Concealed in Death

  “Of course, of course. I assumed this had to do with Ingrid’s overprotectiveness. I’m told you had her arrested. Let me apologize. I feel responsible as she was only doing her job.”

  “It’s her job to draw her weapon on a police officer?”

  “Of course not! No, indeed.” Very subtly, he slanted a look toward his companions. One of them slid soundlessly from the room. “I’m sure there was just a misunderstanding.”

  “The security feed will make it very clear as your boy—the one you just sent to review it—will find out. You’re free to post her bond, should bond be granted. In the meantime, I’m here to talk to you about The Sanctuary.”

  “Ah, my crossroads.”

  He folded his hands, pinky ring glinting, leaned forward just a little—just enough to communicate earnest connection.

  Oh yeah, he practiced.

  “It was there I began to see there was another path open to me, to everyone. That I had only to accept a power, an entity, a hand in all things bigger—and certainly wiser—than myself, to accept that and take the first steps on the path.”

  “Good for you.” Eve opened the file bag, took out photos. “Do you recognize any of these girls?”

  “I can’t say I do.” He pulled at his bottom lip as he scanned the photos. “Should I?”

  “Some of them were residents at The Sanctuary when you were.”

  “Oh. Well, let me look again with that in mind. So long ago,” he murmured. “But such an important part of my life, I should . . . This girl. Yes, yes.” He tapped a finger on Shelby Stubacker’s photo. “I remember her. Tough exterior, and clever—though not in a positive way—but those of us there, at least most of us there were at first so troubled, so angry. Shelly, was it?”

  “Shelby.”

  “Shelby. Yes, I remember her, and I think this girl. She sticks in my memory. A quiet girl, I think, studious, which was rare as hen’s teeth, so I remember her. I don’t know if I ever knew her name, but I’m fairly certain she was there only a short time. Then the facility moved to its new and current location. Is that helpful at all? I don’t see why . . .” He paused again, then sat back with his face dropping from curiosity to concern.

  “I heard bodies were found in the empty building, the old building. I never connected it to us, to The Sanctuary. Are these girls . . . were they the bodies found?”

  “Remains,” Eve corrected. “We’ve established these girls who’ve been officially identified and seven others who have not yet been identified were murdered approximately fifteen years ago, and their bodies hidden in the building where The Sanctuary was based.”

  “But that’s—that’s just not possible. Murdered? Hidden? Lieutenant Dallas, I can promise you the girls would have been missed. Philadelphia and Nashville Jones were dedicated, diligent. They’d have been missed, and searched for. It was a fairly large building considering, but it simply wouldn’t have been possible to hide twelve bodies.”

  “The facility moved, the building was empty.”

  “I don’t—oh. Oh, dear God.” Clasping his hands together, he bowed his head a moment, as if in prayer. “There was some confusion in the move, of course, but if any of us had been unaccounted for, there would be a record. You’ve spoken to Philadelphia and Nashville, I assume.”

  She ignored that. “Did you ever go back to the old building?”

  “Yes. When I was writing my first book I wanted to walk through, stir up memories, try to bring it all back clearly so I could mine all that for the work. About eight—no, nine—years ago, I believe. I contacted the owners. I’ll admit I prevaricated a bit, let them think I might be interested in purchasing the building or leasing the space. I walked through with their representative, though she let me have plenty of space and time. It did stir up the memories.”

  “Anything strike you different?”

  “It seemed bigger without all of us in it, without all the furnishings, the equipment, supplies. And yet it seemed smaller at the time. It had been let go, if you understand me. They’d had break-ins—the rep gave full disclosure. The bathrooms had been gutted of anything useful or sellable. You could see there’d been some squatting.”

  He pressed his lips together. “A terrible, stale smell to the place that would never have been permitted with Philadelphia in charge. I heard mice in the walls. Or it might’ve been rats. I went from bottom to top and back again. I wouldn’t, couldn’t have missed bodies. They must have been put there later.”

  “Do you ever do any handiwork around the place? Any repairs.”

  He laughed again, wiggled his fingers. “All thumbs. I remember being on painting detail once, and hating it. I bribed another boy to take my duty. We were required to do work around the building. Cleaning, painting as I said—and were encouraged to work with the handyman—what was his name? Brady—no, Brodie—and with Montclair.”

  “The brother who died in Africa.”

  “Yes, a terrible and tragic end to a quiet and simple life.”

  He paused for a beat, as if in respect for the dead.

  “We were encouraged, as I said, to help, and would be given more training if we showed an aptitude for plumbing or carpentry. Which I certainly did not.”

  Another barking laugh at the thought.

  “One of the staff played the piano and brought in a keyboard. Ms. Glenbrook—I had a terrible crush on her,” he said with a dreamy smile. “She’d give music instruction, which I took due to the crush, but again, I had no talent at all. Another gave basic art lessons, or more involved lessons for those who had interest. We had a couple of staff who had solid e-skills, so we had that. It was, even in the sad old building, a well-rounded experience. Whether we wanted it or not, and many of us—including me for far too long—didn’t. We just wanted to get high. That was the goal for some of us.”

