Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(62)

She finally caught Eve’s stony stare.

“Anyway enough about that. You’re on the idea of Montclair Jones.”

“I want more clear intel on it, that’s all. I managed to track the sergeant down. She was a girl when the whole lion-eating-man deal happened. She remembers Jones a little—remembers better what was left of him after the lion, which her grandfather killed.”

“Aw.” The romantic safari building in Peabody’s head shattered. “I know, man-eater, but still. It’s just the nature of the beast, right?”

“Rogue man-eating lion, small village with tiny, tiny children, slow old ladies, and hapless pets. Lion loses.”

“I guess. But she confirmed Jones was lion chow?”

“She confirmed there was an incident, and a missionary named Montclair Jones who worked in the area was attacked and killed.”

“Which jibes with his siblings’ story, and the official data.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “It bugs me, that’s all. Biggest sister Selma, goes off on missions, finds her place in Australia, marries a sheepherder. Why do people herd sheep?”

“You’re wearing a wool jacket.”

“I am?”

“Soft,” Peabody said reverently as she snuck a stroke down the sleeve.

“Hands off. Anyway, she’s herding sheep, making babies, and younger brother and younger sister are getting college degrees, doing missions, and eventually pooling their resources to buy the building on Ninth and found The Sanctuary.

“Some of those resources, FYI, come from a small inheritance, and a share of the sale of the family home after the mother’s suicide, and after the father sells the home to go on a mission.”

“I saw the self-termination in the file,” Peabody commented. “It looked, from what I scanned, she’d had bouts of depression since her final pregnancy.”

“Popping one out when you’ve got three—one’s a teenager—and you’re rounding the bag to fifty sounds depressing to me.”

“I don’t . . . On second thought,” Peabody considered, “it kind of does.”

“So both mother and youngest son have some treatment for depression, anxiety. And baby brother sticks close to home until Mom opens the veins in her wrists. After, he lives with Jones and Jones. He didn’t go for any higher ed or certification—did one youth group mission to Haiti at eighteen. And never went to any out of the country again.”

“That all sounds depressing, too.”

“Probably, but the mother had a history of emotional and mental challenges, ending with her offing herself with the classic slit wrists in the bathtub.”

“It’s less messy, and the hot water helps numb. But bathtub.” A little glint shone in Peabody’s eyes. “I didn’t go back that far.”

“It’s a standard self-termination style, especially for females, but the bathtub’s a little bell. From what I can tell he did mostly scut work at The Sanctuary. Some cooking, cleaning, repairs, assisting in classes or groups. No real authority.”

She rose, tapping the old ID photo of Montclair Jones she’d put on her board. “Then, about the time we’ve got twelve dead girls tucked between the walls at The Sanctuary building, his sibs send him off to Africa.

“He’d traveled before that one time, on the missionary trail, but never again out of the States, never alone, never without one of the sibs or an experienced associate.” Eve shook her head. “The timing sure is interesting.”

“But if they knew, they’d have gotten rid of the bodies,” Peabody insisted. “And I don’t know how they could’ve just kept quiet all this time, or gone cruising along knowing all those girls were in that building.”

“Hangs me up a little, too. But the time line . . . If he were here, if he still lived and worked here, he’d be number one on my list. So, for now, he’s number one on my look-a-little-harder list. What did you get?”

“A big goose egg. There’s no connection I can find linking the latest two vics ID’d with The Sanctuary, HPCCY, Nash, Philadelphia, any of them.”

Eve nodded, as she’d laid the same goose egg. “We have the Korean market linking Shelby and Linh. We’re going to find other connections, just that nebulous. I’m taking this home. I need to spread it out, shuffle it up, look at it from other angles.”

“Did you notify next of kin on the latest?”

“I talked to her mother. She didn’t know any of the other vics, never heard of The Sanctuary.”

“How’d she handle it?”

“Glazed over some,” Eve said as she packed up what she wanted. “But toughed it out. She’ll claim the remains when we’re clear with them. I backtracked, too, and got the data on Jubal Craine. His wife killed him, set their barn on fire with him in it.”

“She must’ve been very upset.”

“Apparently she got a little ticked off when he beat the crap out of her, yet again. But according to everything I can find, he was alive and well, and in fricking Nebraska during September of ’forty-five. And since his daughter didn’t slip the leash again until November of that year, he didn’t have any reason to come back here.”