The Lost Girls

CHAPTER THREE

FBI SSA Noah Armstrong spent the first thirty minutes of their two-hour drive south talking on the phone to Zach Charles, the analyst for San Antonio’s Violent Crimes Squad. Lucy tried not to eavesdrop, though it was difficult considering she was sitting in the passenger seat. Noah was going over active cases with the ease and confidence of someone who’d been running the squad for years instead of two months.

“Kincaid is with me,” Noah said. “I sent Quiroz a message that I had to pull Lucy from the double homicide they’ve been working with SAPD. I’ve assigned Agent Cook to replace her.” He listened to something Zach said, then continued. “If Agent Cook has an issue with the assignment, she can call me and discuss it.” He hung up a moment later.

Lucy itched to discuss the case with Noah, but thought better of it. She’d barely spoken to Elizabeth Cook in the nine months she’d been in the San Antonio field office. The only thing Lucy knew about her was that she was divorced, had two daughters, and planned on retiring early at the end of next year at age forty-five, after putting in twenty years. Lucy’d never worked a case with her, and Cook rarely went out into the field. The Violent Crimes Squad handled a variety of crimes, but as their official name-Violent Crimes and Major Offenders-suggested, most of the cases dealt with physical crimes against people. Multi-jurisdictional homicides, kidnappings, special circumstances cases, and similar situations. They worked extensively with other law enforcement agencies to pool resources. Cook tended to assist more than investigate, and primarily from the office. While most agents abhorred desk work and writing reports, Cook preferred it.

Three months ago, the local DEA and the San Antonio PD-as well as the FBI to a lesser degree-had been decimated after a major corruption conspiracy was uncovered. Five DEA agents and two prison guards were murdered, an SAPD cop arrested for attempted murder and conspiracy, and FBI Agent Barry Crawford’s injuries were so extensive he was still on disability and would likely never return to active duty. Juan Casilla, Lucy’s boss, left on paternity leave after his wife nearly died in childbirth. Nita was still ill, and while he had a month more of official leave, the rumor was he would either be taking a sabbatical or resigning.

Noah Armstrong had come to San Antonio from Washington, DC, the first week of July as the acting SSA of Violent Crimes, but he was also here to liaise with other agencies as everyone had to clean house and rebuild. Lucy liked working with Noah, who’d been her first training agent last year before she’d entered the FBI academy. They’d become friends and Lucy greatly respected him. But in the ten weeks he’d been here, they hadn’t worked together on a case. Though she didn’t like passing off her current case to another agent, she was glad he wanted her help on this new case in Laredo.

“Ask,” Noah said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re biting the inside of the your cheek, which tells me you want to say something. But I won’t discuss personnel issues.”

“It wasn’t that.” Well, yes, in part it was, but she’d never have asked about Elizabeth Cook and why she didn’t work in the field-or why Juan went along with it. “You haven’t told me why we’re going to Laredo.”

“I’m sorry, I assumed you knew.” Noah passed a slower driver and maintained his speed. It was still early, the sun barely up, and Lucy wanted more coffee.

“I’m good at my job, but I’m not psychic.”

He glanced at her with a half smile on his face. “You sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.”

“I got a call from Rick Stockton late last night. A photojournalist, Siobhan Walsh, was arrested and is being held in Freer, about an hour from Laredo. He hasn’t been able to get any information out of the locals, and he wasn’t allowed to speak to Walsh. I assumed you knew because Rick said Walsh is tight with the Rogans.”

“I know of her, I’ve never met her.”

“There’s more going on than a simple arrest. Rick was alerted to Walsh’s disappearance by a local priest who said she’d given him Rick’s number in case she didn’t return from taking photos-at least that was Rick’s understanding. Though the priest didn’t seem to trust Rick and didn’t want to give too many details over the phone, Siobhan’s arrest may be related to a newborn baby who was left at the church last week.”

