Gideon huffed. ‘Olives and pomegranates? Really?’
‘I’m missing something,’ Hunter said. ‘Explain?’
‘The olive tree is part of Eden’s symbol,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s thought by some religious scholars to have been the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. Eden taught this to us as children. They also taught us that the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge – the forbidden fruit that Adam and Eve ate – was a pomegranate, but the original texts never specify the kind of fruit. The Hebrew just says “pri”, which simply means “fruit”. Pomegranates are still a popular theory among Jewish scholars, although I’m pretty sure that Eden’s founders were neither religious scholars nor linguists.’
‘Which you are,’ Simpson said. ‘A linguist, I mean. Molina said you’re part of the chatter unit.’
‘That’s what I do,’ Gideon confirmed. ‘It’s predominantly drug gang chatter these days. At any rate, that they’d list olive oil and pomegranate juice as their products is at least suggestive of a tie to Eden. Where does Frutuoso’s money come from?’
‘That’s what we’re still trying to figure out,’ Simpson admitted. ‘It appears to be coming from offshore accounts, so that makes it harder to track.’
Hunter held up his hand. ‘They’re in.’ He turned up the volume on his phone and Rafe and Gideon crowded around to see his screen.
‘That’s Mrs Franklin,’ Simpson said softly, indicating the elderly woman sitting in a chair by the window. ‘She’s seventy-six years old. The doctor here on staff thinks she is capable of speaking far more than she does, but her personal doctor doesn’t agree. If he knew Miss Callahan was here, he’d probably object, but we don’t legally have to inform him.’
‘Hi, Belinda,’ a woman’s voice said cheerfully. ‘I brought you some visitors.’
‘That’s the nurse’s aide assigned to Belinda Franklin,’ Simpson supplied. ‘She’s not ours, but she passes all of our background checks. No indication of being on the take.’
So the FBI also thought that Eden might have someone embedded here, Rafe thought. Mercy had been right to worry about that.
‘Go away,’ Belinda said flatly but clearly.
The picture jumped a bit, then lowered. Mercy had pulled up a chair. ‘Hi, Mrs Franklin,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll go in a minute, but I was hoping you could help me. My name is Miriam. I’m married to your son Harry.’
Rafe could hear Gideon grinding his teeth. Rafe, on the other hand, was clenching his.
‘She is not nor has she ever been married to that bastard,’ Gideon growled.
Rafe reached over to grip Gideon’s knee. ‘She’s doing okay, Gid. Let her do this, okay? She needs to try.’
Gideon nodded, but his throat worked convulsively as he tried to swallow.
Rafe had thought about how hard this would be for Mercy, but he hadn’t considered the impact on Gideon. I should have. He moved his hand to the back of Gideon’s neck, holding on tight. Anchoring his best friend the best way he knew how.
Belinda Franklin turned to look at Mercy, her movements slow and so deliberate that a shiver raced down Rafe’s spine. The old woman’s eyes were as flat as her voice. Lifeless. His instincts screamed at him to get Mercy out of there, but he stayed where he was and watched his woman at work.
His woman. Yes. Mine.
‘You lie,’ Belinda said with quiet viciousness.
‘No, I don’t. I can prove it to you.’ The picture jumped again, and then Mercy was holding the box in which she kept her locket. She opened it, dangling the locket in front of Belinda’s face, like a hypnotist. ‘Your son gave this to me the day that we were married.’
Rafe exhaled carefully. The chain from which the locket dangled wasn’t delicate or pretty. It was thick, like one used to lock up bicycles. Or women. All of the women in Eden wore lockets like these. The chains were welded together, so that the women could never take them off.
‘You lie,’ Belinda repeated, but her dead gaze was fixed on the swinging locket.
‘No, I don’t,’ Mercy repeated. Holding the locket in her palm, she pressed the locket’s engraved symbol so quickly that Rafe wouldn’t have known what she was doing if he hadn’t seen another locket opened the same way. The other one had belonged to Eileen, who’d also escaped Eden and Ephraim, only to die later.
Mercy held the open locket up so that the camera on her lapel caught the image of the photo inside. ‘This is Harry and me. This was our wedding day.’
Gideon made a pained sound and looked away.
Rafe made himself look, though. He owed this much to Mercy. If he wanted to share her life, he needed to share this pain. Because he was certain that Mercy didn’t need to look at the photo to remember. The images of her wedding to Ephraim were indelibly stamped in her memory.
God, she was young. So young. Only twelve, her face still round and sweet and childish. But her eyes were haunted. Terrified. And even though the photo was grainy and small, he could tell that she’d been crying before it had been taken.
Ephraim, on the other hand, was smiling triumphantly. He wore the same eye patch that he’d worn in his wedding photo with Eileen, but the eye that was visible gleamed with malicious delight.
Then the image blurred and Rafe blinked. And realized he was crying.
Oh God, Mercy. I’m so sorry he hurt you.
A box of tissues came sliding across the desk. Rafe gave Agent Simpson a grateful nod.
None of them said a word, because Mercy was speaking.
‘This is your son, isn’t he?’ she asked. ‘I hope so, because you’re my last hope. I need to find him. He’s been missing for a month now, and I’m worried sick. I can’t sleep or eat or . . .’
Belinda Franklin reached for the locket. ‘My son,’ she said thickly.
‘Yes. Your son.’
‘You’re his wife.’
‘Yes. I am.’
Belinda looked away from Mercy’s camera. ‘Who’s she?’
‘That’s Beth, one of my friends. She’s helping me find Harry. Like I said, I’ve been worried sick. I haven’t slept in weeks and she didn’t think I was safe to drive. She’s been nice enough to help me search. She found you here. We . . . we went to your old house, but it was sold.’
Hunter turned to them. ‘How did she know that?’
Rafe met his gaze directly. ‘From me. I’ve been working the case on my own.’