Chapter 78

CHAPTER 78

MARPLE WALKED SLOWLY alongside a young officer who held the deceased infant’s body in her arms. As they approached the ambulance, the rookie’s jaw was set and her eyes were glistening. She looked like a teenager. Marple suspected this was one of the first dead bodies the officer had ever encountered. Definitely the tiniest.

The baby was Edwin Cade, son of Sterling and Christine. Marple had ID’d the body herself from her stash of hospital pictures. She knew that within the hour, a pair of NYPD detectives would be standing in the doorway of the Cades’ spectacular Upper West Side apartment, informing them that their only child would not be coming home. Marple resisted the urge to race there first and take the brunt of their pain and outrage herself. In her mind, that’s exactly what she deserved.

“Some investigator I am,” Marple mumbled to herself. She felt more like an undertaker. Behind the trees, the team was completing its sweep of the compound. After the ambulance doors slammed shut, Marple said silent prayers for Edwin and his parents—and that no other bodies would be found.

Her phone vibrated beneath her bulletproof vest. She ripped the Velcro straps apart and let the vest drop to the ground, then pulled the phone from her pocket.

It was Poe. In the background, she heard a rumble of engines and the whine of approaching sirens.

“Bill Barnes was driving the truck!” Poe shouted above the noise. “The school bus driver from upstate! It’s all one operation!”

“Where are you?” asked Marple, pressing the phone against her ear.

“On the Goethals Bridge. We were right behind him. He was headed for New Jersey.”

Marple took a few steps away from two nearby cops. She lowered her voice. “Is he talking? Has anybody questioned him yet?”

A long pause.

“The truck flipped, Margaret. He’s dead.”

Marple’s mouth went dry. Another dead end. Another dead body. “What was in the truck? What was he carrying? Please tell me it wasn’t the children.”

“No,” said Poe. “He’d already delivered the kids. I’m sure of it. The only thing left in the truck was a baby blanket from St. Michael’s.”

Margaret gripped the phone. Her throat tensed up too. “So maybe we should have followed from a distance instead of chasing him to death. He could have given us a location! He could have given us a lot !” She was getting more frustrated by the second, and her tone became more biting. “If there had been babies in the back of that truck, the crash could have killed them along with Barnes. Did you consider that? And we’d all be to blame.”

“Margaret, we had to—”

Marple cut him off. “ Enough! You and your machines. Not everything can be solved by a bunch of men in fast cars.”

She ended the call.