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“She had a little money saved—just a little bit from doing chores or errands, that kind of thing. She didn’t take it either. Nobody looked at this as a runaway once they got the ball rolling. And nobody came forward claiming to have seen anybody lurking around. I’m getting the case file, but my sense is this detective put in the time and effort, and maybe more than most would.”
“But you have two of your victims in residence at The Sanctuary, at the same time.”
She drank a little more wine as she considered.
“Of the three we’ve ID’d, we have an experienced street kid, an impulse runner from a good family, and a kid from the working class who was, by all reports, well behaved and learning to cope with loss. What they have in common is age, size—and, in two, confirmed connection to the crime scene.”
“From what you know, age and size will remain common traits.”
“So it follows the other commonality will hold true for the twelve. It just reaffirms the killer connects to The Sanctuary, and likely HPCCY.”
“Another resident?” Roarke suggested. “Have you considered this may have been done by another child?”
“I’m running it around. An older kid. They took them, supposedly to eighteen, but they may have had a few that bumped over that.”
“Letting it slide a bit,” Roarke agreed. “Maybe having those who hit the age limit but still had nothing do a bit of work around the place in exchange for room and board.”
“They’d be the type to do that,” Eve agreed, thinking of her impression of the Joneses. “A boy. Girls that age might trust an older girl, but aren’t they pretty stupid about boys in those years?”
“I’ve never been a teenaged girl, so I couldn’t say for certain. You were.”
“Me? Hell, I was never stupid about boys. Until you anyway.”
He laughed into his wine. “That’s so sweet.”
“I had too much going on to get stupid about boys. I wouldn’t even have had sex except I was curious what was the big deal. Turned out, at least back then, it wasn’t all that big.”
He laughed again, just enjoying her. “How old were you? I can’t believe I’ve never asked.”
“I don’t know, about seventeen probably. Everybody else, or mostly, was banging like hammers, so I figured I should find out why. How about you?”
He lifted his wine. “I believe I’ll take the Fifth, once again.”
“Oh no, you don’t. It’s got to be in the marriage rules. I tell you, you tell me.”
“Rules are so . . . confining, but all right then. About fourteen. The Dublin streets and alleys were colorful, we could say.”
“I bet. Wait.” She lifted a finger. “Is that accounting for you finding out you’re a year younger than you thought?”
She watched his face go blank a moment—a rare event. “Ah well. Ha.” He rose, began gathering the dishes.
“T
hirteen? Seriously?”
“In my circumstances, it was grow up fast or pay the price. In any case, darling, think of all the practice I had before we met.”
She angled her head. “You really want me to think about that?”
“Maybe not. Instead consider you’re the only one I want to be with for all the rest of my life.” He leaned over, kissed her knuckles.
“Good save.”
“It was indeed, and also pure truth. I’ll deal with these dishes so you can get back to it.”
“Appreciate it.”
She looked over at the board he’d begun. Yeah, he knew her system. She had another face to add now, and rose to add Lupa Dison to the others. She added the aunt, Rosetta Vega Delagio, as a connector, the primary investigator’s data, the time line—or what she had of it.
