Concealed in Death

  “Go be bored. Peabody,” Eve snapped when her partner came in with a big white bucket.

  “Oh hey, you really shouldn’t be in here right now.”

  “It’s totally not the Quiet Room, not with you guys in here. Are you going to empty the fountain? I could help.”

  “No,” Eve said firmly. “Go.”

  “Shit, talk about lametown.”

  She sulked her way out.

  “This has a match. It’ll have Monty on it.”

  “They had unity necklaces. That’s mostly a girl or a couple thing, and kind of on the young side for men.”

  “He put Monty’s in here, so he put his in here. That way he could keep them, hidden away, but together. Stanch some of the guilt maybe, symbolize cleansing; we’ll let Mira chew on that one. Bag it.”

  Peabody took the pendant, set down the bucket. “Aren’t you going to take the stones out?”

  “Let me just . . . got it. And that’s the set.”

  She held up the second half with MONTY inscribed on one side and FOREVER on the other.

  “Names on the fronts, ‘brothers forever’ on the backs. United, coming and going. But he couldn’t make himself wear his, not after what was done. He couldn’t allow his brother to keep his. But Jones would always know they were here. He could sit in here, think of his brother, tell himself what he’d done had been for the best.”

  “It’s sad, when you think about it.”

  “Maybe it’s sad, but it’s also stupid. Real responsibility means doing what’s right, even when it’s hard. Dealing with his brother himself, one way or the other? That’s self-indulgence. It’s stealing a dog.”

  “A dog? Oh, like DeWinter and Bones. Okay, but the dog’s really happy.”

  “The dog could’ve been just as happy if the situation had been dealt with properly, by the rules of law. And something’s missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “Something to represent the sisters.” She went back to digging through the stones. “And wouldn’t he also feel responsible for the cousin? Wouldn’t he think I sent him to his death, or something like that? He’d need to . . .”

  As she dug, her eyes tracked to the plaque:

  In Loving Memory of

  Montclair Jones

  Beloved Brother of

  Selma, Nashville, and Philadelphia

  He lives in our hearts.

  “‘He lives,’” Eve muttered. “Take that plaque off the wall.”

  “You want the plaque off the wall?” Scratching her nose, Peabody studied it. “It’s screwed on. I need to get—”

  “Quilla,” Eve said, barely raising her voice.

  The girl poked her head in. “I was just—”

  “Never mind that. Get me a screwdriver thing.”

  “I’m on that!”

  “This is just adding weight,” Eve said as she gave up and started scooping out the wet stones into the bucket. “It’s not telling us where Jones is, or confirming his brother’s alive.”

  “I’ve got one!” Quilla raced in, a battery-operated screwdriver in her hand. “Can I do it?”

  “No. Peabody.”

  “Why don’t you hold the screws when I take them out?” With a humming whirl, Peabody set bit on screw.

  “How come you want to take it off the wall? It’s been up there forever. Matron’s going to have six baskets of kittens when she sees what you’ve done in here. How come you—”

  “Quiet. I might forget you’re in here where you’re not supposed to be if you’re fricking quiet.”

  Quilla rolled her eyes at Eve’s back, but closed her mouth firmly.

  “Last screw. It’s heavier than it looks. Hold that side, Quilla, so it doesn’t— There.”

  Peabody lifted it from the wall. “They went for real bronze. It’s got serious weight, and . . . It’s double-sided.”

  “The cousin’s on the back,” Eve said.

  “Nail, head, hit.”

  When Peabody turned it around, Eve read:

  With deep regret and sorrow, in memory of Kyle.

  A man of faith, loyalty, and pure spirit.

  “Who’s Kyle?” Quilla demanded. “How come he has to face the wall. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Really doesn’t. Bag it, Peabody. Got something else.” She pulled out a little gold heart on a thin chain. “Oldest sister’s. It’s got Selma inscribed on the back.”

  Peabody walked over with an evidence bag. “It just feels sadder.”

