At least Amanda had two positive things to focus on. One, the cadaver dogs hadn’t uncovered any more burial sites. And two, Amanda and Trent made it to the medical clinic by four o’clock, an hour before they closed. She was used to them cutting things much closer than that. A sign posted next to the door listed three doctors—two general physicians and one psychiatrist. Inside, the space was clean and bright, but minimally decorated. A few patients sat in chairs and a smiling nurse greeted them at the front desk.
Amanda flashed her badge, tucked it away. “We’re with the Prince William County PD. We’re investigating the disappearance of two of your patients.”
“Oh my.” The woman was edging toward sixty, and the news had her mouth gaping open.
“Can you tell us if Mrs. Jill Archer brought her daughter, Charlotte, in for a visit Tuesday last week?” Amanda asked.
“I’m not sure I’m permitted to say.” She spoke softly and her gaze darted at the waiting patients, then over her shoulder.
“If you could just verify that, it might help. We’re talking about a mother and her daughter here…” Amanda hoped stressing the girl would soften the woman just enough to loosen her lips.
“I see…” She worried her bottom lip.
“We’re trying to figure out their last steps.” Amanda sidestepped so as not to lie completely.
The woman leaned in closer to them, stretching over her desk. “They were here.” Almost in a whisper. “Charlotte had a mild tummy ache. But I can’t say more than that.”
“The flu?” Amanda countered, though the nurse’s words implied there was more to say.
“I’ve probably said too much already.”
This woman wasn’t quiet because she didn’t know. She’d be responsible for filing the patient’s records and could read them. Rather, Amanda took the woman’s guarded statements to mean Charlotte had more than a tummy ache. She could be reading this wrong—the woman just protecting confidentiality. Regardless, Amanda had firsthand knowledge that emotional and mental trauma manifested in physical ailments. She’d been through it when dealing with the loss of her family. Phantom pains in her abdomen and gut. Doctors put her through a battery of tests involving several ultrasounds and lots of poking and prodding. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that Charlotte suffered from mental and emotional issues from witnessing her mother’s abuse, and being locked in the trunk of a car herself. “May we talk with Dr. Cannon?”
“I’m sorry, but he’s booked solid with patients today.”
Amanda considered their next course of action. While speaking to the doctor might shed some light on Charlotte’s ailment, he might refuse to discuss her medical condition. And would a conversation with him get them any closer to finding their killer? Unlikely, but she was curious. “Did Charlotte and her mother ever speak with Dr. Wood?” He was listed as the psychiatrist.
The woman shook her head. “Dr. Wood specializes in treating military veterans.”
And there went that lead…
In the lot, Amanda zipped her jacket to her chin. There was a definite fall chill in the air today. She turned to Trent. “They were here the Tuesday they disappeared. Were they taken from here or…?” She looked down the plaza at the different businesses.
“Hard to know, especially with Jill’s habit of turning her phone off.”
“We work with what we have. Let’s canvass the businesses here. If luck’s on our side at all we’ll find a witness who saw her and her daughter on the Tuesday, possibly even leaving with someone.”
“It’s worth a try, but remember we have another lead to follow. It also might take us to a person Jill confided in.” He peered into her eyes until his point hit home.
“New World Church.” The address was one that came up on the tracking app on a fairly routine basis right after Prince Park.
“More specifically the priest or father there. Do we know the denomination? But this person might help fill some gaps in Jill’s travels.”
“Let’s go.” Amanda beat Trent back to the car. It’s true they were already at the plaza, but they might have more success speaking with those at the church, who had actually known Jill and Charlotte. They could always come back here if it was deemed necessary. “Hopefully, we can find someone around.” It may be a long shot given that it was a Thursday afternoon, but often there were living quarters attached to churches for the head honcho, whatever the title for this religion.
Trent took them to the church, and the parking lot was empty except for one sedan parked in the shadow of the towering steeple, complete with cross.
“We’ll try there.” She pointed out a door on the side of the building that had a mailbox next to it.
Trent knocked, and footsteps padded toward the door.
It swung open, and a sixty-something man with bright blue eyes was looking out at them. “Children of God, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
His words at face value were sickly, over the top, but his delivery struck Amanda as sincere. She pulled her badge. “Prince William County PD.”
“Well, bless you for your work within the community.” He flashed a smile.
His compliment threw her off some. “Ah, thank you.” She made the formal introductions and got his name—Galen Walsh. His title was priest. “We’d like to ask about one of your parishioners.”
“Certainly. Who would that be?”
“Jill Archer.”
“Oooh, that dear child. Please come in.” Galen held the door for Amanda and Trent to enter.
The space was basic, what some expected for a professed man of God. She never viewed an oath of poverty as evidence of a person’s spirituality. There was a couch and chairs right near the door. They both took a seat.
Galen remained standing. “Would you like a tea?” he asked while on the move to the galley-style kitchen at the rear of the apartment.
“Sure. That would be nice.” Amanda would play along. Accepting offers of hospitality often led to people opening up, but her first choice was never tea. Her parents had ruined it for her with the daily ritual of two a day—at four in the afternoon and again with the evening news. She’d drank all the tea she’d ever need while growing up.
“Or would you prefer coffee, Detective?” The priest leveled his gaze at her, and chills danced down her arms as if he’d read her mind.
“Only if it’s no bother.”
