Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(15)

“It wouldn’t have been allowed. We’re responsible for the safety of the children who come to our home. We’d never allow anyone near them who would cause them harm.”

Peabody sat in the chair beside Shivitz, leaned over conversationally. “Sometimes people do good work, appear to live good lives, but something about them gives you a little feeling. Just a feeling something may be off, somewhere.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Nodding briskly, Shivitz poked a finger in the air. “I used to shop at this market, but the man who ran it gave me a bad feeling, so I switched to another. Then I heard the man who ran the first market was arrested. For”—she lowered her voice—“bookmaking! I knew there was something wrong with him. I had that feeling you mean.”

“Okay then.” Eve wondered just how high on the sin list bookmaking ranked in Shivitz’s world. “So anyone from The Sanctuary give you that feeling?”

“Not really. I’m sorry, but—oh, wait.” Her lips pouted and pooched as she concentrated. “Brodie Fine, our handyman. Oh, I don’t mean Brodie himself. He’s a lovely man, a good family man, and very reliable. He’s even hired a couple of our kids after they graduated. But he did have an assistant—a helper, I think he called him, for a little while back when we were in the other building. And that one gave me a bit of that feeling. Twice I heard that man use coarse language, and there’s no place for coarse language, most particularly around children. And I’m sure I smelled alcohol on his breath a time or two. He only came a few times, but I didn’t like the feel of him, to tell the truth.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Oh goodness, I don’t remember. But he was a strong-looking young man, and, yes, when I think about it, there was a look in his eye. What I’d call feral.”

“All right. We’ll check it out. Anyone else?”

“We’re so careful, and it was so long ago. Oh, those poor girls!”

The tears brimmed back, so Eve rushed through another question before the flood.

“What about visitors? Parents, guardians?”

“Back then, it was a rare thing to see hide or hair of a parent. The sad thing is most of the children had run away from home either because it was a bad place, or because they themselves had made bad choices. Now and again parents would come to take a child back home, and if the courts hadn’t said otherwise, we couldn’t stop them. And in truth there were some who were doing their very best, and the child was recalcitrant. I do remember, now that you mention it, one set of parents who came to take their girl home. The mother, she was quiet and weepy, but the father! He made a terrible scene. Stood there shouting, and accusing us of being a cult!”

She slapped a hand on her heart, patted it there as if the beat might stop at the shock of the accusation.

“Of encouraging his daughter to defy him, allowing her to run wild and so on when we were doing no such thing. Oh, I remember him—Jubal Craine—because I thought he might use his fists on Mr. Jones, or even Ms. Jones, and I’m sure as God’s my witness he’d used them before on that girl, and probably his wife. From Nebraska they were. I’m sure I remember that right. Farm people, and the girl had run off, ended up here.”

She hesitated.

“And?” Eve prompted.

“Well, I’m sorry to say she’d sold herself more than once for food, for a place to stay. Her name was Leah, and we did our best by her while we could. Oh, oh, and he came back, yes, he did, a month or so later, as Leah had taken off again. He wanted to tear through the place looking for her, even though she wasn’t there and we told him so. We called for the police that time, and they took him away. And now that you mention it, that was right about the time we were packing up to make the move.”

“That’s really helpful, Matron Shivitz.” Peabody boosted encouragement into her tone. “Is there anyone else?”

“Those are the ones that come to mind, but I promise I’ll think more about it. Just to think I might have known who did this terrible thing, it’s going to keep me up at night. But the fact is, Miss, we’re—that is, Ms. Jones and Mr. Jones—are so careful about who works here, who comes into the home, has any interaction with the children, I just don’t know how this could be.”

“The children aren’t always in the house, are they?” Eve put in. “They go out. You don’t confine them twenty-four/seven.”

“Of course not! It’s important they have some sort of normal routine, a healthy balance, and learn to cope well with the outside world. It’s vital to build up trust. And they have assignments, of course, that take them out. Marketing, field trips, free time. Oh! I see! Someone from the outside. It had to be someone from the outside who did this. Lured the girls back to the other building. From the outside,” she repeated on a long breath of relief. “Not one of our own.”

Maybe, Eve thought. And maybe not.

“We appreciate your help. If you think of anything or anyone else, contact us.”

“I can promise you I will. You don’t know their names.” She rose. “Mr. Jones said they were only bones. Will you tell us when you know who they are? I try to build relationships with all the children. I try to know who they are, who they hope to be. I’ve always tried. When I know who they are, I can pray for them better.”