She reached inside and pulled the purse so its open top was aligned with the top of the evidence bag. Looking inside, she could see the lipstick, compact, and the two wallets. Then she used her finger to expand the small compartment in the lining. She could see a maxi pad in there, still folded in its wrapper but the glue at the edges wasn’t holding it closed. She handed the evidence bag back to Scott.
‘You’re going to want to look inside the pad.’
‘What?’
‘You should section it – carefully.’
He only paused for a moment longer before gesturing for them to follow him. He called out to the criminalist working at the far end of the garage. ‘Tait.’
Scott put on surgical gloves to pull the purse from the evidence bag and put it on the table in front of the young man. ‘Doc this inside and out.’
The criminalist labeled the purse and photographed the exterior and interior. Once he was finished, Scott pulled the maxi pad from the inner pocket and put it on the table.
‘OK, now open this up.’
Tait gave Scott a look like he thought this was a joke.
‘Now.’
Tait instantly composed himself. ‘Yes, sir.’ He picked up his camera and photographed the item with an evidence label before touching it. Then he used a pair of tweezers to peel off the thin plastic wrapping.
The pad was folded into thirds and he eased it flat before looking at Scott for direction.
Scott turned to Jayne. ‘You said section it?’
She nodded.
He looked back to Tait, who used a scalpel to begin an incision on the side of the pad. Then he stopped, picked up a magnifying glass, and used it to look at the pad again. ‘There’s already a cut here, sir.’
Scott leaned down and looked. ‘OK, peel it back from the existing cut.’
Tait carefully pulled back several layers to reveal an object that had nothing to do with moisture absorption. It was a small piece of paper, folded many times and pressed flat as though with an iron.
The criminalist photographed the item with a ruler and an evidence label before opening it with his tweezers. Then he stepped back to let the others see. Visible inside the folds of the paper was something written in faint penciclass="underline"
793 Cobb /Agapanthus
Jayne spoke. ‘You said the shelters gave the women code names. That might be a code she was trying to keep hidden.’
Before she even finished speaking, Scott pulled his cell phone from its holster, his eyes fixed on the piece of paper. Jayne and Steelie started to leave and heard him say, ‘Eric. Is seven-nine-three Cobb an address on your list? You’re there right now? OK, check this: Patterson’s code may have been Agapanthus.’
Just outside the garage, Scott caught up with Jayne. ‘How in hell did you know to look in the pad?’
‘You said Patterson was at least fifty-one years old. She was likely menopausal. So the pad didn’t fit. It was possible, but not probable.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Eric hung up from Scott’s call and regarded Aviva Goldsmith carefully as they stood in the reception area of Sanctuary House.
‘We have reason to believe that you would have known Eleanor Patterson as Agapanthus.’
Instead of looking at the photo again, Aviva Goldsmith’s eyes stayed on Eric’s and he saw her left eyelid twitch. She steadied it with a finger.
He said quietly, ‘Please look at the photo again.’
‘I don’t need to. Agapanthus never arrived.’
He pounced on her use of the past tense. ‘What do you mean, “never arrived”? So you expected her? How was she supposed to get here?’
He felt Angie’s hand on his arm so stopped shooting questions at Aviva Goldsmith, who had been trying to get a word in.
‘Let me explain,’ she said. ‘Our system here is that when we’re contacted by women who need sanctuary, we don’t ask any questions of them. We only give them our address and instructions on how to get here. We don’t know their names, anything about them, or where they’re coming from, other than if they’re out of state or will be arriving with children . . . oh, and which day. We need only enough information to determine if we have enough space to accommodate them. If they’re coming from out of state, like Agapanthus . . .’
She paused and only then looked again at the portrait in Angie’s hand. ‘We instruct them that on arrival at the airport, they should take the bus to our nearest stop at the Naval College. We tell them which number bus to take and to walk here to the house. This makes it harder for their abusers to track them because it reduces the number of people they interact with, particularly by not using taxis, and it gives them a way to get here that makes them appear to be local. They’re instructed to travel without baggage so they don’t appear to be visitors. All of this is designed to reduce their vulnerability while in transit. The bus also provides some safety in numbers.’
Eric caught Angie’s eyes.
Aviva Goldsmith must have noticed the exchange because she asked, ‘Is that important?’
Angie asked, ‘You instruct them to use a bus from Atlanta airport?’
‘Ye-es.’ She looked at them, her eyes questioning.
Angie said, ‘I’m afraid that those instructions may have put Eleanor Patterson directly in the path of a predator.’
Eric thought Aviva Goldsmith was looking upset and he wanted to get information from her before that rendered her useless. ‘We need to know what day Eleanor Patterson was supposed to arrive at the airport. And we need to know if you’ve got any other women who didn’t show.’
She looked into the middle distance.
‘Are you all right?’
‘No, I’m not all right.’ She blinked back the wateriness in her eyes and focused on him. ‘I’m damn angry.’ She turned on her heel, went to the inner door, and punched buttons on the security panel, the noise a staccato tattoo. Watching her, Eric wondered how he could ever have mistaken her for a nun.
The agents went to the window and watched her open a file drawer to pull out some manila folders. She put the items on the window ledge for them.
‘There are only three women who haven’t arrived at Sanctuary House after making first contact. That’s three women since we opened in nineteen ninety. In these files are the records of our contact with them and you’ll see what dates we expected them.’
Angie immediately began going through the files, her notebook and pen at the ready.
Eric looked at Aviva Goldsmith. ‘Were you ever concerned about why these women never arrived?’
She smiled at him wearily. ‘Human beings are complex creatures. Women being abused by the person they love or the father of their children have yet another layer of complexity. Even after they’ve decided to leave the abuser, they can change their minds and stay, or they leave but decide they don’t need a place like Sanctuary House to assist their transition. To exercise choice is a woman’s right and it’s a crucial one. It has been our practice to assume that a woman who didn’t arrive after first contact with us has exercised choice. We know there are alternatives . . .’
Her hand strayed to the roots of her streak of white hair and he noticed fine scar tissue on the backs of some of her fingers.
‘For example,’ she was saying. ‘We know that it’s possible that in the act of leaving, abuse victims face an even greater danger from their partners. But I must say that we had not thought that, having left the abuser, they would encounter someone yet more dangerous.’
She stopped touching her scalp and looked directly at him. ‘May I ask how you knew this woman’s code word? They’re instructed to avoid writing it down or sharing it with anyone.’
Eric was limited in what he could say at this stage in the investigation but he wanted to give her something.