Page 108 of Concealed in Death

“They’re going to make another vid, aren’t they?”

“Bet your ass. While I’m working on that, I’d like to give the twelve girls some play—respect,” she said before Eve could speak. “You’ll do what you do to get them justice. I’ll do what I do so people know they existed. To know their names, their faces, and that someone took their lives before they’d really begun. It matters, too.”

It did, Eve knew. And no one did it better than Nadine because it mattered to her. “Get out your recorder.”

Nadine fished into the suitcase she called a purse, pulled it out. “I can have a camera here in ten minutes.”

“No camera, no interview. Just names.” Eve listed them off. “You can’t release them yet, but you can do some basic background—quietly—on them. I’ll give you the others when we have them. I’ll give you the green light when you can go with them. Until then, you’re on red.”

“Understood.”

“Now go away. I’ve got work.”

“So do I.” Nadine scooped up her coat. “Looking forward to your holiday bash.”

“My what?”

“I spoke with Roarke briefly. He said if I mentioned it to tell you to look at your calendar.” Swinging on her coat, Nadine headed out.

She remembered now, with the mention of her calendar. But still. “Didn’t we just have a bash? Isn’t Thanksgiving a bash? Why is Christmas so close to Thanksgiving? Who plans this stuff?”

Since there was no one to answer, she got coffee.

Peabody barreled in. “I talked to Africa!”

“Kudos.”

“Seriously, it was a big moment for me. Sergeant Owusu talked to her uncle, her grandfather, a few others. She was actually writing up a report on it, so you’d have it all laid out. She’ll send it as soon as she’s done, and digs up some pictures.”

“Good.”

“Meanwhile the gist she gave me is everyone agreed Preacher Jones—that’s what they called him—was a lovely man of faith and goodwill. He spoke with respect, enjoyed trying their native dishes—even learned to prepare a couple. He also studied the language, and had humor when he made mistakes in speech. He was kind, and they believe his spirit has remained in Africa.”

“So they liked him. How’d he get eaten?”

“He had a curiosity about everything. And liked to take photos, small recordings, for himself, talked of compiling them one day into some sort of book or documentary. He was out, wandering farther than was wise, to take photos of a watering hole at dawn. The lion came to feed, and he was the main entrée.”

She’d read most of that in the incident report already. “Did they say if he habitually went on these photo shoots alone?”

“I didn’t ask that specifically, but Owusu strikes me as thorough. If she got anything, it’ll be in her report.”

“I don’t remember any interest in photography or animal life in Montclair Jones’s background.”

“Well, he’d never been to Africa before,” Peabody pointed out. “If I went there I’d live with a camera. Basically, it sounded like he’d decided to make the best of it, was enjoying it. It makes sense—he was off the tether for the first time, and somewhere exotic and new.”

Eve glanced at her computer when it signaled an incoming. “We have Iris Kirkwood confirmed as the tenth, and the ID on the reconstruct on the eleventh.”

Eve studied the image—mixed race, she judged. Thin face, wide, wide eyes, sharp cheekbones.

“I recognize that face.” Eve ordered the Missing Persons images, split screen. “There. There she is. Shashona Maddox, age fourteen. Went missing from the grandmother’s residence. Grandmother custodial guardian. Mother took off when the kid was three, father unknown. Grandmother had custody of Shashona’s half sister, same mother, father gave up parental rights, which wouldn’t have been hard for him, most likely, as he was serving twenty to life for murder two at the time.”

“We have another notification.”

She did a quick search. “Yeah. Grandmother’s still alive, still in New York. Half sister’s a doctor, surgical resident at Mount Sinai. Grandmother, Teesha Maddox, lives and has lived for twenty-five years in an apartment on Eighth Avenue. A professional nanny, currently working Upper West Side. When’s Philadelphia due in?”

Peabody glanced at her wrist unit. “We’ve got about an hour.”

“Let’s go see the grandmother. Tell the bullpen if we’re not back, have her wait in the lounge.”