Chapter 17

They found Teesha Maddox with a baby of indeterminate age and sex in a neat and attractive apartment. She took one look at Eve, at Peabody, nodded wordlessly. She pressed her lips to the baby's forehead, just held them there a moment, then stepped back.

"Please come in. You've come to tell me my Shashona's gone. One of those poor girls they talk about on screen."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm very sorry."

"I knew when I heard the report. I've known all along, but that's when I knew where she was. I was going to come in to the police station, but Miss Hilly—she's my lady. Hilly McDonald? She said, now, Teesha, don't put yourself through that. If they've found her, they'll come to tell you. And here you are.

"I'm going to put the baby down. She's all dry and fed and burped. I'm going to put her down in her crib awhile, with the monitor on in case she goes fussy. You have a seat here, and I'll be back in just a minute. I don't like to talk death with the baby. They take in more than some believe."

"Nice place," Peabody said quietly. "It has, I don't know, a nice, settled, comfortable feel to it. Totally stylish, but homey at the same time."

Decent view, Eve thought as she sat down, scanned the room.

A lot of photographs—baby, no, two babies, with one of them progressing to the small person a kid was. Maybe three, four? No way for her to know.

Pictures of a woman—Hilly, she supposed—and a guy who was likely the father. Together, with baby, baby, kid. And a shot of Hilly—a white-skinned redhead with Teesha, whose coloring made Eve think of Dennis Mira's amazing hot chocolate.

"She doesn't look old enough to be the grandmother of grown women," Peabody commented.

"She's sixty-four."

"Doesn't look it. And still really young to have grown grandchildren."

"I was seventeen when I had my girl. Didn't mean to eavesdrop," Teesha said as she came back. "I've rocked a lot of babies in my time. Rocking babies soothes the soul, and keeps the wrinkles away. I can fix something for you to drink," she offered. "Cold day like this, maybe you'd like some tea, or coffee. On the police shows they sure drink a lot of coffee."

"Don't trouble yourself," Peabody told her. "We're fine."

"Miss Hilly won't mind, so if you decide you want something, just say. I was seventeen," she repeated as she sat, neat and tidy as the room. "I was just stupid in love, the kind of stupid you can be at that age when it isn't love at all. But when you think you are—why, a boy can talk you into most anything. Sixteen years old when I got pregnant, and scared to death. I didn't even tell my mama until I couldn't hide it anymore. I told the boy, and he was gone like the wind. My mama stood by me, even when my daddy went a little crazy. But he came around. I learned when you do something foolish sometimes you spend your life dealing with it."

She sighed, looked toward the window. "I loved my girl. Love my girl still. I'm good with babies, with children. It's my gift. I did my best for my baby, and my mama helped. I worked, earned money, finished school at home, tended my baby. I raised her to know right from wrong, to be responsible and kind and happy inside her skin."

She sighed again. "It just didn't take with Mylia. She seemed to run wild no matter what I did, and she hated that I worked with other children to put a roof over her head, food in her mouth, to give her some fun or something pretty to wear. Anyway, she was barely older than I'd been when she started Shashona. I stood by her. I helped every way I knew. She took off awhile with the boy, but he left her, and she came home to me, had the baby a month later. That didn't take either. She just didn't have the gift."

"So you raised Shashona," Eve said.

"I did. Mylia, she'd come and go, leave for weeks, then come back. We had some fights over that, I'll tell the truth. Then another man, another baby. And she's off and gone again as soon as she could get out. Beautiful babies, Shashona and Leila. I did my best by them, too. I had to go to court after a while, and they made me legal guardian. The people I worked for then, nice people, sweet children, they were both lawyers, and they helped me."

At the slightest mew, Teesha's gaze shifted to a little screen on the table where Eve saw the baby sleeping on pink sheets in a white crib.

"She's just dreaming," Teesha said with a smile. "The truth is Shashona took after her mama. Had a wild side nothing seemed to tame. Smart girl, clever girl. I prayed on it, prayed she'd grow out of the wild some, make something of herself."

She took a long breath. "She was smart, ma'am, like I said. I believe in my heart she'd've turned that wild into a passion for something, maybe she'd've done something important one day."

