two, and, well shit, he was married to their other daughter. He sure’s hell wasn’t lily white in all that.”
“Nobody knew who the father was. Well, not the parents and the rest of the family at least. Just Maggie, her sister, and Shamus were privy to that.”
“Bet ol’ Mags was pissed.”
“Yeah, and I get the feeling she still is to an extent. Or, harboring some resentment at the very least. But she stayed with him. I don’t know why, and I didn’t ask.”
“Yeah, prob’ly a good idea ta’ leave that one alone. So, anyway, why didn’t the sister just get an abortion?”
“I asked the same thing and got a bit of a history lesson,” I explained. “This all happened in nineteen seventy-two. Roe v. Wade wasn’t decided until seventy-three, so it would have been a back alley deal. But, even so, her parents found out before she could make those arrangements, and they wouldn’t allow it.”
“Jeezus fuckin’ christ, seventy-two…” He paused at the other end, and I heard him mumbling to himself. “Seventy-two…oh-five…” A moment later he directed himself back to me. “Shit, Row, wouldn’t she have been in like ‘er early twenties or somethin’? Couldn’t she make ‘er own goddamn decisions? I mean, the abortion thing maybe not such a good idea, but how could they force her to give up the kid?”
“Yes, she was in her twenties, but it was a different time, and her family was from a different culture, Ben. You’d be amazed at the power parents sometimes hold over their children.”
“Yeah, well someone needs ta’ tell that ta’ mine, the little shit.”
“Like I said, it was a different time.”
“Yeah, ‘pparently. So no one knows what happened to ‘er? The kid I mean.”
“All Maggie knew was what her sister told her. The baby was healthy and female.”
“What about hospital records? Where’d she give birth?”
“She wasn’t at a hospital. She gave birth at a convent or something of that sort, and the baby went straight into a Catholic orphanage. Her parents had made the arrangements and wouldn’t give any information to the rest of the family.”
“Pretty fuckin’ cold if ya’ ask me.”
“I agree, but that doesn’t help us now.”
“Any idea which convent or orphanage?”
“No, only that it was out of state.”
“Great. And, you said her sister is dead, so she can’t even give us a clue.”
“Yeah. She committed suicide something like eight months later.”
“So can ya’ like do a seance or somethin’? Twilight Zone out and have a chat with ‘er?”
“You know it doesn’t work like that.”
“Well, I gotta ask.”
“Yeah, I know. You always do.”
“Shit!” he suddenly exclaimed. “So at least tell me the old farts are still alive, so we can go knock their heads together and see if the address falls out on the table.”
“Unfortunately, her father died almost three years ago, and judging from what Maggie told me, he pretty much ruled the family, so I’m sure he’s the one who made the arrangements. Her mother is still alive, and she might know something of use, but getting to it is a different story. She’s in a nursing facility suffering from severe dementia. According to Maggie, she doesn’t even recognize her when she visits. She thinks she’s an old playmate from school back in Ireland.”
“Fuckin’ wunnerful,” he huffed. “We might have to give it a go anyway. So, any other line on where we could get some info?”
“Well, Maggie’s mom didn’t really end up completely losing it until about a year ago. According to her, they still have a lot of her stuff in storage, and she hasn’t been through all of the paperwork her father had squirreled away quite yet. She’s hoping there might be something in all of that.”
“She’s hopin’? So she’s willin’ to cooperate?”
“She is, but I don’t know what Shamus’s reaction is going to be.”
“Well, ya’know I’m gonna have ta’ take this to the lead investigator with the MCS since I’m not assigned. They might decide to jump on a warrant if they even think there’s gonna be a problem with cooperation.”
“Yeah, I know. Just try to make sure my wife’s name isn’t on it this time.”
“Ouch. You ever gonna get off my ass about that, white man?”
“Eventually, Kemosabe. But not just yet. Maybe after this is all over. Just view it as an incentive.”
“Yeah, fuckin’ great. Just what I need, the Rowan Gant incentive program.”
“Well, you know I’m not going to apologize. Right now I’m still feeling a bit desperate, and I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Yeah, I understand, Row. Don’t worry, we’re gonna find ‘er. I just don’t know how yet.”
“Do you think Constance could help? The FBI might have some more pull.”
“Yeah, well she’s already on ‘er way here. We were gonna see what we could scrounge up since dinner got cancelled. Prob’ly gonna hit the Chinese place down on the corner. They never close.”
“Sorry. I will apologize for screwing up your holiday.”
“Don’t worry about it. Helen’s dressin’ is always too dry anyway. But, don’t tell ‘er I said that.”
“I’ll keep it between us.”
“So listen, I’ll fill Constance in on everything and see what she says. But, if it’s a convent, who the fuck knows? Might make it even harder gettin’ what we need by havin’ the feebs in the middle of it.”
“Well, I’ll leave that up to you.”
“‘Bout time. I been tryin’ to get ya’ ta’ let us handle the shit for a while now.”
“Well, you’re in luck this time because I’ve got something else to take care of at this point.”
“Yeah, your wife.”
“Her too.”
He was quiet for a moment as he digested my answer then finally said, “Row, what are you plannin’?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Row…”
“Trust me, Ben,” I said. “You worry about this side of the veil, I’ll deal with the other.”
“Jeezus…” he mumbled. “This got somethin’ ta’ do with that Voodoo stuff?”
“Like I said, you don’t want to know.”
“Dammit, Row, you also said ‘trust me’, and I learned a long time ago that when that’s the first thing outta someone’s mouth, then don’t.”
“Yeah, well I think you’re going to have to make an exception to that rule this go around.”
“Don’t go doin’ anything stupid, white man.”
“You know me better than that.”
“Yeah, I do, and that’s ‘zactly why I said it.”
Tuesday, November 29
11:17 A.M.
Saint Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 32:
“Good morning, Judy,” I called out as I came through the doors and started across the lobby toward the main desk at the hospital. I was trying to remain pleasant, which was a struggle considering where I was and why I was here.
“Good morning,” she answered, giving me a wave.
Helen had quashed my original plan of more or less camping out and working from the hospital before it had even been put into action. I wasn’t happy about it and had even argued with her for the better part of a day. In the end, however, she had convinced me that it would be in my wife’s best interest if she could concentrate on herself
