Full Disclosure

by Dee Henderson

  “Not a problem. Don’t even need to explain. Thanks.”

  Paul finished another interview and added it to the stack he’d read. He glanced over at the screen. Ann was stretched out on the couch, pillow and book propped on her stomach, reading. Midnight had moved to sprawl beside her and use the couch as a backrest. Paul saw Ann turn the page, then reach down and rub her fingers through Midnight’s thick coat. He could almost hear the dog’s sigh. Paul smiled.

  A phone rang. He glanced at his, then realized it was Ann’s. She picked up her phone, and a moment later the audio bar on the screen turned orange as she put the video call on mute. She disappeared for twenty minutes. When she returned, she plugged the cellphone in to charge the battery and hit the button to turn on the audio. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s not.” He set aside the pages. “Talk to me for a bit, Ann. I need a break from this.”

  “Sure.” She settled into a comfortable chair.

  “You picked up a book tonight. Is that a normal evening?”

  “Pretty much, when I’m unwinding and just want to relax.”

  “What do you like to read?”

  “Popular fiction—mysteries, adventures, romances—well-drawn characters with an interesting story. I enjoy a good biography, but generally stay away from history. I read a lot of experts on food, finance, birds, baseball, politics. I like the New Yorker profile pieces. What?” She stopped because he was smiling at her.

  “Everything. You read everything.”

  “I don’t often read the side panels of cereal boxes, the sports page, or the magazines in the spin rack at the grocery store. But, okay, other than that, I read just about everything. What was the last book you read?”

  He shifted stacks on his desk and held one up. “Andy Stanley’s book, The Best Question Ever: A Revolutionary Approach to Decision Making.”

  “Oh, I read that one. Good choice. What is the wise thing to do? And the answer to that question for right now is to ask you to change the subject.”

  “New topic then.” He waited. “Your question,” he offered.

  She thought about it and studied him thoughtfully. “Can I ask you a tough personal question?”

  “Sure.”

  “You said you were adopted.”

  “Yes. My parents were killed in a wreck when I was four. I remember the smell of my mother’s perfume. I remember in a vague way my father’s laugh. But I don’t remember much else about them.”

  “There was no family to take you in?”

  “No. A distant cousin who lived in Japan was my last living relative. I stayed with a foster family for a couple years, then moved to a larger group home near my school. George and Karen Falcon adopted me when I was nine.”

  “Does it bother you to talk about it?”

  “I don’t talk about it much, but it’s relevant and important. What do you want to know?”

  “What was it like to be adopted, to have your world as you knew it so radically change?”

  “It’s a good question. I knew them, George and Karen Falcon, in the casual way a kid knows adults. They supported the group home through their family charity. They would stop by to speak with the administrator, or be at the head table to share a meal, and I’d see the lady sometimes around the home. She’d be involved with the girls, and they would be giggling.

  “I was out on the jungle gym one afternoon, done playing basketball, hanging upside down, thinking about how to get out of school the next day. The music teacher was going to assign roles for the school play, and I didn’t want to get selected for a part. George walked out to the playground and talked with me for a few minutes.

  “He asked if I liked living at the home, liked where I went to school, and I kind of shrugged that it was okay. I didn’t have much to compare it to. I had a comfortable bed, good food, and kids to play with. It was a good kind of place to be, and I was, for a nine-year-old boy, attached to it in a way. There were adults you had to listen to and rules to follow, and while there wasn’t any real sense of family, it was a place I could function and feel like I could be myself. I thought of it as boarding school, and tried to pretend my family was still alive but just far away. I had learned to cope with being on my own.”

  Paul reached for his soda. “George returned a few more times that month, enough I knew his name, enough to realize out of all the kids around, he was making a point to find me and chat for a few minutes. There were a couple of weeks where I could feel the emotion setting in, the worry that I had done something wrong to get the attention, the opposite realization I was coming to depend on him stopping by for a few words, that no one had ever done that before, searching to find me. I was eager to see him, and also scared by that, just wondering what was going on.

  “One Saturday the administrator had errands to run, and that morning during breakfast my name was drawn out of the hat. I could go along for the day trip if I wanted to. I went with him to the store, the bank, and the post office. Then the administrator said he had a visit to make, and he could either drop me back at the home or I could go along if I could sit quietly through a meal while he talked business. I went with him. We had dinner at George and Karen’s house.

  “It’s a massive home, and I was in awe. I was sitting between Boone and Jackie with Harper across from me, having a cheeseburger and fries, in the house of this man I liked. His kids were all younger than me, and I liked them and was laughing with them, and it felt like a normal evening where dinnertime was a table of kids. I played basketball in the driveway after dinner, teaching Jackie how to dribble the ball, and showing Boone and Harper how to make a free throw. The evening was over, and I was putting the ball away when George came over and put his hand on my shoulder and said it was nice I had come, and would I mind if he asked me to come over again?

  “It became a regular thing, dinner at George and Karen’s. They took me out for ice cream after the school play. They stopped by when they were going to go swimming to see if I wanted to come along. I had known them about six months when George asked if I wanted to be part of a family again or if I felt old enough I would rather not be adopted.

  “I wasn’t expecting the question, because it wasn’t something I thought about much. The younger kids got adopted, especially the girls, but no one had ever suggested I would be one of them. My life had been the home, the adults who ran the place. I hadn’t thought of being adopted, I had parents who were dead, but I said I did miss having a family and that I didn’t like the fact I was alone.

  “George knelt down to my height, held out his hand, and he said, ‘If you would like to be part of my family, I would like to be your father. You would be my son, just the same as Harper and Boone. You would have a sister in Jackie, and if Karen has more babies, you’ll have even more family to care about. You can be one of us if you want to be.’

