Concealed in Death (15 page)

“Sit down over there like the tub was still there.”

“Huh?” Peabody’s eyes widened, then blinked twice. “What?”

“In the pretend tub, I want to try something.”

“I don’t wanna get in the pretend tub.”

“In,” Eve ordered, dropped her sandwich back in the bag, set it and the tube aside.

“Oh, man. I’m not stripping. Even if you hurt me.”

“I don’t want you naked, I just want you in the damn tub.”

Grumbling, Peabody sat between the old rough-in pipes.

“I think he tied their hands and feet, but not tight. Just enough to keep them from kicking around. Then all he has to do is—”

She took Peabody’s wrists in one hand, pressed the other on her head.

“You’d go right under, without any real traction to pull up again. Holding your arms up like this, you slide down. Too woozy to push hard enough with your bound feet to surface. From here he can watch your face as the panic cuts through. You can scream, but from here it’s sort of soft, almost musical. Then your eyes fix, and that’s the moment, the moment he knows it’s done.”

She released Peabody’s arms, picked up her sandwich bag again.

“It’s creepy. Seriously creepy.” With some rush, Peabody pushed to her feet.

“Carlie went to churches. Lupa went to church. This was sort of a faith-based place, right? Frester all about turning it over to a higher power and all that. Bad girls.”

“Who, the vics?”

“That’s what Pak—the market guy—called them. Bad girls, bad boys. Isn’t there that whole thing about washing sins away?”

“You mean like baptism?”

“Maybe.” Frowning, she studied the scarred floor, the broken pipes, imagined the old white tub. “They dunk you, right?”

“I think, some religions do the dunk. Free-Agers aren’t into that kind of thing. You’re thinking some twisted ritual?”

“It’s an angle. If you’re going to hide the bodies anyway, there are lots of ways to kill. He doesn’t experiment from what we can tell. No broken bones, no bashing, no strangulation. Just a slide under the water. It’s almost gentle.”

She took another bite of turkey, paced around. “It doesn’t seem like he keeps them for long. He has choices. He could drug them, bind them, keep them for days, playing with them, torturing them, entertaining himself. Think of McQueen.”

“I’d rather not. Sick bastard.”

“He kept all those girls chained up, weeks, months, some even longer. He had a high old time with them. But this guy doesn’t do anything like that. This is his place. Are they his girls when they come here? His to cleanse and kill?”

“I think they drowned witches.”

Puzzled, Eve stopped pacing. “Witches?”

“I mean women they decided were witches, back in the Dark Ages and stuff. And Salem, like that. I think they hanged them, burned them, too—depending. But they drowned them. They loaded them down with stones, tossed them in the water. If they sank, they weren’t witches—just dead. If they didn’t sink, they were witches and I guess they’d have killed them some other way—the hanging or burning. Only women just drowned.”

“Bad luck. That’s interesting. It was like a test?”

“I guess. Sick, ignorant, but yeah, like a test.”

“That’s interesting,” Eve repeated. “And another angle. If they were evil—witches we’ll say—they wouldn’t drown when he held them under. Or, alternatively, if they were pure enough they wouldn’t drown. Hmm. All sorts of angles. Let’s go another round with the Joneses.”

Eve rolled half her half sub back in the takeout bag.

“You’re not eating that.”

“It’s big. It’s good, but it’s big.” Eve held it out. “You want it?”

Like a woman warding off evil, Peabody turned her head, held her hand in front of it. “Stop it, put it away. I’ll eat it otherwise. Find a recycler before I do.”

“The vic’s sister makes a good sandwich.” On her way down, Eve polished off the Pepsi. “Let me tell you about Lemont Frester,” she began.

•   •   •

M
atron Shivitz wore black, and dabbed at tired eyes. “I couldn’t sleep, not a wink, all night.” She sniffled, dabbed. “Thinking of those girls, those poor girls. Have you found out who they are—were?”

“We’ve begun identifying them. We’d like to speak to Mr. Jones and Ms. Jones.”

“Ms. Jones is off campus. One of the boys cut himself while on kitchen duty, so she took him to urgent care for treatment. She shouldn’t be much longer. Mr. Jones is leading a round table. I’m afraid he’ll be about twenty minutes more. If it’s an emergency—”

“We can wait. How well did you know Shelby Ann Stubacker?”