Teesha pressed a fist to her heart. "That passion, that important? It was just hidden inside her, waiting for her to grow up a little more."

In all the pretty young girls, Eve thought. The life yet to come had been hidden inside them.

"What happened the day she went missing?"

"She went off to school just like usual, but she didn't come home that day, not after school, not after dark."

"Was that usual?"

"No, ma'am." Teesha shook her head slowly from side to side while her eyes trained on Eve. "She loved me, even with the wild, she loved me. I know that in my heart, too. She always let me know she wouldn't be home awhile, whether I said okay to that or not, she'd tell me. Not that day. I couldn't find her. She had a 'link, but she didn't answer. The crowd she ran with didn't know, said they didn't, even after the police came into it. She was seeing a boy. Thought I didn't know about him, but I did.

"Pretty girl like Shashona," Teesha said with a sad little smile. "Well, there's going to be a boy. He wasn't a bad boy either. Smart like her. I talked to him myself, and he said how they were going to the vids that weekend, on a date. How they'd gone and had some pizza after school the day she didn't come home, even though I'd asked her to come straight on home that day. And he'd walked her to the corner, gone his way. And hadn't seen her again."

"I have his name from the Missing Persons report," Eve said.

"He's a loan officer now, works in a bank. He's engaged to be married next spring to a fine, well-mannered young lady. We keep in touch. I knew he never hurt her. Do you know who did?"

"We're investigating," Eve said.

"Did she know the other girls? Do you know?"

"You might be able to tell us. We're not releasing their names yet. I have to ask you not to mention them to anyone."

"I can promise that."

Eve handed her a list. Peabody offered her photos. Teesha studied them, shaking her head.

"I don't know these names, or these sweet young faces. There's only eleven names here."

"We haven't officially identified the twelfth."

"Poor thing. She had a lot of friends, my Shashona. I don't know if I knew them all, or if she brought them all around, but I don't know these girls."

"Do you know if she ever went around The Sanctuary? The building where she was found?"

"Seems she may have. She knew about it. Once when we were arguing about how she wasn't doing right, she said she could just go live there. She said it to hurt my feelings, or rile me up. I guess it did both. But she wouldn't have gone there asking to be taken in. If not for me, and under it she loved me, but she wouldn't have left Leila. Her baby sister. Leila, she worshipped Shashona. Every year, on the day she went missing, I say a prayer for Shashona, and I say one thanking God Leila hadn't gone with her. I kept her home from school that day, took a sick day off work."

"Was Leila sick?" Peabody asked.

"She started her cycle. The night before she had her first period. I always let my girls stay home that first day of the first cycle, pampered them a little, so Leila wasn't with her sister. Now she's a doctor. She's going to be a fine surgeon. She's a beautiful young woman. She's safe, and she's happy. And our Shashona, she's found now. I'll have to tell Leila."

For the first time, her eyes sheened with tears. "I'll have to tell her. I'll have to tell their mama when she gets in touch again. She does, every now and again."

"Ms. Maddox, did Shashona go to church?"

She smiled a little at Eve. "Every Sunday, whether she wanted to or not. As long as they lived under my roof, they'd respect the Sabbath. She didn't mind church too much. Lots of singing. She liked singing. Had a fine, clear voice, too. When can I have her?"

"It'll be a little while longer," Eve told her. "We'll notify you. Did you ever see any of these people around Shashona, around the neighborhood?" At Eve's signal, Peabody drew more photos out of the file bag.

Teesha studied them in turn. Nashville Jones, Montclair Jones, Philadelphia Jones, Sebastian, Clipperton.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recall these people. Are they suspects? I do like watching the police shows on the screen."

"We're looking into anyone with a possible connection."

"I don't know why people do the things they do to each other. We're all here to live our lives, to do our work, to raise our families, to love who we love. We're all here for the same things, but some, they can't let that be. They can't be happy or content with that. I don't know what that is."

She handed the photos back to Peabody. "Do you?"

At a loss, Eve shifted. "No."

"If you don't, I don't suppose anybody really does."

···

She must be really good at her job," Peabody commented. "The way she has. It's soothing. She was brokenhearted, even though she'd resigned herself her granddaughter was gone a long time ago, it hurt her to hear it. But she still had that soothing way."

