26

When Ali finished in the restroom and staggered back out to the waiting room, Leland was sitting up on his sofa with Ali’s cell phone clutched in one hand. His white hair stood on end, reminding Ali of that iconic photo of Albert Einstein, but she was too heartsick to mention it.

Seeing what must have been a desolate expression on her face, he immediately pushed himself to his feet and hobbled across the room to hand over her phone. “Madame,” he said, taking her arm to lead her back to the love seat. “Whatever is the matter? Are you ill?”

“I am,” Ali said. “I’ll tell you in a minute. First I need to call Kate back.”

She redialed the number. “What happened?” Kate asked. “It sounded like you dropped the phone.”

“I did drop the phone,” Ali said. “I had to. I was about to barf my guts out. The whole idea makes me sick to my stomach. How do you do what you do?”

“It’s not easy,” Kate replied. “And you’re not alone in being disgusted by this. I’ve already been in touch with my contact at Interpol. His name’s Sean Fergus, and he’s part of their international Human Trafficking Division. I told him what I found, and I’m sending copies of the DNA profiles directly to him. Of course, he wanted more details. Since I didn’t have any, I referred him to you. I’m sure he’ll be in touch, probably later today. You need to be prepared, Ali,” she cautioned. “There may be more near matches waiting out there.”

Ali thought about the names in Richard Lowell’s family Bible, the ones Sister Anselm mentioned that had been crossed out and designated with the initials N.C. The name of Richard Lowell’s deceased wife, Anne, had been whited out of the list, but Ali now suspected that the N.C. notation represented a fate that was infinitely worse.

“You’re right about that,” Ali said. “I suspect those two victims may be just the tip of the iceberg.”

“That was Kate Benchley on the phone?” Leland asked when Ali ended the call. “The young woman who did the DNA testing in my father’s homicide when we were in the UK?”

“That’s the one,” Ali answered. “Sister Anselm obtained DNA samples from both Enid and her baby. We sent them to Kate in hopes that there would be some way of matching their profiles with ones from an unidentified mother and child who were murdered near Kingman years ago. Instead, we’ve found matches to two near relatives, young girls, whose unidentified bodies have been found years apart and half a world away. Kate thinks we’ve stumbled into some kind of international human trafficking organization.”

“Oh my,” Leland said. “And that Lowell person who was here earlier—you think he has something to do with it?”

“There’s a good chance he’s the person in charge.”

During Ali’s phone call, Leland had resumed his seat. Now he stood back up and paced back and forth. “If I’d had any idea,” he said, brandishing his cane, “I’d have given that man a good thrashing on the spot!”

Sister Anselm returned and looked anxiously back and forth between them. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Has something happened?”

Ali gave her a condensed version of Kate Benchley’s call. With an ashen face, Sister Anselm sank into the nearest chair. “What do we do now?” she asked.

“Kate says someone from Interpol, an agent who deals with human trafficking, will be in touch later today,” Ali answered. “I guess we’ll see what kind of suggestions he has to offer.”

Sister Anselm rose to her feet. “I tried to convince Mr. Upton to go home, but he was adamant. Since he’s still in the room with Enid and the baby, I believe I’ll go down to the chapel and pray for direction.”

The nun was almost to the elevator when her phone rang. She listened for a moment. “I’m sure that’s fine,” she said. Hanging up, she turned back to Ali and Leland.

“That was the hospital administrator. An expectant mother and father just showed up downstairs. Their doctor is demanding access to the maternity floor. The administrator has been forced to declare the crisis over and is in the process of reopening the maternity floor. He’s also lobbying for Enid’s safety and for the well-being of other patients and staff that she and the baby be transferred to another facility without delay.”

“Are they up to being moved?” Ali asked.

“Possibly,” Sister Anselm said. “I’ve spoken to their doctors and suggested the possibility of taking them by air ambulance to Physicians Medical Center in Tucson. If need be, once Enid and the baby are well enough to leave the hospital, they can stay with my friends at the All Saints Convent until it’s safe for them to return to this area.”

Recalling the time Ali had seen the nuns from All Saints in action, she knew that Enid and the baby would be in good hands at the convent.

“Also,” Sister Anselm continued, “additional security personnel have been authorized for the remainder of the night, so if you two want to go back to Sedona . . .”

“Absolutely not.” Leland sat back down and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not leaving. If’s there’s even the smallest chance that either one of those vile men or some of their associates might return, I intend to be here to greet them in an entirely suitable fashion.”

Despite everything, Ali couldn’t help smiling at that. When it came to being in a tight spot, Leland Brooks was always a good guy to have around.

“If he’s not leaving, neither am I,” Ali added.

Resigned, Sister Anselm nodded. “Somehow I already knew that’s what both of you would say.”

27

Still churning over what she had learned from Kate Benchley, Ali didn’t doze off until sometime in the wee hours. When she awakened, the first face she saw was B.’s. Standing over her and shaking her shoulder, he held out her phone.

“Call for you,” he said. “A guy who claims he’s from Interpol is asking to speak to you.”

In his years of running what had become a global cybersecurity company, B. Simpson himself was accustomed to dealing with Interpol, but he was clearly puzzled about why someone from that agency would ask for his wife.

Ali took the phone in hand. “Ali Reynolds,” she said, trying to sound as though she hadn’t just awakened out of a sound sleep. While she had slept, the room around her had changed. The security screen on the nursery was no longer closed. Two new fathers had been added to the mix. Nurses were back on the floor, and Leland Brooks was nowhere to be seen.

“Sean Fergus here,” the caller said. “Sorry to call so early, but this is a matter of some urgency. When Kate Benchley sent over those two profiles last night, it set alarm bells ringing. We have DNA profiles that are similar but not an exact match from over a dozen victims, scattered around the globe. Some of those come from crime scene evidence and autopsies dating back as long ago as the late seventies. Those samples predate DNA profiling and have only recently been brought out of storage to be processed. In other words, there may be more that have yet to be processed. Some of the girls may well be alive, and there may be more dead victims whose bodies have never surfaced. What we do know is this: None of these profiles match up with those of any known missing persons.”

“That’s because they were never reported as missing,” Ali told him. “Just a moment. I’ll need to go into another room to discuss this further.”