“You sound concerned.”
“Rick didn’t wait for us—truthfully, I wish he’d have let me handle this situation in person. Apparently he and Walsh have been friends for a long time.” He hesitated, as if he was going to say something else, then cleared his throat and said, “Anyway, he spoke to the sheriff after getting the runaround. Walsh was arrested for breaking and entering, assault on a peace officer, and resisting arrest. She’ll be arraigned at ten this morning.” It was just after eight now. “Rick tried to speak with her, but the sheriff said no, she had a public defender and would be allowed to make a call after her arraignment.”
“You sound—irritated.”
“Over and above that Rick just tipped our hand? He’s smarter than that.” Noah typed the address for Our Lady of Sorrows into his GPS. The computer shifted their route and gave them eighteen minutes to destination. “Rick wants to know what Walsh and the priest were doing last night—before she’s arraigned. I suspect he’s going to try to get the charges thrown out, though how he can do that I have no idea. Rick’s sending you information on Walsh.”
Lucy pulled out her phone. Rick’s email had just come through. She opened and scanned the file, giving Noah the highlights. “Siobhan Walsh, born in Chantilly, Virginia, to a US Marine Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Walsh and Iona O’Malley, of Galway, Ireland. Has a half brother, deceased, killed in action in Afghanistan. A half sister, Andrea Walsh, stationed at Quantico.” That named sounded familiar to Lucy, but she didn’t remember why. “Thirty-four, carries dual citizenship. US and Ireland.” She glanced up. “That’s unusual.”
“Her mother was an Irish citizen.”
She looked back at her phone. “Siobhan has an active US passport, most recently came in through San Antonio from Mexico City on Friday morning. She’s a freelance photojournalist, has sold photos to it appears every major newspaper and television network. Won several awards.”
“Rick said she was a big deal in that world, but focuses on missionary work.”
“She has an affiliation with the Sisters of Mercy, a group of religious social workers based outside Monterrey, Mexico, who primarily do missionary work in southern Mexico and Central America. Some dangerous areas, it seems.” Lucy scanned. “Most recently she had a series of articles in the New York Times Sunday edition about a village in Guatemala that the charity helped rebuild after an earthquake caused a mudslide that cut off the only road. Oh.”
“Oh, what?”
“She has a record—she’s been arrested twice for assaulting a law enforcement officer. Once in DC and once in Los Angeles. No details here. She was arrested for trespassing multiple times in three different states, got time served. In the last twelve months, she’s only been in the States for seven weeks. Her permanent address is in Chantilly, Virginia, in a house she co-owns with her half sister.”
Lucy put her phone down. “Siobhan grew up mostly in Mexico with her mother, who was a missionary for the Sisters of Mercy. She was a nurse, though there’s nothing that says she was also a nun—which is doubtful since she was married.” She paused. “Actually—there’s nothing in here that says her parents were married. That’s probably irrelevant. Anyway, when Siobhan was fourteen she moved to the States to go to school and live with her father, and a year later her mother died. No cause stated. That must have been so hard for her.”
“When did she return to Mexico?”
“It doesn’t say—she attended the University of Virginia for a year, then a school in Ireland for two years. She seems to do a lot of fund-raising work for the Sisters of Mercy, which originally started as a missionary group from Ireland that worked in several countries, but as their numbers shrank, they’re only active in Mexico.”
Noah glanced at his GPS and turned off the highway. Almost immediately the roads became bumpy. He slowed down. “Let’s see what the priest has to say and then make sure we’re at the courthouse before ten.”
* * *
Morning Mass had just ended when Noah and Lucy arrived at Our Lady of Sorrows. A young priest was in the vestibule, but according to the diocese website Father Peña was seventy-one.
They approached the priest and introduced themselves after the small group of parishoners left.
“You’re looking for Father Peña,” the priest said. “I’m Father Peter Mannion.” He motioned for them to follow him to the rectory behind the church. “Father Peña has been very concerned about the infant left here, but his actions—well, I don’t think he’s thought things through. He’s one of most honest, sincere priests I have met, and I fear he’s letting his emotions cloud his judgment.”
“How so?” Noah asked.
“I have faith that the authorities can handle the situation,” Father Peter said. “This is a poor church in a poor parish. Father is retired, he’s moving in January. I think he’s holding on a bit tightly.”
“How long has he been the parish priest here?” Lucy asked.
“Thirty-some years. His insight into the community has been valuable.” He stopped walking and gestured to a statue of Saint Elizabeth. “This is where the infant was left. Poor child. The doctor told us that she was less than a day old.”
“Why did you take her to the hospital directly instead of contacting the authorities?” Noah asked.
“Father Peña insisted—I asked why, he said he felt the child would be safer in Laredo at the children’s hospital there. That they could care for her needs better than our small county hospital.”
Reasonable, but there could be something more—especially since Father Peña had been in the community for so many years.
Peter led them up the stairs and opened the door. “May I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, we can’t stay long. We need to talk to Father Peña about Siobhan Walsh and what he can tell us about why she’s here.”
Father Peter opened his mouth, then closed it when he saw Father Peña enter the room.
