“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“The warrant grants us the right to those files.”
“I’m sure it does, but we don’t keep any property records on site. Everything we have is digital, and I don’t have access to the database.”
“Then what do you do here all day?”
She didn’t answer. She handed Noah a business card. “This is Direct Property Holdings’ law offices. They will, I’m sure, handle your request promptly.”
Noah nodded to Nate and Lucy. Lucy said, “Ma’am, if you would please step away from your desk, we need to inspect your workstation.”
“Of course,” she said and rose. She was taller than Lucy, and that’s when Lucy noticed she wore four-inch spike heels. “May I go to the ladies’ room?” she asked.
“Not right now,” Noah snapped. After the big fat nothing at the Dobleman residence and now this front office, he was clearly angry.
Nate searched the desk. The computer was password-protected. “Password, ma’am?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t share that information.”
Noah turned to her. “Our warrant—”
“Says you can have two files, which are not in this office. As I said, our lawyer will be happy to provide you with the files. But your warrant doesn’t grant you access to the computer system, which has information that isn’t covered by your warrant.”
This woman was definitely not a receptionist. She was a gatekeeper.
“Are you aware of the penalties for obstruction of justice?” Noah asked.
“I am not obstructing anything,” she said. “I’m simply telling you that your warrant does not cover my computer. If you want the files that are covered by your warrant, you will need to talk to the law office, which has access to all records of this company. I wish I could be of more help.” Her tone said anything but.
“Identification,” Noah asked.
Now she looked a bit flustered. She crossed over to her desk and raised an eyebrow at Nate, who stood behind the desk. “May I?” She gestured toward the bottom drawer.
Nate stepped aside but kept eyes on her hands. She pulled out her wallet and handed her Texas driver’s license to Noah. He wrote down the information and handed it back. “Phone number where we can reach you?”
“If it’s related to this company, you can contact me through the law office.”
Noah clearly wasn’t happy with the results of their efforts. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number on the card she’d handed him.
“This is Supervisory Special Agent Noah Armstrong with the Federal Bureau of Investigation with a warrant for two properties managed by Direct Property Holdings. I am at your business office and they claim they have no access to the files in question. I want all records including owner information, maintenance, rental agreements, finances, and copies of every check or transaction. And I want them ready immediately.”
He listened, then gave the two relevant addresses. He listened again and said, “Next week is not going to work. One hour … I don’t care if the lawyer who handles DPH is not in the office, I have a federal warrant.” He looked at his watch. “One hour.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Siobhan had the driver take her back to the hotel, then picked up her rental car to drive out to the address Eric had given her. She didn’t want to intimidate the midwife by driving up in a black Town Car. Now that she was alert, she was certain she wouldn’t put herself in a position of danger.
She appreciated Sean—though she suspected Kane had a lot to do with it—providing her with a secure hotel and transportation, but she’d been a photojournalist for more than a decade and had taken care of herself more often than not. She’d traveled through dangerous countries and was hyperaware of her surroundings. She admitted to herself that being in the States had lulled her into a false sense of security, but now that she was reminded that the States could be as violent as Mexico and Central America, she wasn’t going to be caught unawares.
The midwife Eric had identified, Cora Smith, lived in a small two-bedroom, one-bath postwar box house in the middle of a long line of two-bedroom, one-bath postwar box houses. It was late morning, and day laborers who couldn’t find work at dawn were now back in their yards, watching Siobhan with cautious, quiet eyes when she stopped the rental car in front of house number 1127. She walked up the short, weed-choked concrete walkway and knocked on the door. The scent of fresh tortillas and chili powder wafted through the air as the door opened. “I’ve been expecting you,” Cora said and opened the door wide.
“You have?”
“I heard a pretty redhead wanted to talk to me. That would be you, right?”
“I’m Siobhan Walsh,” she said. “I’m looking for two girls—the daughters of my best friend—and I heard you might have some information.”
“Come, I just finished making dinner.” In true southern fashion, she called her midday meal dinner, while supper would be a smaller, lighter meal.
Cora wasn’t what Siobhan expected. First, she was an octogenarian. And small—not even five feet tall and couldn’t possibly weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. Silver-white hair so short and straight she could have been mistaken for a man. Her house was immaculate but cluttered, with no television that Siobhan could see, and a crucifix over every doorway. An enormous paint-by-numbers of the Last Supper hung in the kitchen’s eating area, dwarfing the small room. From a distance, it didn’t look half bad.
Two young boys stood in the kitchen at attention. Cora finished filling a dozen lunch boxes with some sort of spicy stew, stacks of fresh tortillas, and small apples. She stacked six lunch boxes into each of two larger cardboard boxes. In Spanish she said, “Thank you, boys. When you return the boxes, I’ll pay you. And your lunch will be ready.”
The boys stared at Siobhan with wide eyes and nodded at Cora, then left through the back door, each carrying a box that seemed too large for him.
“Good boys,” Cora said with a nod. “I prepare meals a few times a week for some of my older neighbors who can’t get around so well. The boys help deliver for me. I’m not as spry as I used to be.”
Older neighbors? Must be the ninety-somethings, Siobhan thought.