  “Screw sad,” Eve stated, and dug in again. “And here we are, the missing piece.”

  Eve held up a ring.

  “Wow! That was in there, too? What else is in there?”

  “Don’t touch anything,” Eve snapped at Quilla.

  She examined the ring, its entwined hearts with a tiny white stone at their intersection.

  “It’s pretty,” Quilla said, but kept her hands behind her back.

  Peabody huffed as she sealed the heavy plaque. “The kind of ring you give a sweetheart.”

  “Is it?” With that in mind, Eve turned it, aimed toward the light. “Good call. It’s inscribed inside. P&P=1 heart.

  “Let’s find out who the second P is. Clear out,” Eve ordered Quilla. “And keep it zipped.”

  “Copy that.” She grinned. “This is fucking frosty stuff. I’m going to write about it.”

  “Everybody’s writing about something. Have the sweepers take the evidence in, log it, and seal the room.”

  “Copy that,” Peabody said with a smile. “I’m just going to put the plants back in the pots so they don’t die.”

  “Make it fast.”

  She walked out and up to Shivitz’s station. “Where’s Ms. Jones?”

  “She’s in session.”

  “Get her out, now, or I will.”

  “I think you’re cold and cruel. I’m sorry for you.”

  “Think whatever you like, just get her.”

  With her nose pointed toward the ceiling, Shivitz stalked down a hallway. Moments later, Philadelphia walked quickly back the same route.

  “What is it? What happened?”

  “Who’s the other P on this?”

  “Oh my goodness!” For a moment, light bloomed in her eyes. “Oh, where did you find it?” The light still shining, she reached for it. “I thought I’d lost it. I had lost it, years ago. It broke my heart a little.”

  “Who’s P?”

  “Peter. Peter Gibbons. He was my first love. We were just teenagers, but we were so urgently in love. My parents didn’t approve, of course. We were so young, and he was . . . he was a boy of logic and science, not faith. He gave me this on my eighteenth birthday, right before I left for college.”

  Eve said nothing as Philadelphia slipped it on her finger, studied it with a soft smile. “He went off to college, too, but we vowed we’d marry one day, have a family. Of course that wasn’t to be. I married a man my father approved of. It didn’t work out for either of us. He’s a good man, my former husband, but we were never really happy. I wonder if you ever feel for someone the way you feel for your first love.”

  She looked up from the ring. “Thank you so much, but where did you find it?”

  “Where your brother Nash put it, along with your sister Selma’s gold heart pendant.”

  “Selma’s little heart—but . . .”

  “And the unity necklaces that belonged to him and your other brother. All of them were buried under the stones of the fountain.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense.” The light went out of her eyes. “Why would he take my ring, why would he—”

  “Where’s Peter Gibbons?”

  “I—we haven’t kept in close touch. He’s a doctor, a psychiatrist. He runs a small private institute upstate.”

 
“Where?” Eve demanded just as her ’link signaled.

  “It’s in the Adirondacks, near Newton Falls. The Full Light Institute for Wellness.” Pressing a hand to her heart, Philadelphia rubbed it there in shaky circles. “You think Monty’s there. You think Nash took Monty to Peter.”

  “Hold on.” She yanked out her ’link. “What?”

  “Reporting as requested, Lieutenant. The secondary account, under the name Kyle Montclair, opened fifteen years ago, had an initial deposit of eight thousand even. There’ve been small but regular deposits thereafter, with all autopayments going to—”

  “The Full Light Institute for Wellness.”

  “I don’t know why I bother if you’re going to step on my lines.”

  “It’s upstate, near some place called Newton Falls.”

  “I’m aware,” he said dryly. “I completed my assignment.”

  “I’ve got another. I need to get there, as fast as possible.”

  “All right. The West Side transpo center, private air station. Twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks. Big thanks.”

