Chapter 17
AS SOON AS THE PLANE touched down at Bradley International Airport, Wren’s stomach sank into a familiar pit.
The New England air that once felt so fresh and new now feels heavy and baneful, like the unsettling calm before a storm.
She almost craves the dead air of the plane’s cabin, because at least it felt neutral.
Now, walking through the parking lot toward the car, she can’t help but stare at the landscape. She notices leaves on the ground, the bare trees and the gray sky, and she’s angry again. Grief has made a home in her body and mind since Richard’s murder, but anger is the driving force as of late.
“John Leroux?” a voice asks from up ahead. John immediately recognizes the man as Detective Hart and greets him with a firm handshake.
Hart is exactly like Wren pictured: He’s young, probably older than his baby face would suggest, but he’s yet to receive a wrinkle or a gray hair. His light brown hair is cut short, and he wears the confidence of a new detective.
“Hart, meet Dr. Wren Muller,” John says, gesturing toward her.
“Nice to meet you, Detective,” she says, shaking his hand. It feels like she’s been meeting a lot of people lately, people who are dragging her further into Jeremy’s world—and hopefully closer to the truth.
Hart grins, big and genuine. “Great to meet you, Dr. Muller. I really appreciate you coming up here like this.”
“Call me Wren, and it’s no problem.” She lies about that. It is a problem, but there’s no need to trauma-dump all over a man she’s only just met.
“So how do you want to do this? Does Kathryn know we’re all here?” John asks, getting right down to business.
They begin to walk toward Hart’s car. The crunch of autumn leaves feels pleasant under Wren’s shoes. She sees a car adorned with bat wings parked nearby, a reminder that Halloween still lurks around the corner.
“She knows we’re coming. I’ve had a few short discussions with her, under the radar, but I really don’t know what we will learn,” Hart says, sliding into the driver’s seat.
Wren climbs into the back seat despite John trying to give her the passenger seat. She thinks she’ll feel more comfortable in the back; she anticipates that the ride to Kathryn’s may be one she needs to endure rather than enjoy.
“What we need is a location. You said it feels like she knows more than she’s giving up?” John asks, his leg bouncing in anticipation.
Hart nods, pulling onto the street. “Oh yeah, she’s definitely holding back something about her husband.”
“You think it could be because of the whole church thing?” John asks.
“I do think she is scared of the community response if she talks,” Hart says, conveying John’s point more eloquently. “Predictably, when they separated, everyone was immediately on Philip’s side, no questions asked. She and her son were kind of ousted.”
Wren’s ears perk up at the information. It’s hard to believe an entire community could be on board with a man who harbors so many lies, but she also knows how easily she herself had been wrapped up in one man’s deception.
If Jeremy had charisma with a crowd and was given a pulpit, there could have been a different path to his story too.
The rest of the drive is quiet aside from the moments when Hart and John discuss their interview tactics.
Wren watches the landscape rush by the window, and it’s hard not to remember being in the Kingsborough police car, on the way to the rental house, on the way to her universe’s implosion.
She can feel the sickness she felt deep in her gut, the uncertainty, the willful ignorance to what would meet her there.
Everything outside is muted, a silent soundtrack to how she views this place now.
Hart tells them he prepped Kathryn about the reason for their visit ahead of time.
She knew her ex-husband is missing, and she has her own suspicions about his behavior.
It was a shock but not a surprise to her when Hart told her he suspected Philip might be involved in the disappearance of some women in the area.
They pull into Kathryn’s driveway; it looks like a cozy family home.
It’s expertly hiding the true darkness that lived there and which still may be locked up inside its inhabitant.
As they walk up to the front door and knock, no one speaks.
Each person has their own role to play in keeping her open and forthcoming.
The door swings back, and standing before them is Kathryn Trudeau. She has kind eyes and a warm smile, but a sadness lies behind them. She’s tired, and Wren can’t blame her, considering what she has probably dealt with.
