The Church of the Holy Child

by Patricia Hale

  “What?” he asked.

  “Randolph Trek is in a wheelchair. His left side is paralyzed. It’s nothing more than a coincidence that he was at two of the shelters where women were killed.”

  “What the hell?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Alright, hurry home. I’ll let Rhyder know.”

  “You have all the fun.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Securing a last-minute airline ticket a week before Thanksgiving is no easy feat and wouldn’t have happened without a phone call from John wielding his CID status. I was glad to hear that he was back on the job, at least enough to make a phone call. Including a plane change in New York, I was back at the Portland Jetport in less than four hours.

  Griff was pacing the terminal when I came through the double doors toward baggage claim. He looked haggard. I wanted to think it was because he’d spent the last thirty-six hours without me and not because we’d just run head first into a dead end. I kissed his bristly cheek.

  He took my bag and my hand. “Let’s get out of here. Lots of work to do.”

  We headed for the parking garage at a marathon pace. “Why the hell wouldn’t Sandra have told us that Trek was in a wheel chair and saved us this goose chase?”

  “She told us that she’d never met him in person.”

  “Well isn’t it in his file or something?”

  “No, we looked at that ourselves.”

  ““How do you leave something like that out?”

  “Because it’s politically correct to leave it out. It’s unnecessary information. In no way did the fact that he was in a wheel chair impair him, regarding the job he was performing. If anyone had included his disability in his file they’d have the ADA breathing down their neck. It’s not information that gets tossed around at the water cooler. Hey did you know Trek’s in a wheelchair? Even mentioning something like that among staff could easily be misconstrued as discriminatory.”

  Griff shook his head, disgusted and pulled to the curb in front of our favorite Chinese takeout haunt. Traveling makes me hungry.

  “John finagled my ticket,” I said when Griff got back into the car with a brown paper bag. The smell of Cashew Chicken set my stomach rumbling. “Does that mean he’s back on the job?”

  Griff nodded. “Damn well better be.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  Griff backed out of the parking space and drove toward the red exit sign before answering.

  “After you called I went to his home and threw every liquor bottle he had into my trunk.”

  I smiled. “That would explain the sound of clinking glass I hear every time we take a corner.”

  He ignored me and continued. “Then I threw him fully clothed into the shower and told him that if he ever wanted to play another eighteen holes or drop another salmon into his net he better get his sorry ass back to the station because right now I’m the only friend he’s got. Then I made him a pot of coffee and left.”

  “And?”

  “He was at the station in less than an hour.”

  “He’s a good cop.”

  “He’s a better friend,” Griff said pulling into a parking space outside his building.

  “Why aren’t we going to the office?”

  “Allie’s here, remember?

  “Where have you been?” Allie asked when I opened the door to Griff’s apartment.

  “Traveling. And now I’m hungry and tired. Let’s eat.” I set the bag on the kitchen table. Fishing through the containers, I pulled out the one I was looking for and handed it to her. “Cashew chicken?”

  We filled plates and sat around the table. Usually silence means the food is good, in this case it meant there were so many questions in our heads that we didn’t know where to start, at least for Griff and me.

  “Have you talked to your Mom?” I asked Allie.

  She shook her head.

  I glanced at Griff. He shrugged, looking irritable.

  “She must be having a good time.”

  “So good that she forgot about me.” Allie said.

  “Sometimes you just get busy.”

  “Too busy to remember that you have a kid?” Allie’s voice went up a few octaves.

  “Take it easy,” Griff said. Your mother isn’t forgetting you. She knows you’re fine here and she’s having fun. Cut her some slack. She’ll call.”

  The silence descended again. This time I figured we all had too much on our minds to speak.

  “I have homework,” Allie said excusing herself from the table.

  “Try her again,” Griff said.

  “She won’t answer.”

  “You don’t know that. Just try.”

  Allie made a face at him. Every time Eliza didn’t pick up it hurt little more.

