Chapter Forty-One
“Time of death, 0918,” the pediatric intensivist said. The team treating the tiny abandoned baby stood around the crib in silence. The infant succumbed to the measles.
Tuck pulled his scrub cap free and said a silent prayer. Others on the team blotted tears. They all took the loss personally.
“Everyone take fifteen minutes. I wish I could give you more, but we have other little ones who need our care,” the intensivist said, her own tears drying on her cheeks.
Tuck stepped from the unit and headed outside. Quickly he dialed a number. “Change in plans…he’s gone…918.” Ending the call, he sat on a bench and put his head in his hands.
* * *
Troy and Gwen sat in silence in the pancake house’s parking lot. Kip had called them with the news. “You okay?” Troy asked her.
“Yeah, we need to keep moving,” she said.
“We can take another minute or two.” He couldn’t resist his instincts and reached for her hand. “This is a shit case, and I put you in an unfair place. With the baby gone, we can start fighting at some of the area’s fine eating establishments.”
“I’m good, really.” She shifted the car into gear. “Shepherdstown, here we come.”
They arrived at the Senior Center. Cynthia Plummer, the administrator who knew Eleanor and Belinda, still worked there. “My gosh, sixteen years ago. I could never forget them,” Cynthia exclaimed.
“Can you tell us what they were like?” Gwen asked.
Cynthia smiled. “Two beautiful girls. And though they were identical, they couldn’t be more different. Belinda was the disciplinarian. She seemed annoyed by Eleanor’s love of life. Belinda liked the status quo. She was furious when Eleanor told me what their parents were doing. Eleanor saw it as her way out. She dreamed of a world beyond the mountains, even if she’d never heard of the internet before. Belinda saw Eleanor as a danger.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why, after all these years, are you asking questions? Did something more happen?”
“More?” Troy asked.
“It was such a tragedy. The parents and their fellow militia folks, or whatever you want to call them, disappeared in the night. When Mr. Forsyth and another agent from the FBI returned three days later to talk to Eleanor, I told them the girls never showed up again after his last visit. They ran out of here like their feet were on fire. The sheriff said they found Eleanor almost dead, and Belinda was asleep in her bed.”
* * *
Wes parked in front of the West home. He instructed the tail car to park down the street away from the cul du sac so they wouldn’t stand out. The memory of making love to Eleanor flooded back, but his gut was still turning from his conversation with Belinda’s former colleague. The supervisor told him Belinda was terminated three days before the kidnapping for theft of supplies and drugs.
“It was odd,” she said. “Belinda didn’t take narcotics. She was caught taking Pitocin, clomiphene, metformin and other drugs for women trying to conceive and to start and stop a labor. We didn’t pursue the charges. The hospital wanted to keep a low profile.”
Wes knocked on the first neighbor’s door. A man in his sixties answered. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Wes Crockett from the Department of Homeland Security.” He flashed his badge and identification. “I was wondering if you could answer some questions about the West girls.”
“Why don’t you ask Belinda? She went inside a few minutes ago,” the man said.
Looking between the neighbor and the West’s door, he said, “Thank you.”
Wes ran back to the green door fronting the house. Drawing his gun, he turned the knob with his left hand. The door was unlocked. Expecting the beep of the alarm, he was greeted by silence. Pressing his back to the wall, he moved quietly through the main floor. Finding no sign of anyone, he proceeded up the flight of stairs.
A sound drew his attention at the end of the hall. Cautiously, he reached Eleanor’s bedroom door. Opening it, his breath caught. He was staring at the spitting image of Eleanor, with one exception, this woman’s eyes were darkened with intent.
“Belinda, freeze. Hands where I can see them,” he commanded.
She laughed as she held up her hands. “I guess I shouldn’t try to fool you.”
“No. Get on your knees.” Wes moved closer.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
A chill went down his spine at the sound of her voice. “Belinda, you don’t want to do this the hard way.” His left hand tapped the emergency notification on his phone.
“I think it’s you who doesn’t want it the hard way.”
Wes frowned. “Answer me this: why?” He moved to close space on her. Instead, out of corner of his eye, he saw a shadow right before a blow across his shoulders dropped him to his knees.