She invites them in, leading them straight into a living room and encouraging everyone to take a seat.
“Can I get you all anything? I’m sorry, I don’t have a lot prepared,” she says, a slight tremble in her voice.
There is a charcuterie board on the coffee table complete with cheeses, olives, crackers, and meat. It’s enough for several more people—a clear representation of her anxiety. Posing as the perfect wife must be a tough role to shake.
“I think you definitely have it covered.” Hart chuckles, gesturing to the food. “Thank you, Kathryn.”
She nods, wringing her hands subtly and hesitantly taking a seat on the couch next to Wren. She crosses and uncrosses her legs. The silence feels heavy and loud.
“Kathryn, this is Detective John Leroux and Dr. Wren Muller. They’re the people I told you about,” Hart says calmly.
Kathryn smiles. “Nice to meet you both. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Really nice to finally meet you, Kathryn. Thank you for inviting us into your home,” John says. His voice is disarming.
“Yes, we really appreciate this,” Wren adds, trying to convey a sense of trustworthiness to this broken stranger.
John was right—it’s clear that Kathryn feels comforted by Wren’s presence. Another man may have tipped the scales out of their favor.
“I can tell you what I know,” she says after drawing in a deep breath. “But I’m realizing now that I didn’t really know him at all, I guess.” There’s a faraway look in her expression, an indicator of the difficult road she’s been traveling lately.
Hart shakes his head. “You don’t have to explain anything. He’s a professional manipulator.”
“I just can’t believe I was sleeping next to such a dangerous man.
I can’t seem to get past that.” Kathryn is talking out loud, but it’s almost as if she’s speaking to herself.
The judgment she’s heaping onto herself is devastating, especially considering how she was mostly shown a carefully crafted side of her husband; she never fully experienced his true darkness.
Wren shakes her head. “It’s not your fault for trusting what he showed you. How could you have ever known he had such impulses inside him?”
Kathryn looks at Wren, studying her for a moment, before she almost snaps back into reality. She sighs. “I guess I’m tired of protecting him. I just want to help,” she says, dropping the words with precision.
Wren exchanges a look with John, telepathically trying to warn him to tread lightly here. She can sense that Kathryn is testing the waters, seeing how quickly they will jump on her secrets.
Wren decides to be the first to respond, easing Kathryn into the discussion.
“You deserve to unload a little bit of burden, Kathryn. I realize we don’t know each other, but I know a thing or two about heavy burdens.
” She waits until Kathryn meets her eyes.
“Don’t hold his secrets like they’re your own. ”
Kathryn pauses, breathing steadily, a slight tremble visible in her bottom lip. She takes in a shaky breath, breaking the eye contact she held with Wren. “I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
Her words are tragic but understandable.
After all, Trudeau the con man is the shadow of the man she married, the man with whom she had a child.
How could she ever believe in someone’s good intentions after that?
Here they were, strangers sitting on her couch, in the home she built with a monster, trying to convince her that they are different.
“Kathryn, I know this is painful, but please understand you can trust us,” Wren says, putting her hands up as if to surrender. “We will do whatever it takes to keep you safe in all this mess.”
She watches Kathryn’s face twist into something resembling relief, but her guard is quickly thrown back up.
Kathryn’s defense system is not just a result of Philip’s betrayal, and that’s clear by the deep circles under her eyes and the frown lines that have formed around her mouth.
Kathryn’s defense system has been honed over years of living with a monstrous partner, a person so skilled at deceit that he passes daily as a holy man.
Kathryn makes a sound that can be described only as quiet agony.
“Listen, my son is the only thing I care about. He’s my entire world.
I don’t care what happens to me, but I have to keep him safe, whatever that takes.
” She begins to cry, her face twisting into an expression that almost shatters Wren’s composure.
She looks exhausted, like she hasn’t known a good night’s rest. It’s as if everything has been siphoned away from her, like she’s an unwilling source for someone else’s energy supply.