The Boys in the Church

by Chris Culver

Trisha followed me to the kitchen, where I put on a pot of coffee and toasted two pieces of bread. I didn’t have butter, so I ate them plain while the coffee brewed. Trisha sat at the breakfast table and fidgeted like a kid who needed to use the bathroom.

  “Walk me through this,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “The Bureau’s new team came in last night, and they put a mobile command center in the parking lot. They’re not even using the conference room.”

  “I figured they’d do that.”

  Trisha nodded and paused as if she were considering what she wanted to say.

  “Agent Lawson was a good investigator,” she said, speaking slowly. “He talked to potential witnesses, families, police officers…everybody who could give him information. The woman replacing him doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  Trisha wrapped her hands around the coffee mug but didn’t pick it up.

  “You saw Lawson’s profile of the Apostate. Based on what he saw, he thought the Apostate was a forty-five to sixty-year-old, fit white male. He believed he had a high standing in society, which enabled him to interact with his victims and persuade them to go with him. He said the Apostate was intelligent and that he had access to large tracts of property, which would allow him to kill his victims without alerting the neighbors. Lawson also thought the killer was a local. He was looking for someone who grew up in St. Augustine County and who knew you.”

  I nodded and raised my eyebrows. “That could be hundreds of people.”

  “Yeah, but the Bureau’s technical team tracked the trajectory of the shots fired yesterday to the water tower. There, they found a Remington 700 SPS tactical rifle and rappelling rope.”

  I nodded and walked to the coffee maker. “What do they know about the rifle?”

  “The original owner purchased it from a shop called Outdoor Renaissance in Indianapolis. The Bureau picked up the original owner, but he said he sold it for cash at a gun show.”

  I poured two mugs of coffee and carried them to the table. “How did you learn all this?”

  “Irene showed me Harry’s arrest warrant. It listed the probable cause,” she said. “Before becoming a police officer, Harry spent six years in the 101st Airborne Division in the Army. He’s an expert marksman with experience rappelling from fixed platforms. He knows you, he grew up in St. Augustine, and he’s the right age and sex. Also, the range master at the rifle range out by the old Reid Chemical plant said he’s seen Harry with a Remington 700. A search this morning found .308 Winchester rounds in his house but no rifle chambered for that round on the property.”

  I swore under my breath and sat up straighter. To have that much information, the Bureau must have investigated him days ago. It made me wonder whether Agent Lawson’s attempts to get close to me were a genuine interest in my abilities or an attempt to get inside information on a suspect. I guessed it didn’t matter. Lawson was dead, and Harry was in custody.

  “Where was he yesterday during the shooting?”

  “Fishing.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but I held back given the situation.

  “And knowing Harry, he was fishing in some no-name lake in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yeah, so he has no alibi. And he knew everything we knew about the Apostate investigation. Without him, it might have taken us years to put together the pattern.”

  “Which they’ll use against him,” I said, rubbing my eyes and feeling my shoulders sag. “I assume he has a lawyer.”

  “Even if he does, Harry’s in federal custody for multiple murders. He’s tough, but he’s still an old man. The government thinks he killed multiple federal agents. They won’t be gentle with him.”

  “I’ll talk to Agent Costa and tell him they’ve made a mistake. This is insane.”

  She looked at the table. “George Delgado already tried. Costa didn’t even take his call. They’re closing ranks on this one.”

  “Then we need to find the real shooter,” I said.

  Trisha flashed me a desperate smile. “Any idea how we do that?”

  “Does the front desk still have a key to the evidence vault?”

  “Yeah, but Mark Bozwell’s finicky about that place. We try not to go down there except in emergencies.”

  “This is an emergency,” I said. “Give me a minute. I’m going to get dressed.”

  She nodded and sipped her coffee while I walked to my bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for the day. It gave me a few minutes to plan. Ten minutes after I left Trisha in the kitchen, I emerged from my room wearing a navy blazer, white button-down shirt, and jeans. Trisha looked up at me.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  We drove separate cars to the station and got there at half past six. The FBI had cordoned the front door and taken over most of the parking lot, so we parked on the street and entered the building through a side door that served as an emergency exit most days. The building felt somber. Few people were around.

