Chapter 21 #2
"His son gave a statement to the police after the murders.
Connor was out riding his bike that night and apparently saw something.
But the Walsh family has been very tight-lipped about whatever Connor witnessed.
The police investigated Danny because he was a heavy drinker back then and had a reputation for being inappropriate with women—not taking no for an answer, if you get my meaning.
However, from what I recall, neither Rebecca nor Jacob was sexually assaulted, which doesn't fit Danny's usual pattern of behavior. "
Mia wrote down the information, her notebook filling with connections and theories that painted a complex picture of Rebecca's final months. "I think that covers most of my questions."
"You know, Mia," Morrison said, his tone shifting to something more pastoral, "it wouldn't hurt if you showed up here on a Sunday. Look into darkness long enough, and it's liable to smother you. It helps to have an ally on your side. The Lord would—"
Mia was quick to interrupt. "David, can I call you that?"
He nodded.
"I appreciate what you're saying, I do. I respect you as a minister, and I'm sure many people benefit from a relationship with God.
However, I have difficulty believing in someone who wasn't there when my mother died.
It might also explain why my father doesn't come to services.
Where is God when all these awful things happen?
Blessing someone's pot roast while children are being murdered?
" She paused, realizing how harsh she sounded.
"I'm sorry. That came out really judgmental and offensive. "
"It's okay," Morrison said gently. "You're angry. You have every right to be. God understands anger better than most people think. Look, Mia, I don't profess to have all the answers to life's mysteries. I do know that we play a huge role in it. If God intervened, he would be called a dictator. If he doesn’t intervene, he’s also on the hook. It’s a tough gig, don’t you think?” He paused.
“As long as we think we are separate from God and one another, we will always have someone to blame.” He paused. “Can I show you something?"
“Urgh. I should probably get going."
"It won't take long," he said with the kind of gentle persistence that suggested the request was important to him.
She nodded reluctantly.
Morrison led her out into the hallway and into another room where a large painting hung on the wall. The artwork appeared chaotic and disturbing—splashes of dark colors that seemed random and violent, with no discernible pattern or meaning.
"You see this? A friend of mine created it."
"Uh-huh," Mia said, studying the confusing canvas.
"What do you make of it?"
"Well, it's just..."
"A mess? Chaotic? Ugly even?" Morrison asked.
She nodded, feeling somewhat guilty for her honest assessment.
"And you would be right, when viewed from this perspective." Morrison stepped up to the painting and carefully rotated it 180 degrees. "I hang it this way initially because it creates a conversation. Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words."
As the painting turned, Mia squinted at the transformed image.
What had appeared chaotic and disturbing now revealed itself as something entirely different—a beautiful landscape with rolling hills, a peaceful lake, and a sky filled with birds in flight.
The same brushstrokes that had seemed random now formed a coherent, even inspiring scene.
Morrison stepped back. "And now? What do you see?"
"Well... it's beautiful. It makes sense."
"Exactly. It's all about perspective, Mia.
I don't have all the answers about life and suffering and why bad things happen to good people.
I just know there's a plan that's bigger than what we can see from our limited vantage point.
We see the ugly parts, the pain, the chaos.
But I often wonder if, once we're on the other side and free from these earthly limitations, we'll see the order and purpose that was there all along. "
"Like a rug," Mia said suddenly.
"A what?"
"You know how on one side of a tapestry, it's all loose threads and looks chaotic, but when you flip it over, you see this intricate design—beauty, order, perfection."
Morrison nodded with obvious pleasure. "Yes. Now you understand what I'm trying to say."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, both contemplating the painting and its lesson about perspective. Despite her skepticism about religion, Mia found herself moved by Morrison's gentle approach to faith and his willingness to acknowledge uncertainty while maintaining hope.
"Thank you for your time," she said finally. "And for sharing that."
"Anytime, Mia. My door is always open."
Outside St. Joseph's, Mia sat in her car beneath the shadow of the bell tower, processing the information Morrison had provided.
The restraining order against Travis Rudd felt like a significant piece of the puzzle, especially if the documentation had mysteriously disappeared.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Evelyn Cross.
