“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 . . .”
“Of course. The last thing I want to do is be intrusive.” She impulsively took one of his hands between hers. “If I can do anything, please. Please give me a call.”
From the hallway, Mrs. Fowler wailed. Vaughn Fowler jerked his hand from Clare’s grasp and strode toward the sound.
“No, no, no,” Wesley’s mother said, clutching at her parka-clad son. “You can’t take him! You can’t take him!”
“Edith!” Vaughn Fowler grasped her upper arms firmly and tugged her away from Wesley. “Edith.” He spoke quietly, almost intimately. “I’m calling the lawyer right now. Wes will be back home with us tonight.”
“Mom, I’ll be okay. Please.”
“This can’t be happening, not to us, not to our son—” Edith Fowler pressed one hand over her mouth, shuddering. She blinked hard, but no tears fell.
Her husband glared at Russ. “If anything happens to my son while he’s in your care, I’ll have your job.”
Russ bristled. “I don’t allow police brutality in my force, Mr. Fowler. Come on, Wesley. Clare, are you riding with me?”
She snatched her coat from the hall closet.
“Don’t say anything until our lawyer gets there, Wes. Understand me?” Wesley nodded to his father as Russ led him down the steps toward the squad car.
Clare stood on the threshold. She spread her hands, miserably aware of how much she had contributed to these people’s unhappiness and how little she could do to comfort them. “I’m so sorry. At times like these, it’s tempting to feel as if you’ve been abandoned, by God and by your friends. Please remember that’s not true.”
Edith Fowler blinked again and wiped her eyes. “This whole thing is like a nightmare.” She looked at her husband. “My God, Vaughn, do you realize we’re grandparents?”
“I guess you’re right.” His face tightened. “Clare, will we be able to see the child? Or do we have to jump through some bureaucratic hoops now that he’s in foster care? Where is he?”
“I don’t know what sort of requirements the Department of Human Services will have. I suspect that if you two feel up to it, they’d be happy to have you serve as Cody’s foster parents. His caseworker’s name is Angela Dunkling, and right now he’s fostering with Deborah McDonald, out toward Ft. Henry. I’ll call you with their phone numbers as soon as I get back to my office.”
Behind her, Russ tapped on the horn. “Meanwhile, I hope you’ll reach out for some support and not try to go it alone.”
Edith nodded. “I’ll call Barb and Mitch. After all, they’re involved too, in a way.”
Clare opened her mouth and closed it again. If she got into exactly how involved the Shatthams had become last night, she could be here all afternoon. They’d find out their son’s latest attempt to get out from under his problem soon enough.
“You do that.” She retreated down the steps. “We’ll speak soon.”
She tugged on the car door, only to find it locked. Russ leaned over and let her in. Sliding into her seat, she glanced through the clear Plexiglas screen at Wesley, sitting perfect-postured in the back. The small sliding door that allowed for communication between front and back was latched shut. Clare reached for it.
Russ shifted the car into gear. “Clare, I’d rather not have any more questions until we get to the station. I want to do this by the book.” He backed slowly out of the Fowler’s drive. “I want his voluntary statement on the record, not in a car where his lawyer will be able to get it thrown out at trial.”
She cast one more look back at the young man. He met her eyes, bleak and hopeless. She had wanted to feel a sense of triumph, of justice, when they caught up with Katie’s killer. Instead she felt an ache in the pit of her stomach. So much damage. To so many lives. And it wasn’t over yet.
CHAPTER 29
At the station, Russ escorted Wesley into the interrogation room and latched the door behind him. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee,” he said to Clare. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a cup right now.”
“Please. What happens now?”
“I already talked with Kaminsky last night, so he’ll be expecting my call. He’s going to be here to listen in to the questioning. I want to charge this kid some bad, but I want it to stick.” He squinted into the distance. “We’ll need a cross-jurisdiction warrant to search his room at the Academy. And I want his truck . . .”
Clare cut him off. “Can I speak with him now? Not as part of this, but as priest to parishioner?”
Russ frowned. “You just met him this morning. How much of a pastoral relationship can you have?”
“That’s not the point, Russ. I want to help him if I can. He’s obviously very troubled.”
“He’s very troubled because he carefully planned and executed two cold-blooded murders and now I’ve caught his ass, excuse my French. And let’s not forget he would have done the same to you if you hadn’t escaped him. Jesu—um Crow, Clare, you’d try to make excuses for Charles Manson!”
“I’m not making excuses for anything he may have done.” She crossed her arms. “No one is beyond forgiveness, Russ. Or beyond asking for forgiveness. I have to believe that.”
He pulled off his glasses and polished them on his shirt front. “I don’t even know why you’re here. After I speak