  “What do we do?” asked Trisha, as we walked to the bullpen.

  “The Apostate starves his victims until the boys are so hungry they’re willing to rape and drown their partners for food. Then he burns the boys alive.”

  Trisha nodded as we weaved through the desks. “That’s what Jude and Paige said.”

  “If he did it to them, he did it to every couple,” I said. “The ritual matters for this guy. Something happened to him that makes this a meaningful act. We need to find out what.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “We read,” I said. We reached my desk a moment later, and I pulled out my chair. Where my station’s digital archive only went back to 1995, the Missouri Secretary of State’s website had death certificates going back all the way to 1910. Those death certificates didn’t give me a lot of information, but they listed the causes of death of everyone who had died in St. Augustine for the past hundred years.

  Trisha took over a desk beside mine, and the two of us searched the database for the next hour, looking for men and women who the coroner determined had died from drowning, asphyxiation, smoke inhalation, or acute burns. The search wouldn’t cover everyone, but it gave us a lot of names to work with. We then narrowed the search by looking at those whose deaths the county considered a homicide. That left us with six names from the past fifty years.

  Once we finished, I looked at Trisha. “What time does Mark Bozwell open the evidence vault?”

  “8:30.”

  I looked at my watch. “So we’ve got an hour. Get the key from the front desk. I’ll meet you outside the vault.”

  34

  Helen and Glenn stared in disbelief at the woman sitting across from them at the kitchen table. It was like magic. One moment, he and Helen had been alone. Then, she had appeared. If Glenn hadn’t witnessed it, he wouldn’t have believed it. First, he had seen thin wisps of black smoke, and then that smoke had thickened and coalesced into her, smile and all. It was like something from a dream.

  By Helen’s face, it was a nightmare.

  “Hello, Glenn,” said Detective Court, pushing back from the table and crossing her legs. Until now, he had only seen Mary Joe wearing jeans, but today she wore a cream-colored skirt and off-the-shoulder top. The outfit showed off her muscular legs and toned arms. Her blonde hair fell against her shoulders and possessed just enough of a wave to curl around her ears. Glenn had always found her attractive, but, with some minor changes, she had become the gorgeous woman he had dreamed of.

  “Get out,” said Helen. “You don’t belong here.”

  “He’s asked me here, though,” said Mary Joe, looking to Glenn and smiling. “He needs me. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

  Glenn’s lips moved, but he couldn’t force sound to pass through them. Mary Joe leaned across the table to put her hands over his. Her touch was electric. He gasped but didn’t dare pull his hands back. Mary Joe bit her lower lip and looked at him with eyes that
shone with internal fire. Everything about her was alive with strength. He almost wilted in front of her.

  “We don’t need you,” said Helen. She put a hand flat on Glenn’s back. Cold passed through him, quenching Mary Joe’s fire. “We’re strong together. Isn’t that right, brother?”

  Glenn tried to listen to Helen, but he couldn’t take his eyes from the exquisite creature in front of him.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice so soft he couldn’t hear himself above the sound of the air conditioner.

  She lowered her chin. “You know who I am, sweetie.”

  “You’re his shadow,” said Helen, her voice flat.

  “I didn’t think you were real,” said Glenn. Mary Joe traced a finger along his knuckles and nodded.

  “I’m real, and I’m here because you need me,” she said, looking in his eyes once more. “You called me.”

  “No, he didn’t,” said Helen, standing and pulling Glenn’s arm. He stayed seated. She sighed and looked at Mary Joe. “We’re packing because we’re leaving town. We don’t need you.”

  “How’d it go at the water tower?” asked Mary Joe.

  “I killed them,” said Glenn. “Four cops and one little bitch named Madison.”