“Shelby Ann, Shelby Ann . . . Oh! Shelby, yes, yes.” Shivitz lifted both hands, shook them in the air. “A challenge. She presented a constant challenge, always testing the boundaries. Still, a personable girl when she wanted to be, and bright. I remember being relieved—I’m not ashamed to say—when they were able to place her in foster care.”

“I need the documentation on that. The when and where and who. I contacted Ms. Jones to let her know.”

“Oh, dear, she must’ve forgotten to tell me, with Zeek cutting himself, and the argument. Two of the girls had to be separated and—”

“Matron. Let’s stick with Shelby Stubacker, foster care and when, how, where.”

“Yes, yes. My goodness, so long ago.” She patted her bubble of hair. “I seem to recall, yes, I’m sure it was during our transition. We were moving in here when her paperwork came through. I wouldn’t remember where she was placed, even if I’d known at the time. Is it important?”

“It’s important because there’s no record of her being placed anywhere.”

“But she certainly was.” Shivitz smiled patiently, as Eve imagined she did at residents who required careful explanations.

“I distinctly remember speaking with Ms. Jones about it, and helped process Shelby myself. We always send our children with a going-home pack of books, a house pin, an affirmation disc and so forth. I put it together myself. I always tried to do that, and always added a container of cookies. Just a little treat.”

“Who picked her up?”

“I . . . Someone from CPS, I’m sure. Or one of us took her to her new family. I don’t know. I’m not certain I was here, I mean right here, when she left. I don’t understand.”

“I want to see your copy of her paperwork on the court order, the release papers.”

“Oh my, that may take just a little doing. It was years ago, as I said, and during the upheaval of the move. I’ll have to look for it.”

“Yeah, you will.”

The smile turned into a firm, flat line. “No need to be testy, young lady. We keep all records, but it would be archived. Fifteen-year-old records aren’t something we have at our fingertips. Why would we when . . .”

Eve watched her put it together, saw the mild insult turn to sick realization. “Shelby? She was one of the . . . One of them?”

“I need to see the paperwork.”

“I’ll find it!” She jogged off on her sensible shoes, shouting for an assistant to pull up the archives.

“Get an earful, Quilla?” Eve asked without turning around.

Quiet as a snake, Quilla glided down the stairs.

“I’m a challenge, too.”

“Good for you.”

“Hey, somebody punched you in the face.”

“That’s right. Now she’s in a cage thinking about how much time she’ll get for assaulting a police officer.”

“In the face is a bitch,” Quilla commented with the casual knowledge of one who’d been there often enough to know. “So anyway, everybody’s talking about the dead girls. The wardens closed themselves up in the office for like an hour.”

“Wardens?”

“They might as well be. It’s like half past zero around here with Matron crying and everybody has to make these black bands for their arms even though we didn’t know any of the dead girls, and they’ve been dead already forever. Then we’re stuck with extra meditation so we can help their spirits cross over.”

“Cross over where?”

Quilla circled her finger toward the ceiling. “Or wherever. I fucking hate meditation. It’s boring. Plus I heard Mr. Jones say—” She broke off, glanced toward the stairs.

“Say what?”

“Hey, Ms. Brigham,” Quilla said.

“Hi, Quilla.” Seraphim appeared at the top of the stairs. “Lieutenant, Detective,” she said as she continued down. “Is anyone helping you?”

“Matron Shivitz is getting us some files.”

“We’re all a little off our stride today.” She stroked a hand down Quilla’s shoulder. “Quilla, aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“Maybe. I saw them hanging here and didn’t want them to have to just stand around.”

“That’s very polite and thoughtful. I’ve got it from here, you go on to class.”

“Okay.” She slanted Eve a look before she scurried off.

“She’s curious,” Seraphim began. “Most of the kids are. It’s all more mysterious and exciting to them than tragic. It’s a normal reaction for the age. Though I’m told a couple of the more sensitive girls had nightmares last night.”

“You didn’t tell the matron about Shelby being identified.”

“No. I didn’t tell anyone, was I supposed to? I’m sorry,” she continued before Eve could speak. “I’m so used to keeping a confidence, I just kept it to myself.”

“That’s fine. It’s not your job to notify. I was just curious why you hadn’t.”

“You came to see me at my grandmother’s. To me, that equaled what we spoke of as in confidence.”

“Got it.”

“And it’s the same reason—that trained circumspection—that had me hesitating to ask if I can get you a cold pack for that cheek. It looks painful.”