A baby? “Why wasn’t the FBI brought in earlier?”

“Rick did some research and learned that early Thursday morning, a baby was left at the door of Our Lady of Sorrows, a rural parish between San Antonio and Laredo. The two priests at the parish didn’t call police, but drove the infant to a hospital in Laredo-in another county. The infant is being kept there while the police and Child Protective Services conduct their investigation.”

“Is this a Baby Moses case?” Different states called their laws different things, but Baby Moses in Texas meant that mothers could leave their infants at designated safe places without reprisal.

“No-the church isn’t a safe haven. There’s been some jurisdictional issues-the local police want to investigate because the baby was left in their jurisdiction, but the Webb County sheriff’s department is also investigating because the hospital is in their jurisdiction. Our office wasn’t notified or called.”

“What does this have to do with Siobhan Walsh and her arrest?”

“I don’t know yet. Once we have Walsh in our custody, we’ll find out if her arrest connects to the infant. She’ll have more answers, at any rate.” Noah glanced at her, then sped up to pass another driver. “Rick wants the FBI to work this case, which is why he didn’t call RCK to get Walsh out. But I sensed he was torn.”

“Rick isn’t someone torn over difficult decisions.”

“You’re right, so I want to get him answers today. I need someone who speaks fluent Spanish, which means you, Emilio, or Ryan. But you’re the only female on the squad who’s fluent, and we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

He didn’t need to explain that some victims much preferred talking with female agents, and Lucy was well trained in working with victims of sexual assault.

“If a woman left her baby at a church, she could have feared for her life and her baby,” Lucy said. “Perhaps trying to protect the baby from its father.”

“I was thinking something along those lines. Rick didn’t ask me to bring you along, but he implied you’d be the most helpful.”

“I appreciate his faith in me.”

“It’s not faith, Lucy. You earned it.”

She didn’t say anything.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Hardly.”

She didn’t want to talk about her place in the office, how awkward it had been over the last three months. She just wanted to do her job and do it well. When she’d first arrived in San Antonio, she felt like she fit in. She’d made friends on her squad, closed tough cases, and had immersed herself in the city.

She’d grown to love San Antonio and to think of it as her home. She and Sean had settled into their house, and while Sean hadn’t taken a regular job, he had enough freelance security assignments to keep him busy. And now they were planning their wedding… or, rather, Sean was planning it. He seemed to enjoy it, so she let him do most of the work-within reason. She didn’t want anything fancy or big, though considering they each had a large family, she couldn’t do much about the size of the wedding.

But now… nine months after moving here… she felt like she’d lost something. She knew why. People didn’t trust her. Not because they thought she was corrupt, but because they thought she was a magnet for trouble. Maybe she was. Trouble seemed to follow her. Maybe she went looking for it. Some people believed so.

She’d made mistakes-at least in the eyes of others. And on the nights she couldn’t sleep, she considered other ways she might have been able to do things. There were always options. But in the end, she had to accept that she’d broken rules-and perhaps, made mistakes-because someone was in trouble. She couldn’t sit back and watch a tragedy happen if she could stop it, even if that meant bending-or breaking-the rules.

It had taken her a long time to get to this point. She believed in the system, she believed in justice. But what happened when the system and justice didn’t align? Which was more important? The system that upheld justice but sometimes faltered or the idea that justice could always be obtained, though sometimes at a price?

“You’ve never walked an easy road,” Noah said after a minute. “I think you know that.”

“I do.”

They drove in silence awhile longer, but it was a comfortable silence. Noah said, “I received your wedding invitation over the weekend.”

“I hope you’re still in town at the end of October.”

“Not sure, but if not I’ll fly out. You deserve to be happy. You and Sean have made yourselves a nice life here.”

“We like it. I love my family, but this is the first time I’ve felt like I’m truly on my own.”

“I was an only child. I’ve always felt like I was on my own.”

