“Have you been to Godtown?” Westermann asked Plouffe from the passenger seat. They had the windows down, the heat this morning again suffocating.
“No, sir.” Plouffe was nearing his pension. Westermann knew that Plouffe was getting a little extra in his monthly checks for working Westermann’s squad. Plouffe wasn’t a great cop, but he didn’t dislike Westermann, which was something.
“You been down here?” Plouffe asked.
Westermann shook his head, watching out the window as people made their way on yet another blistering day, wondering when the heat would finally break.
Godtown, as it turned out, was rather hard to miss, two square blocks of reclaimed row houses on the eastern edge of the Hollows, the houses painted in bright colors: purples, yellows, oranges, blues. Beyond them, the blocks of abandoned buildings that made up the Hollows
“What’s this?” Plouffe said, pulling to the curb. No one was about, the sidewalks empty and clean, planters bookending many stoops. By any standard it was a cheerful-looking place. But the deserted streets were strange, like a movie set.
“Let’s find the church,” Westermann said, as Plouffe drove on slowly, eyeing the row houses, expecting one of them to be the church. In the next block, though, they saw a steeple a block west, rising above the low houses. It was clear why Prosper Maddox had chosen this area to bring his people: this fine old stone church apparently abandoned until his flock had acquired it and fixed it back up. A man in a suit was at the near corner of the church, scrubbing stones with a sponge and soapy water where someone had painted graffiti on the wall. He didn’t look up as the prowl car passed.
Westermann told Plouffe to stay with the car and took the steps up to the heavy wooden double doors. He paused for a moment, not sure if he should knock. He decided to just go in, but found the door locked.
He banged on the door and waited. It took a minute, but he eventually heard the scrape of footsteps, and the door opened a crack. Westermann tilted his head to look in. The man at the door was young and big, his blond hair shaved military-style.
“Can I help you?”
Westermann looked past the man into a dim vestibule and a set of closed wooden doors on the far wall. He showed his badge. “I’m looking for Prosper Maddox.”
“Can I ask what for?”
“Just some questions.”
“Pertaining to?”
Westermann noticed a scar tugging at the man’s upper lip when he spoke. “Is Mr. Maddox here?”
“Dr. Maddox.”
“Okay.”
“Hold on.” The man shut the door. Westermann heard the lock slide. He waited.
The door opened again and this time a man came out—medium height, slender, tan suit, blue eyes, very clean.
“Prosper Maddox,” he said, offering his hand. “How can I be of service?”
Westermann shook hands and introduced himself. Maddox had a round, childish face, and his grip was dry and weak. His hair was carefully parted and stiff.
“Dr. Maddox, is there somewhere we could sit down?”
Maddox gave a regretful smile. “Unfortunately, we are presently having a Bible study and I am reluctant to interrupt it. Is there a problem, Lieutenant Westermann? I’m sure we can talk out here.” Maddox noticed the cruiser and ducked a little to get a better angle from the steps to see in.
“That’s my colleague, Detective Plouffe,” Westermann said, getting Maddox’s attention back. “I guess we can talk here. I don’t know if you read about it in the newspaper, but a couple of days ago we found the body of a young woman washed up on the riverbank. We’ve found out that her name is Lenore; we don’t have a last name. Dark hair, attractive, very thin. Seemed like she might have been sick; had these sores on her body.” If Maddox recognized the name, he hid it well. “We took a look at her place and found some church materials from here, so we thought maybe you could help us with an ID.”
“Lenore?” Maddox said, looking up at the sky as if seeking divine assistance with his memory. “I don’t recall a Lenore at our church, Lieutenant. Of course, it is possible that one of our people might have passed on these materials, helping to spread the Word.”
Westermann nodded. “That’s possible. You know, it might be a coincidence, but we found materials from your church in another place; this time the apartment of a woman who’s turned up missing. Her name was Mavis Talley. That ring a bell with you, Dr. Maddox?”
Maddox smiled sadly and shook his head. “I’m certain I would remember a name like Mavis Talley, Lieutenant, but I’m quite sure that I haven’t heard it before. And you say she had materials from this church? The Church of Last Days?”
Westermann nodded, angry at Maddox’s casual dismissal of his questions. “So you would say it is a coincidence that these two women, one missing and one dead, had programs from your church?”
“I’m not saying that at all, Lieutenant. I’m simply saying that I do not know who they are. It is entirely possible that someone in the congregation knows both of them and gave them both materials.”
“Well, then, we’ll probably want to talk to your congregation.”
“I could save you some time by making an announcement, asking anyone who knows either one of these unfortunate women to come forward. I could even start now with the Bible-study group.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I think we’re better off doing the questioning ourselves. I’ll send some detectives over, get a list of congregants from you, with addresses.”
For the first time, Maddox seemed bothered. “Lieutenant, you understand, of course, that you are asking for confidential information. This puts us in a very awkward position. Would your detectives be bringing a warrant?”
“We can arrange that.”
“I think it would be better if you did. For both of us. You understand, of course.”
“Mr. Maddox, I have a dead girl and a missing girl who seemed to know your church. Two nights ago we found a second dead girl that we believe might be connected to the other two. Do you understand the urgency?”
Maddox frowned. “Of course. If you bring a warrant, we will do our utmost to assist.”
Westermann hid his frustration, bowing his head a little in mock supplication.
Maddox clasped his hands in an act meant to bring the conversation to a close. “Lieutenant, I look forward to speaking with you again. May the Lord walk with you.”