"There was a note . . ." he said, a baffled look on his face.
I tried to think calmly and finally understood. There'd been no final message to us, only one of Martha's usual rehearsal notes to herself of how she would explain to us the same decision Betsy and I arrived at literally the same time; the decision it was time we all abandon our enterprise. She'd summoned Quinn home from California to tell us, unknowingly bringing him to his death. The ramifications were disturbing; my mind a myriad of flashing light and churning thoughts. When I said it out loud to Howie, it made sense.
"You said Betsy went over to the LeBlanc's place. How could she . . ." He and I understood simultaneously. Our friends had been lying dead as my wife read the note and ranted at their thoughtless exit and grieved at their absence.
I attempted to comprehend. They died readying for bed. It wasn't that late when Betsy arrived there and found the note. "My God," I said. "That monster might have still been in the house!"
"How could any human be so heartless to slay an infant?" Howie asked.
My heart jumped and my stomach roiled. I hadn't thought of baby Claire! Jackson hadn't mentioned her! I couldn't stand not knowing! I explained to Howie as I dialed the police officer's number. Nervous fingers necessitated three tries.
"Did the bastard kill the baby too?" I blurted out as soon as Jackson thankfully answered.
"No. I saw crib but I assumed . . . I don't know what I assumed; that they'd been away someplace and the baby was there. I was just going to call you for a next of kin name."
"You have to find the baby!" I yelled.
"Look, calm down. Listen. Who can I call?"
"We're next of kin. Quinn was a parentless foster kid and Martha's parents are gone. But the baby . . . he must have taken Claire! My God, I can't even process that!"
"Let's think this through. Your friends have been dead some time, probably from when you told me they had gone into hiding. That's over forty-eight hours ago."
I explained about Betsy's visit and our misinterpretation of Martha's note. We assumed all three had left together and gone into hiding.
"John Luke Grasso is responsible," I stated firmly. "That's why he packed up his motor home and left town. His business was finished."
"It's not finished if you, you're wife and California friends are still alive." There was a somber note in his voice that was frightening.
"He's driving west," I said. Jackson took a moment to respond.
"While taking care of an infant? I doubt it."