Concealed in Death

  “Stealing,” Nash murmured. “You said it was like stealing. We were preparing to close up, thinking we were finished with our mission, then Ms. Bittmore offered us this building. It was like a gift from God. We believe it was, God’s work through her.”

  “How long before the bank shut the place up?”

  “I think at least six or eight months after we left. At least,” Philadelphia repeated. “We’d have the notification of foreclosure, all the paperwork on file.”

  “I’d like to have copies.”

  “I’ll see that you do. Anything you need.”

  “A list of staff, handymen, repair and maintenance. All of them. And a list of residents. You have records?”

  “Of staff, yes. Most of the repairmen, yes. Our brother, Monty, did some of the minor repairs. And I tried, Nash is hopeless with tools. Monty was killed in Africa several years ago. We’d have a list of the children, though our rules were less structured there. We were licensed, so we were given the responsibility of housing some children through court order. But we also took in what you could call strays. I’m afraid any number of them might have given fake names, and a great many were only there a night or two, or sporadically. But I’ll see you have copies of everything we have.”

  “Twelve girls,” Nash said under his breath. “How can this be?”

  “And they may have been ours.” Philadelphia’s knuckles went white as she gripped her brother’s hand. “They may have been girls who came to us, Nash, then came back looking for us. We weren’t there, and someone . . . someone preyed on them.”

  “Are we responsible?” He shielded his face with his free hand. “Is this terrible thing on our souls?”

  “I don’t believe that.” Philadelphia shifted closer, wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “I don’t. Do you?” She lifted pleading eyes to Eve. “Do you?”

  “The person responsible is the person who killed them.”

  “Are you sure they—of course you’re sure.” Nash dropped his hand, straightened his shoulders. “Wrapped in plastic, you said, hidden behind a wall. Of course this was murder. But how were they killed?”

  “I can’t give you that information at this time.” Eve pushed to her feet. “I appreciate your cooperation in this matter. If I could have those copies, and speak to anyone on staff now who worked or lived in that building, it would be very helpful.”

  “I’ll get Ollie started on that—Oliver Hill,” Philadelphia explained. “Our office manager. He wasn’t part of The Sanctuary. We could barely afford an office much less someone to manage it. Our matron—Brenda Shivitz—she worked part-time there, for the last year we were in that location, then came with us here, on a full-time basis. Seraphim, as I said. Oh, and Brodie Fine. He’d just started his business, and often did work for us. He’s still our handyman. He’s got his own company, a small service company. We call on Brodie for any number of things.”

  “I’d like his contact information.”

  “You’ll have it. If you’ll excuse me.” Philadelphia pushed off the couch. “I’ll take care of this right away.”

  “Anything you can add?” Eve asked Nash as his sister left the room.

  He stared down at his hands. “There’s nothing more I can tell you. I’m so very sorry. Will you tell us their names? I might remember them. I feel I should remember them.”

  “I will when it’s cleared. If we could speak with the matron now, get that out of the way.”

  “Yes, I’ll get her. Please use this office, for privacy.” He started out, turned. “I hope their souls are long at peace. I’ll pray they are.”

  “Quick take,” Eve asked Peabody the minute they were alone.

  “They come off dedicated, maybe a little pious, but not extreme, and really close-knit. On the other hand, either or both of them had the best access to the building, and likely to the victims, of anyone we currently know.”

  “Agreed, on both counts. They also don’t seem stupid, and it would be stone stupid to hide bodies in a building you’re giving up. They’d have been the first ones looked at if the bank had done any demo fifteen years ago. They’re the first we’re looking at now.”

  “Sometimes desperate equals stupid.”

  Eve nodded in approval. “Damn right it does. Let’s find out more about the dead brother, and the sister. And we’ll give a hard look to anybody who worked at The Sanctuary, even the occasional repair people.”

  “Her reaction especially came off as genuine. Real shock and horror.”

  “Yeah, but if I worked with teenagers every single day for years, I’d have developed exceptional acting skills just so nobody knew I often wanted to nail them to a wall and light fire to them.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m just saying.” Eve turned as Shivitz stepped into the doorway.

  “Mr. Jones said . . . He said you wanted to talk to me. He said—” She stopped there, her already streaming eyes flooding more tears.

  Knowing her job meant taking point with emotional witnesses, Peabody walked over, put an arm around the woman’s shoulder, led her to a chair.

  “I know this is a terrible shock.”

  “It’s—it’s unspeakable! Someone killed twelve girls? And they might have been our girls? And then just left them alone in that terrible place? Who could do that?” Shivitz pounded her fist on her thigh. “What kind of godless monster did that? You find him. You must. God will punish him, I believe that. But the law of man must punish him first. You’re the law.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” Since fiery anger burned off the tears, Eve moved closer. “Think back. Is there anyone you remember who concerned you, who maybe paid the wrong type of attention to the girls at The Sanctuary—or even here, especially in the early days?”

  “It wouldn’t have been allowed. We’re responsible for the safety of the children who come to our home. We’d never allow anyone near them who would cause them harm.”

