“They wanted to get rid of me. Their answers were short and clipped. I have all the details-how Ivy Harris pulled Amy off the streets and got her off drugs, how she wouldn’t let Amy turn tricks anymore as a condition of living in the house. You’d think this girl was a saint the way Amy and even the mother talked about her.”
“Did they deny she was a prostitute?” Kate asked.
“No, they were very upfront about that. And I pushed a bit, and Amy admitted that Ivy was volatile. She had no tolerance for drugs, and when she caught one of the other girls using she tossed the house completely until she found every hidden pill, every hidden bottle of alcohol, and tossed everything down the sink. But in the process, she broke a few things, and Amy said the rampage had scared her. Part of that, I think, was that some of the hidden drugs were hers, though she didn’t explicitly say.”
“Did she have any specific information about the other girls in the house?”
“That’s when she clammed up. She was upset about the murders-very upset-but didn’t want to talk about the other girls. I have names-first names, anyway-Mina, Kerry, and Bryn.”
Lucy wrote them down. She said, “Did she have any idea where they might have gone after the fire? Has she been in contact with them since she left DC?”
“You jumped to the end of my story!” Rachel said. “Yes, she was in contact with Kerry, and get this-Kerry showed up at Amy’s house late Tuesday night.”
“You didn’t leave her there, did you?” Lucy asked. “She could bolt.”
“That’s why I’m sitting in my car outside of the house calling you guys. When I was talking to Amy, I asked about Hannah or Sara Edmonds, and Kerry came out of the kitchen, where she had apparently overheard everything I had said. She was freaked. Wanted to know how we found out. At first I thought it was a big scam-she wasn’t at all concerned about her culpability in leaving the arson fire, but was very concerned about Ivy’s safety. She has no identification and refuses to tell me her last name or where she’s from. Says she’s nineteen and met Ivy three years ago, before they moved into the house on Hawthorne. They were both working the streets. I asked her about Wendy James, she said that Wendy and Ivy knew each other and had a big falling-out. She definitely knows more, but she’s hedging. I think she’s going to bolt, not from us, but to go back to DC and help her friend.”
“Does she know that someone is killing her friends?” Kate said. “That she could be in deeper trouble here?”
“Yes. Amy’s mother doesn’t want her to go. When I asked how Kerry ended up in Richmond, the mom said she called, told Amy what happened, and Amy invited her to come down. The mom says Ivy saved Amy’s life, she wanted to help. But Kerry hasn’t been able to reach Ivy, and she’s been on edge.”
“I need to talk to her,” Lucy said. Then she glanced at Kate, realizing she’d probably overstepped again.
“We need to bring her back to DC,” Kate said. “Protective custody. If she doesn’t come voluntarily, arrest her.”
“On what grounds?”
“Obstruction of justice.”
“Can I talk to her first?” Lucy asked Kate. “She has info we need
Kate didn’t say anything for a minute.
Rachel said, “You still there?”
“Yes,” Kate said. “I’m thinking. Okay, go back to the door and ask if she’s willing to talk to us. I’ll assess the conversation and decide if we should bring her up. Call us back as soon as she agrees.”
“Got it.”
Rachel hung up. Lucy said, “If she knows Wendy and Ivy, and has lived with Ivy for three years, what do you bet she knows exactly what they were up to?”
“I’m sure you’re right, but we’re in no position to offer immunity.”
“She wants to help Ivy-she’ll talk to us.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Lucy grabbed her own cell phone, then before dialing realized she should run her idea by Kate first. “I want to call Hans and ask him to listen in. He’ll be able to assess the situation impartially.”
“Is what Noah said about you being biased still bothering you?”
“It doesn’t bother me,” she lied.
“You are a shitty liar, Lucy.”
“I don’t want anything tainting this case. Hans is the best.”
“Call him. I’ll fill Noah in.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The attic room above the rectory was cool when Ivy climbed in through the window Father Paul had left unlatched for her. The heat wave might not have broken, but it had cracked enough that the evening was pleasant.
Sara was sleeping in the twin bed, curled into a ball, the blankets pulled around her neck. Ivy watched her sister, her heart overflowing with unconditional love.
She’d been ill-equipped to protect Sara from their father, but Ivy hoped she’d been spared the worst. Sara hadn’t talked about what happened in any detail. She didn’t have to.
Ivy had lived it.
Marti had come through. Their IDs would be ready in the morning. It would take everything Ivy had stolen from Mrs. Neel, but Marti was even giving her a car to get to the border.
She retrieved a sleeping bag from the corner and unrolled it on the hardwood floor.
“Ivy?” Sara whispered.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You didn’t. Sit with me.”
Ivy climbed onto the twin bed and sat up, her back against the wall. Sara turned on the small lamp next to the bed and leaned against her. Ivy played with the ends of her hair like she used to do when Sara was little. “I like Father Paul.”
“Me, too.”
“Why can’t we live here?”
“You know why. Other than the rules Father Paul is breaking just letting us stay here, eventually our father will find us. We need to disappear. I have some money, not a lot, but enough to get us into Canada.”
Sara didn’t say anything for so long, Ivy thought she’d fallen asleep. Ivy was drifting off herself when Sara whispered, “He started calling me Hannah.”
Ivy was instantly awake, her eyes open, glancing around the room almost expecting to find him here.
But her father wasn’t here. Not yet, anyway. He was in his fortress near the Pennsylvania border.
He would come, though. The FBI agent had talked to him, because that was the only way he could have known that Ivy had been diagnosed mentally ill.
Diagnosed by a quack doctor who lived on the mountain with her father and his followers. The same doctor who had given her drugs to make her compliant. So she couldn’t fight her father when she turned fourteen and took her rightful place in his bed.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out sooner,” Ivy said, her voice cracking.
“I knew you would come. You promised you would be back, and you came.” She took Ivy’s hand. “I didn’t believe you until it happened. I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Sara. You thought I was dead. I know what you were feeling, thinking. How could such a kind, wonderful man who picked wildflowers with me hurt me?” Ivy stopped before she made herself physically ill. Their father was a master at selling the act to the world both inside and outside the fortress. When she was a little girl, before their mother died, he made her believe they were special. That dreams could come true. That they lived in a fairy tale, in a castle, where God loved them best, where their daddy worked for God, saving people, helping them get to heaven. A dream where hope lived, all was good, and all good came from their daddy because he was