  She stared at Griff and pushed the speed dial number on her cell. We all listened to the phone ring until voice mail picked up. “Hi, its Eliza. Leave a message.”

  Griff nodded at Allie.

  “Hi Mom, just checking in for the millionth time. Guess you’re having a lot of fun. Call if you can pencil me in.”

  I stifled a grin.

  “Very nice,” Griff said. “Someone has to be the bigger person. I’m glad it’s you. Now go do your homework.”

  “Do you think it’s odd that Eliza hasn’t called or at least answered her phone?” I asked him. “It’s been three days, tomorrow will make four.”

  “It’s pissing me off, for Allie’s sake. It’s not like Eliza to blow off her daughter. I know there’s no cell reception in the middle of the ocean, but she could call when they’re in port. So yeah, I think it’s odd and that’s putting it nicely.”

  “Can you get in touch with Neil? Maybe Eliza lost her phone or something.”

  “I’m sure she’d figure out another way to call if that was the case. And I have no idea where Neil is or how to reach him.”

  “What about the marina where he moors his boat? He said it was The Dolphin, didn’t he? They could radio him.”

  “You sound worried.”

  “You know Eliza better than I do, but she’s not the type of mother who goes on vacation and forgets about her kid. She’s more the over-the-top mother who calls twice a day. So almost four days without hearing from her combined with the fact that they’re somewhere out in the middle of the ocean, yeah, I’m a little concerned.”

  “Okay, I’ll call the dock master in the morning. Right now, we’ve got a pile of notes to comb through,” he laid his hand on the yellow legal pad beside him. “And I do mean comb. We’ve missed something and we can’t afford to miss it again.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  In the morning, we were back in Stark’s office. Rhyder didn’t look happy.

  “You should have told me you were going,” he said. “I could create a world of shit for you for tampering in a federal investigation. I could have your PI license suspended.”

  “I didn’t tamper with anything,” I told him. “I’ve been hired by Shirley Trudeau’s sister to investigate her death and that’s what I’m doing. You should be thanking me for sharing my information with you.”

  “Fat chance.” He nodded toward Griff. “You come up with anything?”

  Griff shook his head. “Zip.”

  John let out a sigh, “What now?”

  “Back to the start,” Rhyder said and walked to the whiteboard.

  “Sounds like we’ve got some time to kill,” Griff said. “I’m going to take a drive to The Dolphin Marina.”

  “What’s up there?” John asked.

  “Eliza left on a cruise with her new boyfriend a few days ago. Allie’s been trying to reach her, but she hasn’t returned any calls.”

  “Doesn’t sound like Eliza,” John said.

  “No it doesn’t and Allie’s upset. I’m going to see if someone at the marina can radio the boat.”

  “Who’s the new boyfriend?” Rhyder turned to look at Griff. “You know anything about him?”

  “I don’t kee
p tabs on the men my ex-wife dates.”

  “Not everyone’s a suspect, Rhyder,” I said.

  “Just saying, you’re investigating a murderer who’s killing women and your ex is missing. Might be worth a quick look at her new boyfriend.”

  “She’s not now and never has been an abused woman,” Griff said. “This guy is definitely focused on…” Griff stopped. “Shit.” He looked at John.

  “What.” There was no question in Stark’s voice. It was a statement coming from a guy who’d seen Griff answer the million-dollar question time after time.

  “It’s the shelter.”

  “Son of a bitch.” John said.

  “Wait a minute.” Rhyder looked confused. “You’ve lost me.”

  “She volunteered,” Griff said. “Eliza was a volunteer at the women’s shelter when she was in college.”

  “How long ago?”

  Griff rubbed his forehead. “Jesus, I don’t know. She must have been around twenty. That means it was close to twenty-five years ago. It can’t be connected. Can it?”