"Evelyn, I just spoke with Rebecca Hale's minister, and he mentioned that Rebecca had obtained a restraining order against Travis Rudd. But I don't see any reference to that in the information you gave me, or in Pierce's notes, or even in Gideon's research."
"That's because officially, the harassment complaint vanished," Evelyn said, with the frustration of someone who'd encountered bureaucratic stonewalling. "I looked into it extensively. Chalked it up to town rumors without substance."
"But do you think there was any truth to it?"
"Nothing can be dismissed entirely, but without evidence, it falls into the category of unverified claims."
"Though if the minister was aware of it, there's a strong possibility that it was real, right?"
"Possibly, but without documentation, Mia, it's nothing but hearsay in legal terms."
A sharp rap on her car window made Mia nearly jump out of her seat. She glanced to her left to see Gideon standing beside her car, his expression serious but apologetic.
"Thanks, Evelyn. I'll talk to you later."
"Stay safe, Mia."
She hung up and rolled down her window. "You scared the life out of me."
"Sorry about that," Gideon said, though his grin suggested he wasn't entirely contrite.
"How did you know I was here?"
"Lucky guess," he said. "Actually, you mentioned you were planning to speak with the minister."
Mia frowned, trying to remember when she might have shared her plans. "I did?"
The uncertainty in her voice made her wonder, for just a moment, whether Gideon might be connected to the mysterious Facebook messages she'd been receiving. Had he been tracking her movements somehow? The thought seemed paranoid, and she pushed it aside.
"Anyway, how did the meeting go?" he asked.
"Did you know Rebecca had the police create a restraining order against Travis Rudd?"
"I'd heard rumors to that effect."
"Evelyn looked into it, and apparently the complaint documentation vanished. Either it was never officially filed, or someone made it disappear."
Mia got out of her car and leaned against the driver's side door, appreciating the afternoon sun after the dim interior of the church.
"Wouldn't surprise me, given how this case has been handled," he said.
"Would it surprise you that Danny Walsh's son witnessed something the night of the murders but was pressured to keep quiet about it?" Mia asked.
"The second vehicle theory?"
"The what?" she asked.
“A long time ago, I tried to speak to Connor Walsh—Danny's son.
He was around ten or twelve at the time of the murders.
According to someone who knew him, Connor saw a second vehicle that night, something that wasn't part of the official investigation.
I wanted more information, but he wouldn't discuss it.
Real tight-lipped about the whole thing. "
"Is he still living in the area?"
"Last I heard, he's working as a mechanic up in Au Sable Forks, about thirty minutes north. It’s called Walsh Mechanics. He’s followed in his father's footsteps. Though, I’d be careful about pressing him or his old man for details. You saw what Danny did to Pierce at the town meeting."
Mia nodded, remembering the violence that had erupted when Pierce pushed too hard for answers. “Anyway, what did you want to find me for?"
“Right. About that. I think I've got something even more valuable than witness statements," Gideon said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Can you meet me this evening? I need to show you something. Come alone. 8 PM."
"Where?"
"Hemlock Hollow Farm. It's—"
"I know where it is," Mia interrupted. "It's been abandoned for years. Why there?"
"You'll see when you get there." Gideon glanced around nervously, as if he expected to be overheard. "I've got to go. And Mia—don't tell anyone about this meeting. Mom's the word, right?"
"Right," Mia said, though something in her stomach twisted with unease as she watched Gideon walk quickly toward his own vehicle.
The abandoned farm had a reputation in High Peaks as a place where teenagers went to drink beer and scare themselves with ghost stories.
The idea of meeting there after dark felt like something from a horror movie rather than a legitimate investigation.
But if Gideon had discovered something important about the case, she couldn't afford to ignore the opportunity.
As she drove away from St. Joseph's, Mia found herself thinking about Morrison's painting and its lesson about perspective.
The Hale case was full of evidence that looked different depending on how you viewed it—the same facts supporting multiple theories, the same people appearing guilty or innocent based on which details you emphasized.
The challenge was figuring out which perspective revealed the truth and which ones were carefully constructed illusions designed to hide it.