  “And you scored?”

  “We’d find ways. The addicted always do. We were caught—nearly always—but it didn’t matter to us, not then. For some, it would never matter.”

  “And the staff? Did they use?”

  “No. Certainly not to my knowledge, and I would have known. Zero tolerance. Any staff member, anyone who volunteered or worked there would be shown the door immediately, and the police notified.”

  “What about sex?”

  “Teenagers, Lieutenant.” He unfolded his hands long enough to lift them in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Sex is another kind of drug, another kind of high. And the forbidden is always the most exciting.”

  “Did you try out any of these girls?”

  “You don’t have to answer that, sir.”

  The bodyguard who doubled as a lawyer spoke up, her face carved in dispassion.

  “It’s all right. I’ve long accepted and repented my many sins. I don’t remember ever having relations with any of these girls, but if I’d been high, I might not remember. Still, they look young. Younger than I was. There’s a pecking order, if you will.”

  But Eve saw his gaze linger on Shelby’s photo, and thought he remembered her and her bj bargaining chip well enough.

  “Any of the staff hit on the kids?”

  “I never heard about anything like that and you’d hear. I know I was never approached, and I’d have given up my cache of zoner if Ms. Glenbrook had crooked her finger in my direction.”

  He leaned forward again, just a bit more this time, held out his hands. “We were given what we needed at The Sanctuary. Shelter, food, boundaries, discipline, reward, education. Someone cared enough to give us what we needed. And when we moved locations, became the Higher Power Cleansing Center for Youths, we were given more of it, in a better place, because they had more funding. Without what I was given, without the opportunity to see the path, to accept the higher power, I would never have seen or lived up to my own potential, or had the courage to offer a new way to others.”

&nbs
p; “These girls never had the chance to find out what their potential might have been,” Eve reminded him. “Somebody cut all of that off, shut off their lives.”

  He bowed his head a couple respectful inches. “I can only believe they’re in a better place.”

  “I don’t see dead as better. Save the higher power,” she told him before he could speak. “This is murder. Wherever they are, nobody had the right to put them there.”

  “Of course not, of course not. To take a life is the ultimate sin against all life. I only meant with the pain and trouble and hardship these girls likely knew, they’re at peace now.”

  Eve sat back. “Is that what they taught you at The Sanctuary, at HPCCY? That being dead at peace is better than living a hard life?”

  “You misunderstand.”

  He pressed his palms together, aiming the tips of his fingers toward her, and spoke earnestly.

  “Finding your life, the light in it, the peace and richness in that, no matter how difficult, is what lifts us above the animals. Offering a hand to those in need, a kind word, a place of shelter, a chance to spread the light and guide us on our path, and when the path ends, there is even greater light, deeper peace. It’s that I wish for these unfortunate girls. I’ll hope for the same for their killer. That he accepts what he’s done, repents it, offers his contrition.”

  “I’ll take his confession, he can keep his contrition.”

  He sat back with a sigh, one lightly tinged with pity. “Your work takes you into dark places. Greta, get Lieutenant Dallas a complimentary package.”

  “Thanks all the same.” As she rose Eve thought she’d rather have a sharp, burning stick jammed in her ear. “We’re not allowed to accept any gifts. Thanks for your time. If I have any more questions, I know how to find you.”

  He looked momentarily nonplussed at being so abruptly dismissed. “I hope I’ve been of some help.” He got to his feet. “I’ll wish you clear-sightedness on your path.”

  He glided out as he’d glided in, but she thought she’d dulled that shine a little.

  She decided it made her a small person to take pleasure in that, but she was fine with it.

  Eve stood on the sidewalk studying the crime scene, imagining how the building looked fifteen years ago. Not quite as shabby, she thought, no boards on the windows. From her sense of the Joneses, they would have assigned staff, kids, themselves to scrub off any tagging.

  Maybe this time of year there had been some holiday wreath instead of a police seal on the door.

  The buildings around it would have changed a little here and there. Owners selling, tenants moving out, moving in.

  She considered the tat parlor and the bargain electronics shop with the going-out-of-business sign that had likely been up since it opened. Then scanned over to the small, anemic market on the other side.

  According to the canvass the tat parlor had only been in that location for seven years, but apparently the market had been struggling along for more than twenty.

  The uniforms she’d sent out hadn’t gotten much from the owner . . . Dae Pak, she confirmed from her notes.

  She crossed over, stepped inside. It smelled earthy, the way she imagined farms did. A guy of about twenty with ink-black hair hacked into an airboarder chop at the counter. A dragon tat he might have gotten a couple doors down circled his left wrist. From his sullen expression, she deduced he wasn’t in love with his work.

  She ignored him and walked up to the old man with a face the color and texture of a walnut who methodically stocked bags of instant noodles on a shelf.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Pak.” Eve held up her badge.

  “I talk to cops already.” With an expression as sullen as the counter boy’s, he pointed a stubby finger at her. “Why you not come around when the kids steal me blind? Huh? Huh? Why you not here then?”

