Page 16 of Concealed in Death

“I’m happy to talk about HPCCY.” Philadelphia poured the tea as she spoke. “And I’d love to give you a personal tour if you have the time. But I’m puzzled by your interest.”

“This morning, the demolition stage of rehab on the building on Ninth began. Your old building.”

“They’re finally going to do something with it. That’s good news. I have fond memories, as well as nightmares about that building.” She laughed a little, lifted her tea. “The plumbing couldn’t be trusted, the doors jammed, and the power would go out without explanation. I hope whoever owns it now has deep pockets. I suspect a true rehabilitation of that property will cost a great deal.”

She looked over as her door opened. “Nash, come meet Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody.”

“My pleasure.” He strode in, a striking man with a mane of white-streaked black hair, a prominent nose, his sister’s sharp chin. He wore a suit and tie and shoes polished to mirror gleams.

“I’m aware of you, Lieutenant,” he said with a firm handshake, “due to your connection with Roarke. And of both of you,” he continued, giving Peabody the same businesslike shake, “through your reputations as police officers—and the Icove case particularly.”

“Let me ask Matron to get another cup.”

“Don’t bother on my account.” Nash waved his sister’s offer away, joined her on the couch. “I’m a coffee man, and Philly won’t allow caffeine in the house, even the faux sort.”

“Especially the faux sort. All those chemicals.” She made a disapproving face with a shake of her head. “You might as well drink poison.”

“But such satisfying poison. So what brings two of New York’s finest to HPCCY?”

“The lieutenant was just telling me that rehabilitation’s begun on our old building, Nash. The Sanctuary.”

“Rehabilitation’s a byword around here, but that old place was, and would be still, beyond our limits. It was a happy day when we moved here.”

“And lucky,” Eve added. “It’s not every day someone donates a building to you.”

“Ms. Bittmore is our angel.”

He sat back, a man at ease, with his eyes—a shade or two sharper than his sister’s—direct on Eve’s. “It’s well known she lost her husband during the Urban Wars, then years later, lost her youngest son to addiction, to the streets. She nearly lost her granddaughter as well, generation following generation down that dark path. But Seraphim came to us—came to The Sanctuary.”

“We were able to reach her,” Philadelphia continued. “To help her turn off that dark path, back into the light, to reunite her with her family. Ms. Bittmore came to see us, saw what we were trying to do, and what we were up against. She gave us this building as a tribute to her granddaughter, who happens to be one of our counselors now. We’re very grateful to both of them, and to the higher power for bringing us all together.”

“Is Seraphim in-house today?”

“I’m not absolutely sure of her schedule, but I think this is her afternoon off. I’d be happy to check with Matron.”

“We’ll get to that. As I was saying, during demo on the building on Ninth, several false walls were discovered.”

“False walls?” Philadelphia’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Walls constructed a short distance out from the originals, leaving a gap between the two.”

“Is that why it was so drafty?” She shook her head. “We could never afford much more than emergency repairs, and even then we had to jury-rig more than we should have. I suppose someone might have built out the wall as the original was in such poor shape.”

“I don’t think so, but concealment was the purpose.”

“We painted, tried some minor—very minor,” Nash emphasized, “updating in the baths and kitchen, but we never put up walls. Concealment, you said? Hiding valuables—ill-gotten valuables? I can assure you if we’d had anything valuable we’d have spent it to keep The Sanctuary above water rather than hiding it away. What did you find? Cash, jewels, illegals?”

“Bodies,” Eve said flatly, and watched both for reaction. “Twelve.”

The teacup slipped out of Philadelphia’s fingers so the cup bounced on the rug and pale amber liquid ran out in a thin river. Nash simply stared, his face going pale and absolutely blank.

“Twelve.” Philadelphia choked it out. “You said—when I thought—you said a dozen. Do you mean, oh, merciful Jesus, did you mean twelve bodies?”

“What are you talking about?” Nash demanded.

“Twelve bodies,” Eve said, “found between the original wall and the one constructed to conceal them. More accurately, twelve skeletal remains, preliminarily identified as females between the ages of twelve and sixteen.”

“Girls?” As the kid on the bench had done, Philadelphia slid her hand into her brother’s. “But how? When? Who could do something like that? Why?”