“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 Pe?a was seventy-one.
They approached the priest and introduced themselves after the small group of parishoners left.
“You’re looking for Father Pe?a,” the priest said. “I’m Father Peter Mannion.” He motioned for them to follow him to the rectory behind the church. “Father Pe?a 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 Pe?a 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 Pe?a 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 Pe?a 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 Pe?a 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.