The Butcher and the Wren(38)
“A controlled environment,” Wren finishes his thought. Leroux smiles.
“Exactly. There’s not a chance in hell that this guy doesn’t control the whole ordeal. It has to be a place where he can do what he wants without any real fear of them escaping. It’s simulated risk.”
“He has a house,” she says without looking at Leroux, who nods along.
“For sure. He’s got to have a pretty decent plot of undeveloped land because the injuries we are seeing aren’t from running through a manicured backyard.”
Leroux stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets as he often does when he’s thinking through something. He begins to wander, pausing to look at anatomical models. Wren swallows hard.
“He inherited his parents’ home,” she says finally, almost in a whisper.
“Make sure you stretch next time you make a leap like that!” He chuckles, looking at her with a furrowed brow.
Wren bites at a piece of skin on her lip, taking a second to collect her thoughts enough to convey information coherently. After a beat, she turns to look at Leroux.
“I’m not plucking it out of the air, John. I know who is doing this.”
Leroux’s face twists into an incredulous smirk.
“What? Muller, is this what you were talking about on the phone?”
“Part of it. I know this man—he’s capable, he is intelligent, and I imagine he’s currently set up on his dead parents’ land.” She glances at Leroux, who looks as if she just told him she can fly. “It’s Cal.”
“Cal? Who the hell is Cal? Should I know that name? Cal who?” he stammers.
“John, do you remember the girl who survived the Bayou Butcher seven years ago?”
“Yeah, Emily something. I remember reading about her in my father’s files. What does that have to do with this?”
Wren sucks in a breath, then meets his eyes. “It’s Maloney. And it’s me. I’m Emily Maloney.”
It’s like a ghost walked into the room. Leroux’s face goes white as he struggles to find the correct words. He shifts his gaze down, clearly trying to connect it all in his head. He looks at her anew, trying to find confirmation in her eyes. Wren nods. He is silent, allowing her the space to continue when she’s ready.
“Muller is my married name, as you know, and, well, I’ve just always kind of admired wrens. I thought it was a fitting name to hide behind.”
He releases a gasp of air, almost smiling in disbelief.
“It suits you,” he says, finally.
“Thanks, John.” She softens and purses her lips, suddenly feeling weightless.
“My father worked that case,” he says, trying to compose himself.
“He did. I remember him well, actually. He was the only one who listened to me and really believed me,” she recounts and sits down on a stool, squeezing her eyes shut. “The officers who interviewed me thought I was on drugs or just confused from the trauma. I couldn’t tell them where he had done it. I woke up out there practically blind, and I ran for miles without direction when I escaped. I couldn’t even tell if I was in the same county. I was useless to their investigation, and they were angry.”
Leroux’s mind looks like it’s racing. He opens his mouth to speak but stops himself.
Wren continues, “They said other witnesses described the Butcher as blond, and my description didn’t match.”
“I’m sorry, Muller. I don’t know what to say.”
“He must have dyed his hair brown when he met me. I told them that, and they ignored it!”
A sob escapes Wren, and she lurches forward and falls into Leroux’s arms. He pulls her close as they both crumble to the ground together.
“I’m so sorry, Muller. I’m so sorry,” he says over and over as they rock together on the cold floor.
“You don’t have to be sorry, John,” she responds, rubbing her eyes to collect herself. “I had moved past this. Had learned to live with it. But he’s here again, Leroux. I know he is. The Bayou Butcher. Cal.”
She meets his gaze with a stony calm before standing up and crossing the room. He lifts himself off the floor as she returns to his side with the bracelet. She drops it into his waiting palm, and he turns it over twice.
“E,” he says, appraising the charm.
“For Emily,” she adds. “That’s my bracelet. He took it the night he abducted me. I found it with the rest of Emma’s effects. He left it for me to find.”
“Holy shit.”
Leroux looks like he may fall right back to the ground, but he holds firm. He turns the bracelet over again in his palm, before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Anyways, Cal had an elderly mother he spoke about sometimes when we were in class together. She was sickly and bedridden. I remember he said they had an old home and a lot of land. He loved that house. I bet that’s where he’s taking them. Where he took me.”
He nods. His eyes move back and forth as he takes it all in.
“Philip Trudeau!” Wren blurts out suddenly and turns to look at Leroux. His face scrunches.
“Huh?”
She continues, “Philip Trudeau, the name on the library card. The one found in the book near one of the bodies.”
“Yeah, I know, the guy from Massachusetts. I remember.”