Page 17 of Concealed in Death

“All good questions. I’m working on getting the answers. Again, preliminarily, we calculate the victims were placed in that concealment, all wrapped in plastic, approximately fifteen years ago. About the time you left the building and moved into this one.”

“You think that we—” Philadelphia leaned forward now, eyes intense. “Lieutenant, Detective, we’ve dedicated our life to saving young people. From themselves, from their environment, from destructive influences. We could never... we could never.”

“It couldn’t have been done while we were in there.” Still pale, Nash picked up a teacup he’d refused, gulped down the cold contents. “We’d have seen. And if that isn’t enough, there were residents, staff. It couldn’t have been while we were in there. No.”

“How did you leave it?”

“We just walked away on the advice of our attorney. We took what was ours. Furniture, equipment—what little we had. The extra clothes we kept on hand for those who came to us with little to nothing. That sort of thing. We just packed up, and moved everything we could here.

“You cried,” he said to his sister. “Even though the place became a disaster, a stone around our necks, you cried leaving it.”

“I did. It felt like a failure. It wasn’t. We did good work there, with what we had. People would say we lost our investment, and we could ill afford it. But I believe we gained more than we lost. And then we were given this amazing gift. This terrible thing had to have been done after we left.”

“Who had access, after you moved out the residents?”

“We did, for a short time.” Nash rubbed his hand over his face as a man might when waking from a strange dream. “I suppose some of the staff or even some of the kids could’ve gotten in if they’d wanted to. Our security there wasn’t very good. Another reason we needed to relocate.”

“Again, on legal advice we didn’t surrender it immediately to the bank.” As she spoke, Philadelphia rose, took some napkins from a drawer. She blotted up the spilled tea, set the teacup aside. “We had to file papers, and we were told to simply let the bank foreclose. That it generally took some time to do so. We were actually still there for nearly six months after we stopped paying the mortgage. We could’ve stayed longer, but it felt like...”

“Stealing,” Nash murmured. “You said it was like stealing. We were preparing to close up, thinking we were finished with our mission, then Ms. Bittmore offered us this building. It was like a gift from God. We believe it was, God’s work through her.”

“How long before the bank shut the place up?”

“I think at least six or eight months after we left. At least,” Philadelphia repeated. “We’d have the notification of foreclosure, all the paperwork on file.”

“I’d like to have copies.”

“I’ll see that you do. Anything you need.”

“A list of staff, handymen, repair and maintenance. All of them. And a list of residents. You have records?”

“Of staff, yes. Most of the repairmen, yes. Our brother, Monty, did some of the minor repairs. And I tried, Nash is hopeless with tools. Monty was killed in Africa several years ago. We’d have a list of the children, though our rules were less structured there. We were licensed, so we were given the responsibility of housing some children through court order. But we also took in what you could call strays. I’m afraid any number of them might have given fake names, and a great many were only there a night or two, or sporadically. But I’ll see you have copies of everything we have.”

“Twelve girls,” Nash said under his breath. “How can this be?”

“And they may have been ours.” Philadelphia’s knuckles went white as she gripped her brother’s hand. “They may have been girls who came to us, Nash, then came back looking for us. We weren’t there, and someone... someone preyed on them.”

“Are we responsible?” He shielded his face with his free hand. “Is this terrible thing on our souls?”

“I don’t believe that.” Philadelphia shifted closer, wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “I don’t. Do you?” She lifted pleading eyes to Eve. “Do you?”

“The person responsible is the person who killed them.”

“Are you sure they—of course you’re sure.” Nash dropped his hand, straightened his shoulders. “Wrapped in plastic, you said, hidden behind a wall. Of course this was murder. But how were they killed?”

“I can’t give you that information at this time.” Eve pushed to her feet. “I appreciate your cooperation in this matter. If I could have those copies, and speak to anyone on staff now who worked or lived in that building, it would be very helpful.”

“I’ll get Ollie started on that—Oliver Hill,” Philadelphia explained. “Our office manager. He wasn’t part of The Sanctuary. We could barely afford an office much less someone to manage it. Our matron—Brenda Shivitz—she worked part-time there, for the last year we were in that location, then came with us here, on a full-time basis. Seraphim, as I said. Oh, and Brodie Fine. He’d just started his business, and often did work for us. He’s still our handyman. He’s got his own company, a small service company. We call on Brodie for any number of things.”

“I’d like his contact information.”

“You’ll have it. If you’ll excuse me.” Philadelphia pushed off the couch. “I’ll take care of this right away.”

“Anything you can add?” Eve asked Nash as his sister left the room.

He stared down at his hands. “There’s nothing more I can tell you. I’m so very sorry. Will you tell us their names? I might remember them. I feel I should remember them.”

“I will when it’s cleared. If we could speak with the matron now, get that out of the way.”