"The kid probably would've turned out all right. Like Linh. She just never got the chance to grow out of the snotty phase. Another church connection."

"Kind of loose, but yeah."

"And the singing. If Sebastian comes through with DeLonna, maybe we'll connect that."

"A lot of connection, but no strong links."

Eve glanced at her communicator when it signaled. "Philadelphia's in the house. Let's go see if we can make a link."

···

She sent Peabody along to transfer Philadelphia to the Interview room. More official setting, Eve mused, a little more pressure. Later, they'd repeat the routine with Jones.

She took her time, gathered props and tools, then started over to where Peabody stood outside the door.

"I got her a lemon fizzy," Peabody began. "She's a little nervous, and a little unhappy with the wait, but wants to help however she can. And so on."

"Nervous and unhappy works just fine." Eve walked in. "Record on. We need to record the interview, Ms. Jones, for the record."

"Of course, but—"

"Just one minute. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview with Philadelphia Jones, in the matter of case file H-5657823. We appreciate you coming in," Eve said as she sat. "We're just going to read you your rights, for the record."

"I don't understand. My rights?" Philadelphia wore her hair swept up today, and smoothed a hand over it in a nervous gesture. "Am I a suspect?"

"It's procedure," Eve said briskly, and rattled off the Revised Miranda. "You understand your rights and obligations?"

"Yes, of course. I'm here to help however I can."

"We appreciate that. We've identified all but one of the victims whose remains were found in the building you owned at the established time of their deaths."

Eve laid out eleven photos. "Do you recognize any of these girls?"

"Shelby, of course, as we discussed before. And Mikki. Lupa, who was only with us briefly. I... This girl looks familiar, but I'm not sure." Her finger hovered over Merry Wolcovich's photo. "If you gave me her name, we could check our records."

"I have. She wasn't in residence at either of your establishments, officially."

"If she'd been one of ours, she'd be in our records." Shoulders stiff, she sat back. "We don't take our responsibilities lightly."

"But she looks familiar?"

"I... I just have this little flash of seeing her with Shelby, Shelby and Mikki—maybe DeLonna."

She lifted the photo, frowning at it until a vertical line formed between her eyebrows. "She... I'm not sure. It was years ago, but something seems familiar."

"Only this one?" Eve said.

"Yes, and I'm not sure of that. I—in the market!" She sat up very straight. "I went into the market, and they were all in there—with this girl. Dae Pak's market—oh, he was such an impatient man. He complained to me, more than a few times about the children coming in, stealing or acting up. I remember because I happened to go in, and, frankly, they were being rude. I ordered the girls—our girls—to apologize and come straight back with me. I remember because I asked the other girl her name, where she lived. She told me to mind my own business, only not that politely, and ran out. I remember," she repeated, "because I kept an eye out for her after that for a couple weeks, in case she came back. I had the feeling she might be a runaway. You start to get a sense when you work with them routinely."

"Okay."

"Was she? A runaway?"

"Yeah."

"And one of the girls who died." Closing her eyes, Philadelphia laid her hand on the photo. "I should have gone after her, called CPS. I only thought of getting our girls back, and I didn't follow through."

"You couldn't know," Peabody began.

"It's my work. I'm supposed to know. Shelby and Mikki, both of them were out of my hands when this happened to them. But some of the responsibility's mine, isn't it? Shelby deceived us, and she shouldn't have been able to. We should have been more vigilant with her, but we were distracted, so excited by our good fortune we let her slip through. Now we have to live with that, with knowing that. Mikki, I don't know what we could have done, but it feels like we could and should have been able to do something. Now they're both gone. Both of them."

She looked back down at the pictures, then sharply up again. "But not DeLonna. She's not there. They were so close, the three of them. But she didn't go with them. She stayed with us, stayed until she was sixteen."

"But you don't know where she is now?"

"No, and I admit, I expected, hoped, she'd keep in touch. Some of the children do, some of them don't."

"Did she ever ask about them? Ask to go see them or contact them?"

Philadelphia rubbed at her forehead. "It's a lot to remember. I've been reviewing my notes from that time, trying to see how..."