  “I’m Homicide, Mr. Pak. I work murders.”

  He held out his arms to encompass the market. “Nobody dead here.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, but twelve girls were killed in the building next door.”

  “I hear all about it, don’t know nothing. You come in here, you buy something.”

  She dug for patience because he looked about a million years old, and the kid at the counter was snickering at him. She walked over to the cooler, yanked out a tube of Pepsi, snagged a candy bar at random, then slapped them on the counter in front of the snickerer.

  He scanned them, and under her baleful stare stopped snickering. She paid, stuck the candy bar in her pocket, cracked the tube of Pepsi.

  “I’m a paying customer,” she told Pak.

  “You bought, you paid, you go.”

  “I’m amazed you’re not packed with paying customers with all this cheerful, personalized service. Twelve dead girls, the oldest we’ve identified from what was left of them was fourteen, the youngest twelve. You’ve been in this location a long time. Some of them must have come in here. You’d see them walk by, hear their voices. Whoever killed them left them to rot away to bones, with no respect, with families who searched for them.”

  He only scowled, jammed packages on the shelf.

  “Every day when you opened, when you closed, when you stocked your shelves, swept your floor, they were over there in the dark. Alone.”

  He tightened his walnut face. “Not my business.”

  “I’m making it your business.” She glanced around the market. “I could probably find some violations around here if I wanted to play hard-ass like you are. Or I could put in a request for an extra beat cop to patrol this area. Which way do you want it?”

  “I don’t know about dead girls.”

  Eve gestured him to the counter, took out the photos, and laid them out with the boxes of gum and breath mints at point of purchase. “Anyone look familiar?”

  “You all look the same.” But for the first time he cracked a little smile. “They come in here all the time, the girls, the boys, steal from me, make noise, make mess. Bad girls, bad boys. I think when they leave there it stops. But there are always more. I work, my family work, and they steal.”

  “I’m sorry about that, but these girls sure as hell won’t be stealing from you. They’re dead. Look at them, Mr. Pak. Do you remember any of them?”

  He huffed out a breath, adjusted his stance, leaned over until his face was only inches away.

  “Hasn’t had his eyes fixed in over a year,” the boy said.

  “My ears work. Go finish stocking. This one. Trouble.”

  He jabbed the stubby finger on Shelby’s face.

  “She steals. I tell her she can’t come in here no more, but she sneaks. I go over, talk to the lady, and she is polite. She gives me fifty dollars and says she is sorry, she will speak to this girl and the others. She is gracious, and it is better for a little while. This girl.”

  Eve’s eyes narrowed as he pointed at Linh Penbroke.

  “Are you sure?”

  “She is dressed like a bad girl, but she has good family. It shows. I remember her because she didn’t steal, and she paid for what this one, the bad one, took.”

  “They were together? These two?”

  “Late, near when I close.”

  “Was this before or after the group next door left the building?”

  “After, but not long. I know this because I thought I would not be troubled by this one again, but she came back. I tell her get out, and she gives me the rude finger. But the other girl pays, and she says, ‘Sorry,’ in our language. This is polite, it is respectful. I remember her. She is dead?”

  “Yes, they both are.”

  “She has good family?”

  The polite girl, the good family, made a difference to him, Eve noted. And used it.

  “Yes, she does. Good parents, a brother and a sister who looked for her, and hoped, all these years, to find her. She
made a mistake, Mr. Pak, and shouldn’t have died for it. Was anyone with them?”

  “I can’t say. I only remember they come in, before I close. I remember because this one gives me so much trouble, and this one is Korean, and is respectful.”

  “Did they talk to each other? Do you remember anything they said, if they were meeting anyone, going somewhere?”

  “Girls chattering is like birds.” He fluttered his fingers at his ears. “You hear only the notes.”

  “Okay, how about the others? Did they come in here?”

  “I can’t say,” he repeated. “They come in, go out. These two only I remember.”

  “This one.” She tapped a finger on Shelby’s picture. “Who else did she come in with? Who did you see her hanging with?”

  “Most times with little black girl, big”—he held out his hands to indicate a hefty build—“white girl. Skinny boy, too, brown boy. The black girl sings with a voice like . . .” He struggled, called out something in Korean to his now sulky counter boy.

  “Angels.”

  “Yes, like angels. But she steals. They all steal. Are they all dead?”

  “I don’t know. Thanks for your help.”

  “You’ll do what you said. More cop?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do what I said.”

  She walked out, strode over to the building, bypassed the police seal.

  He’d connected two of the vics, the first two found together. Killed together? she speculated. One had been a resident, one hadn’t. One a girl of good family, the other from an abusive home who’d churned her way through the system.

  But they’d been together before they died, and right next door to where they’d been hidden away.

  She stepped inside. Just stood.

  Linh hooks up with Shelby after The Sanctuary moves out. A runaway, looking for some excitement before she goes home, a street kid who knows where to find the excitement. And the two of them end up all the way back here.

  Because the building was empty, Eve thought.