  Rhyder walked to the window without answering. He looked out over Back Bay, took a breath and then turned back to the rest of us. “We’re assuming that we have a guy who was left behind by his mother. We’ve got dead and missing women in various parts of the country, but at this point we don’t know where our killer spent his childhood. It could have been Portland just as easily as anywhere else.” “And if you’re right about his profile,” Griff said, “and his mother did leave an abusive marriage then she might have used the shelter to help her get out and Eliza could have been there at the time.”

  “She could have assisted with his mother’s escape,” John said. “And adhering to shelter policy, advised her to leave the kid behind.”

  “Then why would our killer be targeting other women? Why didn’t he just go after Eliza right from the start?” I asked.

  “Killing is a process,” Rhyder said. “Serials are meticulous, perfectionists. The others were probably practice kills. He’s letting his adrenaline build. The other possibility and maybe more likely, is that he’s been looking for his mother and his search has brought him back to Portland. Maybe he thinks Eliza can lead him to her.”

  “Jesus.” Griff shook his head and stared at the floor then raised his eyes to the rest of us. “Coast guard?”

  “We better find out if we’re right,” Rhyder said. “Before we airlift him off his sailboat I need to know him a little better. Can I talk to your daughter?”

  “My daughter?” Griff asked.

  “She’s been around him more than anyone else. She can tell us if he fits the profile.”

  “I’ll go get her.” Griff looked at me, his face drawn and nodded toward the door. My cue.

  “I don’t know how much to tell her,” he said as we drove toward the school. When it came to life and death situations, Griff was a lot more comfortable handling a Glock than a daughter. Eliza would have laughed at the fact that he was asking me for advice.

  “You’ve got to tell her all of it. She’s a smart kid. She can handle it. We have to know if Eliza’s okay and Allie can continue to call without arousing suspicion.”

  “Allie’s a child. I’m not sure that I want to get her involved.”

  “She’s fourteen. That’s not a child.”

  “What’s this about?” Allie asked looking from one of us to the other as we left the school behind us and walked back to the car.

  “Have you called your mother today?”

  “I’m done with that. I’m waiting for her to call me.”

  Griff took a breath. “I want you to call her now.”

  Allie cocked her head at the sternness of his voice. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Humor me and call her. If she answers, ask her what she’s doing. Is she having fun? Listen very closely to her answers and to the sound of her voice.”

  “Dad…” She looked frightened and childlike, definitely out of character.

  “Just do it, Allie. I’ll explain everything when you hang up.”

  Allie called, reached voice mail and dropped the phone into the pocket on her backpack. “Okay, I did it. Now tell me what’s going on and where are we going?”

  Griff rubbed his palm over his face and sighed. I could see that he had no idea how to proceed. He had a lot of years of formal education under his belt and a truckload of street smarts. But nothing had prepared him for telling his own daughter that her mother might be on vacation with a serial killer.

  “You know Britt and I have been working on a case together.”

  The guy who’s killing battered women,” Allie said.

  Griff nodded. “We think it might be Neil Seton.”

  Allie looked at me, her eyes reflecting the fear we were trying to keep at bay. “But Mom’s not a battered woman.”

  Griff glanced at me. “That’s what I keep thinking too. It doesn’t make sense. She doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “What profile?” Allie’s voice came out like a toddler not getting her way. “Where is she? Dad, you have to find her.”

  “Allie.” Griff’s voice was firm, but soft. “We’re going to find her. I don’t think he’ll hurt her. She’s not his type.”

  “Not the type he kills, but the type he has for a girlfriend? Mom’s a serial killer’s girlfriend?”

  “Allie, we have no idea if he’s the guy we’re looking for, but your mother hasn’t responded in four days. That’s not like her.

  “So that’s it? Just because she hasn’t called me you think some serial killer has her?”

  “Your mother used to be affiliated with the shelter. Years ago, when we first met. We’re trying to pursue every possible lead and this is one of them. Rhyder wants to ask you some questions about Neil. It doesn’t mean your mother is in danger. We could be wrong.”

