Day 21 – Thursday morning, Fifth Day of Christmas
Forbes residence
At nine a.m. on the Fifth Day of Christmas, Fergus pushed open the door of Ginny’s office and stepped inside. She turned bleary eyes in his direction, then went back to work.
He studied her for a moment. Angus had asked him only to keep her safe, but he was beginning to think he could do more. Starting with those dark shadows under her eyes. He walked over and ran a hand down her back.
“Come on. Bedtime. You’ve done all you can here.”
She shook her head. “I’m missing something.”
“Well, your brain will work better if you get some sleep. Why don’t you try?”
She sighed heavily. “You’re right.” She stood up, pushing her chair back, and stumbled into his arms. He turned her toward the door, steered her down the hall, and made sure she entered her bedroom, wishing her a good sleep, then settling down in the chair he had positioned in the hallway, to think.
Ginny had chosen to trust Jim, but that didn’t make him trustworthy. Fergus knew his job too well to take anything at face value. His eyes narrowed. There had been a moment when he’d seen Ginny flinch. Jim’s response had been pain, then stoicism. Not satisfaction, not triumph. None of the usual marks of an abuser. But there was something there.
Fergus frowned to himself. He needed to know more. He pulled out his phone and sent a message to Angus. Within minutes he had an appointment to see the Laird. He rose, made his way downstairs and located Mrs. Forbes.
“I’m going over to Brochaber to talk to Angus. Ginny’s in bed and should sleep. Can you stay here and make sure she doesn’t leave?”
Sinia Forbes nodded. “School’s out for the Christmas holiday and I’ve got plenty of things to do around the house. Let me know when you get back.”
“Yes ma’am. Thank you.”
Fergus let himself out and headed toward the Laird’s residence. What he wanted was insight. What had Ginny meant when she said Jim had saved her life? Why was she afraid to confront him? And, if push came to shove, could Jim Mackenzie be counted on to have a man’s back?
* * *
Ginny lay on her bed and tried to shut her brain off, but it didn’t work. She’d been over those files a dozen times by now and could see them with her eyes closed. With Marjorie Hawkins exonerated of Phyllis’ murder, the most likely suspect was Grace Edmunds. And Grace was missing.
Detective Tran knew all of this, of course. Ginny had held nothing back, except about Fergus breaking into Grace’s house to make sure she wasn’t a corpse. When did suspicion become probable cause and license to violate a citizen’s privacy?
Because that’s all she had. Suspicion. And she’d been wrong before. Terribly wrong. Stupidly, devastatingly, get-Jim-killed wrong. She shivered at the memory.
With the dawn had come additional images from Detective Tran. The police had found Isaac’s stash of incriminating photographs. Tran had sent three showing Phyllis and Grace fighting under the bridge, two men in the background, watching. According to Tran, one was a known cartel drug dealer, currently enjoying the hospitality of the Dallas jail. They were working on identifying the man in the suit.
Ginny frowned to herself. It kept coming back to the cartel.
For most of her life, Ginny had heard the horror stories. No amount of law enforcement had stopped the river of drugs. The violence had ebbed and flowed like the sea, sometimes spilling over the border, leaving broken bodies strewn on the beachhead.
They—the cartel—had no conscience. They would protect themselves. They had just suffered a massive blow to the checkbook and would be like angry bees, looking for a target to vent their fury on. And Grace was missing.
If Grace had gone to the cartel to obtain black market drugs, then Grace knew too much. And she wasn’t the kind of customer they could frighten into silence, not a druggie herself. So, either she was a member of the cartel—which Ginny had trouble believing—or she was in very great danger of being killed for her guilty knowledge.
Ginny turned over restlessly. She hated lying here, not sleeping, worrying. Was there anything she could do to help in the search for Grace? Was there anything she knew that she hadn’t already shared with the police?