He sounded a bit sad about it, but before Lucy could ask questions, his phone vibrated. He answered. “We’re almost in Freer,” Noah said. “Ten minutes or so.” He listened. “That’s serious. How-” He stopped talking, listened, then said, “I’ll talk to the priest first. But don’t you think-” He stopped again. “I understand. Can you send her file to Lucy? Thanks.” He hung up. “That was Rick.”

“You sound concerned.”

“Rick didn’t wait for us-truthfully, I wish he’d have let me handle this situation in person. Apparently he and Walsh have been friends for a long time.” He hesitated, as if he was going to say something else, then cleared his throat and said, “Anyway, he spoke to the sheriff after getting the runaround. Walsh was arrested for breaking and entering, assault on a peace officer, and resisting arrest. She’ll be arraigned at ten this morning.” It was just after eight now. “Rick tried to speak with her, but the sheriff said no, she had a public defender and would be allowed to make a call after her arraignment.”

“You sound-irritated.”

“Over and above that Rick just tipped our hand? He’s smarter than that.” Noah typed the address for Our Lady of Sorrows into his GPS. The computer shifted their route and gave them eighteen minutes to destination. “Rick wants to know what Walsh and the priest were doing last night-before she’s arraigned. I suspect he’s going to try to get the charges thrown out, though how he can do that I have no idea. Rick’s sending you information on Walsh.”

Lucy pulled out her phone. Rick’s email had just come through. She opened and scanned the file, giving Noah the highlights. “Siobhan Walsh, born in Chantilly, Virginia, to a US Marine Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Walsh and Iona O’Malley, of Galway, Ireland. Has a half brother, deceased, killed in action in Afghanistan. A half sister, Andrea Walsh, stationed at Quantico.” That named sounded familiar to Lucy, but she didn’t remember why. “Thirty-four, carries dual citizenship. US and Ireland.” She glanced up. “That’s unusual.”

“Her mother was an Irish citizen.”

She looked back at her phone. “Siobhan has an active US passport, most recently came in through San Antonio from Mexico City on Friday morning. She’s a freelance photojournalist, has sold photos to it appears every major newspaper and television network. Won several awards.”

“Rick said she was a big deal in that world, but focuses on missionary work.”

“She has an affiliation with the Sisters of Mercy, a group of religious social workers based outside Monterrey, Mexico, who primarily do missionary work in southern Mexico and Central America. Some dangerous areas, it seems.” Lucy scanned. “Most recently she had a series of articles in the New York Times Sunday edition about a village in Guatemala that the charity helped rebuild after an earthquake caused a mudslide that cut off the only road. Oh.”

“Oh, what?”

“She has a record-she’s been arrested twice for assaulting a law enforcement officer. Once in DC and once in Los Angeles. No details here. She was arrested for trespassing multiple times in three different states, got time served. In the last twelve months, she’s only been in the States for seven weeks. Her permanent address is in Chantilly, Virginia, in a house she co-owns with her half sister.”

Lucy put her phone down. “Siobhan grew up mostly in Mexico with her mother, who was a missionary for the Sisters of Mercy. She was a nurse, though there’s nothing that says she was also a nun-which is doubtful since she was married.” She paused. “Actually-there’s nothing in here that says her parents were married. That’s probably irrelevant. Anyway, when Siobhan was fourteen she moved to the States to go to school and live with her father, and a year later her mother died. No cause stated. That must have been so hard for her.”

“When did she return to Mexico?”

“It doesn’t say-she attended the University of Virginia for a year, then a school in Ireland for two years. She seems to do a lot of fund-raising work for the Sisters of Mercy, which originally started as a missionary group from Ireland that worked in several countries, but as their numbers shrank, they’re only active in Mexico.”

Noah glanced at his GPS and turned off the highway. Almost immediately the roads became bumpy. He slowed down. “Let’s see what the priest has to say and then make sure we’re at the courthouse before ten.”