She shook her head. "I noted that DeLonna withdrew for a while, claimed to be unwell. Natural enough, when two of her closest friends left."

"Was she sick?" Eve asked.

"Lethargic, according to my notes, and my memory. Weepy, though she tried to hide that. In session, when I was able to get her to open up a little, she talked about being one of the bad girls. Everyone left her because she was bad; she didn't have a real home, a real family because she was bad. We worked on her self-esteem. She had such a beautiful voice, I was able to use singing to bring her out a bit more. But she never bonded with any of the other girls in the same way. And, as I said, she withdrew, went into a kind of grieving, which was natural, expected. She spent her free time in her room, and was, well, too biddable if you understand me. She'd simply do whatever she was assigned, then go back into her shell. It took nearly a year before she seemed to resolve herself."

"Didn't you question the fact neither of her friends made an effort to see her, to hang with her?"

"Lieutenant, children can be self-absorbed and their world is often... immediate. It's the here and now, so the bonds formed inside The Sanctuary, or now HPCCY, can be strong, lifelong, or they can be tenuous, situational bonds, that dissolve once the situation changes."

"And you don't follow up?"

She lifted her hands—short, neat, unpolished nails, no rings, no bracelets. "We're a transitional home, and most often for a relatively short time. Often the children and their guardians prefer to leave that behind, start new. We don't interfere."

"So when they walk out the door, that's it?"

By the way Philadelphia's shoulders stiffened, the little barb struck a nerve. "We give the children in our care everything we can, physically, spiritually, emotionally. We do everything in our power to see that when they leave us, they leave in a better state, and go prepared to lead a productive, contented life. We feel deeply for them, Lieutenant, and on a professional level we understand they're only ours for a short time, so we have to let go. For their well-being, and for our own."

"But you interact with them every day, basically live with them."

"That's correct."

"Who's in charge?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. My brother and I share duties, responsibilities. We founded both The Sanctuary and HPCCY together."

"So you're partners, in a sense."

"Yes, in every sense."

"But you're the one with a business degree, with business management training."

"Yes, that's right."

"So you deal with the finances."

"At HPCCY, yes, primarily."

"How did you let the other place tank so bad you literally walked away from it?"

The faintest color spread over her cheeks. "I'm not sure how this applies."

"Everything applies."

"We overextended," Philadelphia said shortly. "Emotionally and financially. We simply believed in what we were doing, and wanted to do so much we neglected the practicalities. Actually, I got the management training during the last year we had The Sanctuary as we realized we were in trouble in that area."

"So before that, you just fumbled along. What, hoping for a miracle?"

Both her eyes and her voice went very, very cool. "I understand not all believe in the power of prayer. We do, even when the answer to that prayer isn't clear or seems hard. In the end, our miracle came. We've been able to help many more children, give them much more care, simply because we initially failed in a practical, business sense."

"Who handled the finances at The Sanctuary—before you got the training?"

Philadelphia made a short, impatient sound. "Again, I don't understand these questions. Nash did, for the most part. We were raised in a very traditional home. Our father earned the living, handled the money, the bills. Our mother kept the house. So we initially approached The Sanctuary with that dynamic. It was what we knew. But it became apparent to both of us that Nash simply wasn't gifted with a real head for business. I was. We also believe in using our gifts, so I got further training. It was too late to save The Sanctuary, but we accept that was the plan."

"Whose plan?"

"The higher power. We learned, we lost, we were given another chance, and we've succeeded."

"Handy. So you handle the finances now."

"For HPCCY, yes, along with our accountant."

"You'd each handle your own personal finances?"

"Of course. Lieutenant—"

"Just getting a picture," Eve interrupted. "What about your other brother?"

"Monty? Monty died."

"In Africa. Fifteen years ago last month. I meant before he died. What was his function? What were his duties, responsibilities? His share?"

"He... assisted wherever he could. He enjoyed helping with meals, doing small repairs. He helped Brodie now and then."

"You're talking about scut work."

Philadelphia's eyebrows drew together to form that deep crease between them. "I don't know what that means."

"No real responsibilities, no real job. Just picking up lower-level chores."

"Monty wasn't trained to—"

"Why not? Why didn't he get the training to be a partner, like you and your older brother?"

