He looked at the ceiling. “Why don’t I just deputize you and issue you a gun, while I’m at it?”
Clare rose from the table. “No, thanks. But if there’s a paying position as departmental chaplain, I’ll take that. I’m going to need some extra money if I ever hope to replace my car.”
CHAPTER 28
It was a short drive from St. Alban’s to the Fowlers, but it was long enough for Clare to work up a full head of nerves and excitement. Fortunately, Russ was an easy person to be keyed up with; he listened to her ramble on about her ideas for the mother-and-baby outreach program, interjecting a question every time she stalled out over the realization that they were minutes away from confronting the young man who might be Katie’s killer.
As they turned down the long country road that led to the Fowler’s house, she confessed, “I’m a little tense about all this.”
“Oh? I never would have guessed.”
She punched him in the arm.
“Ow!”
“Don’t you feel it, too? This may be it! Finally.”
“I’ve done this a few more times than you, Reverend. Questioning someone doesn’t get me all worked up.” He glanced over to see her scowling. “Of course, it’s different if I think the person I want to question is going to start shooting at me. I remember one time, I was working the violent crimes unit at Mannheim, we were investigating a series of rapes. Chief suspect was a ranger who taught hand-to-hand combat. One of these guys who can disable you with his forefinger and kill you with one hand tied behind his back. Walking up to his quarters to question him, I thought I was going to piss my pants, I was so scared.”
“What happened?”
“I talked him into coming with me to the M.P. post. That’s ninety percent of police work, you know, being able to talk and keep on talking until the problem is defused.”
She pointed to a neatly plowed gravel drive. “Here it is.” She recognized the Fowlers’ Explorer and Volvo sedan. There was also a brand new Jeep Wrangler parked in front of the barn. “That must be Wesley’s truck.”
Russ parked the patrol car behind the Jeep and took a slow walk alongside it on his way to the door. Clare, staring into the windows, caught sight of herself and quirked her mouth. What did she think she was going to see, the abandoned snowmobile suit and a gun? She stepped lively to catch up with Russ, who had mounted the front steps.
Edith Fowler opened the door. Her deep-set eyes showed stark and white in her narrow face, like a spooked horse trapped in its stall.
“Mrs. Fowler? I’m Chief Van Alstyne. May I come in?”
Her social graces kicked in and her face relaxed. She opened the door widely. “Certainly, Chief. Reverend Clare, I’m glad to see you here as well.” In the foyer, she took their coats. “I’m sorry we missed church this morning, but it’s been . . . well . . .” She gestured down the hall. “They’re in the family room.”
Clare stepped out of rubber rainboots, the only foul-weather footwear she owned since trashing her leather boots last night. She was glad she hadn’t changed into civvies. Her collar and black blouse created a shield dividing the woman who had slogged through an icy stream from the priest who was here to counsel and support this morning. You are what you wear, she could hear her grandmother lecture, stuffing Clare-the-tomboy into a ladylike dress. She plucked a piece of fluff from her ankle-length black wool skirt and followed Russ through the door.
The family room had obviously been a later addition to the old house. Its cathedral ceiling allowed for a Christmas tree that was easily twelve feet high, and the sweep of windows created an unbroken vista of snow and hills. The Fowler men were rising from a cluster of leather-covered love seats and chairs.
“Chief Van Alstyne.” Vaughn Fowler didn’t sound surprised to see a uniformed officer in his home at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning.
Wesley looked startlingly like his father: same height, same strong features, same heavily-muscled build. His hair was shorter than even his father’s military clip, shaved down to a bare fuzz. His face was strained and weary. He looked older than his eighteen or nineteen years, and Clare thought it entirely possible he could have been the “older man” Katie’s roommates had seen.
“This is my son, Wesley.”
“Sir.” Wesley pumped Russ’s hand.
Vaughn waved Clare over. “Wes, I don’t think you’ve had the chance to meet our new priest yet. This is the Reverend Clare Fergusson.”
“Ma’am.” Clare and Wesley studied each other while shaking hands. He was definitely discomfited to see her. Was it because she was the one who had brought his connection to Katie out in the open? Or because she had brained him with a rock last night? A tough, strong kid like him could have recovered enough from last night’s violence to appear this morning as if nothing had happened.
“Let’s all sit down.” Vaughn gestured Clare to one of the caramel-colored chairs. He was looking the worse for wear, too. As the men took their seats, she wondered if his control of the situation was what was keeping him together. “I’ve been talking with Wes.” Vaughn said, before Russ could speak. “He has something to say to you, Chief.”
The young man stood. “Sir, I am—I was Katie’s boyfriend. I am the baby’s father. There’s no need to do a blood test. I’m responsible.”
Russ laced his hands across his belt. “Sit down, Wes, you’re not on report.” The boy sat, spine held straight and away from the back of the love seat. “So you’re Cody’s father. Were you with her when she had the baby?”
“Yes sir. It was just after Thanksgiving.” He glanced at his father. “I told my folks I was spending a few days with a friend. I took Katie to the Sleeping Hollow Motel, and she . . . she had the baby there.”
“What happened after Katie gave birth?” Clare said.
“We waited a day to make sure he was, you know, okay, then we left him on the steps at St. Alban’s.”
She leaned forward. “Why?”
He glanced at her and then focused his gaze at a point two inches to the left of her head. “Ma’am, we agreed with each other to give the baby up. We thought—I thought, with the Burnses looking to adopt for so long, that it would be easy. Make sure they had the baby and then Katie and I could get back to our lives.”
Clare steepled her fingers against her lips, holding back her reaction to such raw thoughtlessness.
“I didn’t know the police would get involved!” he said. “I didn’t know she would—” he caught his breath. “I just found out last week she had been, had been, killed. Alyson called me.” Clare noticed a distinct lack of warmth when he mentioned his official girlfriend’s name. “She said Ethan had been arrested for the murder.”
“Ethan Stoner was arrested for threatening an officer and resisting arrest.” Russ said. “He’s no longer a suspect in the murders.”
Wesley drew a deep breath. “I didn’t kill Katie or her father. Sir. I—” his voice broke, a reminder that he was barely more than a boy after all. “I cared for her very much.” He looked at Clare, square on. “I guess it was stupid to just leave the baby. But I knew there was a meeting that night, and that somebody would find him quickly. I thought once he was gone everything could be normal again.”