Joule stood once again in the open desert. Though her car was nearby, and she was experiencing the urge to simply flee, she couldn’t. So, she stayed in the last place she wished to be.
She'd half expected to be here with the entire crew from HST, but surprisingly, that wasn't who was beside her. Gisela, Amber, and Brooklyn had turned up, having done their part to put together Sarah’s timeline already, they’d headed straight here.
In fact, they’d called Joule almost the second Dr. Murasawa had hung up. They’d all decided that—given the women’s specialties—they were far more useful out here than at the job site. Those still with the boss were reconstructing a timeline, overtaking the computers, and attempting to crack some satellites.
McQueeny had told Dr. Murasawa outright, “I can't authorize this.” To which the professor had said, “You aren't authorizing it. I am. But if I give you the information, you can use it?”
“I don't know.” At least he’d been honest, but Joule had felt her heart sink, until Jacob added, “But if you give it to Joule or to Malcolm . . .”
“On it!” Dr. Murasawa had said.
Now Joule was waiting to hear if they’d found anything, though at this point it had barely been an hour.
McQueeny had told them to eat and then gathered this little ragtag band out in the desert.
As she stood there waiting for instructions, Joule watched another car pull up. The driver, the older redhead from the pictures had with her a woman who looked remarkably like her. These could only be McQueeny's mother and sister, called in to help officer Jacob on his way to the FBI.
As long as her brother and Aurora and Sarah were found in the process, Joule found she didn't much care.
As the women got out and Joule got a better look, she realized they were exactly who she thought. Jacob stepped forward, offering a “hey mom” and a quick hug, but as he turned to introduce them the younger one stepped forward.
“Kathryn McQueeny,” she held out her hand, shaking Joule’s hand first, and then Malcolm's as if she already understood that these two were the major players in this horrific little game. Waiting politely behind her for an opening, the mother did much the same, though slightly less forcefully.
“Maeve McQueeny, former ATF.”
“She says former,” Jacob told them, “but she retired only two years ago and she still works full time for them. They keep calling her in to freelance on cases. So, she is as current with cases in the area as she can be.”
Malcolm’s brows were pulling together, his mouth tightening at the edges, “Why do we need ATF?”
He was right. All the help was great, Joule thought. But she could understand Malcolm wondering about the ATF and DEA. Then again, he hadn’t seen what was under the rock. Whatever it was had been wrapped in plastic and Joule knew that couldn’t be good.
“One,” Jacob told them, addressing the entire group like a teacher or a scout leader. His hands were up, gesturing as he spoke. “She's worked a lot of cases out here in the desert. She's an excellent tracker. So is Kathryn. Two—before we got the calls and everything started moving, which is great by the way, I told Joule and Malcolm that I think I know what Sarah was volunteering for.”
“She sure wasn’t with the Y,” Malcolm huffed, for once, seeming irritated at his daughter for her lies.
Jacob nodded at him. “Given that Gretchen Mueller recognized her—.”
“Gretchen Mueller?” Maeve McQueeny interrupted.
Jacob turned to his mother. “Yes.”
“I arrested Gretchen Mueller on more than one occasion.”
“Did she serve time?” Joule asked.
“No. We always found a way to let her off.”
What? They found a way to let her off? Joule couldn't quite process that. Her face must have showed how confused she was, because Maeve answered.
“She was with an illegal organization trying to cover the area here.” She waved her hand out into the desert where three people had recently disappeared and broken Joule’s heart. “—to leave water and provide safety for immigrants illegally crossing the border.”
Was Sarah doing that?
But Maeve was still going. “The group, loosely an organization—just enough of one to collect donations of clothing and food and money—they provide clothes, occasionally safe houses, and water and supplies.”
Holy shit. Joule thought. “You think that's what Sarah was doing?”
“I’d guess so. It matches where her cell phone pings.” Jacob must have sent his mother the records. “I don't know how she got involved with it, but yes.”
“Salvador Torres!” Malcolm muttered and he was right. That would be the obvious choice. The man lived in the same apartment building and one of them had befriended the other somewhere along the way.
Joule wondered if the migrants had somehow taken Sarah, then her brother and Mrs. Walker. She clung to it, thinking she could still find them all then, that the three might be alive and okay, even though that line of reasoning made no sense. Why would someone just trying to get to a better life do something like that? So, she asked her next reasonable question.
“You said that you found ways to let Gretchen Mueller go each time she was arrested?”
It was Kathryn who stepped in then. “There's a hard line between the morality and the law. A lot of people completely disagree with the illegal immigration that happens through here.”
That was really difficult to distinguish, Joule thought. She struggled to tell what Kathryn’s opinion was given the expression on her face. She was excellent at just stating facts. Then again, her brother had already told them that she was a professor at the university.
“But regardless of their stance on the act of crossing, many people still cannot handle the immorality of leaving people in the desert to die, bad choices or not.” She paused and her expression turned grim. “The problem is the migrants are only a small fraction of what's out there.”
Gisela spoke up, maybe a little worried for herself for the first time. “I don't understand. What kinds of things are out here besides people?”
“Well,” Kathryn said, “I think the easiest way to put it is that my mother is with the ATF. And she's intimately familiar with what travels here.”