Chapter 16 #2
A silence falls over them as they each consider this tragedy of circumstances, the mutated family unit that sent two monsters into the world.
Suddenly it hits Wren like a bullet.
“Oh my god, John.” She claps her hand over her mouth as if it will stop the thoughts streaming from her brain to her vocal cords.
He sits up straight, leaning forward and gripping her arm in a clear show of concern. “What? Muller, what is it?” he asks, urgency lacing his voice.
She shakes her head, looking at his eyes. They are tired but hopeful. Leroux’s always tired and hopeful, even at his worst. He always says the answers can be found.
“The partial DNA. The partial DNA match at the crime scene,” she says.
He looks to Dr. Price quickly, then back at her. Confusion knits his brows together. “Why don’t we step outside?” he says.
She suddenly realizes she is speaking about details of a crime scene in front of someone who shouldn’t be privy to such information. She quietly scolds herself for her lack of awareness as they both stand.
“Sorry, Doc, do you mind?” Leroux asks.
Dr. Price stands, gesturing to the door. “Of course, please. You do your jobs however you need to from here.”
Wren smiles at him. It’s a strained movement but has genuine appreciation behind it. “Thank you, Dr. Price,” she says.
He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re welcome.”
“We will keep you informed on whatever we can share,” Leroux tells him as he escorts Wren out of the office, through the house, and out the front door. They quickly walk toward the car, and she begins speaking before they make it there.
“I’m sorry, I know that was inappropriate,” she says curtly.
He shakes his head, lighting a cigarette on the way to the sidewalk. “I don’t give a shit. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I was mulling over that DNA match, wondering what it could mean. It was partial, so that can be chalked up to degradation, right?”
Leroux nods, trying to focus as best as he can with the cigarette dangling between his lips. They get into the car, and the cigarette almost falls into his lap as he fiddles for the seat belt.
“I mean, that crime scene was hardly temperature-controlled or even clean. It had exposure to the elements, with moisture risk and possible animal contamination. I would honestly be more surprised if we got an easy match,” she continues, looking past him and into the house across from Dr. Price’s.
The home’s windows are open, and the people inside are watching a horror movie on their big television.
She can’t tell which one. All she can see is a monster stalking an oblivious couple.
“Stay with me, Muller.” Leroux snaps his fingers in front of her face, startling her from her thoughts.
“Sorry, um …” She shakes her head, closing her eyes to try to focus again. She’s been getting distracted a lot lately, and not always on purpose.
“Degraded DNA … aaaaand go.” He makes a gesture like he’s releasing her from a starting block in a race.
“Well, the degradation is a factor, but there is also the fact that there had to be enough genetic inconsistencies to disqualify it for a full match, and that’s interesting because there was also enough matching genetic material for it to be considered more than just a coincidence.”
She can see the lights begin to switch on behind Leroux’s eyes, but he stays silent, letting her finish her rambling thoughts. He’s probably worried that any sudden moves will have her staring off into space again.
“Half siblings have about twenty-five percent of the same DNA. That sample could match Philip Trudeau.” She punctuates her diatribe by collapsing back into the seat.
Leroux’s eyes widen as a thin puff of smoke escapes his lips. “Wow, okay.”
Wren takes a steadying breath, trying to calm the chaotic thoughts scrambling her brain. “What if he did it, John? What if Philip really did murder Richard?”
Leroux’s phone rings; Ben’s number flashes across the screen.
Wren and Leroux look at each other, wondering if this is some divine experience, like they’d manifested catching Richard’s killer—and possibly the same man who killed Melissa—red-handed.
Wren craves a clean kind of justice, and she can sense Leroux does too.
Leroux answers the phone. “Ben, tell me those national results got a hit.” He hits the speaker button, and Ben’s voice sounds exhausted on the other end.
“We have another partial match—this time for a Philip Trudeau.”
“Let me guess: DNA hit from his juvenile case in Colorado?” Leroux asks.
“Come on, Detective Leroux, you know I don’t see the specifics.
All I know is that the DNA partially matches,” Ben answers.
They can hear background noise: Other cases and other pieces of evidence are being processed all around him.
This crime scene isn’t the only one on Ben’s task list today, and tomorrow he will probably be well past it.
Wren is usually at the same end of the spectrum with him, processing one case, one body, and then moving on to the next, each time trying to put her all into whatever is in front of her.
It’s strange to see it from the other side, to witness cognitive splitting in action.
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Ben,” Leroux says.
“No problem, guys. Stay safe.” Ben hangs up. Wren imagines him immediately jumping into another case, off to find whatever answers alleles and genetic markers can provide.
Neither of them speaks for a moment, both trying to understand what it all means. Two half brothers, both partially matching a crime scene …
“Well, now we have a reason to bring Trudeau in,” Leroux says, his voice laced with the weight of a thousand different scenarios.
She nods, her eyes following the blur of Halloween decorations that cover the houses they pass. “We have to find him first,” she says quietly.
Philip’s mission trip always seemed to be a tenuous alibi, and it’s becoming clear that he may have disappeared on purpose.
Now, with the DNA pointing in two different directions, Wren can’t help but feel a chill creep its way down her spine.
Did he really leave Massachusetts? Is he capable of what they saw at that crime scene?
After speaking to Dr. Price, it is starting to feel as though Philip might be far more dangerous than they thought.
That kind of grotesque character doesn’t show up out of nowhere, and Philip’s derangement has been carefully honed and controlled over decades, it would seem.
She now knows in the deepest parts of her that he killed Richard.
Jeremy is only somewhat of a different beast for allowing his monstrous nature to take control of him and just putting on his human suit for the purpose of luring in his prey.
Philip’s hunt is slow and methodical. He’s drawn in not just his intended prey but an entire horde of loyal followers who will provide and corroborate his alibis and refuse to believe he is anything but a righteous man of God.
Leroux doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to.
She can tell he’s running the same scenarios, allowing his investigative brain to lead him down any other possible avenue than the one presented to them at the moment.
He likes to eliminate, to play devil’s advocate for his own intuitions and make damn sure he doesn’t chase ghosts based on a hunch. It’s all a part of his process.
They idle at a stop sign down the street, where she notices a few tombstones lining a yard on the corner.
The owners of the home have decked out their space with cobwebs, skeletons, and a full graveyard, including an animatronic version of a grim reaper.
She watches as it robotically raises a scythe, then brings it down upon a helpless, cowering skeleton.
The streetlights flicker on as the car moves forward, leaving the Halloween display in the rearview. The shadows begin to stretch, transforming into harbingers of the dark. The situation feels like a perfectly orchestrated dance, one she doesn’t want to be a part of anymore.
She steals a glance to her left and notices Leroux’s jaw twitch. “I spoke to Detective Hart earlier,” he says. “He’s hoping I might head up to Massachusetts to talk to Philip’s estranged ex-wife with him.”
“Jesus, John, when were you going to tell me this? Are you going?” she asks.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d join him. Beth is still missing. How can I just leave?”
Wren sighs, watching a person string orange lights along a bush in front of their house. “But what if Philip really is involved with Beth’s disappearance? Kathryn Trudeau could have information that could help locate him, which could in turn lead us to Beth. Maya will be able to handle stuff here.”
He hesitates, and she knows he’s carefully choosing his next words. “I know I’ve been asking a lot of you lately, but with what we’ve heard about Trudeau’s personality, I can’t imagine she’s going to want to spill her guts to two men. Maybe you could make her feel more comfortable.”
She reacts almost immediately, ready to tell him there’s no way she’s going back to the place where Richard was taken from her, the place she brought him to die. “John, I don’t know. I—”