Page 41 of Holmes Is Missing

“I can’t let you…”

Grey held up her hand. “Stop, Auguste. Don’t fight it. This is the right thing. The babies and I need you, but first you need to solve the St. Michael’s case. You, Margaret, and Brendan.Thosebabies need you. Those parents need you. The task force needs you. Even Duff needs you. He just doesn’t know it.”

Poe lowered his head. He suddenly felt exhausted. Drained. Defeated. Even his voice was weak. “When do you leave?” he asked. “Can we at least take a few days to—”

“No,” said Grey. “I’m leaving today.” Poe felt his knees crumple. He backed up to a park bench and sat down, head in his hands. Then he looked up again, his eyes red and brimming.

“I love you, Helene.”

“I know that. I love you too, Auguste.”

He waited a few moments, then started to stand up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“No, don’t,” said Grey, pushing him down gently. “It’ll only make it harder for me. Please. Stay here.” She gave him a small pat on the head. “Besides, this way I know you won’t stick a tracker under my fender.”

Poe managed a small smile at the joke. Even though his face felt numb. “Will you let me know what’s going on,” he asked, “with the pregnancy and everything?”

“I’m not leaving the planet Earth, Auguste,” said Grey. “AndI’m not doing this to punish you. I just know it’s for the best. And so do you.” She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “We will see each other again. I promise.”

Poe nodded. He felt like there was a rock sitting in the back of his throat. He stared at the pavement as Helene walked away. When he heard the sound of her car starting, he stood up and watched her drive off.

Across the street, beyond the now-empty parking space, Poe spotted a corner bar with a neon bottle in the window.

He headed straight for it.

CHAPTER46

HOLMES WAS WAITINGimpatiently with Marple in the lobby of an apartment building on Central Park West when Poe slid out of a cab, late for a 5 p.m. appointment the three had promised to keep. Holmes was peeved at Poe’s tardiness but even more curious about his meeting with Helene. He knew Marple felt the same.

“How did it go?” he asked as Poe walked in. From the slack expression on Poe’s face and the scent on his breath, Holmes knew the answer.

“Not the time,” Poe replied tersely.

“Very well,” said Marple briskly. “Let’s focus on the moment. The people upstairs are counting on us. And they’ve already paid an upfront fee.”

Thanks to Poe, the team was overdue for a meeting with the parents of the six missing St. Michael’s babies. Holmes had resisted the gathering, but Marple had insisted on it. “These people are victims,” she reminded her partners. “But somecouldbe co-conspirators. Pay attention to eyes and body language.”

“Yes, Margaret,” said Poe numbly. “We know the drill.”

Marple opened her purse and handed Poe a pack of breath mints. Then she turned to the building’s Nordic-looking concierge. “We’re all here now.”

The concierge picked up a handset and mumbled a few sentences sotto voce, then nodded toward the elevator. “Penthouse level.”

Holmes stood aside and let his partners enter first. They made the ride up in silence. A half minute later, the doors opened onto the foyer of a stunning split-level unit. Through the windows on the far side, Holmes could see the autumn foliage in Central Park, muted by early evening shadows. Twelve adults were gathered in the huge living room, huddled in tense conversation.

When Holmes and his partners walked in, every head turned and the whole room went silent. A man who seemed to be in charge walked straight over. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. He looked angry enough to throttle someone.

Holmes recognized the man right away: Sterling Cade, the alpha-dad Marple had told him about. The penthouse belonged to Cade and his wife, Christine.

“Our apologies,” said Marple in her most soothing tone. “Personal matter.”

Cade did not seem mollified. “We’re paying you to concentrate on our case,” he said. “We expect your full attention.”

“You have it,” said Holmes crisply. “We’re here.”

“And you’ll notice,” added Poe, “that the police are not.”

Cade’s wife stepped up beside her husband. “He’s right,” she said. “The police don’t do anything but tap our phones and laptops and tell us to be patient.” Christine Cade’s eyes were red, and she looked worn and haggard.