The Church of the Holy Child Read online

  “Where was she going?” I asked.

  “She wouldn’t tell me. She said if I didn’t know, I couldn’t tell. Not that I ever would have, but it’s all so confidential. She kept things vague when she talked about it and never mentioned any names.” She swung her feet to the floor and raised a hopeful face. “Have they picked him up yet?”

  I raised my eyebrows, not sure who she meant.

  “Her husband, Keith.”

  “He’s in custody,” Griff said. “But that’s all I know at this point.”

  “He’ll lie,” Beth said.

  “They all do,” I offered. “It’s expected.”

  “What’s going to happen to Brooke?” Beth asked.

  “You can petition the court to allow her to stay with you. I’d get in touch with a lawyer as soon as possible. If he’s found guilty you may be able to adopt her permanently.”

  “If he’s found guilty? How’s that even a question?”

  “It has to be proven,” Griff said.

  “What if they can’t prove it?”

  “It won’t be hard,” I assured her. “But even on the outside chance that he’s found not-guilty, with his history of violence you could still fight him for custody and you’d probably win.”

  She nodded. “That’s the plan, then.”

  “How long were they married?” Griff asked.

  “Four years.”

  “And the violence started when?”

  “At first he seemed like a really nice guy,” Beth said. “He made a good paycheck in pharmaceuticals so he told Shirley she didn’t have to work. She’d been employed since she was sixteen and finally had time to pursue her painting. She did watercolors, but never had formal training. When she registered at Maine School of Art in Portland Keith told her to cancel. He said she didn’t have to work, but that didn’t mean she could spend his money frivolously. They had a big argument about it.”

  “Did it become violent?”

  “No. At least she didn’t tell me if it did. But right after that she found out she was pregnant so she forgot about going to art school and was consumed with reading everything she could get her hands on about pregnancy and parenting. I think that’s when the beatings started. I know this sounds stupid, but I think he was jealous of Brooke before she was even born.”

  “It’s not stupid, it’s textbook,” I said. “And you may need to testify to that when the time comes.”

  “I’ll do anything to nail that bastard,” she said and blew her nose into the over-used tissue she held crumpled in her palm.

  We left Beth with our business cards and instructions against talking to the press. Griff told her if Keith made bail she should consider a restraining order.

  On the way to the station I thought about how many times I’d heard those words, “nail the SOB,” from women who lived chained to guys they’d sooner see dead. My mother came to mind. I looked over at Griff and laid my hand on his thigh. “I’m a lucky girl.”

  He gave me a sideways glance. “Why’s that? I mean besides my obvious good looks.”

  “My father was more attached to his students than to his family, at least the female ones. I’ve met my stepbrother all of five times. He left for private school in Europe and he’s never been back. Suffice it to say that the men in my life have made themselves scarce, literally. If not for you I probably would have given up altogether, jumped the fence and joined the girls’ team.”

  Griff laughed. “Lucky for me you’re not much of an athlete.”

  SIX

  Griff and I stood on the other side of the two-way glass and watched Detective John Stark spread 8X10 glossies across the table in front of Keith Trudeau. The pictures were part of a police file labeled Trudeau, Shirley. As a PI, I wasn’t supposed to have access to the file, but I’d seen it before. Thanks to Griff’s relationship with John and the Portland PD, we got the inside scoop on many of our cases.

  “A little photo-journalism, if you will,” John said, pushing the photos closer to Keith.

  Trudeau took one quick glance then turned his head. The reports in the file had never seen a courtroom because every time Shirley had thrown his sorry ass out of her life, Keith had sweet-talked his way back in. Like so many battered women, Shirley believed that the man she’d fallen in love with was still somewhere inside the monster and with enough love and understanding she could coax him out. And every time he hit her, she felt like she’d failed. So, Shirley did what all battered women do. She tried harder. Until the day she took a seat in a circle of wives and girlfriends attending one of the shelter’s support groups in the basement of a church, Women in Violent Relationships. There she learned that she hadn’t failed, he had, and she realized that she had choices, one of which was to leave him.