“None. Black?”
“That’s right.”
“Me too, please,” Trent said, speaking up.
Galen returned to the living area a moment later. “Pod one is in the thingy.” He smiled, giving away that he tolerated modern invention for its convenience.
“Thank you,” Trent said.
“Police want to talk about Jill Archer,” Galen began. “Something is obviously wrong.”
Amanda would have preferred the priest to be sitting before she delivered the news, but she proceeded anyhow. “Sadly, both she and her daughter, Charlotte, were found murdered earlier this week.”
“Oh, dear heavens me.” Galen dropped onto the arm of the couch. “I read the news of dead bodies being found in Prince Park, and I had a horrible, sinking feeling.” He was shaking his head and tsking. “But they will be rewarded in heaven.” He glanced up now as if to pay tribute to his deity.
At least Graves’s efforts to keep the Archers’ names from the media were working. But one thing gnawing at her was that he’d had this horrible, sinking feeling. Was there more to that? “You mean you suspected something had happened to them? How is that?”
“Ah, the spirit knows everything.” He put his palms together in front of his chest and opened them as if mimicking a blossoming flower.
This church may have a cross, but she was wagering it was a blend of traditional and new-age beliefs that accepted mysticism and mind-reading. “You need to realize that I don’t share your beliefs. How did you know about their deaths?”
“Please don’t read too much into my words, Detective. I’m what you might call an oracle. I see things, know things, sense things. So when I saw the news, I had a flash of insight, or a vision, you might call it. But now with you here—two detectives, asking about Jill Archer—I don’t think one needs to be clairvoyant to piece together they have moved on to the next plane of existence.” Galen popped up. “The first coffee should be ready.” He disappeared into the kitchen and returned shortly after with a steaming mug, which he handed to Amanda. “Next is on its way,” he said to Trent.
“Were Jill and Charlotte regular in attendance?” The tracking app put her phone here on Sundays, but Amanda asked anyway.
“Every Sunday. Well, except this last one and the one before.”
The Sunday Charlotte had felt ill…
Galen went on. “Their absence was another reason I suspected something was wrong. There was much pain in her. Both of them, truly.”
Hearing him say this saddened Amanda. For all the people orbiting Jill’s and Charlotte’s lives—even knowing what was going on—not one did anything to help them. And for a priest who knew things, why hadn’t he stepped in to aid Jill and Charlotte?
“Then you knew about the abuse?” Trent spoke quietly, as if he’d revered the man for his position but was wounded by his lack of action.
“That she was oppressed? Yes, and I tried to help her.”
“Oppressed?” Trent spat. “She was beaten and raped by her own husband.”
The priest’s cheeks reddened, and he glanced at Amanda.
“You must understand our frustration. We’ve found that many people were aware of what was going on in the Archer home yet did nothing to save Jill or Charlotte.” It took all her reserve of self-control to say that calmly.
Just the slightest glimmer of a smile on the priest’s lips. “The thing is, dear child, a person needs to want to help themselves.”
Amanda sipped her coffee, mostly to occupy her mouth so she didn’t say something she’d regret. She hated being addressed as “dear child.” The inference being she belonged to God. But there was no way. The loss of her family had squashed any faith she had in a Greater Being. Even though she was happy these days, forgiveness for a mysterious deity remained too tall an order. On another note, Galen’s phrasing angered her, as if the victims of abuse were to blame. She lowered her cup, the coffee hot and with a smooth finish.
“As I told you, I see things,” Galen said. “Call them visions, if you will. There was lots of darkness surrounding them, but there was also love. Warped, but love nonetheless.”
“I don’t get what you’re trying to say,” Trent said.
Galen looked at him, a subtle smirk on his lips. “The darkness could represent the abuse, but they were seen out of this world with a blessing.” He steepled his hands.
Her hackles shot up. His words smacked close to what people had said when she’d lost Kevin and Lindsey—“they’re with God now” or “God needed another angel.” “What do you mean a blessing?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I do sense their passing was met with tears.”
Shivers raked down Amanda’s spine. The posing of their bodies, the doll. They had suspected the killer felt regret, remorse, even affection. If the priest was innocent, he’d have no way of knowing that. He told them when he’d last seen them at church, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t run into them outside these walls. “When did you last see Jill and Charlotte?”
“Three Sundays ago.”
Amanda nodded. “And where were you Tuesday of last week?”
“I was here, in deep meditation.”
“All day?” Trent asked, skepticism plain to read.
“Yes.”
Amanda would poke her eyes out after five minutes. “Did you notice if any men hung around Jill or her daughter? New friends or otherwise?”
“What you are really interested in, Detective, is if I know who may have posed a threat to them.”
She didn’t respond to that, not appreciating how he’d trampled on her question. She just waved a hand for him to continue.
“Besides her husband, and whoever killed them, no. Someone you may want to speak with is Morgan Costa.”
“And who is she?” Trent asked.
“Another congregant. I originally asked Morgan if she’d take Jill and Charlotte under her wing, as it were, but they became fast friends.”
Finally, a lead that wasn’t some hocus-pocus nonsense. “Do you have a number for Ms. Costa or know where she lives?”
“Absolutely. One moment, dear child.” Galen left in the direction of a hallway.
This man, this place, gave her the heebie-jeebies. She was all too happy to leave a few moments later armed with Morgan’s information.