She hadn’t yet told Detective Tran about seeing Grace in the Christmas Pageant video. It probably didn’t mean anything. Someone’s child had insisted everyone come and watch her perform. The place had been seething with families and those working the event. Ginny paused. There was a thought. Maybe Grace wasn’t there as extended family. Maybe Mater Dolorosa was her home parish.
Churches had cultures, just like other organizations. If Dolorosa was Grace’s home church, she might be well-known to them. She might be staying with one of the parishioners. Hiding out with one of them. Was there anyone Ginny could ask?
She sat up abruptly and looked at the clock. Ten a.m. He should be in his office by now, or at least reachable by phone. She climbed out of bed, looked up the number and reached a secretary. Yes, but not over the phone. He could spare her fifteen minutes if she could be there by ten forty-five. She could.
Ginny put her shoes back on and grabbed her purse. The hallway was empty.
“Fergus?” She wasted five minutes hunting for him.
“Mother?” No answer. Where was everyone? Well, she didn’t have time to wait. Himself would just have to understand. She scribbled a quick note, posted it on the refrigerator, and headed for Mater Dolorosa.
* * *
Thursday midmorning
Mater Dolorosa
Ginny knocked on the office door and was invited in. Father Ignacio looked up from his work and smiled at her, then gestured at the chair.
“Just give me a minute to finish this.”
“Of course.” Ginny settled into the chair and waited until he set the paper aside and turned to her.
“Now. How may I help you?”
Ginny explained about her suspicions, that Grace had somehow made contact with the drug cartel and might be in trouble because of it.
“And why did you come to me?”
“Because I think she is a parishioner here.”
Father Ignacio raised one eyebrow. “Did she tell you that?”
Ginny shook her head. “No. I saw her on the video.” She explained about the Christmas pageant and the two boys.
“I see.” Father Ignacio studied her for a moment, then pushed a button on his desk, asking his secretary to send someone in to them. He turned back to Ginny. “Yes, she is one of my flock.” His brow furrowed. “She came to me, on Wednesday, for guidance.”
Ginny held her breath. Anything Grace had said was likely confidential and she could not expect a priest to break the seal of the confessional.
“She told me a child had died because of her actions.” He spread his hands. “Unfortunate, of course. But I gave her absolution and penance.” He leaned forward, his expression earnest. “Because she is a good woman and was trying to do the right thing.” He smiled at Ginny. “Just like you.”
The door opened and Ginny saw a well-dressed man in a business suit enter. He looked vaguely familiar.
“This is Raul Santiago. You may have seen him here before, on the day Maria Perez was taken by the federales. He is a lawyer.”
Ginny nodded. “Yes.” One shoulder higher than the other. Scoliosis. She had seen him three times before this one. The first time was here, in the corridor, the day she met Father Ignacio. The second time was in the sanctuary, where she had seen Father Ignacio introduced to this man as if they were strangers. But she’d been too far away to hear, so perhaps they had merely exchanged pleasantries.
The third time—
She froze. The third time she’d seen this man was this morning, in the photograph of Phyllis and Grace fighting. He’d been under the bridge, a smile on his face, standing in easy comradeship with the drug dealer as they both watched the two women indulge in a cat fight. He was with the cartel. And she’d missed it.
Ginny rose, stumbling over an excuse. “I don’t want to keep you. Thank you for your time. Anything you can think of. Goodbye.”
Father Ignacio’s smile widened. “I don’t know what an organization such as ours would do without the Good Samaritans of the world. So willing to fight for a cause.”
The door opened again and Ginny could smell something sweet.
Father Ignacio hadn’t bothered to rise. He was still smiling at her. A very self-satisfied smile. “And so trusting.”
Ginny sucked in a breath, understanding flooding her with sudden horror. “It was you! You arranged the attack on me, Christmas Eve.”
“I arranged the shooting, but you weren’t the target. You just weren’t that much of a nuisance, until now.”
She turned to run, but the two men between her and the door grabbed her, one of them pressing a cloth over her nose and mouth. Chloroform. Sometimes the old methods worked best and they wouldn’t care if they got the dose wrong.
