CHAPTER THREE

The Hastings residence was a modest two-story home on Maple Street, its well-manicured lawn and cheerful flower beds at odds with the tragedy that had befallen its occupants. As Sheila and Finn approached the front door, the weight of their task hung heavy in the air.

Sheila took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. The sound echoed through the house, followed by the muffled sound of footsteps. After a moment, the door opened to reveal a man in his early forties, his eyes red-rimmed and his clothes rumpled.

"Mr. Hastings?" Sheila asked gently. At his nod, she continued, "I'm Deputy Sheila Stone, and this is my partner, Deputy Finn Mercer. We're here about your wife, Laura. May we come in?"

James Hastings stepped back, gesturing for them to enter. His movements were slow, almost mechanical, as if he were moving through a thick fog. "Of course," he murmured. "Please, have a seat."

The living room was cozy and neat, with family photos lining the walls. One of the photos depicted Laura at a community event at the library—a fundraiser, by the look of it—where she was surrounded by a crowd of smiling faces, but the photograph that really caught Sheila's attention was a large portrait above the fireplace: Laura Hastings, smiling brightly, her arms wrapped around her husband. The contrast between the vibrant woman in the photo and the broken man before them was striking.

As they sat on the sofa, James collapsed into an armchair across from them. "I still can't believe it," he said. "Laura...she can't be gone. It doesn't feel real."

Sheila leaned forward. "Mr. Hastings, we're very sorry for your loss. We know this is difficult, but we need to ask you some questions, if that's okay with you."

James nodded, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Of course. Anything to help find who...who did this to Laura."

Finn pulled out his notebook. "Can you tell us about your relationship with Laura? How long were you married?"

"Fifteen years," James replied, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. "We met in college. It was...it was love at first sight, you know? At least for me." His smile faded, replaced by a look of deep sorrow. "Lately, though, things have been...strained."

Sheila pursed her lips, curious. "Strained how, Mr. Hastings?"

James sighed heavily. "Laura had been distant. Secretive. I thought maybe...maybe she was seeing someone else. I confronted her about it last week, but she denied it. Said she just needed some space to figure things out."

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn. This aligned with what Father Stephen had told them about Laura considering leaving her husband. "Did Laura mention anything about wanting to leave you, Mr. Hastings?"

James looked up sharply, pain etched across his features. "Leave me? No, she never...I mean, I knew things weren't great, but I didn't think..." He trailed off, his eyes filling with tears. "Oh God, was she really going to leave me?"

Sheila's heart went out to the man, but she had to press on. "Mr. Hastings, where were you earlier this evening? Around, say, five o'clock?"

"I was at work," James replied, wiping his eyes. "I'm an accountant at Elbridge College. We're in the middle of budget season, so I've been working late. You can check with my colleagues. I didn't leave the office until after ten."

Finn made a note of this. "We'll need to verify that, of course."

James nodded. "Of course. I understand."

As Sheila watched James, she couldn't shake the feeling that his grief was genuine. While she knew appearances could be deceiving, her instincts told her that this man wasn't their killer.

"Mr. Hastings," she said gently, "did you know Laura was going to confession earlier this evening?"

James nodded. "Yes, she mentioned she was going to the church, and I admit I was a bit surprised. We're not...we weren't very religious."

Sheila leaned forward. "Did she say anything about why she was going?"

James hesitated, furrowing his brow. "I...I'm not sure. Laura's been so closed off lately. She didn't share much with me."

"Try to remember, Mr. Hastings," Finn said. "Even the smallest detail could be important."

James shook his head, frustration evident in his voice. "I'm sorry, I just can't... It's all a blur. The last few weeks, the arguments, and now this... I can barely think straight."

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn. They needed more information, but pushing too hard might shut James down completely. She decided to try a different approach.

"Mr. Hastings," she said softly, "I know this is incredibly difficult. But think back to the last time you and Laura talked about her going to church. Was there anything unusual? Anything that stood out?"

James closed his eyes, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. For a long moment, he was silent, and Sheila worried they'd hit a dead end. Then, suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

"Wait," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There was something. Laura mentioned…she needed to talk to someone. Someone she could trust."

"At the church?" Finn asked.

James nodded slowly. "Yes, at the church. She seemed...relieved. Like she'd found someone who could help her."

Sheila leaned in, her heart racing. They were close to something, she could feel it. "Did she mention who this person was, Mr. Hastings?"

James's face scrunched up in concentration. "I think...I think it was a priest. But not the usual one. Someone new."

"Do you remember a name?" Finn asked, his pen poised over his notebook.

James shook his head, then stopped. "Wait. It was something...something like...Wayland? Yes, Father Wayland, I think. Laura seemed to trust him."

Sheila felt a surge of triumph, quickly tempered by the gravity of the situation. "You're sure about that name? Father Wayland?"

"Pretty sure," James replied, looking somewhat more confident. "Why? Is that important?"

"We're not sure yet," Sheila said, careful not to reveal too much. She doubted James had been given many details about his wife's murder, and she didn't want to plant any seeds of suspicion in his mind.

"What else can you tell us about this, Father Wayland?" she asked.

James shrugged helplessly. "Nothing, really. Laura didn't say much about him, just that he was new and that she felt comfortable talking to him. I...I was just glad she had someone to talk to, you know? Even if it wasn't me."

Sheila glanced at Finn. They needed to talk to Father Stephen again, see if he knew anything about this Father Wayland. Could the killer be a local priest, or had he merely been posing as a priest?

As they stood to leave, Sheila placed a comforting hand on James's shoulder. "We'll find who did this, Mr. Hastings. I promise you that."

James nodded, his eyes hollow with grief. "Thank you. Just...please, find out why. Why Laura? She was the kindest person I knew. Who could do something like this?"

Outside, as they walked to their car, Finn turned to Sheila. "What do you think?"

Sheila sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I think James Hastings is genuinely devastated by his wife's death. And if he really was at work until after ten, there's no way he could have killed Laura."

Finn nodded in agreement. "So that leaves this Father Wayland. Maybe Father Stephen can tell us who he is."

As they reached their car, Sheila's phone rang. She glanced at the screen, not recognizing the number. "Deputy Stone," she answered.

"Deputy, my name is Jonah Tournay," a male voice said, sounding tense and uncomfortable. "I need your help."

Sheila put the phone on speaker so Finn could hear. "What about, Mr. Tournay?"

"My sister, Sophie," Jonah replied, his voice cracking. "She's been missing for three days...and the last thing I knew, she was meeting with a priest."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Tournay," Sheila said, her voice filled with concern. "Can you tell us more about your sister's disappearance?"

Jonah's voice trembled as he spoke. "I...I heard about the murder at St. Michael's on the news, and it got me thinking about Sophie. She told me she was meeting with a priest, and then…then she vanished."

Finn and Sheila exchanged a worried glance. The connection was too strong to ignore.

"Mr. Tournay," Finn said, "this is Deputy Mercer. We'd like to speak with you in person. Would that be possible?"

There was a brief pause before Jonah replied, "Yes, of course. Anything to help find Sophie."

"Great," Sheila said, trying to keep her voice calm and reassuring. "How about we meet at Steinhart's in half an hour?"

"I'll be there," Jonah said, and the call ended.

Sheila glanced at Finn, who was already watching her. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm thinking we may have a serial killer on our hands," she said. "And I'm also thinking that if we're not careful, Sophie Tournay might end up like Laura Hastings—if she hasn't already."