  Mary Joe giggled and brought a hand to her mouth, and Glenn smiled. Mary Joe’s laughter brought light to the world in a way nothing else did. Glenn had watched Mary Joe on TV, but he had never seen her smile like that, and he had never heard her giggle. It was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard.

  “You should smile more often,” he said. “You’re beautiful when you smile.”

  “If you want me to smile, I will,” she said.

  “She’s not real, Glenn,” said Helen. “You understand that, don’t you? She’s a figment of your mind.”

  Mary Joe rolled her eyes and then sighed before reaching her hand across the table once more and placing it on the meat of his forearm.

  “Can you feel my hands on yours?” she asked, leaning forward so close he could hear her whisper. “Can you feel the heat of my breath on your face? Can you smell the mint of my toothpaste? Who gets to decide what’s real and what isn’t?”

  Glenn’s heart seemed to stop. Every muscle of his body grew tight.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I’m as real as you are,” she said, leaning back and relaxing. “And I’m here for you.”

  Glenn wanted to reach across the table and touch her, but he didn’t know whether he should yet. He had dreamed of this moment, though. He had wanted Mary Joe from the moment he saw her. And now, she sat across from him and gazed into his eyes.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

  “You make me feel beautiful,” she said.

  Helen scoffed and then sat beside her brother. “She’ll just slow us down, Glenn.”

  “Slow you down from what?” she asked. “Your statement implies that you have a plan, but I’ve watched you for a long time, Helen. You’re not a planner.”

  “I plan everything,” said Helen, her eyes narrowing. Mary Joe smiled.

  “What are you doing, then?” she asked. “Are you going to pick up two new kids to add to your pointless collection?”

  “It wasn’t pointless,” said Glenn. “My work with Helen was important. Don’t speak ill of what you don’t understand.”

  Mary Joe took her hands from Glenn’s and leaned back.

  “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. You punished men who deserved it. There are few nobler things anyone can do,” she said, nodding and batting her eyes. “Those boys you punished, though, aren’t the only ones who deserve to die. An infection flows through this town’s veins. You and I are the cure. Together, we’ll bring the disease to light.”

  “We need to get out of here,” said Helen. “If you want to bring her with us, brother, that’s fine, but you need to pack.”

  “What do you think we should do?” he asked.

  Mary Joe considered him and then leaned forward to trace her finger over his knuckles. Her light touch sent electric charges up and down his spine, and he gasped. She smiled and bit her lower lip once more.

  “Why did you kill Madison?”

  Glenn considered before speaking. He had told Helen he killed her because he wanted an easy target to settle his nerves. That wasn’t the complete truth, though. He had dozens of easy targets. Doubtlessly, many of them deserved a round in the heart, but so had Madison.

  “She was a liar,” he said, allowing a snarl to enter his voice. Helen looked at him askance, but he didn’t take his eyes from Mary Joe’s. She understood. He could see it in her eyes. “She said Eryk Janikowski had threatened to fail her in English if she didn’t give him a blow job in the bathroom. Eryk has testicular cancer. Blow jobs in the bathroom are the least of his concerns at the moment. She tried to ruin a good man’s life.”

  “So you killed her,” said Mary Joe, her eyes shining. “It’s not murder if it prevents future suffering.”

  “That’s right,” he said, nodding. “That’s why I pulled the trigger. It’s why Helen and I did what we did.”

  “And it’s why we don’t need you now,” said Helen, her voice hard. “We get along just fine. Now please stop confusing my brother. If you care about him, tell him to pack his bag. We need to leave. We would have left yesterday if the police hadn’t been watching the roads out of town.”

  Mary Joe nodded and looked into Glenn’s eyes.

  “I love you,” she said. “I’ve always loved you, and I know you love me, too.”

  “I do,” he said, nodding.

  “Then you know I wouldn’t lie to you,” she said, her voice low. “Helen has helped you, but this is the end. Even if you run, they’ll find you. Helen can’t help you anymore. You need me. Together, we can make your last moment meaningful. You can matter.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” said Helen. Where righteous anger had once tinged her voice, now it wavered. “Please don’t leave me.”

