Chapter 3 #2
“I have an update on Trudeau, but you won’t like it,” Hart says, bracing for the reaction he knows is about to come.
The last time they’d talked, Hart had spilled that he felt he had possibly pushed the envelope too far when last visiting the church.
Like a true rookie, Hart got caught up in the emotions of the moment, and he all but told Trudeau straight out that they were on his trail.
Leroux had given him the proper old-man lecture, complete with colorful language.
Leroux groans, collapsing into his chair and leaning back as far as it will allow. The leather creaks under the weight as it bends far past its limits. “Hit me with it.”
Hart hesitates for only a second, clearly weighing just how he wants to reveal his information. “So, I went back to talk to him again, but the church elder Brian Hawkins intercepted me.” He pauses again before continuing, “Trudeau is nowhere to be found. Hasn’t been seen for over two weeks.”
“What?” Leroux yells, sitting straight up.
His eyes scan the room wildly, looking for something to hit or throw.
Nothing is available, so he settles for slamming his fist onto the desk in front of him.
“You eager little shit, you tipped him off.” The words come out quickly, without any filter to soften them.
He feels a twinge of regret, but it’s immediately covered by frustration.
They had been foolish to believe Trudeau would stick around after they fed him the prophecy of his impending apprehension.
There is silence on the other end of the phone—only Hart’s breathing can be heard. One thing Leroux has learned about Hart is that he won’t bullshit anyone. He takes his licks and makes the adjustments, and that’s why he’s a good cop.
“Give me something we can work with, please.” The desperation in Leroux’s voice is clear.
Hart sighs. “Hawkins explained that on the day he last saw Trudeau, the pastor was talking about a mysterious mission trip he was considering.” Hart pauses, almost chuckling to himself.
“Thing is, no one had ever heard him talk about this trip before, and that’s atypical behavior for him.
According to everyone I have spoken to, he is a meticulous planner, and he loves getting credit for his charity work.
So being evasive or flying by the seat of his pants doesn’t sound realistic.
I’ve even tried his estranged wife, Kathryn—they have a son together.
But even she hasn’t heard anything from him,” Hart says.
Leroux’s mind races, desperately attempting to splice together all the raggedy bits of information he has collected up until this point.
It’s all circumstantial. He had his own observations, sure.
He likes to think of himself as someone who can read people, someone who can suss out the rotten fruit before it taints the rest of the bowl.
He’d felt something rancid the moment he stood in Trudeau’s presence.
But without some solid evidence, like a hair, Trudeau will stay free.
If he’s skipped town, their chance to pin him may be gone.
He grits his teeth. “How did you let this happen? Don’t tell me your department finally rubbed off on you.”
Hart lets out a soft chuckle. “I’ll let that last comment roll off my back for now, but only because there are two things that I am very confident about here.”
“Please share with the class,” Leroux says flatly.
“Trudeau isn’t on any mission trip. I already pulled some strings and checked out some of the international airports around here.
So far, there is no record of him flying out of Bradley or Logan airports.
I even checked T.F. Green over in Providence, and nothing.
He was never on an international flight. ”
“What about a domestic one?” Leroux asks sharply.
“Waiting to hear back about that. The department won’t back my reason for asking, and he has a lot of people willing to lie for him, so I have to be careful.”
Leroux sighs. “I swear—”
“I’m with you on that feeling, trust me. But I have to work with what I can here,” Hart says with genuine frustration.
“What else are you confident about?” Leroux leans forward with anticipation.
The sound of papers shuffling can be heard on the other end. “The second thing I’m sure of is my ability to crack his inner circle. Hawkins was about to come undone when I spoke to him. Margaret, the church secretary, is also hanging by a thread. They know something.”
Leroux sighs. “Well that’s at least something we can hang on to. Do you have any idea where to start with them?”
“That’s the thing. I probably should have said I have three things I am confident about.
” Leroux can hear the sly smile in Hart’s voice.
The young investigator is feeling the early rush of clicking the puzzle pieces together.
“Even though my last visit to the church didn’t go how we hoped, I did overhear Trudeau and his secretary talking about setting up a private session with one of the young female congregants, Abigail Chambers.