  A uniform, the one that had brought Trudeau in, stood beside us listening to Keith begin by denying that he’d ever hit his wife.

  “How could she take him back all those times?” The uniform said. “What the hell is wrong with these women?”

  It was a rhetorical question and I knew he didn’t expect an answer, but I gave him one anyway. “They fantasize the reappearance of the man they married. So, when he says this time will be the last, they want so badly to believe him that they do. And they try to be the perfect wife to help him keep his promise.”

  “And when he fails, she thinks it’s her fault?”

  I nodded. “Fifteen hundred women a year are killed by their husbands or boyfriends.”

  “That’s fucked up,” he said.

  “To put it mildly.” I turned back to the two-way.

  “I’m telling you, I was working,” Keith Trudeau said to Stark.

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “I was home asleep by then.”

  “And where was your wife?”

  “She was beside me when I got into bed. That’s all I know.’

  “Let’s back up. You finished work and then what?”

  “I went to a bar.”

  “With who?”

  “No one. I’d been on the road and stopped for dinner. I stayed at the bar and watched the baseball game. The play-offs were on. I got home around eleven-thirty and went to bed. Shirley was already asleep.”

  “And there’s no one that can vouch for any of that?”

  Trudeau shook his head.

  “How did you pay for your dinner?”

  “Cash.”

  “Well that sucks for you,” John said.

  “I loved my wife.”

  “Yeah, it shows,” John picked up one of the glossies and tossed it toward Trudeau. It landed in front of him and slid off the table into his lap.

  Keith put it back on the table face down without looking at it. “We had a few arguments.”

  “An argument is when two people disagree. These pictures are of beatings and they’re your ticket to Thomaston Prison. Your wife may have been too afraid to file charges, but you can believe the state will fry your ass.”

  “I’m not going to prison. I’ll admit that I might have hit Shirley a few times, but I didn’t kill her. I never wanted her dead.” His voice broke. He lowered his head and wiped a tear from his cheek.

  “How touching,” John said. “When you woke up the next morning where was your wife?”

  “I don’t know. She wasn’t in the house.”

  “And where was your daughter?”

  “When I got home last night there was a note on the table. It said Brooke was sleeping at her sister’s.”

  “Beth Jones?”

  Keith nodded. “She plays with Beth’s kid sometimes and sleeps over, so I didn’t think much of it.”

  “So you woke up and your wife and daughter are gone and you don’t really know where either of them is for sure, but you just leave for work anyway?”

  “I figured Shirley had gone to pick up Brooke. I had no reason to suspect things weren’t what they seemed. And I make it a point to know where my family is, at all times.”

  “I’ll bet you do
,” John said.

  “Can I go now?”

  “Absolutely not. Based on your history, you are under arrest for the murder of your wife, Shirley Trudeau.” He began reading Keith his rights and the uniform left to assist.

  After Trudeau was cuffed and led away, Griff and I joined the detective in his office.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t take rocket science to know he’s guilty.”

  “It might be a little hard to prove based only on his history. But the fingerprints around Shirley’s throat belong to someone,” Griff said. “If she made it as far as the Amtrak station I’m willing to bet she put up a fight. I’d like to visit with the ME tomorrow after she finishes with the body. Any objection?” He glanced at John.

  The detective shook his head. “The sister hired you. But Haggerty will probably make some noise if he hears we’re talking.”

  “He has nothing against calling Griff in when he needs him,” I said.

  “Exactly. But this time I called.”

  I looked at Griff. “If you’re helping John, Haggerty’s going to say it’s a conflict of interest if you’re working for the sister too.”

  “Working for Beth Jones doesn’t mean that John and I can’t discuss the case.”

  “It shouldn’t be Griff’s problem that the department’s understaffed and people aren’t pulling their weight,” I said to John. “You need to get CID back on its feet.”

  Griff tapped me on the shoulder. “Enough. I’m going to check out the bar where Trudeau had dinner.”