  “I need to go with you,” Philadelphia said when Eve clicked off. “If what you believe is true, all true, I have to see my brothers. I have to speak with my brothers.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.” She glanced around as two sweepers came in with a portable scanner, gestured toward the room.

  “I just need to tell Matron.”

  “You’ve got two minutes. Peabody,” she called as she stepped back toward the room. “With me. Quilla, for Christ’s sake, stay out of here.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Lots of official stuff. Look,” she said, relenting a little, “you helped, so I’ll fill you in later. Peabody, we’re moving.”

  • • •

  She’d expected an air shuttle, which was bad enough. But found herself, churning stomach and all, loading onto a jet-copter with Roarke at the helm.

  “In the back,” she ordered Philadelphia, and shoved ear protectors at her. “Put these on, keep them on.”

  “This is the ult,” Peabody declared, and harnessed herself in. “I’ve never been to the Adirondacks. I should’ve worn snow boots. I bet there’s snow.”

  “We’ll survive. Recap.” She brought Roarke up to speed, filled in the Peter Gibbons connection for both him and Peabody. It helped keep her mind off the fact she was flying, at great speed, in a toy with blades. It didn’t help when they flew, at great speed, over snow-covered mountains.

  That looked entirely too big, entirely too close.

  “Just some crosswinds,” Roarke told her when the copter shuddered.

  “He couldn’t just stay in the city, there are lots of places in the city, but oh no, he’s got to do this in some mountain cabin where there’s nothing but rocks and trees. Fucking, fucking big rocks and trees.”

  “It’s gorgeous!” Peabody, her nose plastered to the window, bounced in her seat. “There’s a lake! It’s all frozen.”

  “When we crash into it, we’ll bounce instead of drown.”

  Roarke laughed, began to circle.

  She gripped the sides of her seat like lifelines. “What are you doing!”

  “Descending, darling. There’s the institute.”

  Teeth gritted, she forced herself to look down. It wasn’t a cabin in the woods, but a large, sprawling complex in the valley of the really big, snowy mountains. From her reluctant bird’s-eye view, it resembled a very large mansion, more, she corrected, an important school.

  Then because it made her dizzy, she stopped looking below, just held on until she felt the copter touch smoothly down.

  She climbed down to the pad immediately, waiting for her legs to get solid again. She wasn’t quite there when several people ran toward the pad from the main building. Even slightly queasy, she recognized security when it charged toward her.

  “This is a private institution. I need to ask you to—”

  Eve just held up her badge. “Peter Gibbons.”

  “I’ll need your business with Dr. Gibbons.”

  “No, you don’t. He does. He sees me now, or I’ll have this place surrounded by cops, and shut down. Gibbons,” she repeated.

  “We’ll take this inside.”

  “Nobody leaves the premises.” She fell in line with him. Peabody had been right about the snow, but the pathways were pristine, cutting neat stone paths through the blankets of white. “How long has Montclair Jones been here?”

  “I can’t discuss patients with you.”

  Didn’t have to, Eve thought. He’d just confirmed her suspicions.

  Inside, the building was church-quiet. Not hospital-like so much as cushy rehab center for the really rich. Plants thriving, floors sparkling, even a gas fire simmering.

  “Wait here,” security told her. His two companions stood on guard as he walked up a short sweep of stairs.

  “Will you let me see Monty?” Philadelphia asked.

  “We’ll get to that.”

  “You’re going to arrest him. Both my brothers. You’re going to put them both in prison.”

  Eve said nothing, but watched a man hurry down the stairs. Average height, average looks until you took a second study. Sharp eyes of winter blue, a strong jaw added something.

  “I’m Dr. Gibbons,” he began. Those winter blue eyes widened, then went warm as summer. “Philly.” He moved right past Eve, hands extended, gripped both of Philadelphia’s. “You look the same.”

  “No. Of course I don’t.”

  “To me you do. Nash contacted you. I’m so glad. I’m terribly sorry, but he couldn’t keep this from you. I couldn’t keep it from you.”