  Peabody sat in the chair beside Shivitz, leaned over conversationally. “Sometimes people do good work, appear to live good lives, but something about them gives you a little feeling. Just a feeling something may be off, somewhere.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” Nodding briskly, Shivitz poked a finger in the air. “I used to shop at this market, but the man who ran it gave me a bad feeling, so I switched to another. Then I heard the man who ran the first market was arrested. For”—she lowered her voice—“bookmaking! I knew there was something wrong with him. I had that feeling you mean.”

  “Okay then.” Eve wondered just how high on the sin list bookmaking ranked in Shivitz’s world. “So anyone from The Sanctuary give you that feeling?”

  “Not really. I’m sorry, but—oh, wait.” Her lips pouted and pooched as she concentrated. “Brodie Fine, our handyman. Oh, I don’t mean Brodie himself. He’s a lovely man, a good family man, and very reliable. He’s even hired a couple of our kids after they graduated. But he did have an assistant—a helper, I think he called him, for a little while back when we were in the other building. And that one gave me a bit of that feeling. Twice I heard that man use coarse language, and there’s no place for coarse language, most particularly around children. And I’m sure I smelled alcohol on his breath a time or two. He only came a few times, but I didn’t like the feel of him, to tell the truth.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Oh goodness, I don’t remember. But he was a strong-looking young man, and, yes, when I think about it, there was a look in his eye. What I’d call feral.”

  “All right. We’ll check it out. Anyone else?”

  “We’re so careful, and it was so long ago. Oh, those poor girls!”

  The tears brimmed back, so Eve rushed through another question before the flood.

  “What about visitors? Parents, guardians?”

  “Back then, it was a rare thing to see h
ide or hair of a parent. The sad thing is most of the children had run away from home either because it was a bad place, or because they themselves had made bad choices. Now and again parents would come to take a child back home, and if the courts hadn’t said otherwise, we couldn’t stop them. And in truth there were some who were doing their very best, and the child was recalcitrant. I do remember, now that you mention it, one set of parents who came to take their girl home. The mother, she was quiet and weepy, but the father! He made a terrible scene. Stood there shouting, and accusing us of being a cult!”

  She slapped a hand on her heart, patted it there as if the beat might stop at the shock of the accusation.

  “Of encouraging his daughter to defy him, allowing her to run wild and so on when we were doing no such thing. Oh, I remember him—Jubal Craine—because I thought he might use his fists on Mr. Jones, or even Ms. Jones, and I’m sure as God’s my witness he’d used them before on that girl, and probably his wife. From Nebraska they were. I’m sure I remember that right. Farm people, and the girl had run off, ended up here.”

  She hesitated.

  “And?” Eve prompted.

  “Well, I’m sorry to say she’d sold herself more than once for food, for a place to stay. Her name was Leah, and we did our best by her while we could. Oh, oh, and he came back, yes, he did, a month or so later, as Leah had taken off again. He wanted to tear through the place looking for her, even though she wasn’t there and we told him so. We called for the police that time, and they took him away. And now that you mention it, that was right about the time we were packing up to make the move.”

  “That’s really helpful, Matron Shivitz.” Peabody boosted encouragement into her tone. “Is there anyone else?”

  “Those are the ones that come to mind, but I promise I’ll think more about it. Just to think I might have known who did this terrible thing, it’s going to keep me up at night. But the fact is, Miss, we’re—that is, Ms. Jones and Mr. Jones—are so careful about who works here, who comes into the home, has any interaction with the children, I just don’t know how this could be.”

  “The children aren’t always in the house, are they?” Eve put in. “They go out. You don’t confine them twenty-four/seven.”

  “Of course not! It’s important they have some sort of normal routine, a healthy balance, and learn to cope well with the outside world. It’s vital to build up trust. And they have assignments, of course, that take them out. Marketing, field trips, free time. Oh! I see! Someone from the outside. It had to be someone from the outside who did this. Lured the girls back to the other building. From the outside,” she repeated on a long breath of relief. “Not one of our own.”

  Maybe, Eve thought. And maybe not.

  “We appreciate your help. If you think of anything or anyone else, contact us.”

  “I can promise you I will. You don’t know their names.” She rose. “Mr. Jones said they were only bones. Will you tell us when you know who they are? I try to build relationships with all the children. I try to know who they are, who they hope to be. I’ve always tried. When I know who they are, I can pray for them better.”

  “We’ll let you know when we can. Is Seraphim Brigham in-house today?”

  “Not this afternoon. She only had morning sessions and duties today. She doesn’t know yet.” Shivitz pressed a hand to her heart again. “This will be very hard for her. She was one of them, you see. One of the girls.”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt.” Philadelphia hesitated in the doorway. “I have what you asked for.” She held out discs. “They’re all labeled. It’s everything we could think of.”

  “Thanks.” Eve took them. “Would you know where we could find Seraphim?”

  “I know she usually has lunch with her grandmother on her free afternoon. Sometimes they visit a museum, or go shopping. She’s seeing someone, fairly seriously, so she may also have a date.”

  “You don’t approve?”

  “Oh, no, it’s not that.” Philadelphia flushed a little. “I didn’t mean to sound critical. He’s a very nice young man. An artist. He’s offered to do sketches of the children, and that’s very kind of him.”