  “Doubt it’ll give you much,” John said standing up from his desk.

  “At this point, I’ve got nothing else.”

  John turned to me. “I know I’m not your favorite person these days.”

  “You used to be.”

  He took a breath. “A lot has happened in the past few years. And maybe you don’t approve of how I’ve handled things, there’s a lot of that going around, but that’s your issue ‘cause frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass. The only reason you’re here is because you and Cole are attached at the hip. You can either step in or step out, your choice.” He picked up his jacket and swung it over his shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I watched him walk down the hallway, stoop shouldered, miserable, defeated and thirsty. Three years ago John’s wife was diagnosed with stage-four brain cancer. He’d taken care of her at home to the fury of his sixteen-year-old daughter, Kira, who couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t admit her to a top of the line cancer care facility. She didn’t buy the public servant’s salary argument. When Alexis died four months later, Kira disappeared. He hasn’t heard from her since and with little to go on after three years of diligent effort, the investigation has dwindled down to a trickling of interest. Now John searches for both of them in a bottle of scotch and calls Griff when the city looks to him for answers.

  “You know I love that guy,” I said to Griff. “Any other vice and I could forgive him. But alcohol hits too close to home. And I’m tired of you always getting pulled back into the department.”

  “Stop worrying, Callahan. John knows you care and I’m not going anywhere. CID holds no appeal.” He laid his arm around my shoulders and kissed my head. “But you’re making my mother smile, wherever she is.”

  We headed for the front door of the station. “How about a ride by Amtrak before you go to the bar?” I said.

  “Think I missed something?”

  “Don’t get defensive. I like to have the details in my head when I’m picturing the moment.”

  “Me too,” he said and winked.

  “Hey, you two got a minute?” Chief Haggerty stepped into the narrow hallway blocking our path.

  We followed him into his office. A microwaved lasagna dinner was front and center on his desk explaining the splotches on his tie. He sat in his chair, put on wire-rimmed glasses that were too narrow for his head and looked up at Griff.

  “I know John called you in on the Shirley Trudeau case, I’ve got two detectives on leave and Miller and Stiles are on the Portland Museum robbery. I’m shorthanded, but this looks pretty cut and dry and we have the husband in custody. I don’t think we need you.”

  “We’ve been hired by the sister, so we’re all working toward the same goal. Okay with you if we collaborate a little?” I don’t mind helping John out if he needs it.”

  Haggerty shook his head and stared into his lasagna. “Stark was one of the best detectives on the force. I’m hoping before he retires he will be again, but he’s got to get his shit together.

  “I’m trying to help with that. He’s been good to me.”

  “I know he has.” Haggerty leaned back in his chair, took a breath and let it out long and slow through his nose. “Yeah, it’s okay with me. Looks like it’ll be over pretty fast anyway. That mean you’ll be hanging around too, Callahan?”

  “You know, Haggerty, it’s been almost four years since I had one of your finest on the stand. I was just doing my job then and I still am. Only now we’re on the same side. How about letting bygones be bygones?”

  He shoveled a forkful of lasagna into his mouth without answering.

  “Watch the tie,” I said and closed the door.

  We parked in the Amtrak lot and approached the yellow police tape. A cop waved us back. “Can’t go in there,” he called as he came toward us.

  Griff pulled out his ID and held it up. “Hired by the victim’s sister,” he said. “You can check on it if you want.”

  “Didn’t recognize you, Cole,” the cop said as he came closer. “Go ahead. Haggerty radioed his okay. Still can’t make up your mind where you belong, huh?”

  “Eat it, junior.”

  “You know him?” I asked as we crossed the grassy field behind the station.

  “No, but most of them seem to know me.”

  “Fan club?”

  “Hit list.”

  I laughed, but my smile faded when we came up to the place where Shirley’s body had been found. A wide circle of grass, tinged black by blood, lay flattened from the plethora of feet.