"I don't understand why that matters? Our personal lives—"

"Are my business now." Eve snapped it out so Philadelphia jerked in her chair. "Twelve girls are dead. It doesn't matter if you understand the question. Answer it."

"Come on, Dallas." Playing her good cop role, Peabody soothed her way in. "We need to know," she said to Philadelphia, "whatever we can know, so we can try to piece everything together. For the girls," she added, nudging some of the pictures just a little closer to Philadelphia.

"I want to help, it's just that... it's painful to talk about Monty. He was the baby." She sighed out the stiffness. "The youngest of us, and I suppose we all indulged him a little. More when our mother died."

"Committed suicide."

"Yes. It's painful now, it was only more painful then for all of us. She simply wasn't well, in her mind, in her spirit. She lost her faith, and took her life."

"That's a terrible thing for a family to go through," Peabody said, gentle, gentle. "Even more, I think, for a family of faith. Your mother lost her faith."

"I feel she lost her will to hold to that faith. She was ill, in her mind, in her heart."

"Your father took a hard line on that," Eve put in.

The flush returned, more temper than embarrassment this time, Eve thought. "This was, and is, a very personal tragedy. If he took a hard line, as you say, it was his grief, his great disappointment. My father's faith is absolute."

"And your mother's wasn't."

"She was unwell."

"She became unwell, or began treatment, shortly after giving birth to your youngest brother."

"It was an unexpected and difficult pregnancy. And yes, it took a toll on her health."

"Difficult and unexpected," Eve repeated. "But she went through with it."

Hands folded tightly on the table, Philadelphia spoke coolly. "While we respect the choices each individual makes, the termination of a pregnancy, except under the most extreme conditions, was not a choice for my mother, nor for those who share our beliefs."

"All right. So an unexpected and difficult pregnancy, followed by clinical depression, anxiety, and ultimately self-termination."

"Why do you make it sound so cold?"

"Those are the facts, Ms. Jones."

"We don't want to miss anything." Peabody added the lightest touch of her hand on the back of Philadelphia's. "He was still living at home at the time of your mother's death, your younger brother?"

"Yes, he was only sixteen. He came to us—to Nash and me—a few months later, when our father sold the house, went on a mission. It was shortly after that we were able to buy the building on Ninth with our share, and begin The Sanctuary."

"So young to lose his mom," Peabody said, all sympathy. "He'd have been old enough to think about college, or practical skills training when you started The Sanctuary. I didn't see anything in the file on that."

"No. Monty had no drive to try college, or practical training, and honestly, no real aptitude—not for counseling or organization. He was good with his hands—that was his gift."

"But no training there either."

"He wanted to stay close to us, and we indulged that."

"He'd had treatment for depression," Eve added.

"Yes, he had." Resentment shimmered again as she looked back at Eve. "What of it? It's not a crime. Monty was an internal sort, more introverted than either Nash or I. When we were old enough to go on missions, or to seek more education, and our mother died, he became lonely and depressed. And help was sought and provided."

"Introverted. So not much for interaction with the residents and staff, when he joined you at The Sanctuary."

"As I said, when our father was called to mission, we took Monty with us, helped give him a purpose. He was somewhat shy, but enjoyed the children. In some ways, he was one of them. The Sanctuary was his home, too."

"How did he feel about losing it?"

"It was difficult for him, frankly. It was his first place outside the parental home, one he considered his own—as we all did. He was, we all were, understandably upset. Failure is never easy to accept. But that failure opened a new door."

"And right after you walked through the new door, you sent him to Africa. This shy, introverted younger brother."

"The opportunity came. We felt Monty needed to expand his world. To, well, leave the nest. It was hard for me, to be honest, but it was a chance for him. A door for him."

"Who arranged it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, ‘arranged.' The missionary in Zimbabwe wanted to retire, to come home to his family. It was a chance for Monty to see some of the world, as both Nash and I had, and to see if he had a calling after all."

"How'd he like it?"

"His e-mails were happy. He seemed to fall in love with Africa at first sight. I believe if he hadn't been taken from us, he would have bloomed there. He'd found his place, and a calling I'd doubted. The condolences after his death spoke of his kindness, his compassion, his... joy. It's both painful and freeing to know he'd found his joy before leaving us."