“Sit, I’ll dish some stew.”
“You don’t have to—”
Cora gave Siobhan a look that told her not to argue. “I don’t have to do nothing I don’t want to. Sit.”
Siobhan sat. “Smells delicious, Ms. Smith.”
Cora smiled as she dished bowls of stew and put them on the table, one in front of Siobhan and one at an empty place. She brought out more fresh tortillas and then Cora sat, crossed herself, and said a blessing. Then she smiled when Siobhan said “amen” and motioned for her to eat.
Halfway through the meal Cora said, “You want to know about the dead girl.”
Siobhan nearly dropped her spoon. “Yes. I think she’ll lead me to Marisol and Ana.” She explained who they were and why she was looking for them.
“It’s a sad situation, and I don’t know exactly how the girls found themselves in it.” Cora seemed to be picking her words carefully. Siobhan wondered if she knew more than she planned on saying. “Suffice it to say, I have been a midwife for more than sixty years. I’ve delivered nearly two thousand babies. Some didn’t survive. I know when I can’t help, when they need a doctor. Some don’t want to go, but I tell them, they go. Because life is precious, and a baby is God’s hope in a troubled world.”
Siobhan believed Cora had the ability to make anyone do anything even if they didn’t want to. She had that quiet, serene confidence that inspired loyalty and trust.
“Two weeks ago, I was called to a house in the middle of the night near Our Lady of Sorrows.”
Siobhan’s ears perked up. Father Sebastian’s church.
“It was far for me to go, but one of my neighborhood boys took me. An old friend, Loretta Martinez, had a complication with one of her clients. I told her go to the hospital. That wasn’
t an option. Against my better judgment, I went to help.”
She sipped black coffee, then continued. “The baby was breech, the girl was unconscious when I got there. There was excessive bleeding and tearing and I thought we’d lose them both. I urged Loretta to call an ambulance and was told that would not happen. This made me suspicious, but there are many young women who come to America illegally in order to deliver their babies. I don’t condone it, because who is to help them if they trust no one? But sometimes, life is harder back home. I don’t turn my back on God’s children when asked to help. I care about the girl, the baby, that’s it. Yet, when it’s a matter of life or death, I always choose life.
“I would have called, but my phone was taken away and this man”—she said man as if she were saying the word Satan—“threatened me. He said, I will never forget, ‘Save the baby, I don’t care about the girl.’” Cora’s thin jaw clenched, and she rose from her seat. She moved a few bottles, then retrieved what she was looking for and came back to the table. She poured red wine into her empty water glass, then sipped. “He didn’t use the word girl, but I don’t allow swearing in my house.”
Siobhan almost couldn’t speak. She whispered, “What happened?”
“Loretta is good, but not as good as me. I was able to turn the baby in the womb and deliver a beautiful baby boy. He was a large baby, over nine pounds, and the girl was so small. It’s no wonder she tore so miserably.”
“Small as in young?”
“She was eighteen, maybe nineteen. I thought we’d lose her, but we didn’t. I sewed her up and Loretta and I watched her for twenty-four hours. She finally regained consciousness.”
“Did you have any medical supplies?” Siobhan thought about the small room in the house that she walked through Sunday night. The IV, the tools.
“Yes, the house we were in was well stocked, and I have delivered so many babies and even assisted doctors in difficult births if the mother was one of my clients. We kept her hydrated, through an IV, and she finally woke up. But during those twenty-four hours, I learned things I wish I had never known before I leave this earth. Some things, you don’t want to know. But I trust God, and He wanted me there to know these difficult things.”
Cora took a moment, looking not at Siobhan but into the past, her wrinkled face troubled. Siobhan didn’t push. She was grateful this woman was talking to her at all. “Loretta told me that the home was for single mothers, girls who had been turned out by their families because they got pregnant out of wedlock. At first, I believed her. I wanted to. Loretta has been a friend for a long, long time. She asked me to check on the other women. There were six pregnant women there, plus the girl who’d just delivered. All in the second half of their pregnancy. All healthy, fed well, and they had a small exercise room in the basement where they walked on a treadmill. But … there was something off. None of the girls were allowed outside, for example. One of the girls I examined was dangerously ill. She had high blood pressure and swollen feet. I told Loretta she had the signs of preeclampsia. She needed to be in the hospital or both her and her baby would most likely die. Loretta told the man, the vile man, when they didn’t think I could hear the conversation. He said he didn’t care if she died, as long as the baby lived. What sort of human being says that? I tell you”—she answered her own question—“no human being says that.”
“Cora—why didn’t you go to the authorities?” Siobhan asked quietly.
“Because the authorities have not been kind to me and others over the years. A trust issue, I suppose you might say.” She paused. “I heard you work with the Sisters of Mercy.”
“My mother did. I help them when I can. A few months every year.”
She nodded. “A few months a year is more than most people give in their lifetimes. The sisters do God’s work, they are good people. Sister Bernadette spoke at my church years ago. I don’t have money to spare, but I had I think seven dollars in my purse, and I gave it to her cause.”
