Chapter 21
St. Joseph's Catholic Church rose from the center of High Peaks like a monument to permanence, its Gothic Revival architecture defying the modest scale of everything around it.
The red brick facade and soaring bell tower spoke to the ambitions of nineteenth century Catholic immigrants who'd built something grander than their means should have allowed.
Stained-glass windows depicted biblical scenes in jeweled colors that transformed ordinary sunlight into something approaching the sacred.
Mia pushed through the heavy oak doors and found herself in a nave.
Rows of wooden pews stretched toward an altar adorned with carved angels and polished brass fixtures that caught light from the clerestory windows high above. The scent of wood, candle wax, and the lingering trace of incense from recent services filled her nose.
Her footsteps echoed on the stone floor as she made her way down a side corridor toward the church offices, passing religious artwork and memorial plaques that documented decades of parish life.
The administrative wing felt more human in scale, with lower ceilings and warmer lighting that suggested practical business rather than spiritual transcendence.
She found the door marked "Pastor David Morrison" and knocked twice.
"Coming," a voice called from inside.
The door opened to reveal a man in his fifties with graying hair. He wore casual clothing—khakis and a polo shirt—rather than clerical collar.
"Mia Sutherland," he said with obvious recognition.
"You know me?"
"Your father drops by from time to time. He's a hard nut to crack, but I don't give up. The Lord doesn't either." Morrison's smile carried genuine warmth rather than evangelical pressure. "I keep telling him he should come out to a service, but he's not at that point yet."
"Yeah, he’s a little on the fence regarding the God thing."
"Come on in," Morrison said, gesturing toward a comfortable office.
Bookshelves lined two walls, filled with theological texts, commentaries, and what looked like a substantial collection of mystery novels.
A desk sat beneath a window that offered a view of the church's small garden, where late-season flowers provided splashes of color against the landscape.
"So, how can I help you?" Morrison asked, settling into his chair.
Mia pulled out her notebook, the pages already filled with information gathered from various interviews. "I was hoping you might shed some light on a few things. I'm continuing on from where Pierce left off with the Hale case."
Morrison's expression grew more serious. "Huh. You are? Does your father know about that?"
Mia sighed, recognizing the concern that seemed to follow her everywhere.
"He does. Anyway, Pierce was supposed to speak with you, but then, well.
.." She gestured vaguely, not wanting to dwell on the circumstances of Pierce's death.
"My questions are about Keith Dwyer's suicide note.
He listed your wife among those who knew about Rebecca's murder. Why might that be?"
Morrison sat back in his chair, considering the question with careful thought.
"Rebecca was a parishioner here. She would come in from time to time to discuss her concerns, her spiritual struggles.
Sometimes she spoke with me, sometimes with my wife, Rita.
Rita made some suggestions to her, mostly about her lifestyle choices. "
"You mean dating multiple men?"
Morrison nodded. "Rebecca didn't take too kindly to Rita's opinions. She felt she was being judged rather than helped. But Rebecca shared things in confidence, and maybe that's what Keith was referring to. Rita knew things about Rebecca's personal life that most people didn't."
Mia made notes. "What about Carl Peterson? He's a church member here, right? He was also present at the potluck Rebecca attended the night she was murdered."
"Peterson is harmless," Morrison said with the tone of someone who'd dealt with difficult personalities for years.
"Maybe a little annoying at times. Persistent, you could say, but harmless.
He was an old friend of Rebecca's husband, who had passed away years earlier.
After Rebecca became single, Carl had been a little too friendly with her.
She never showed any interest in him romantically, and he took the rejection rather poorly. "
"How poorly?"
"He spread some rumors about her. Used some choice words that I'd rather not repeat in the house of the Lord, but you can find them written in permanent marker in the men's bathroom. I've had a hard time removing them. Permanent marker has a way of staying."
"How do you know it was him who wrote them?"
"He confessed to it eventually. Like I said, he can be annoying and lose his temper from time to time, but he's harmless. Just hurt by being rejected, I guess."