"How often did you talk to him?"

"Talk? We didn't. When first embarking on a mission, especially the very first on your own, it's too easy to cling to home, to family or friends. For the first few months, it's best to keep that contact somewhat limited so you can focus on the mission, consider that your home, your family. And serve them with a full heart."

"Huh. Sounds like boot camp."

She relaxed enough to smile a little. "I suppose it does, in a way."

"How about him and Shelby? How did they get along?"

"Get along?"

"You said he was like one of the kids."

"Yes, I just meant he was younger than Nash and myself, and younger in, well, spirit."

"How did he get along with them, Shelby in particular?"

"He was particularly shy around girls, but he got along well enough. I'd say he might've been a bit intimidated by Shelby. She was a big, and sometimes abrasive, personality."

"And with him being shy, and the little brother of the heads? I bet she took a few pokes at him. One way to get back at you, say, if you disciplined her or denied her, would be to poke at the most vulnerable."

"She could be a bully, that's true enough. Monty tended to give her a wide berth. He was more comfortable with the quieter residents. He did talk sports with T-Bone." She smiled as she caught that flutter of memory. "I'd forgotten that. Monty loved sports, any kind at all. He and T-Bone would talk football, or baseball. Reeling off all those stats... I can't understand how they remembered when they barely remembered to empty the recycler."

"So he interacted regularly with one of Shelby's crew."

"He was more comfortable and confident around boys, men."

"So no girlfriends?"

"No."

"Boyfriends?"

She shifted in her chair now. "While our father wouldn't have approved, both Nash and I would have been fine if Monty had developed a relationship with another young man. But I don't think he was physically attracted to men. And he was, at that point, just too shy to pursue a relationship with a woman."

"Girls might've been easier."

It took a moment, then Philadelphia's puzzled frown turned into the fire of outrage. "I don't like what you're implying."

"A shy guy, little to no social networking, homeschooled, indulged, as you said, and at the same time restricted. No serious responsibilities, a lot of time on his hands. And a house full of young girls—some of them, like Shelby, willing to exchange sex for favors."

"Monty would never have touched any of the girls."

"You said he wasn't gay." Eve leaned forward, pushed herself into Philadelphia's space. "He's young, just into his twenties, and all those girls, some of them just starting to bud. A lot of them with plenty of experience from the streets. And there's Shelby, happy to give a guy a blow job for a bottle of brew or whatever else she wants."

Philadelphia's face flamed. "We weren't aware of Shelby's... activities until Nash caught her stealing kitchen supplies, and she offered to... she offered to service him in exchange."

"So you were aware."

"She was put on immediate restriction, and her counseling was increased and directed at addressing the situation."

"Was this before or after she went down on Fine's helper, Clipperton, for some brew?"

"I wasn't aware." She stuttered a bit, and the fire in her cheeks died to ice. "I didn't know about that. The incident with Nash happened just before the move, just a week or so prior."

"You put her on restriction, yet she still managed to—how did you put it?—slip through."

"We failed her. In every possible way. But you have no right, no right, Lieutenant, to try to implicate Monty."

"Reality," Eve said flatly. "If she was ballsy enough to go for big brother, little brother would be easy pickings. I bet little brother could get her paperwork to forge. Who notices the shy guy? Little brother could help her access the old building, his first adult home. Little brother's handy around the house. Little brother could probably build a few walls."

"How dare you? How dare you sit there and insinuate my brother would kill? The taking of a life is against everything we believe."

"Your mother took her own life."

"You won't use our personal tragedy as evidence. My mother was ill. You're floundering around because you don't have a clue who murdered those girls, so you point your finger at my brother who can't defend himself."

"Here's where my finger's pointing: Little brother's boxed in, and suddenly the top's off the box when his father takes off. He's got substitute parents, a new home—in his siblings and The Sanctuary. He's a big boy now, a troubled big boy who still has no real responsibilities, no real job, no real purpose. But he's got hormones. He's got needs. All these pretty young girls, girls who know the score. Know how to score, like Shelby.

