Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(56)

“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.”