“It’s okay. Thanks anyway.”

“All right. Lieutenant, I wanted to thank you for looking for Leah Craine, for finding her.”

“Roarke did the finding.”

“I know, but it meant a great deal to me to know she’s well, happy. I contacted her. I couldn’t decide if I should, but Gamma and Jack—my fiancé—convinced me. I’m so glad they did. We’re going to have lunch next week.”

“That’s nice.”

“It feels nice.” Her smile bloomed all the way to her eyes. “I should tell you we spoke about the girls. Just briefly, but she’d heard about them, too. She did tell me she’d never gone back to The Sanctuary when she ran away again. She was afraid to go near it, in case her father looked for her there.”

She paused a moment, glanced toward the stairs just in case. “I think we knew—but didn’t say, either of us—that if she had, she might be among those girls. Instead, she has work she loves, a man she loves, and her first baby on the way.”

“You could tell her if she remembers anything from her time here that may apply, to contact me.”

“We talked about that, too, a little. I gave her your information, but as I think I told you, she really kept her head down in those days.”

“Okay. If you’ve got a minute now, we have more identifications.”

“Let’s sit down. The children should all be in class or activity at this time of day—including Quilla.” She glanced at the stairs again, down both hallways before she took one of the seats near Shivitz’s station, accepted the printouts.

“God, they’re so young. Were so young. I don’t remember these girls. They don’t seem familiar. Do you know what happened to them, to all of them?”

“The investigation’s ongoing.” Eve drew out her ’link when it signaled, studied the image and text. Switching it to image only, she held it out to Seraphim. “What about this girl?”

“Another? I hate to think . . . Yes! Oh, this is Mikki—I told you about her yesterday. Shelby, Mikki, T-Bone. Mikki . . . I don’t remember her full name.”

“Mikki Wendall.”

“Yes, that’s it. But she was placed back in the parental home. I remember that. I remember because it was right after they’d moved here—or a week or so, I’m not sure. I remember because I came with my grandmother to see this new place. I was so nervous,” she murmured with a small smile. “Seeing everyone again, and I heard—DeLonna told me—both Shelby and Mikki were gone. Shelby to foster, Mikki back home.”

She’d seen the Wendall paperwork, Eve thought now. But no Missing Persons report had been filed on Mikki by the custodial parent. “Peabody, get the data on Mikki Wendall. Do you know if she had contact with Shelby after they left The Sanctuary?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. I was working hard to turn that corner, to rebuild myself, to keep myself straight so I could stay with my grandmother. I didn’t keep in touch with any of the girls here.”

With a last look at the printouts, she handed them back to Peabody. “I wouldn’t have with Shelby in any case. She was, and it sounds harsh now, but she was trouble. I’d had enough trouble. Mikki was—it’s easier to see now with adult hindsight and training—she was needy, so wanted to fit in. She’d have done anything for Shelby’s approval, and did. I’m not sure she ever had a friend before Shelby and DeLonna, and T-Bone.”

“We found it!” Shivitz bustled back in, waving a disc and hard copy. “Oh, Seraphim, I’m just that upset. It all seems like too much.”

“It’s a difficult time, Matron.” Seraphim rose, wrapped Shivitz in a hug. “Difficult and incomprehensible. But the children depend on us.”

“I know it, I know it. One was Shelby Stubacker. You must remember her. She was a hard one to forget.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But she was
gone
,” Shivitz insisted, and pushed the documentation at Eve. “She’d been placed in foster care. It was after you left, Seraphim, and right in the middle of the move. In fact, the paperwork still has The Sanctuary information.”

“Uh-huh.” Eve studied the hard copies, shook her head. “It’s a half-decent fake.”

“Fake!” Shivitz bristled with outrage. “What do you mean fake? That’s absurd.”

“So is spelling borough b-u-r-r-o-w. One of those spell-check errors, I’d guess. A couple of other things, but that’s the big tell.”

“Let me see that.” Shivitz snatched it away, peered down, and went dead pale. “Oh dear God. Oh Lord. I don’t understand this. I don’t know how this could happen.”

“Sit down now. Sit down and catch your breath.” Seraphim eased Shivitz into a chair.

“How did the paperwork come in?” Eve demanded.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. It must just be a mistake. Can’t it just be a clerical mistake?”

“I don’t think so.”