Siobhan smiled. She could picture the scene so clearly. “Sister Bernadette is very persuasive.”
“She came here for supper after the last Mass that day.” Cora paused, sipped more wine, then bit off a piece of tortilla. Her teeth were far too large and white to be natural. She changed the subject back to the pregnant girls. “I should have called someone, but Loretta told me not all the authorities could be trusted. And Loretta didn’t seem fearful, not after we delivered the boy. She’d been scared when the baby was in danger, but once the baby was well, she relaxed. That struck me as odd, but I didn’t press her for more information. I should have.
“When I read the newspaper article about the woman who died of preeclampsia and her baby was missing … I just knew in my heart that it was the young woman I saw that week. They called her Jane Doe, in the news. Her name was Eloise. I want her name on her grave, no one should be buried without their name. After I heard about you, and why you are here, I thought you might make that happen.”
“I can,” Siobhan said. She was practically shaking out of anticipation. She reached into her purse and pulled out the photo of her with Mari and Ana. “Did you see these girls?”
Cora put on her glasses that were hanging on a chain around her neck. She looked at the photo. “Yes, they were both there.”
“They were? You saw them?”
“And very pregnant.” She pointed to Marisol. “This one, due anytime. Very healthy.” She pointed to Ana. “This one, six months’ pregnant. With twins. She was having a hard time. They were close, protective.”
“Sisters,” Siobhan whispered. She was so close … so close to finding them. “I need to find them.”
“I can tell you where the house is.”
“I was there, outside Freer, and they’re gone.” She reached back into her bag and pulled out the prints she’d downloaded from her cloud account. “Did you see this girl?” She showed her the blonde who was walking and holding a baby.
“This one, yes, she’s the one who almost died in childbirth. The breech baby.”
“What day was that?”
Cora thought back. “Saturday. Ten days ago. It was very early in the morning, still dark, when we finally delivered the baby. I stayed another night, then my driver picked me up on Sunday. We went to the church there, because I wouldn’t get back to Laredo in time to go to my own parish. Loretta warned me not to talk, and I didn’t, but it has weighed on me. Loretta is a good woman, a good churchgoer. She didn’t come with me to church, though I asked her to. This made me worry for her. Guilt, I saw it, I smelled it on her. The guilty don’t like to step into God’s house. And me … I started to feel guilty. That things were not as Loretta had said. That I may have done something, made a bad decision. Not saving the girl and her baby—that was right. But silence can be a sin. I saw that article, and it was God’s hand. I do not read the paper, not every day, because it’s violent and sad. But I saw it yesterday, I knew I was meant to see it. I called the reporter, and he told me you would want to talk to me. Your presence is divine providence, Siobhan Walsh. God led you to me so I could share my story and ask for forgiveness for not doing something sooner.”
Siobhan took the old woman’s small, frail hand. “Cora, listen to me. Loretta was right about one thing: You can’t trust all the authorities. I was at the house on Sunday, they were moving the last of the girls. The police arrested me, and when I went back on Monday they were all gone. But I have a good friend in the FBI whom I trust with my life. I need to find Loretta, and she needs to tell us what she knows. Mari and Ana disappeared two years ago, and I’ve been looking for them ever since. I have never been this close.”
“I will give you everything I know about Loretta. And”—she pointed to one of the men in the photo with the blonde—“that man is named Raoul. I don’t know his last name, but I will never forget him. He is not a godly man.”
* * *
When Lucy joined Noah to serve the warrant for the property records at the law firm, a thin file was waiti
ng for them at the desk.
Noah looked at it. There was one sheet on each property that listed basic information such as when the property was acquired, how much was paid, the mortgage, balance, and owner.
Each owner was a business.
“Who is the lawyer in charge of this client?” Noah asked the receptionist.
“I do not have that information. The attorney of record is the law firm—any of our attorneys can work for any of our clients.”
“I’d like a list of the attorneys working for this law firm.”
“I can’t share that information.”
“What do you mean you can’t share that information?” Noah was on the verge of losing his temper—and it took quite a bit to put Noah on edge.
“Sir, I would need to discuss the situation with the office manager, and she is at lunch right now.”
“We’ll wait.”
“Of course.”
“Tell her the FBI is here,” Noah said.
Lucy tried to get Noah to sit, but he didn’t. Her phone rang—it was Sean.
“I have to take this,” she said but didn’t wait for Noah to respond. She stepped out of the office and stood in the quiet hall. Security cameras were mounted at both ends—one over the elevator and one over the staircase. She felt like she was on stage and straightened her spine.
You can do this.
She answered her phone. “Sean.”
“Hey—I just wanted to check in. I can’t talk long, and then we have to go silent.”
“I understand, I just wanted to know how you were. And that you got my messages. You didn’t respond.”
He was silent for a long five seconds. She counted. “I know why Madison came by,” Sean said finally. “I’m sorry she dragged you into the middle of this. She’s in denial that her husband has put their son in danger.”
“Their son?” Lucy asked.
Please tell me the truth. Tell me that it’s your son in danger.
He must have had a good reason for not telling her earlier. He wouldn’t keep something like this from her.
The Lost Girls Page 23
