In the Bleak Midwinter (39 page)

Barbara Shattham sat down heavily. “Alyson,” Clare said, “What about Katie?”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that. And you can bet Wes didn’t say anything to me. Except for a family get-together around Thanksgiving, he hasn’t said shit to me since he left for the Academy.”

“Alyson, your language…” Mrs. Shattham’s voice trailed off.

“When was the last time you saw Katie?” Russ asked. “For real, this time.”

“When I went to her house in Albany that time. I didn’t know she was pregnant, I swear. I kept thinking, like, how could he prefer her to me? She was like, a size fourteen, for God’s sake.”

“Did Wesley ever indicate that he was having problems, or that he was troubled about his relationship with Katie?”

“He was weirding out before he went away to the Academy, but when I tried to talk with him, he blew me off. I had already figured it out, him and her, for God’s sake. But he goes, ‘just don’t tell anyone.’ Like I would. That’s why I went to see her. And that’s the last time I saw her. Alive or dead.”

Russ and Clare looked at each other. He nodded slowly. “Thank you, Alyson. Mrs. Shattham, I suggest Alyson stay close to home.”

“What do you think she’s going to do, run to Canada?”

“I’m not worried she’s going to flee jurisdiction. I’m worried because she knows something about Katie and Wesley. Just like Clare and Darrell McWhorter did. And look what happened to them.”

Barbara Shattham clutched her daughter’s sleeve. “Dear God.” She glared at Russ. “She’s in trouble because she’s spoken to you. I expect you to provide us with police protection.”

Russ pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Mrs. Shattham, she’s in trouble because she’s an accomplice to attempted murder. I’m not going to arrest her now. I may not ever arrest her, depending on what the district attorney has to say. I will,” he stressed, “take any attempt to get in touch with Wes Fowler as a sign that she’s actively assisting him. So take her home and keep an eye on her.”

After the Shatthams left in a swirl of silky hair and tearful glares, Russ shook his head. “Girl like that makes me grateful I never had kids. Holy shit. What a self-centered little monster. Excuse my French.”

“You wouldn’t have a girl like that.”

“I can understand why kids from crappy neighborhoods with piss-poor parents get into trouble. But how can kids with every advantage turn out so badly?”

Clare leaned forward. “Because the things you have, and the neighborhood you live in, doesn’t have anything to do with what kind of human being you are. As I’ve said before.”

“As you’ve said before.” He smiled slightly. “What do you think? Was she telling the truth?”

“I don’t know. She sure sounded pi—peeved at Wesley, though. I’d swear she was genuinely surprised that first time you questioned her, when she found out about Katie being pregnant.”

“Well, that shoots my boy-and-girl-did-it-together theory.”

“Vaughn Fowler should be back home with Wesley by now.”

“That’s assuming he wasn’t already back home last night, trying to shoot you.” From the open door, Clare could hear the sounds of coffee hour. “You probably have to go join your flock.”

“Oh, no.” She sank back into her seat. “I missed the Christmas cookie sale.” At Russ’s look she explained, “Fund-raiser for the choir. Everyone brings in cookies and you mix and match what you want to buy. I was going to show the flag by getting two bags’ worth.” She tried to pile her hair atop her head, but it was already in a French twist. She settled for pushing at the bobby pins. “I guess I may as well bow out entirely and come with you to see the Fowlers. Give me ten minutes to change out of my vestments and say good-bye.”

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.”

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.”

His distress caught at Clare. “Pretending nothing happened can’t right the world again, though, can it?”

He shook his head. “I want to do the right thing. Even though it’s too late for… Katie. I’m ready to take care of the baby, to be his father.” He glanced at his own father. “I’ve discussed it with my folks.”

“That’s a very stirring sentiment from a boy facing a double murder rap,” Russ said.

Vaughn laid a hand on Wesley’s shoulder. “My son has said he had nothing to do with the murders of the girl or her father, and I believe him. He’s a Fowler. He wasn’t raised to tell lies.”

Russ unlaced his hands. “No offense, Mr. Fowler, but your son has already lied through omission about a lot of things, including his relationship with Katie, his whereabouts, and the fact that he’s now a father. You’ll understand why I have to take what he says with a grain of salt.” He turned to Wesley. “The way I see it, you were desperate to keep the existence of Katie and Cody under wraps. You thought the Burnses would step in and take care of your responsibilities for you. My guess is, sometime between the night you dropped Cody off at the church and the night Katie’s body was found, she got in touch with you and said she had changed her mind.” The young man’s face flinched almost imperceptibly. “Your plan for getting on with your life was about to be royally screwed. So you told Katie to meet you back in Millers Kill, drove her out to Payson’s Park to discuss things, brained her with a tire iron, and rolled her down the hill into the river.”

“No!”

“It wasn’t the blow to the head that killed her, you know. She froze to death.”

“No!” Wesley erupted from his chair, lurching toward Russ.

His father moved like an uncoiling spring, seizing his son by the arms. “Stop it, Wes! Stop it.”

“This is what we’re going to do,” Russ said, standing slowly. “Wesley, you and I are going to the station, where we’ll have a talk with Mr. Kaminsky of the D.A.’s office. If we decide we have enough to hold you on, we’re going to charge you.” Russ’s gaze flicked from the young man’s pale face to that of his father. “Mr. Fowler, I suggest you call your lawyer and meet us at the station.”

“You can’t question him without the presence of one of his parents.”

“He’s over eighteen.”

“I didn’t do it,” Wesley said. “I didn’t do it.” He shook himself free of his father’s restraint and turned to the older man. “What if I refuse to go?”

Russ broke in. “I’ll arrest you right here.”

Vaughn looked at his son for a long moment. “You go with him, Wes.” The young man opened his mouth in protest. “It’ll be for the best. We’ll get a lawyer over there and have you back out by dinnertime.”

“I didn’t kill her, Dad. I couldn’t have.”

Vaughn squeezed his son’s shoulders. “I know you didn’t, Wes.”

“Let’s get your coat, Wesley.” Russ stepped out of the way, keeping behind and to the side of the young man. He looked as if he sorely wanted to use his handcuffs.

“Mr. Fowler,” Clare said quietly, “I didn’t drive myself here. If you’d like me to, I’d be happy to stay here with you and Mrs. Fowler and come back to town with you. If you think I could be of some help.”

Vaughn Fowler looked toward her, his gaze already a thousand yards ahead of him. He shook his head. “Thank you, Reverend, but under the circumstances…”