Morning Mass had just ended when Noah and Lucy arrived at Our Lady of Sorrows. A young priest was in the vestibule, but according to the diocese website Father Peña was seventy-one.

They approached the priest and introduced themselves after the small group of parishoners left.

“You’re looking for Father Peña,” the priest said. “I’m Father Peter Mannion.” He motioned for them to follow him to the rectory behind the church. “Father Peña has been very concerned about the infant left here, but his actions-well, I don’t think he’s thought things through. He’s one of most honest, sincere priests I have met, and I fear he’s letting his emotions cloud his judgment.”

“How so?” Noah asked.

“I have faith that the authorities can handle the situation,” Father Peter said. “This is a poor church in a poor parish. Father is retired, he’s moving in January. I think he’s holding on a bit tightly.”

“How long has he been the parish priest here?” Lucy asked.

“Thirty-some years. His insight into the community has been valuable.” He stopped walking and gestured to a statue of Saint Elizabeth. “This is where the infant was left. Poor child. The doctor told us that she was less than a day old.”

“Why did you take her to the hospital directly instead of contacting the authorities?” Noah asked.

“Father Peña insisted-I asked why, he said he felt the child would be safer in Laredo at the children’s hospital there. That they could care for her needs better than our small county hospital.”

Reasonable, but there could be something more-especially since Father Peña had been in the community for so many years.

Peter led them up the stairs and opened the door. “May I get you anything?”

“No, thank you, we can’t stay long. We need to talk to Father Peña about Siobhan Walsh and what he can tell us about why she’s here.”

Father Peter opened his mouth, then closed it when he saw Father Peña enter the room.

“Sebastian, these people are from the FBI. Agents Armstrong and Kincaid.”

“Armstrong,” Sebastian said. “Yes, the gentleman I spoke with said you would be coming down. Please, let’s sit.”

“I need to return to the church and take care of a few things,” Peter said. He left, and Sebastian sighed and rubbed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“Is Siobhan okay?”

“She’s being arraigned this morning,” Noah said. “We need information, Father.”

“What would you like to know?”

“First, how do you and Ms. Walsh know each other?”

“Do you know about the infant?”

“Yes,” Noah said. “You found her early Thursday morning.”

Father nodded. “So small, so innocent. She was wrapped in a bloody shirt, not her blood. She didn’t have a mark on her…” His voice faded. “I gave everything to the hospital. Including the locket and the note.”

“A note?”

“Trust no one,” he quoted. “It was in blood, on the shirt she was wrapped in. And the locket was a picture of three girls-a woman, Siobhan, and two younger girls. The photo was old. But the back-it had Siobhan’s name and her number. It took me getting a magnifying glass before I could read the phone number. That’s how I knew to call her. But Father Peter insisted that I turn everything over to the hospital, and they gave everything to the police, I believe.”

“The police in Laredo?”

He nodded. “I’ve tried to get more information-and Siobhan tried all day Saturday-but there isn’t anything to get, I suppose.”

Noah said, “You were with Ms. Walsh last night?”

“No-she came to Mass yesterday morning, asked that I talk to the parishioners about the infant. One parishioner, Mrs. Hernandez, told me about several young women, all pregnant, living in a house across the street from her. I thought perhaps one was the mother of Elizabeth-”

“Elizabeth?” Noah asked.

“I-I called the infant Elizabeth. She was left under the statue of Saint Elizabeth, and it seemed fitting. No child should be born without a name. The locket had been left with the baby. Wait a moment.” He rose, left the room, and came back a few minutes later. “Siobhan gave me this flyer. She’d sent it to many churches in Texas, New Mexico, and south of the border. I hadn’t seen it, but this is the locket that was with the baby, and the photo that was inside.”

Lucy looked at the flyer. A photo of two young girls with a tall, curly redhead that had to be Siobhan was at the top; at the bottom was a photo of a locket with a Celtic cross.