. I figured she had to know I wanted to marry her, but I wanted the proposal to be a surprise. And I had worked so hard to surprise her with the perfect proposal setting, complete with real-time documentation, but then this case had happened. I sighed, knowing Dawn would’ve knowingly given up that perfect proposal to be here doing God’s work.
Maybe I will drop down to one knee when this case is done, I thought. A crime scene proposal would probably be an original thing. I’d certainly never heard of it being done before.
CHAPTER 47
Wednesday, August 20
Magnolia Parish District Attorney’s Office, Chateau, Louisiana
Red MacQuaid, a local defense attorney who had been summoned to represent Nehemiah Masters, stepped out of the secure room where Nehemiah was sitting with two prison guards. Rubbing one of his thick stubby arms, Red shook his head and addressed Assistant District Attorney Nelly Wainwright.
“He says he can’t lead you to Debbie Brister, because he didn’t do anything to her. He also denies knowing anything about Kathleen Bertrand’s murder.”
Nelly Wainwright was a great prosecutor and was well respected in the law enforcement circle. Tragically, she had lost two brothers—one of them a former captain with the sheriff’s office—within a span of four years, but she had found the strength to press on.
“Did you tell him we’d take the death penalty off the table on Kathleen Bertrand’s case if he leads us to Debbie Brister?” Nelly asked Red. “Dead or alive—we want her body.”
“I told him all of it.” Red wiped sweat from his forehead and, when he raised his arm, I couldn’t help but notice the dark wet spot under his armpit. The man definitely had a perspiration problem. I didn’t know if it was his nerves or a medical condition, but despite how cold it was in the building, sweat seemed to be draining from every pore in his body.
“Did you tell him Detective Carter has sent his DNA off to be compared against the DNA found on the victim?” she asked. “If it matches, he’s a dead man.”
“I told him.” Red nodded for emphasis. “He swears he didn’t do it. He said he can’t give me what he doesn’t have.”
Nelly walked briskly toward the room where Nehemiah was being held and instructed the guards to get him out of her building. When she turned back toward us, she folded her arms across her chest and regarded Red with a cold stare. “If your guy killed Kathleen Bertrand and Debbie Brister, I’ll make sure he dies twice for his crimes.”
Red shrugged his shoulders as though to say he tried, and then he gathered up his briefcase and trudged out the door.
I turned to Sheriff Chiasson. “I guess we expand the search parameters now.”
He nodded and, after thanking Nelly, Dawn and I followed him out onto the sidewalk. The morning sun was shining bright and a cool breeze was blowing in from the north. It was a beautiful day, but the fact that Debbie was still missing cast a dark cloud over our mood.
Dawn’s phone rang and she answered, then handed it to me. “I’m not your secretary,” she joked. “It’s time for you to replace your phone.”
It was Melvin. He had hand-delivered the buccal swab kit to the crime lab yesterday and they had just called him with the results.
“The analyst worked through the night on this, and it was her daughter’s birthday,” he said, “so we owe her big time. Anyway, it’s not Joey and it’s not Nehemiah.”
My shoulders fell. I felt deflated. I could tell by Dawn’s expression that she had accurately interpreted my reaction to the news. She cursed and turned to let the sheriff know.
“Are they sure it’s not Nehemiah?” Even as the words left my mouth, I knew how foolish it sounded. They were the best at what they did, and they were certain.
“Yeah…it’s not him.”
I thanked Melvin and ended the call, absently handing Dawn her phone. “If the killer’s not Nehemiah or Joey, then who in the hell could it be?”
“What about this Virgil Brunner fellow?” the sheriff asked.
I shook my head. “We interviewed him and he was very cooperative. I think he’s clean.”
“I agree. He let us look into his bank records and search his property,” Dawn said. “He didn’t act like a person with something to hide.”
“Then who the hell’s doing this?” The frustration was evident in the sheriff’s voice. “And how do we know he won’t take another woman?”
“I really thought Nehemiah did this,” Dawn mused aloud. “He gave that sermon about adulterous woman deserving to die and…”
Her voice trailed off and I cocked my head sideways. “What are you thinking?”
“What if one of the church members thought Nehemiah was speaking literally, rather than metaphorically, about adulterous women needing to die for their sins?”
“I thought he was speaking literally,” I said, “which was why I thought he killed Kathleen.”
“Exactly, but you wouldn’t go out and kill anyone just because he said they deserved to die. Instead, you’d think he’s a lunatic.” She paused and held up a finger. “But what if someone in the church thought it was a call to action? What if that person knew Kathleen and Debbie were cheaters, and they did what they thought was God’s work?”
“We need to find out if there are any other cheaters in the church,” the sheriff said. “They could be potential targets. If we ran surveillance on every possible victim, we might be able to catch this monster in the act.”
“We already know one of them,” I said slowly, extending my hand toward Dawn. “Gretchen Masters, but she’s on the way to a safe house.”
Knowing I wanted her phone again, Dawn handed it over and reminded me again that I needed to replace mine. “How am I supposed to call you when we’re not together?” she asked.
I grunted and called Virgil Brunner. When he answered, I asked him if he was sure he hadn’t investigated any other women for adultery in the church.
“No,” he said. “The only women I’ve investigated from the church were Debbie Brister and Kathleen Bertrand, and, of course, what I told you about Gretchen Masters.”
I ended the call and tossed the phone to Dawn. “We need to pick up Gerard Brister.”
“Why?” Sheriff Chiasson asked. “He seems like a sincere and simple man.”
“He does, but he knew Joey suspected Kathleen of cheating and he knew his own wife was cheating,” I explained. “He’s also a very religious man and he’s devoted to the church. If
Jim Jones can convince almost a thousand people to commit suicide, then Nehemiah Masters can surely convince one simple man that cheating women deserve to die—even if it wasn’t Nehemiah’s intent.”
“We might as well pick him up, then,” Dawn said. “We’ve got nothing else.”
“When we get back to the bureau, I’ve got to give a briefing to the press. I just got a call and there’re a dozen reporters already waiting in the conference room.” The sheriff rubbed his face and sighed. He looked haggard and I knew he’d gotten as little sleep as we had. “I’d like you two to stand with me in case they have some questions I can’t answer. After we’re done, y’all can pick up Gerard Brister and see what he’s got to say.”
I grumbled silently, not liking the idea of being in the limelight, but I didn’t want to be difficult. We’d all had a long week, and there was no use complaining about something so trivial.
CHAPTER 48
The lights from the reporters’ cameras were bright and the questions came fast and furious. I stood to one side of the sheriff while Dawn stood to the other, and we waited patiently as he fielded question after question. Word of the Crucifix Killer was spreading across Louisiana and a sense of panic was starting to set in. The reporters were not making it better.
“While I won’t divulge too much information,” Sheriff Chiasson said calmly, “I will say that we believe the incidents are isolated to Plymouth East.”
“Is it true that the Crucifix Killer has struck again?”
“We don’t know that for sure,” the sheriff said. “We’re still searching for Debbie Brister, who went missing early Monday morning, but there’s no real evidence to indicate that…”
When the rest of the sheriff’s sentence didn’t materialize, I glanced sideways to see what was wrong. He was staring down at his phone and his face was twisting into a scowl. I looked past him at Dawn. While she was doing a better job of masking her expression, she was also reading her phone.