  “But?”

  “He’s a Free-Ager.”

  Behind Eve, Free-Ager Peabody cleared her throat.

  “It’s only that we try very hard to instill clear boundaries about sex, and, of course, while we’re open to all faiths, we do try to impress a more, well, traditional Judeo-Christian structure. Free-Agers are more . . .”

  “Free?” Peabody suggested.

  “Yes. Exactly. But as I said, he’s a very nice man, and we want only the best for Seraphim. Lieutenant, I feel I should tell the rest of the staff, the children. Have some sort of gathering of respect. I know the children, with their attachment to their e-toys, will hear of this. I want to protect them, but I want to be open with them.”

  “That’s up to you. We’ll be in touch when we have more information to give you. Please contact us if you think of anything that might relate.”

  “I don’t think any of us will be thinking about anything else. I hope what we’ve been able to give you helps.”

  She led Eve and Peabody toward the door. Feeling a little tingle, Eve glanced back, up the steps, and saw the girl—Quilla, she remembered—sitting on them, staring holes through her.

  Once outside, she walked to the car, then just leaned on it. Waited.

  “Do you want me to track down this Seraphim who has the bad taste to date a Free-Ager?”

  “Untwist your panties, Peabody. A lot of people consider Free-Agers a little out in the weird.”

  “Because we believe in personal choice, in acceptance, in respecting the planet and everything, everyone on it?”

  “There’s that,” Eve said easily, enjoying the moment. “And the weaving your own cloth, living in communes—or mostly—growing sheep and carrots and paying homage to the Goddess Moonglow for the harvest.”

  “There is no Goddess Moonglow.”

  “Well, it’s an easy mistake since half of Free-Ager women are named Moonglow. Or Rainbow. Or Sundrop.”

  “I only have one cousin named Rainbow, and my cousins are legion.” In a huff, Peabody leaned on the car as well. “You’re fucking with me.”

  “Nice mouth, Free-Age Girl. And yeah, some. Philly in there? She’s all about talking the inclusive talk, and might believe she means it. But her idea of what everybody should believe, God-wise, would fit in a pretty small box. With a very tight lid.”

  “Okay, yeah, that’s true. And she strikes me as the type who doesn’t mean to dismiss others’ belief systems, or even their lack thereof. It’s just she’s so unshakably sure hers is right—and more, the only right one.”

  Peabody paused a moment. “What are we waiting for?”

  Eve jerked a chin toward the building as the front door opened. “Her.”

  Quilla squeezed out the door. She paused at the palm plate, pulling something out of her pocket, shoving it underneath. Then she strolled very casually down the short steps, turned toward the bench, now empty, in the tiny courtyard.

  Then suddenly veered off—cam blind spot, Eve guessed—jogged to the fence, vaulted over it.

  And strutted up to Eve.

  She said, “Hey.”

  “Back at you.”

  “You’re completely the Icove cops.”

  “We’re New York cops,” Eve corrected, and got a big eye roll.

  “You get me.”

  “What did you put on the plate, the security, to get clear?”

  Quilla shrugged. “It’s a jammer. We’ve got a couple of e-geeks in group. I paid one of them to make me one. You came because of all the dead girls they found this morning, right?”

  “What dead girls?”

  “Shit, get off. The ones that were all dead to the bone up in Midtown. In the
fuck same building Ms. Jones used to have. So you’re here about all that.”

  “Let’s start here. How do you know all this?”

  “I can see cops, can’t I? And I recognized your faces from all the hoo-rah-rah about the vid. So after Ms. J’s latest bitch-fest I did some research. I know how to research. I’m a writer.”

  “Is that what you are?”

  “And I’m going to be a good one, once I shake out of this place. How’d they get dead?”

  “Why would I tell you?”

  Quilla shrugged. “I could write about it. You don’t have to tell me, I’ll find out. Like I said, I can research. But if you figure Ms. J or Mr. J killed them, you’re not much of a fucking cop.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They’re too holy. And sure, some people play like they’re holy, and they’ll stick a hand down your pants first chance they get.” Now Quilla stuck her hands in the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. “But they’re not playing at it.”

  “How old are you?” Peabody wondered.

  “Sixteen.”

  Eve cocked her head. “Maybe you will be. In a couple years.”

  The girl tossed her colorful hair in a kind of head shrug. “A year and a half, so what? Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I know. Writers gotta observe, a lot. Those two are complete PITAs, but they couldn’t kill a bunch of girls. That’s what I’m saying. All you gotta do is squint, and you can see the halos.” She circled her finger over her head.

  “Didn’t notice that myself. Why do you care what we think about the Joneses?”

  “No skin off my ass. I’m just saying. I gotta get back.” Another eye roll. “I don’t get outdoor privileges until I complete my ‘educational assignments and domestic tasks.’” She parroted the words, giving them a prissy edge. “But I’ll be watching, so you should ask me when you want to know something.”

  She took a couple running steps, vaulted back over the fence. “I can write it up,” she said again. “I can write it as good as the reporter wrote up the Icove shit, but with a different angle. Because I’m like them. I’m like the dead girls.”