by J. D. Robb
Street girl says to runaway: I’ve got a place you can flop. We can hang, we can party.
Easy enough to get in. Maybe street girl had keys or passcodes, or a way she’d found before to sneak in and out.
Maybe Shelby’s looking to score, Eve mused. Looking to barter the old bj for something good. Maybe Linh’s just a mark to her—a mark with money—or maybe not. Eve doubted either one of them lived long enough to decide.
Was the killer already here, or did he come in after? Was it a meet or just bad luck?
He had to know Shelby, at least, would come back. So he watched, waited. Arranged?
Were they the first? DeWinter’s magic might not be powerful enough for them to ever know which of the twelve died first, or last.
She heard the door behind her, turned, and pulled it open so an off-balance Peabody stumbled inside.
“Whoops. Hey.” Cheeks pink from the hike from the subway, Peabody held out a takeout sack. “Got you half a spicy turkey sub. I had the other half, and it’s pretty good. Hey, what happened?”
“About what?”
“About the bruise on your face.”
“Oh, that. Little tussle with a rabidly enthusiastic private security skirt. I won.”
“Congrats. I’ve got a med pack in my field kit.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Well, I’ve got it if you want it. You got a drink. Good, ’cause I forgot that, and they’re not lying about the spicy.”
“Thanks. Did you get anything else?”
“You wanted chips or something? Oh, oh, the notifications and interviews. Not a lot. First the aunt—LaRue Freeman.”
Peabody took out her notebook.
“I don’t think she knows anything. The kid didn’t live with her, but she filed the report when she found out—from her sister’s neighbor—the kid had run away again. Mostly she just sounded tired and resigned.”
“All right. I didn’t expect much there.”
“Carlie Bowen,” Peabody continued. “The sister was a little shaken, but it felt like she’d already resigned herself she wasn’t seeing Carlie alive again. They were tight, them-against-the-world kind of thing. She knew when Carlie poofed, something happened to her. The vic didn’t really have friends, couldn’t have anyone over, was embarrassed to hang when she’d have bruises or a busted lip half the time since she was in and out between foster and the home. She stayed with the sister every chance she got. Went to school, went to church, kept her head down.”
“What church?”
“Ah . . .” She swiped the notebook to the next entry. “Different churches, according to the sister. She didn’t want to draw any attention so she spread it around. The foster family she was with had a good rep, no violations. They reported she was doing well, and with some encouragement had joined the school band. Was learning to play the flute. She went to practice, left at about five-fifteen, went to the school library to study in this after-hours group, also approved.”
Lowering the notebook, Peabody looked back at Eve. “Basically, Carlie was doing everything she could to have the normal, to keep it steady until she could move in permanently with her sister. She contacted the sister the night she went missing, asked if she could come over, got that cleared. She left the library just after seven on the evening of September eighteenth, according to the log-outs and wits at the time. And that was it.”
“Just two days after Lupa didn’t come home. This Carlie, she’d have walked by here on the way to the sister’s?”
“It’s the most logical route, yeah.”
Eve nodded, absently pulled out the sub, took a bite. “I’ll fill you in on Frester later. The guy who runs the market next door put Shelby and Linh together.”
“He did? After fifteen years?”
“Shelby was a regular troublemaker over there. He remembered her. Linh came in with her—was a contrast. Polite, spoke to him in Korean. It puts them together here, and shortly after The Sanctuary closed.”
She took another bite, enjoyed the heat, then washed it down with Pepsi. “Shelby brought Linh here, that’s the way it plays. Ran into her on the street, hooked up. Picked up some stuff at the market. Linh paid, so maybe Shelby was after the soft touch there, but she brought her over here.”
She wandered as she thought it through.
“It’s empty. That’s a thrill. Shelby knows the place, can show her around, tell her stories. It’s echoey, dark. She’d have a flashlight or a light stick. No point in stumbling around in the dark. She’s probably staying here, flopped here after she took off from the new place. It’s a decent shelter, especially since nobody’s here, since it’s empty. It’s all hers now, until she shares it. She probably likes having the company, this new girl who doesn’t know shit about crap. Probably has some blankets, some bedding. She knows how to steal, how to take care of herself.”
“It’d be kind of frosty at first,” Peabody considered. “Like camping out.”
“Everything’s at first, everything’s now. Tomorrow’s for grownups. Linh didn’t act out in the market. Could be she was starting to miss home. It feels good to have a friend right now, and a place off the street. Maybe she’ll go home tomorrow. They’d come get her, take her home. They’d cry and they’d yell, but they’d come. But she doesn’t want to look lame in front of her new friend. She’ll just hang awhile in the spooky old building.”
Eve started up the steps. “He could already be here. Shelby knows him. She’s not afraid of him. Maybe she barters sex for drugs with him. Maybe they get high. It’s a way to pass the time, have some fun, show off for the new girl.”
“It’s a way to tranq them.”
“A little something in the zoner or whatever he gives them. Just a little something extra. Then they’re compliant. Not unconscious, what’s the point in that? Where’s the thrill in that? But just stoned, limp, stupid. Undress them—one at a time—do what he wants to do. Fill the tub. Warm water, cold might shock them straight enough to put up a fight. Under they go. They might struggle a little, it’s instinct, but not enough.
“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.
• • •
Matron 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?”