When I prodded him further on it, he just about shat himself. ”
Leroux thinks about the way Trudeau’s Bible study group seemed to hang on the pastor’s every word and move when he’d dropped by to speak to him in Massachusetts.
Leroux remembers a specific woman named Stephanie, how she’d beamed at Trudeau like a schoolgirl with a crush.
Leroux can still see him squeeze her shoulder, an act of intimacy.
“You think he was marking her?” he asks, the familiar feeling of dread creeping into his stomach.
“I do. I think this is his MO. I really do.” Hart is so amped up, his energy is convincing Leroux that his instincts are likely dead-on.
“I looked into his church, talked to a few locals, and apparently there are a few people in his congregation who have simply disappeared. And get this: They are all women, mostly young, and all single, without strong community ties, which makes it easy for them to disappear without raising too many red flags.”
“Yeah, I saw some of those too. Not a lot of coverage on them.”
Hart chuckles, an uncomfortable sound that comes from the rawest form of energized frustration.
“That’s because the cases fizzle out due to some manufactured reason explaining why they left town.
Pastor Philip and his clergy are always there in articles and on the local news, offering anecdotes about how troubled these women were or how they had plans to take off and never look back. ”
“He chooses them carefully, then,” Leroux says softly, almost to himself.
He taps his finger against his forehead, trying his best to stave off an impending headache.
Given how meticulously Trudeau chose his victims, making sure his connection to them is purely clerical and can be easily explained away, it seems less likely that he was involved in Andrea Meyers’s murder.
Of course, Leroux has seen killers change their patterns numerous times, and Andrea could have been his one mistake, the reason he would finally be caught.
He reaches for a coffee that has been sitting on his desk for an immeasurable amount of time.
Taking a swig quickly, he cringes at the taste, stifling a gag.
The bitter, now-ice-cold liquid is foul; it tastes like day-old milk and dirt.
Its only saving grace is the caffeine, which he silently prays will take the edge off the ache in his skull.
“I also heard that the pastor may have been having an affair. He may have been having a few, in fact. It seems that’s the reason for his recent divorce.”
Leroux can’t help but laugh. “Jeez, Hart, you’re starting to sound like the old biddies from the knitting circle. Rumors are fun, but can you back them up with some evidence?” He thinks back to Stephanie again, wondering if she is one of Trudeau’s paramours now.
“Listen, it’s a delicate process getting townies to talk—especially about their beloved pastor,” he says. “But it’s starting to form a picture here, and the picture isn’t pretty.”
“How is this guy so protected?” Leroux wonders aloud. “I guess that kind of dangerous charm doesn’t come around often.”
“He’s enigmatic. I don’t know how else to explain it,” Hart answers, fascination clear in his voice.
“Enigmatic is a kind way of describing him, Hart.”
“You can call me Lucas, you know.”
Leroux considers it before answering. “Eh, Hart rolls off the tongue easier.”
Hart chuckles. “It’s amazing how Trudeau’s able to change the masks with relative ease. I’ve seen about three different versions of his personality so far.”
Leroux sighs, shaking his head. “Those are the scariest kinds of people, the ones who greet you as a brand-new person each time you see them.”
“It’s bone-chilling,” Hart says softly.
“Interesting. I have spoken to him a couple of times for follow-ups, and honestly, it’s the sanctimoniousness that made my antenna stand up in the first place.”
“Fancy yourself an atheist, do you?” Leroux chuckles.
Hart ignores the joke. “It wasn’t just him, though. The way he was interviewed by the guys in my department, it was like they were performing in a play together. It seemed like my partner was reading from a script.”
“That’s because they essentially are. There’s some filthy shit going on in your department. I just didn’t have the time or resources to dig deeper up there.” The frustration comes flooding back.
“Yeah, no shit,” Hart says. “I have to do this all on my own time just to keep up appearances and keep them feeling like I’m compliant.
If I dare to raise a question about Trudeau or that church, I immediately get strong-armed away from the subject.
” His voice is tense, with a defeated edge to it.
Leroux knows Hart isn’t the type to give up, but after only a few days with the Kingsborough Police Department, Leroux was ready to.