  “She walked at least a hundred feet from the building. Doesn’t seem like she’d have done that if Keith had come to get her. She’d have wanted to stay close to other people for safety.”

  “She could have been running,” Griff said. “Or dragged.”

  “Cameras on the outside of the building?”

  “They pick up the parking lot and the waiting area in front, but not out here, John’s reviewing them.”

  I walked back toward the building, my eyes on the ground. “No marks in the grass that would indicate dragging,” I said. “Even running might have made some impressions. She walked.”

  “Which could mean she went willingly, not feeling threatened,” Griff said.

  Nothing but an entrance ramp to Route 295 lay ahead, to the right an overnight parking lot, to the left another hundred yards or so of grass then a wooded lot and beyond that a neighborhood.

  “But where was she heading?” I turned and looked at Griff.

  “Maybe nowhere. She and Keith could have walked out here to talk away from people’s eyes. She told him she was leaving, they argued and he killed her.”

  “How’d she get here? She wouldn’t have driven, wouldn’t have left her car in the lot. That would have made it too easy for Keith to track her.”

  “John’s checking fares with the local cabbies.”

  “She wouldn’t have done that either,” I said. “Someone from the shelter would have picked her up at her house or at a designated meeting place if they were helping her.”

  “Maybe we should talk to the shelter.”

  “Now?” I pulled up the hood of my jacket feeling the first few drops of rain.

  He shook his head. “Right now I’ve got more pressing things to deal with.”

  “Like what?”

  “Spaghetti.”

  “Thought you were heading to the bar?”

  “I didn’t
realize how late it was. I’m out of time for today.”

  I looked at my watch. We had forty minutes to get to Griff’s ex’s house, and pick up his daughter for dinner. Going to his ex’s brought up all sorts of insecurities. Eliza never failed to slip in a dig equating my childlessness with falling short on her list of requirements for women. Beyond that, she was porcelain to my ceramic, Williams-Sonoma crystal to my Pier One Lucite tumblers, svelte to my…well, you get it. Eliza was one of those women who can make another woman feel inferior without ever opening her mouth. But as Griff once told me, “You can buy expensive siding, but the inside is where you live.”

  SEVEN

  In the car, Griff called John to check on the Amtrak station’s surveillance tapes.

  “Nothing,” he said to me after hanging up. He dropped his cell phone into the cup holder on the console.

  “What’d you mean nothing?”

  “Shirley Trudeau is not on the tape at all. Neither is Keith.”

  “But you said the cameras picked up the parking lot and the front of the building.”

  He nodded.

  “How could she have gotten into the field but never come through the parking lot?”

  “She would have had to walk from Route 295 or come across the wooded lot from the neighborhood beyond it.”

  “That means no one from the shelter brought her to the station.”

  “Does it ever work like that?”

  “Not usually, but it goes down however they want it to. Whatever they determine to be safest for the woman.”

  “If it did happen like that it means she came alone and never made it inside the building.”

  “And that Keith knew she was leaving and was already there, waiting for her. But how could he have known?”

  Griff shrugged. “Maybe somebody tipped him off.”

  We drove down Elm Street toward the gated community of Elmwood Estates. The guard waved and raised the gate as we approached. Eliza still kept the bungalow she and Griff had shared on Little Sebego Lake, but after the divorce it had become more a rental property than a home. And with Allie in school in Yarmouth, it made more sense to purchase a condo in the small town than to drive ten miles from the lake house. (Family money sure comes in handy.) The house on Little Sebego had been a project she and Griff had taken on together, renovating it into a million-dollar property, but the same couldn’t be said of their marriage. Somewhere around year six, Eliza had begun to suffer from anxiety and depression. Its source being Griff’s erratic schedule and the worry that every time he left the house he wouldn’t be coming back. That’s when Griff took a leave of absence from the force. But the pull of his career never faded and after a solid year of trying things her way, he was back in the squad room. They gave it one more go, but it didn’t last for long. Eliza changed the locks and Griff moved into Portland, configuring his hours around his allotted time with Allie.