Chapter 73

CHAPTER 73

HOLMES WATCHED FROM behind the one-way glass with Poe, Duff, and a cluster of other task force members as Marple walked into the small room where Megan Robinson was sitting. The sound came through on a pair of speakers mounted below the window. Holmes stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. He desperately wanted to be in there himself. On the other hand, he knew this kind of work was Marple’s forte.

“Hello, Megan,” said Marple. “Recognize me?”

The young woman with wavy brown hair sat slouched at a stainless-steel table. She looked tired. She stared at Marple’s face for a few seconds before the connection clicked.

“You were with Jane,” said Megan, her back stiffening. “Is this some kind of scam?” Her Scouse accent was thick and nasal. “Some” had come out as soom.

“No scam,” said Marple. “That was me in London with your sister. I just got back.”

She slid onto the seat across from Megan. “I think you know that Jane is in big trouble. So are you. And the people you’re working for couldn’t care less. In fact, whether you go to prison or beat the system, you will never be safe from them. Never . Not unless you help me catch them.”

Megan’s eyes were red and her face was drawn. Her cheeks were hollow below high cheekbones. Her nails tapped a jittery pattern on the steel tabletop. She tensed her jaw but said nothing.

“You were a good nanny, Megan,” Marple said. “We checked with the parents you used to work for in England. And you clearly have a way with babies. They trust you.” She paused again, for a long time. Letting her words sink in.

Holmes watched as Megan shifted in her seat and brushed the hair back from her face. He admired Marple’s restraint. He might have gone in hard, like the police had done earlier, scaring her out of talking to a lawyer. But Marple was clearly taking a gentler approach. More conversational. More empathetic.

“The children you took are safe, Megan. Healthy and sound. No worse for the experience. And that’s a very good thing. But there are others still missing. This is part of a bigger plan. You know that. We’ve searched every site. We’ve used the most sophisticated software on Earth. But we can’t find the other children. Where are they? Who has them?”

For a few seconds, Megan stared down at the table. Then she looked up. “What can you do for me and my sister?” she asked.

“Megan,” said Marple, leaning across the table, “I’m not a police officer. I’m not a lawyer. I’m not a prosecutor.”

“Then who the fook are you?” hissed Megan. “Why are you here? What is the point?”

Marple turned around and pointed to the back of the room. “See that mirror? If you help, the people behind it will know that you did the right thing.” Marple turned back toward Megan. “I know you don’t have names,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t need names. I just need a little guidance.”

Nothing from Megan but a dull stare and a long stretch of silence. And then, a flurry of words, tumbling out fast and hard. “You won’t find the kids on those black-market sites. That’s old-school. Too much exposure. Too easy to trace. And this is not about sex trafficking.” Megan lowered her eyes. “I would never have anything to do with that.”

Holmes glanced at Poe with a small smile. Marple was a master. He watched her reach across the table to rest her hand on Megan’s. “I believe you,” she said. “So what’s this about?”

“Adoption,” said Megan. “And money. Loads of it.”

“Adoption. Where? By whom?”

Holmes had his nose pressed up against the glass. He could always read the moment before someone broke. And he could see that Megan Robinson was right at the edge. He knew that Marple was letting the silence hang, waiting for the truth to slip out. He admired her patience. Envied it.

“Staten Island,” Megan blurted suddenly. “Some old farm. There’s going to be an auction. Live-streamed. One-time event. I don’t know when exactly. The kids are going to be sold to the highest bidders around the world. As long as the bidders are rich and…” Megan was running out of steam, clearly exhausted. She swallowed hard.

“Rich and what ?” pressed Marple.

Behind the glass, Holmes mumbled, “Say it…”

Megan looked up as she spoke. She was staring directly at Holmes, as if she could see straight through the glass. “Rich and bloody white !”