Mia jotted down notes, building a picture of Rebecca's complicated social relationships. "On the night of the potluck, Rebecca received a phone call from someone and left in a hurry. Did she ever say who called her?"
Morrison glanced toward the window at the sound of children playing outside. A soccer ball bounced repeatedly against the exterior wall with a rhythm that suggested determined practice rather than casual play. He stood up and opened the window.
"Kids, take the ball elsewhere, please. Thank you."
The sound stopped, and Morrison closed the window before returning to his seat. "Sorry. The kids have gotten into the habit of using our wall as a makeshift goal. Where were we?"
"The phone call at the potluck. Rebecca left after receiving it."
"Right. She didn't say who it was from, but rumor has it the call came from Travis Rudd. Someone who had been giving her unwanted attention for some time."
Mia felt her pulse quicken. "Travis Rudd. Did you know he disappeared after the murders?"
"I do."
"Did you hear any theories about where he went or whether he was involved in the killings?"
Morrison leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Mia, there are so many theories about the Hale murders that the case has almost become local legend. Most people believe it was Rebecca's ex-boyfriend who committed the murders and then covered them up because he was a police officer at the time."
"And what do you believe?"
"I don't know. It's not really my place to speculate about such things."
"But if you could, off the record?"
Morrison smiled, recognizing her persistence. "Travis Rudd. Something about him didn't sit right with me. Especially since Rebecca already had a restraining order against him."
Mia's pen stopped moving. "Hold on a second. You said a restraining order? When? Why?"
"Oh, right. That detail never really made it into public discussion.
" Morrison's expression grew more serious.
"About six months before Rebecca and Jacob died, she reported that someone had attempted to break into her home in the middle of the night.
They found a window smashed in the back.
Rebecca thought she'd scared the intruder off by getting up and turning on the lights when she heard the noise. "
"So, they didn't get inside?"
"No, and that's the interesting part. Rebecca used to leave her back door unlocked—this was before the break-in attempt—but the handyman who installed the new door lock had put it on incorrectly.
From the outside it looked normal, but you had to pull the handle up instead of down to get the door to open.
She eventually had it fixed, but she was certain that if the intruder had known about the quirky lock mechanism, they wouldn't have bothered breaking the window. "
Mia scribbled notes furiously, sensing that this information was crucial to understanding the timeline of threats against Rebecca. "What connected this to Travis Rudd?"
"A few days after the break-in, Rebecca found Travis lurking in the bushes near her home.
Spying on her, essentially. You know, a Peeping Tom situation.
So she confronted him during one of her art classes, he'd been attending her weekend workshops.
The confrontation led to her banning him from the classes permanently. "
"And then?"
"It escalated. Travis had to be arrested.
It was in the paper, though not with many details.
The article mentioned that Travis had struck Tom Dillard, who used to assist with the art classes.
Tom had to intervene physically to remove Travis from the building.
It was quite a scene, from what I heard. "
Morrison paused, seemingly reliving the memory.
"Rebecca contacted the Sheriff's Office after that incident and requested a restraining order.
Whether she actually obtained it is unclear, but that's why my money was on Travis as the killer.
Rebecca was genuinely scared of him. I think he'd been stalking her for some time. "
"And he disappeared after the murders?"
"Exactly. That only made him look more guilty in most people's minds. The problem was that Mike Torres had broken up with Rebecca shortly before the murders, which made him look suspicious too. So you had two potential suspects, one missing and one with obvious motive."
Mia nodded, processing the implications. "What about Frank Kellerman? His name was also on Keith's list."
"Frank was a school bully when he was younger.
Jacob suffered quite a bit from various bullies, though Frank was only about sixteen at the time of the murders.
Some people theorized that Frank had shown up at Jacob's home looking for trouble and that Rebecca got in the way.
But it doesn't really add up—all the bullying Frank did was confined to school.
There were never any reports of him bothering Jacob outside school hours. "
"And Danny Walsh?"
"The mechanic?" Morrison asked. "The one who struck Pierce at the town meeting?"
"Yeah. What's his connection to the Hale murders?"