“I’m glad you waited for us,” Lucy said. “I don’t think it would be as easy to bail you out of jail again.” She was trying to make light of the situation, but the humor fell flat.
“I need to find them,” Siobhan said. “I went to the hospital to sit with Baby Elizabeth after talking to Noah. I had to do something—how could these people steal a woman’s baby? Why? And why didn’t Mari call me?”
“We’ll find out when we find her,” Lucy said.
Nate glanced at her. She knew what he was thinking. She wasn’t normally optimistic—she faced reality head-on. Maybe she just wanted to believe Marisol was alive. But the chances were, if she had gone back for her sister, Marisol was now dead. That’s how these people operated—any disobedience had to be punished to set an example to others.
Loretta lived outside Laredo in a small town with easy access to the highway. They climbed out of the car, and Siobhan frowned at Nate and Lucy.
“You guys are going to scare her off,” Siobhan said. “Please, let me talk to her first.”
“You’re not going in there alone,” Nate said.
Lucy agreed. “Siobhan—this is an active federal investigation. You’re not interviewing this witness. We’re letting you come because you have information and you know these girls. But this is our investigation.”
Nate said, “Lucy, you got this, I’ll keep an eye out here. Watch the house, make sure this Loretta doesn’t bolt.”
Thank you, she mouthed and walked up the short walkway to Loretta’s front door. They knocked and waited. Knocked again.
“What if she’s not home?” Siobhan said.
“She’s home.” Lucy had already seen her car through the single garage window. She also heard a television inside. She listened carefully and heard movement inside.
It still took Loretta Martinez a full two minutes before she opened the door. She was in no condition to run. Her right arm was in a sling and the side of her face was bruised. By the coloring, Lucy suspected the injuries were five to seven days old. Someone had beaten up this old woman. She was in her sixties, plump, but had a sallow look of someone who didn’t feel well. She panicked when she saw them, her eyes darting back and forth, though confusion crossed her expression.
“What happened?” Siobhan said, instantly concerned. “Ms. Martinez, did someone hurt you?”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’m Siobhan Walsh. I volunteer with the Sisters of Mercy.”
“Who?”
“They’re a religious order of missionaries in Mexico and Central America. Two young women I know were kidnapped two years ago and I think you’ve seen them. I need your help.”
“You’re not a nun,” she said with a scowl. “You’re lying to me.” She looked at Lucy. “You look like a cop.”
“FBI Special Agent Lucy Kincaid.” She showed her identification.
Siobhan said, “I’m not a nun, but I’m not lying. I really am a volunteer for the Sisters of Mercy. Marisol and Ana. I need to find them.”
“I can’t help you.” She started to close the door.
Lucy put her foot in the opening. “Ms. Martinez, you want to help us.”
“You’re a cop, you can’t come in here. That’s breaking and entering, I mean, illegal search and seizure.” She frowned, as if she couldn’t quite think of the words she wanted. “What do you really want?”
Lucy said, “You need to talk to us before anyone else dies.”
“Dies? What?”
“The girl with preeclampsia is dead—”
“Eloise,” Siobhan interrupted. “Her name was Eloise.”
Loretta definitely recognized the name. Lucy continued, “You had access to Eloise and had the medical experience necessary to perform an emergency C-section.”
“Oh God—”
Siobhan said, “Someone killed her after taking her baby.”
“I—I—” She looked faint and Lucy stepped in and put her arm around her. The woman, though plump, felt soft and weak. She tried to pull away from Lucy but had no strength.
“Have you seen a doctor?” Lucy asked.
“I’m a nurse,” Loretta snapped.
Siobhan entered and closed the door behind them. The house smelled of antiseptics and medicine and illness. It was also much too hot.
Lucy helped Loretta to a couch in the living room. She covered her with an afghan. Water bottles and pain pills overflowed on the coffee table. The woman took a pill, her hands shaking so badly that she could barely bring the bottle of water to her lips. Lucy suspected she’d diagnosed herself. “You’re far worse off than you want to believe.” She assessed her. “This happened about a week ago, didn’t it?”
“I fell.”
“That’s what abused women say.”
“I’m not an abused woman!”
“I think whoever you work for beat you.” Lucy mentally did the math. It was an educated guess—but she was certain she was right. “One of the girls escaped with her baby, and you were punished for it.”
Loretta couldn’t hide her shock that Lucy knew.