“Sebastian, these people are from the FBI. Agents Armstrong and Kincaid.”
“Armstrong,” Sebastian said. “Yes, the gentleman I spoke with said you would be coming down. Please, let’s sit.”
“I need to return to the church and take care of a few things,” Peter said. He left, and Sebastian sighed and rubbed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.
“Is Siobhan okay?”
“She’s being arraigned this morning,” Noah said. “We need information, Father.”
“What would you like to know?”
“First, how do you and Ms. Walsh know each other?”
“Do you know about the infant?”
“Yes,” Noah said. “You found her early Thursday morning.”
Father nodded. “So small, so innocent. She was wrapped in a bloody shirt, not her blood. She didn’t have a mark on her…” His voice faded. “I gave everything to the hospital. Including the locket and the note.”
“A note?”
“Trust no one,” he quoted. “It was in blood, on the shirt she was wrapped in. And the locket was a picture of three girls—a woman, Siobhan, and two younger girls. The photo was old. But the back—it had Siobhan’s name and her number. It took me getting a magnifying glass before I could read the phone number. That’s how I knew to call her. But Father Peter insisted that I turn everything over to the hospital, and they gave everything to the police, I believe.”
“The police in Laredo?”
He nodded. “I’ve tried to get more information—and Siobhan tried all day Saturday—but there isn’t anything to get, I suppose.”
Noah said, “You were with Ms. Walsh last night?”
“No—she came to Mass yesterday morning, asked that I talk to the parishioners about the infant. One parishioner, Mrs. Hernandez, told me about several young women, all pregnant, living in a house across the street from her. I thought perhaps one was the mother of Elizabeth—”
“Elizabeth?” Noah asked.
“I—I called the infant Elizabeth. She was left under the s
tatue of Saint Elizabeth, and it seemed fitting. No child should be born without a name. The locket had been left with the baby. Wait a moment.” He rose, left the room, and came back a few minutes later. “Siobhan gave me this flyer. She’d sent it to many churches in Texas, New Mexico, and south of the border. I hadn’t seen it, but this is the locket that was with the baby, and the photo that was inside.”
Lucy looked at the flyer. A photo of two young girls with a tall, curly redhead that had to be Siobhan was at the top; at the bottom was a photo of a locket with a Celtic cross.
MISSING GIRLS
Marisol & Ana de la Rosa
Now 18 and 17
Disappeared after work from Monterrey, Mexico
Possibly in southern or western Texas
Marisol is fluent in Spanish, English, and French; she has an oblong birthmark on her right forearm. She’s approximately five foot four, with black hair and hazel eyes.
Ana is deaf in her right ear. She is approximately five foot five, black hair and hazel eyes.
Both girls are devout Catholics and if in trouble, may seek help from a church, priest, or nun. Both girls wear a unique sterling-silver locket with a Celtic trinity circle on one side and a cross on the other. Inside the locket is this photo plus a photo of their parents, who died in a mudslide six years ago. They went to work in Monterrey to earn money to help rebuild the village and disappeared seven months later.
Call Siobhan Walsh, Sisters of Mercy, with any information. Can remain anonymous. $1,000 reward for verified information.
“You called Ms. Walsh because of the number on the back of the photo in the locket and she came?”
“Yes, I called her late Thursday, after we returned from the hospital, and she was here Friday night. I met her at the hospital; she wanted to see the baby. She is staying in Laredo, but has been here each day. Yesterday I told Siobhan about what Mrs. Hernandez said, and she went to talk to her.”
“You didn’t go?”
“She said she wanted to do it alone. She called, said if she didn’t call me again after an hour, for me to call Mr. Stockton and gave me a number.”
Noah was taking notes. “Just to make sure I understand correctly: You found the baby early Thursday morning. You took the baby to the hospital in Laredo, which is nearly an hour away. Then you returned, contacted Siobhan Walsh because of the number on the locket. She came immediately.”
“Yes. These girls”—he tapped the flyer—“Marisol and Ana. They are her friends, she’s very concerned about them. No one has heard from them in over two years. Siobhan said this is her best lead. That one of these girls left the baby, the locket, her number.”
“So you don’t have any pregnant women in the parish who may have left the baby?”
He shook his head sadly. “This is a small, old parish. There’s a new community being built in town, and we’re getting younger families, but most of my parishioners are older. We have one girl who’s pregnant, but she is a longtime parishioner. I baptized her, married her ten years ago, this is her second baby. I know her, her husband, her parents, his parents—and as far as I know, she hasn’t had the baby. She told me she’s due in November, wanted to make sure I would still be here to baptize the child.”
He sighed. “That will likely be my last. I move to Tucson, to retire, in January.”
Noah stood. “Thank you for your time. I appreciate your help, and we may call with additional questions.”
“Anything I can do to help, Agent Armstrong, anything.”
Lucy and Noah left.
“Thoughts?” Noah asked.
Lucy had many, but they were still forming. “We should talk to the doctor, the police in Laredo, find out what they know.”
“Agreed. Let’s find out what Ms. Walsh has to tell us and see if we can keep her out of jail.”
