Page 138 of Concealed in Death

“At Christmas I do, then hide half of them or Dennis wouldn’t leave a crumb for company. Thank you,” she added when Roarke served the wine. “We’re looking forward to your party later this month. It’s always memorable.”

She turned to Eve. “So. I know you sent me a report this evening, but I didn’t have time to read it. Can you fill me in?”

“Yeah, sure. Ah, should we go up to my office?”

“Dennis doesn’t mind if we talk shop, do you, Dennis?”

“No.”

He settled back comfortably, as someone might to watch an entertaining vid. He always looked comfortable to Eve’s eye. In his own skin, in the moment.

“I like hearing about the work. Fascinating, isn’t it?” he said to Roarke.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Okay then. Highlights. Nashville Jones is in the wind.”

Mira arched her eyebrows. “I see.”

“We interviewed Philadelphia Jones this afternoon. I pushed her on the premise the younger brother lured and killed the victims, starting with Shelby Stubacker and Linh Penbroke.”

She laid out her theory on that, standing to pace it off, to think on her feet.

“You speculate the younger brother did the killings, and had the basic skills to conceal the bodies in the building he considered his home, his place. And the older brother was complicit.”

“He knew something, maybe not until toward the end, but he knew. The sister, I don’t think so. Big brother, head of the family, protects the female sib. It’s ingrained behavior impressed on him by the parents, and I’d say especially the father. He’s in charge.”

“Yes, I agree with that.”

“Between the time I saw you this morning and my interview with Philadelphia, I met with DeLonna.”

“Friend of Shelby’s,” Mira said, refreshing her memory. “Liked to sing. Remained at HPCCY until she went into a work/study program.”

“Yeah. I believe she was an intended victim, and a survivor. I believe she survived because Jones—the elder—found her, after she’d been tranq’d, before the younger had the chance to finish her. He stopped it.”

“But she didn’t report it before now?” Mira asked.

“She doesn’t remember, not clearly. She remembers climbing out the window of her room, just barely fitting through the opening. I checked that and it jibes. Climbing down, running to the subway, riding it, running toward the old building because she wanted to find her friend. She wanted to find Shelby, who’d left, and never sent for her as planned. Couldn’t, being dead. But she remembers everything up to that point, then it blurs on her.”

“Blurs,” Mira asked, “or blanks?”

“Blurs. She dreams about voices, and shouting. Someone talking about cleansing, washing the bad girl clean. She dreams of dark, being cold. Then she remembers, or dreams this feeling as if she was floating, and that’s it. She woke up in her bed, back at HPCCY, and the window was shut, and she’s wearing her uniform nightclothes. She felt sick and out of it. She has nightmares about it, has had them ever since.”

“Voices and sensations only?”

“That’s how it comes. Because it wants to come back, but she’s suppressing it. I think she heard enough, saw enough to know, but she was a kid, and blocked it.”

Mira watched Eve’s face. Between them flowed the knowledge there’d been another child, another trauma, another block.

“Very possible, very likely,” Mira said after a moment, “from what you say and what we know. The trauma combined with the drug could very well have resulted in a memory block.”

“I gave her your card, and I’m hoping she’ll contact you. She wants to help. She’s got a new life now, a good one. She’s got a good man. But she wants to help, wants to know who killed her friends. And who would have killed her if she hadn’t gotten the break.”

“If she contacts me, I’ll make room for her right away.”

“People do terrible things to children because they can,” Dennis said.

Eve stopped, looked at him.