She struggled, but it was no use. The room was swimming and she was cursing herself for making another mistake.
This time, she was the one who would die. Only fair, but what a stupid thing to do. She was still kicking her captors, and herself, when the room went black.
* * *
Thursday noon
Brochaber
“Jim? Jim! Where’s yer heid, lad?”
Jim pulled his attention back to the kitchen. “I’m not sure. What were you saying?” He had given up on sleep and come downstairs to find his grandfather and Fergus discussing him.
“I was tellin’ Fergus here aboot young Williams.”
Jim looked at the other man, wondering just how much he needed to know about that. It felt private. Something he and Ginny shared.
“I was asking,” Fergus said, “whether there could be a connection.”
Jim shook his head. “I don’t see how.” He found Fergus watching him. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were supposed to stay with Ginny?” Jim didn’t mean to sound so peevish, but there was definitely something wrong with him today. Other than fatigue.
“Sinia’s on guard, lad. She’ll no let Ginny come tae harm.”
Jim looked at his grandfather, wishing he believed that Ginny’s mother could handle whatever the cartel decided to throw her way. “I think I’ll check on her.”
“Let her sleep.”
Jim met Fergus’ eyes, then dialed Mrs. Forbes.
“She’s here. She’s in her bedroom.”
“Are you sure? Would you go look, please?” Jim was feeling more and more uncomfortable. There was a pause during which Jim endured the increasingly skeptical gazes of both his grandfather and Cousin Fergus.
Sinia came back on the line. “You were right, Jim. She left a note. She’s gone to see Father Ignacio.”
Jim felt his gut clench. “Do you know what it was about?”
“That co-worker of hers who’s missing, Grace Edmunds.”
“Why did Ginny think he’d know anything?”
“The missing woman showed up in the recording of the Christmas Pageant. I think she was hoping someone at the church could provide a lead. I don’t know how she got past me. Please tell Fergus I’m sorry.”
“I will.” Jim hung up the phone. “She’s gone to the Roman Catholic church, to see Father Ignacio.”
Fergus rose from his chair. “I’ll follow her.”
Jim was struggling, hard, his mind and his emotions locked in mortal combat. “Wait.” Both of the other men looked at him. “Wait a minute. There’s something I’m trying to remember, something important.”
“You can tell me later,” Fergus said.
“WAIT!”
Fergus turned, startled, then looked at Angus. The Laird was frowning at Jim, his sharp eyes riveted on his grandson. “Wait a bit, Fergus, ’til we ken wha’s goin’ on here.”
A tiny proportion, maybe two percent, of Jim’s brain was paying attention to Fergus. The rest was working on his problem. He didn’t know anything, not really, it was just that he had a really bad feeling.
The minute the words formed in his brain, Jim realized what was happening. It felt just as it had the night he flew to Austin. She’d been fine that time. Safe, just out of reach. She was safe now, he told himself. It wasn’t real, he told himself. That wasn’t even how the Sight worked, he told himself. But—
He grabbed his phone and dialed DeSoto. “What was the code name you got out of Luis’ father, the one that was supposed to be the head of the organization up here?”
“The Bishop.”
Jim let loose a very bad word. “Get your people together. I know who the head man is.”
“Who? How?”
Jim ignored him. “No sirens. I’ll meet you at the little park across the street from Mater Dolorosa. Fast as you can.”
“Mackenzie! Report!”
“Ginny went in alone, to talk to Father Ignacio.” Jim saw his grandfather’s eyes register comprehension.
“Fifteen minutes.”
Jim hung up the phone and looked at the other two. “Maria Perez and Grace Edmunds,” he explained, “both go missing and the thing—the person—they have in common is Father Ignacio.”
The Laird turned to Fergus. “Go, lad. Hurry.”
“I’m coming with you,” Jim said.
Fergus didn’t even pause, just threw the words back over his shoulder. “Come on, then. But if you slow me down, I’ll leave you behind.”
* * *