"She uses him. It's what she does. What she knows. Because she's been boxed in, too, and she's damn well going to have her own place, her own way, whatever it takes. Now there's that big, empty building just sitting there. She needs a way out, and a way in. Monty can help her get both. But once he has, she's finished with him. He's not one of her crew, he's not her friend. He was a means to an end."

"None of that's true." Philadelphia's breath came fast; her fingers flexed and released on the table. "None of it."

Eve drove on, hard. "She made him feel like a man, now she's made him feel useless again. She has to be punished for that. He knows how to get into the building. He'd know how to cop a tranq. He has to make her see what they had was special. She has to give herself over to him, and to the higher power. Accept. He'll make her accept."

"No."

"But she's with another girl. He hadn't expected another girl. She'll accept, too. They're not scared of him, the shy, awkward guy. Tranqing them's not hard. Then the rest is easy, too. Maybe it goes too far, maybe he planned to kill them all along, but either way, they're dead now. Gone to that better place, washed clean. But people won't understand, so he has to hide them, and what's handier than right at home? His sanctuary. It was all so easy, really, and how it made him feel? He's found his mission now. Found his true calling. He only has to find more girls."

"Everything you said is a lie. Everything you said is hateful."

"It may be hateful," Eve agreed, "but it sure is plausible. What I can't figure is when you found out, why did you just leave the bodies where they were? Or if you didn't know where he'd concealed them, why you didn't make him tell you before you shipped him off to Africa?"

"We found nothing out because he'd done none of the things you say."

"Or did you ship him off?" Eve leaned back with a thoughtful shake of her head. "That's another puzzler. The shy introvert wakes up in Africa and becomes a born missionary. That's long odds to me."

"Of course he went to Africa. It's documented. People knew him there."

"I'm working on that. He'd killed, betrayed everything you stood for, and had put your life's work on the line. Who would sponsor you now? What court would entrust children to your care now? Everything you'd worked for, over. That door that had opened, slammed shut. Will we find his remains, Ms. Jones? Was little brother sacrificed to your higher power?"

"That's enough." She lurched to her feet. "You have an ugly heart, an ugly mind. I loved my brother. He never harmed anyone in his life, and I would never harm him. Your world's a cold and ugly place, Lieutenant, filled with that."

She gestured toward the photos still on the table.

"I have nothing, nothing more to say to you. If you insist I stay in this horrible room, I want my lawyer."

"You're free to go," Eve said easily. "Peabody, why don't you show Ms. Jones the way out."

"I see the door." Spinning to it, she rushed out and away.

"Jesus." Peabody blew out a long breath. "Intense. Is that really what you think happened? Because it's not only plausible, but convincing."

"It's one way. It's most of the way. I haven't got all the threads knotted, but it's most of the way."

"Their brother killed the girls."

"He's the one who fits, and he fits just fine for all the reasons I hit her with."

"Yeah, convincing. But do you really think they killed their baby brother? I mean, who went to Africa if he didn't? Because she's right, it's documented."

"I don't know, but we're going to find out."

"That's why you said to ask Owusu to see if anybody in the village had a photograph taken of Jones—the younger—when he was there."

"Any kind of identification's out since he's cremated and scattered. He—whoever he was—took pictures. So I'm betting there's some photos of him. One thing I do know after that little session. However it went down, however the last of the threads knot, she didn't know."

"That's what I think, but you said—"

"I got a rise out of her, didn't I? Got the shock and outrage, and little bits of information that fill in some blanks. What I didn't get, once we got rolling, was fear or nerves. Guilt, some guilt over the girls, and I'd have looked at her sideways if I hadn't gotten some of that. But if I'm right, and little brother hooked with Shelby, and that connection forged the rest of the chain, she didn't know."

"But... then the Africa bit? Are you saying just a coincidence?"

"Hell no. She's got another brother, doesn't she? She's got a partner. Raised traditional—old traditions. Big brother, head of their little family. Yeah, it could play. We need him in here, Peabody."

"I'll make it happen."

When she started to rise, Eve's 'link signaled. She pulled it out, glanced at the readout, arched her brows. Then punched for the text. "Son of a bitch. Sebastian came through. My faith in humanity is... about where it was a minute ago. I've got a meet with DeLonna."

"No shit? When?"

"Now. Let's move."