  “You’ve been keeping it from everyone for fifteen years.”

  He turned, eyes cooling again when they met Eve’s. “No, not what you’re thinking. We should go up to the conference room. My office is a bit small to fit everyone.”

  “Where is Montclair Jones?”

  “His room’s on the third floor, east wing.” At Philadelphia’s gasp, he looked at her again. “I’m so sorry. Nash is with him. If I could explain things to you—it’s Lieutenant Dallas, correct?”

  “That’s right. Explaining’s a good start. Peabody, I want you on the door of Jones’s room.”

  “Neither of them would leave, but I understand. Security will escort you,” he told Peabody.

  As Peabody peeled off with security, Eve went with Gibbons up the stairs.

  “Just this way. Nash came to my home yesterday evening. He was in a state of deep anxiety, even panic.”

  “I bet.”

  Gibbons opened a door, gestured.

  It struck her more like a lounge than a conference room, though there was the requisite long table. Gibbons led Philadelphia to a sofa. “Can I get you anything? Your hands are cold. Some tea?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “You’re still wearing it,” he said quietly.

  “No.” She looked down at the ring, then up at him. “I . . . oh, Peter.”

  “This is difficult for you. For us all.” He sat beside her, took her hand in his, then met Eve’s eyes again.

  “I should start fifteen years ago. We were fairly new at that time. I’d come on board the year before, at the inception. I’d kept in touch with Nash over the years.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “We’d both married, both divorced. You had your life, and I was making mine. Nash contacted me all those years ago, shaken, desperate. He told me Monty was in trouble, that he’d tried to hurt one of the girls in your care, and didn’t seem to understand the scope of his actions. The girl was safe, but he couldn’t allow Monty to be around the children, couldn’t allow him to go on without serious psychiatric help. Of course I agreed to take him as a patient, though we disagreed when he insisted you w
eren’t to know, Philly.”

  “At the very least, Montclair Jones had committed assault,” Eve pointed out.

  “Should the police have been notified? Perhaps. But a friend asked me to help his brother. I did. When Monty came here he was like a child. He remembered me, and that helped. He was happy to see me, and assumed you’d be coming any day, Philly, as I was here.”

  “He always liked you, so much,” Philadelphia said.

  “And that helped,” Peter replied. “He’d been afraid he was being sent away, to Africa of all places. His mental and emotional states were very fragile.”

  “Like my mother,” Philadelphia added.

  “He’s not suicidal,” Gibbons assured her. “Has never been, though we took precautions initially. I took it slowly with him at first. He was passive, obedient. He believed if he behaved, he could go home again, or you and Nash would come here. When we talked of what happened, he said the girl was bad, and he wanted to cleanse her in the waters of home, and once clean she could stay home. They would be home.”

  “He would have drowned her,” Eve said.

  “In his mind, he was helping her. Washing her clean of sin, giving her life—not taking it. His mother died in sin. That’s what your father believed, Philly.”

  “I know. I don’t. I can’t. But our father does.”

  “And impressed that on Monty, and Monty believed he might end the same way and be cast out from home.”

  “Oh God. We tried so hard to make him feel safe.”

  “His illness prevented that. I’ve told Nash how I feel about the treatment both he and your mother received. We’ll talk about that later. But with Monty, whenever I tried to go deeper into the root of that illness, he’d become agitated, often to the point we’d need to sedate him. Instead of progressing, he regressed. Nothing I’ve done, tried to do, nothing has reached him.”

  “He killed twelve girls,” Eve interrupted. “He never mentioned it?”

  Frustration ran over Gibbons’s face as he shook his head. “He talked of cleansing rites, of home, and never having to leave it. He no longer talks of going home as he believes this is his home. Through the sessions it became clear that if he were allowed to leave, he would attempt this cleansing again. He sees this as his mission. He sees himself as finally having a purpose, as he sees you and Nash have. To save the girls, to cleanse them, and bring them home.”