“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.”
“I told you that name sounded so familiar. I was racking my brain that night. The name kept popping up, but I couldn’t place it.”
“Land the plane, Muller.”
She waves his exasperation off and keeps going. “Philip Trudeau was Cal’s childhood best friend. He moved to Massachusetts when they were young. He told me the story once after a lecture. I remember because it was such a weird thing to hold on to for so long. You talk to Philip Trudeau again, and I guarantee he’ll confirm. That book, this bracelet. They were signs. He’s been calling out to me the whole time.”