CHAPTER FOUR
This wasn’t the first time Siobhan had spent a night behind bars. It could have been much worse—like the time she’d been “detained” in Chiapas. Or when she’d been arrested for trespassing in Brazil … though the guards there had been extremely polite. But she’d hardly slept last night out of worry and frustration. Worry about that young woman in the house … worry about Marisol and Ana and the baby. Frustration about, well, everything. She didn’t trust the police in this small town, so she kept her mouth shut and waited for her arraignment. They’d assigned her a public defender, whom she also didn’t trust—not because she thought he was working for whatever organization had been keeping those women, but because he didn’t even look old enough to be out of high school, let alone possess a law degree.
They would arraign her, she’d post bail (though she was loath to call her sister, she didn’t have enough money in her pitiful savings account), and then she’d deal with the fallout. She might be prevented from leaving the country until the charges were dropped or she paid a fine, but at this point she believed that Marisol and Ana were in the United States and she didn’t plan on going anywhere until she found them.
She just wished she had more information. Why had one of them—or both of them—left the baby? Where were they now? Why did they leave her phone number with the priest instead of calling her themselves?
I wrote the number. Years ago … maybe they didn’t even remember it was there.
The only way she’d find answers was to find the girls.
The guard came in. Siobhan jumped. There was only one other person in the four-cell jail, and he was sleeping off a night of heavy drinking.
The guard unlocked her cell. “Please come with me, Ms. Walsh.”
Siobhan was suspicious.
Thank you, Kane Rogan, for making me always think the worst of everyone.
She shook it off and complied with the guard.
“Isn’t it too early for the arraignment?” she asked. “They told me ten a.m. I haven’t spoken to my lawyer since last night. Don’t I—”
“You’re being released, Ms. Walsh. We need to return your belongings and log you out.”
“Released?”
“The charges have been dropped.”
“Dropped?”
The guard almost smiled. “Did you want to stay with us?”
“No, no, but—” She bit her lip and stopped talking. Something weird was going on … Rick! Father Sebastian must have talked to Rick. That man could move heaven and earth if he wanted. She owed him big.
The guard didn’t cuff her, which was a relief. They went down a short hallway to a locked room. The guard walked around to the other side of the desk, unlocked the bottom drawer, and took out an envelope with her things. There wasn’t much because she’d only had her wallet on her. Everything else was in the trunk of the rental car, and she hoped that it hadn’t been towed. Everything seemed in order—her US passport, her Virginia driver’s license, her international driver’s license, a little over one hundred dollars in cash, her credit card, her hotel card key in Laredo, the key ring with the rental car key.
And her locket. The same locket that Mari and Ana had.
Siobhan put the locket on, though she hadn’t worn it in years. She’d bought three matching lockets, each with a Celtic cross, nearly ten years ago when she was visiting her grandmother in Galway. She’d given them to Mari and Ana as presents, and given the third to their mother, Tilda. Tilda had been young when she had the girls, marrying at the age of fifteen. Siobhan was two years younger. She’d helped deliver Ana, the younger sister.
Tilda and Jesus had died in a mudslide. Siobhan hadn’t gone on the last annual pilgrimage to their village with the Sisters of Mercy … she’d been busy, too busy she’d convinced herself, even though these were the same people who had cared for her mother when she was ill. Siobhan had loved Tilda like a sister, but she’d been so excited about new assignments—taking jobs from others rather than going where she wanted.
And then the mudslide. The population of the village—unnamed on any map—went from 110 to 67 after that horrific tragedy. The villagers called t
heir home Vala Vida, which loosely translated to “Valley of Life” because it was located between two rivers, one of which flowed year-round. It was near nothing; the closest town—of less than five hundred—was Ayotuxtla, which was half a day’s walk because of the rough terrain.
Siobhan hadn’t visited, always thinking there would be more time. And then they were gone.
“If everything is in order, please sign here … and here.” He pointed on the form attached to a clipboard.
She signed and put all her things back into her wallet and her wallet into her back pocket. “Thank you,” she said. Why was she thanking the guard? Well, he had been kind to her. Unlike the deputy who’d arrested her.
“Come with me, Ms. Walsh.”
“Can’t I just leave?”
“There are two federal agents who want to speak with you.”
That was the last thing she expected. Sure, Rick could make calls and get things done, but send two agents for her? Her heart skipped a beat. What if he’d called Andie and these agents were assigned to take her back to Virginia? Andie had told her the last time she was arrested—again, not her fault—that if it happened again, she was grounded.
As if Andie could ground a thirty-four-year-old woman.
Siobhan never wanted her sister to worry. Andie already had a difficult job, and she had been heartbroken when their brother was killed in action ten years ago. Then losing their dad … Andie’s mother had died when Andie was five, and she’d been twelve when Siobhan was born. Now they were all they had left by way of family. Siobhan had her elderly grandmother in Galway whom she visited at least once a year, but she was all Andie had.
But … Siobhan wasn’t going back to Virginia. She had to find Ana and Mari; she was so close! Closer than she’d been since they disappeared. Andie had to understand. She would. Andie might complain and worry, but she would understand better than anyone.
The Lost Girls Page 4