  We walked into John’s office, Griff’s arm firmly around Allie’s shoulders.

  “Can I talk to her?” Rhyder asked.

  “That’s up to her, but I hope so.”

  Allie raised her eyes to Rhyder, eliciting one of his hard to win smiles. A point for her I thought.

  Rhyder motioned to a chair and Allie sat. “I need you to tell me everything you can think of about this guy,” he said, “right down to what color socks he wears, okay?”

  “He’s a jerk,” she said, “but he’s also kind of smart. Like he knows a lot about history and remembers the exact dates things happened. He’d talk about stuff like President Kennedy’s assassination and John Lennon’s murder and he sounded like he was reading from a book, but it was all in his head.”

  Rhyder nodded. “What else?”

  “Nothing can be out of place. He showers twice a day and his clothes always match. If his hair doesn’t look right he gets mad at my mom like it’s her fault. Dishes have to be stacked in ascending order of size and bowls color coordinated, blue with blue, green with green. We can’t mix them. Like I said, weird. And he talks about himself all the time. If Mom and I discuss my soccer game he starts talking about what a great player he was. He always has to be the center of the conversation.”

  At fourteen she’d just given an abbreviated profile of a serial killer. Excellent memory, interested in media coverage and historical murders, OCD, meticulous with his own appearance, controlling personality, self-absorbed. The look on Griff’s face couldn’t be mistaken for anything but pride.

  At the end of their conversation she added, “He’s a real dick.”

  None of us argued her summation.

  “I have a story for you, Father.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Sit back and get comfortable. You’re going to love this.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Shut up and listen. It’s about a new friend I’ve made.”

  “You have friends?”

  “I’m quite likeable.”

  “I don’t want to hear about your life. You’re of no interest to me.”

  “I haven’t
gotten to the good part yet. Griff Cole and his partner Britt Callahan are PI’s. I know them on a personal level, we’re friends, so to speak. Guess what case they’re working? C’mon Father, guess.”

  “Yours?”

  “You’re a quick one. That’s why I chose you. So I meet with them and we discuss what’s going on with the investigation. Can you believe it? They’re telling me how they’re going to find me while I act all concerned about the dead women. But I still haven’t told you the very best part of all.”

  “Get out of this confessional. I’m going to the police. I’m going to tell them everything I know.”

  “Don’t lie, Father. You know that’s bullshit. Anyway, the police already know everything you do. But you don’t know who I am and neither do they. So shove your threats up your ass and listen. Here’s the best part, Eliza, Griff Cole’s ex and my new friend, worked at the women’s shelter. Oh, it was years ago, I was just a child, a mere seven or eight years old at the time. She was twenty, a college student doing a stint as a Good Samaritan. And who do you think she helped escape from an abusive husband while leaving their child behind? And where is that child right now? That’s right, Father, fucking talking to you. And Eliza, the saintly volunteer, is chained in my basement. It’s nice and dark and cold, just like the closet where my father used to put me.”

  “You have no proof that she’s the one who helped your mother. It could have been anyone at the shelter.”

  “Oh, but I do. I have the proof. You’ve forgotten that I have access to the shelter. How hard do you think it is to get into the archives? There’s a record of every woman who’s come through the door. Imagine my surprise when I connected Eliza Middleton Cole to my mother’s disappearance. Don’t you see what this is, Father? What are the chances that I would find her? She’s a gift from God. By bringing us together, He has led me to the end of my mission.”

  “He did not bring you together. You have to let her go.”

  “She helped my mother leave. I know it. God knows it. He led me to her. You of all people should recognize a miracle.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “It’s a waste of time to drive to The Dolphin,” Griff said. Harpswell’s a good hour from here. “I’ll call them, tell them it’s a family emergency. Have them radio the boat and tell Eliza to call me. Then they can call us back, confirm that they talked to her and give us the boat’s location.”