bottle of Coke just sat there, fizzing, with Mara frozen and staring into nothing. Quinn couldn’t note any emotion at all until the tears started to come. But the face was passive and dull, almost bovine. She didn’t even seem to notice the tears.
“Where are the other children?” Lillie asked.
Mara was silent.
“What about Ramón?” Quinn asked. “What’s he do?”
“Nothin’.”
“Are the children all Mexican?” Lillie asked.
Mara nodded.
“How many?” Lillie asked.
Quinn listened.
“Eleven.”
“There were thirteen cribs.”
“She only got eleven now.”
“What’s she do with them?” Lillie asked, taking a seat across from the girl.
“Helps them find homes.”
“For a price?” Lillie asked, leaning forward.
Mara nodded.
“So she sells babies,” Lillie said. “That’s pretty illegal, Mara. I sure would appreciate you working with us. We’re worried about those children.”
Mara shook her head, took off her pink hat, and wiped her face and big eyes clean.
“Is she still in the state?” Quinn asked.
Mara shook her head some more. Lillie looked up to Quinn, Quinn leaning his butt on the desk with arms folded across his chest. He shrugged.
“Are you worried about the baby?” Lillie asked.
Mara was sobbing now, leaning down between her knees and making retching sounds. Lillie stood over her and rubbed her back.
“Sheriff, can you call about that child?” Lillie asked.
Lillie nodded to Quinn, and Quinn walked back to his office. He had the hospital number written on a yellow legal pad on his desk. He was transferred around a bit before he was able to talk to an administrator on duty. He’d spoken to the woman before, the woman obviously half asleep, but she promised to call him back with an update.
She called back a few minutes later, and Quinn walked back to the conference room.
Quinn said: “That baby is dead.”
The heaving and sobbing and retching all came pretty fast and hard now. Mara fell from the chair and curled into a fetal ball, screaming and yelling. Quinn leaned against the desk. Lillie dropped down on a knee and soothed her back some more, telling her she was very worried about the other children and that Mara wasn’t to blame.
The shuddering and cries broke down after a while, and the sobbing turned to a smattering of coughs. Lillie reached out her hand and helped the fat little girl to her feet. Her sweatshirt had a picture of Tinker Bell on it.
“Where’s your momma?” Lillie said. “Is she still in the state?”
Mara’s face was a reddened, puffy mess. She shook her head and wiped her bug eyes. “No, ma’am.”
“Where?” Quinn asked.
Mara turned her eyes to him and coughed. “Memphis.”
10
THE FASTEST WAY OUT OF TIBBEHAH COUNTY WAS TAKING THE NATCHEZ Trace up to Tupelo. It was 0500 by the time Lillie drove the old winding trapper and Indian route by moonlight, passing through the thick humps of Indian mounds and long stretches of virgin oak and pine, Quinn riding shotgun and studying the scenery. They refueled just after they got onto Highway 78, heading through the north Mississippi towns of New Albany, Potts Camp, Holly Springs, Red Banks, and Olive Branch. By the time the Jeep hit the state line, the sun had just started rising over the Mississippi River. Lillie pulled off again, this time for coffee and biscuits at a Shell station, and for Quinn to check in with the shift commander at the Airways Precinct to see if they could get a couple uniform officers to help them serve a warrant.
Lillie had explained, Quinn not knowing this, that the local law had to be present not only in case some shit went down but because they were the ones who had to make the actual arrest. They’d have to extradite the Torres family—if they were able to catch them—back to Tibbehah County. Lillie rolled down the window, lighting up a cigarette, and surmised they might need a horse trailer to truck Janet’s big ass back to Jericho.
“Being
“Where are the other children?” Lillie asked.
Mara was silent.
“What about Ramón?” Quinn asked. “What’s he do?”
“Nothin’.”
“Are the children all Mexican?” Lillie asked.
Mara nodded.
“How many?” Lillie asked.
Quinn listened.
“Eleven.”
“There were thirteen cribs.”
“She only got eleven now.”
“What’s she do with them?” Lillie asked, taking a seat across from the girl.
“Helps them find homes.”
“For a price?” Lillie asked, leaning forward.
Mara nodded.
“So she sells babies,” Lillie said. “That’s pretty illegal, Mara. I sure would appreciate you working with us. We’re worried about those children.”
Mara shook her head, took off her pink hat, and wiped her face and big eyes clean.
“Is she still in the state?” Quinn asked.
Mara shook her head some more. Lillie looked up to Quinn, Quinn leaning his butt on the desk with arms folded across his chest. He shrugged.
“Are you worried about the baby?” Lillie asked.
Mara was sobbing now, leaning down between her knees and making retching sounds. Lillie stood over her and rubbed her back.
“Sheriff, can you call about that child?” Lillie asked.
Lillie nodded to Quinn, and Quinn walked back to his office. He had the hospital number written on a yellow legal pad on his desk. He was transferred around a bit before he was able to talk to an administrator on duty. He’d spoken to the woman before, the woman obviously half asleep, but she promised to call him back with an update.
She called back a few minutes later, and Quinn walked back to the conference room.
Quinn said: “That baby is dead.”
The heaving and sobbing and retching all came pretty fast and hard now. Mara fell from the chair and curled into a fetal ball, screaming and yelling. Quinn leaned against the desk. Lillie dropped down on a knee and soothed her back some more, telling her she was very worried about the other children and that Mara wasn’t to blame.
The shuddering and cries broke down after a while, and the sobbing turned to a smattering of coughs. Lillie reached out her hand and helped the fat little girl to her feet. Her sweatshirt had a picture of Tinker Bell on it.
“Where’s your momma?” Lillie said. “Is she still in the state?”
Mara’s face was a reddened, puffy mess. She shook her head and wiped her bug eyes. “No, ma’am.”
“Where?” Quinn asked.
Mara turned her eyes to him and coughed. “Memphis.”
10
THE FASTEST WAY OUT OF TIBBEHAH COUNTY WAS TAKING THE NATCHEZ Trace up to Tupelo. It was 0500 by the time Lillie drove the old winding trapper and Indian route by moonlight, passing through the thick humps of Indian mounds and long stretches of virgin oak and pine, Quinn riding shotgun and studying the scenery. They refueled just after they got onto Highway 78, heading through the north Mississippi towns of New Albany, Potts Camp, Holly Springs, Red Banks, and Olive Branch. By the time the Jeep hit the state line, the sun had just started rising over the Mississippi River. Lillie pulled off again, this time for coffee and biscuits at a Shell station, and for Quinn to check in with the shift commander at the Airways Precinct to see if they could get a couple uniform officers to help them serve a warrant.
Lillie had explained, Quinn not knowing this, that the local law had to be present not only in case some shit went down but because they were the ones who had to make the actual arrest. They’d have to extradite the Torres family—if they were able to catch them—back to Tibbehah County. Lillie rolled down the window, lighting up a cigarette, and surmised they might need a horse trailer to truck Janet’s big ass back to Jericho.
“Being
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