  “I’ll never leave you, Helen. You’re mine, and I’m yours,” said Glenn, looking at Mary Joe’s hands on the table. “But Mary Joe is right. I killed police officers. This is the end.”

  “Please don’t say that,” said Helen. “She doesn’t even have a plan. I can get you out. If we disappear now, nobody will look for us for weeks.”

  “Maybe they won’t look for you right away, but they will look for you,” said Mary Joe. “They aren’t stupid. Glenn can’t escape his death forever. We need to consider how to shape his legacy. That’s why he needs me.”

  “Tell me what to do,” said Glenn.

  Mary Joe squeezed his hand. “Do you remember Donna Lockwood?”

  Even the thought of Donna Lockwood brought a smile to his lips.

  “It’s hard to forget Donna—or those swimsuits she used to wear. My friends and I would spend hours at the pool watching her twirl that whistle on the lifeguard stand. She was my first love, I think.”

  “Stop,” said Mary Joe, winking. “You’re making me jealous.”

  “She married her high school boyfriend after he knocked her up forty years ago,” he said, smiling. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s got grandkids. I see her in the grocery store sometimes.”

  “St. Augustine’s a small world,” said Mary Joe, nodding. She paused. “Do you remember how crowded the pool was? Even in the middle of the week, there’d be so many kids packed on the pool deck, you couldn’t find space to put down your towel. And the fence kept you from going on the grass. You had nowhere to go.”

  He envisioned the scene and held Mary Joe’s gaze. Her breath was almost shallow.

  “I remember,” he said.

  “This town is sick,” said Mary Joe. “It’ll be hot today. People love the pool on a hot day.”

  “Yeah,” said Glenn, nodding. “Might be two hundred people there.”

  “And that fence will pen them in like dogs in a kennel. You still have that big gun with the extended magazine?”

&nbs
p; She meant his Hechler and Koch MR556. It was a tactical rifle capable of shooting nine hundred rounds a minute at almost three thousand feet per second. It was accurate and reliable. Credible rumors floated around the gun world that SEAL Team Six had carried HK 416s—the military version of the 556—when they took out Osama bin Laden. Though Glenn’s civilian version lacked the automatic firing capability of the military rifle, he still enjoyed taking it to the range. Not only that, his extended magazine would give him sixty shots before he needed to reload. He could do a lot of damage with sixty shots.

  “Yeah, I’ve got it,” he said, thinking. “During the week, the pool will be full of families and kids.”

  Mary Joe nodded. “Yes. And they won’t have guns, either. They’ll be in bathing suits. There won’t be anyone to stop you. This town is rotten at its core, and that rot infects everyone within its borders. There are no innocents in St. Augustine. You know better than anyone.”

  She was right about everything. Helen had been his helper in life. Mary Joe would become the friend who guided him to his death.

  “Don’t listen to her,” said Helen. “Go into your room and pack your bag, Glenn. We’ll get out of here. We can go to Canada or Mexico. By this time next week, we could be on the beach somewhere. We can start over. Please just give me a chance.”

  “I can’t do that,” said Glenn. “They’ll never stop searching for me. Even if I escaped, we’d have to run for the rest of my life. I can’t live like that. Mary Joe is right. We have to kill their children. It’s the only way for them to see the wrong they’ve done.”

  Glenn stood. So did Mary Joe. Helen reached for his hand. Tears fell from her cheeks.

  “Please tell me you don’t plan to give in to her. If you do, I die.”

  Mary Joe left the kitchen and walked toward the hallway that led to his bedroom. Glenn focused on Helen.

  “I love you, Helen. I’ll never forget you.”

  She covered her eyes and sobbed. Glenn looked to Mary Joe for support. She stood with her back to him, but she brought her hands to her waist and pulled her top up, exposing her flawless, soft skin. The fabric hit the ground a moment later, and she looked over her shoulder.