Chapter 17 #4
“Your ex-husband was in the company of Jeremy Rose during the time frame Richard Muller was killed,” Hart says, trying to convey it all without sending Kathryn reeling. “His location during the time it happened is massively important.”
Kathryn hands the phone to Hart. “You can look at the dates yourself. I can’t do it,” she says quietly. Her eyes flick to Wren, then quickly down at her feet.
Wren’s heart thunders in her chest as she watches Hart tap the date into the screen.
Each scenario runs through her brain, and she can’t tell which is worse.
Either Jeremy is right and he alone took the one person from her who mattered most, or he’s lying, trying to take credit when the act was done by a corrupt pastor who should have been locked up for assaulting a young girl when he was a teen.
As Hart’s fingers navigate to the answer, Leroux gets up and stands behind Wren. He places a hand on her shoulder, digging his fingers into her skin just hard enough to provide comfort and not pain.
“Oh my god,” Hart says finally, turning the phone to face them.
On the screen is a marker hovering over the location of the rental house in Kingsborough. The date across the top is the day when her world ended.
“We got him,” Hart says, looking at them. Leroux’s fingers dig in harder now, rooting her to her seat. She can hear him release a puff of air, almost a gasp.
Kathryn begins to sob. Her face falling into her hands as she becomes racked with heaving cries.
Wren is numb. A feeling of weightlessness overcomes her. It’s as if she would float off into the atmosphere if it weren’t for Leroux grounding her here. She grasps her hands together, rubbing her wedding rings.
“I’m sorry!” Kathryn wails into her hands. “I’m so sorry!” She looks up for just a moment, and now Wren can see that Kathryn was speaking to her, apologizing for the monster she married.
Wren shakes her head. “It’s not your fault,” she says softly, barely able to make the words audible. “It’s not your fault,” she repeats in almost a whisper.
“Kathryn, I know this is hard, but we will need these records. Is there a way to send the file?” Hart is immediately pushing everything along, trying to keep the investigation moving.
Kathryn nods, her tear-stained face fraught with exhaustion. “I just want this to be over.”
When they leave Kathryn’s home, a silence stretches between them, knowing and contemplative. It isn’t until they all settle into the car together and pull out of the driveway that Leroux speaks.
“Muller,” he starts, but she holds a hand up to stop him.
“You don’t have to be sorry, John. You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says quietly.
He sighs. “I will get you justice. You know that, right? One way or another, I won’t let you down.”
She smiles. Though it’s a genuine smile, it still pulls at her face, like it doesn’t want to form. “I believe you.”
Hart shifts uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of their half-coded conversation.
Wren isn’t ready to process the information she was given today about Richard’s murder, isn’t ready to fully visualize his death playing out with an extra character in the room.
For the moment, she just needs to shift her attention to what’s happening in the present, to do whatever they can to find Beth.
“We now know Philip was most likely not in New Orleans recently enough to be involved in Melissa’s murder and Beth’s disappearance.
But I still think someone is trying to frame him.
The religious undertones feel a little too on the nose,” Leroux says, turning the topic toward the other bombshell Kathryn unknowingly dropped.
“But that information would only really be for us, wouldn’t it? No one else in Louisiana is going to suspect Philip Trudeau of this. He wouldn’t even be on their radar,” Wren says. She’s questioning whether they’ve been chasing their own tails.
Leroux is buzzing suddenly, following something inside his own brain. “Exactly, and you just narrowed our suspect pool down considerably.”
She looks at him, sees the fire alight in his eyes now, and it finally connects for her. “Because the killer is doing it for us.”
Hart turns into a Dunkin’ Donuts like it’s well-established muscle memory. “I’ll keep digging on my end. After talking to Kathryn, I know we are close to finding Trudeau’s skeletons, figurative and otherwise.”
“Stay the course, but keep your nose clean,” Leroux warns him.
Hart nods, pulling into a parking space and turning to face them. “Don’t worry about my nose. Do you two want anything?”
“Coffee with cream, please,” Leroux says.
Wren shakes her head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
Hart nods, leaving them alone in the car. Wren leans back in her seat, closing her eyes and wishing they could click their heels and be home again. After the meeting with Kathryn, she wants to rid herself of this place, this cold that cuts to the bone and this perpetually sunless sky.
“Ready for the red-eye tonight?” Leroux asks, a hint of dread in his own tired voice.
“I’m ready for home,” she answers.