  “I remember trying not to cry when I said I would. We shook hands on it. I went to live with them the next week, and the adoption went through later that year.

  “I remember the first thing George bought me was a phone, and he put everyone’s numbers in it, his and Karen’s, and all the aunts and uncles and cousins. And he gave it to me and said, ‘This is your family. You should love them, and fight with them, and laugh with them, and spend your life talking with them.’ That phone used to ring all the time. It was an embarrassment of riches, how many relatives I had that made a point to call and get to know me.

  “He’s never really said why he adopted me, when he had kids of his own and knew more were likely. He never said why he chose me, knowing I would be the oldest of his kids. George accepted me as his son, as his eldest son, and has never wavered from that decision.

  “I know George thought it all out. Harper said once that he had been asked, did he want to be the eldest son or did he want me as a brother? And he’d said he desperately wanted me as a brother.” Paul stopped, finding it difficult to finish the memory.

  “They loved you,” Ann said softly. “By choice
. By decision. George loved you the same as he did his other two sons. Harper loved you like his brother Boone. Nothing says we have to limit who we love as family to just those who share our blood.”

  “I know. But it still feels weird to me, knowing I got chosen like that. There wasn’t anything special about that nine-year-old boy. I was polite enough, and reasonably smart, and I liked people, but I was just one of a thousand boys just like me who didn’t have parents. There was no reason for him to adopt me. He already had kids.

  “He tried to explain it once. He wanted me to have a father, and when he thought about it over the weeks that went by, he realized he wanted to be that father. He asked me to be his son because he wanted to be my father, no other reason than that.”

  “Some things in life are a mystery. Love is one of them,” she said. “You thrive being part of a large family with lots of relations.”

  “I do. I don’t have the right words for it, but family makes me complete. Having this as an important part of life, having family around to care about and share life with, fills in part of who I am that nothing else ever could.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then looked over at her and gave a rueful smile. “And here I’m talking about big families and going from none to many, while you’re in the opposite situation, having gone from many to none. I’m sorry for being tactless about that. Does it bother you enormously to be alone, Ann? To have no family left? Are you surviving that?”

  “It’s not the same when it comes as an adult as when it happens as a child. I shared years of life with my parents and grandparents. I don’t feel like they are missing from my life as much as they are just not here. They’ve been gone a long time, but I still feel like they could walk through the door any day. So I don’t grieve like I once did. I had a good place in life as a child, a sense of who I was as their daughter and granddaughter. It’s not that I like being without family or would choose it; it is simply what it is.”

  “Did you feel lonely as an only child?”

  “I’ve never been alone, not in the sense of having no one to relate to. I had my parents, my grandparents, my neighbors, friends my age. And then I had books. Even as a young girl, I loved books. In my imagination I was there on those adventures. And even as a young girl, my stories were starting to appear, with characters as rich as real friends to me. And then somewhere about the age of ten, I fell in love with God, and got to start talking with someone who loved me. It’s hard to be lonely when you are never alone.”

  “We share that, Ann. I met God when I was six. I think that’s one of the reasons why I coped okay with being at the group home. I had already chosen God, and He was there. I didn’t feel totally alone. Even today, it’s the relationship that sits at the center of all others.”

  “You and I have had it easier because of that. Could I ask one last question about the Falcons?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s your mom like?”

  “She loves to laugh. She’s kind. She’s disorganized in a messy kind of way, and all the family kind of keeps her together and helps her find what she’s misplaced. You want her waffles when you visit and her big chunk chocolate cookies. She loves people and kids, and she’s an optimist about everything. She created a weekly cartoon strip for years.”

  “Really?”

  “It was syndicated nationwide and better than Peanuts, in my humble opinion.”

  “Tell me you’ve got copies of her strips I can see.”

  “I do, and I’ll share.”

  Black started barking and took off. Ann looked toward the patio door and then back at Paul. “You mind if I go deal with this? It’s probably my prowling raccoon.”

  “Go.”

  She opened the lockbox and retrieved her side arm. “Just in case it’s not the raccoon. Black, don’t chase.” She glanced at Paul. “He’ll chase, so this will take a few minutes.”

  She disappeared from the room.

  Paul got up and stretched, and since she would be a few minutes he transferred the video to the den, and then went to find another soda. He caught the end of a ball game while keeping an eye on the screen for Ann’s return. Forty minutes passed, and he was beginning to get uneasy. He heard a door kick open, and Ann appeared, carrying Black. She put him down on the couch and grabbed for his legs to keep him from getting up. “Just stay put, you big doofus. Stay.”

  “What happened?”

  “My raccoon was three raccoons, and Black promptly chased himself in circles and crashed into a tree. He’s wobbling.” She sank down on the floor beside the couch, breathing hard and keeping a firm hand on the dog to keep him from moving. Black licked her face. She wiped at it, too tired for more than token protest. “Yeah, I know. Next time we let them get into the trash, buddy. It’s easier on both of us.”

  “Three of them.”

  Ann laughed. “It was a wonderful sight, up until the collision. I’m going to have to bring in my hanging flowers and redo again where I keep my trash. One of the joys of living in the country. They’ll be back now that they’ve found it.”

  “Will Black be okay?”

  “Give him an hour and he’ll be fine. I think he’s nearsighted. It’s not the first accident he’s had.” She ruffled the dog’s ears and reached over him to get her book. “Give me a few minutes to catch my breath.” She stretched out, using the couch as a backrest and found her page in the book.

  “Sure.” Paul watched her and had to smile.

  He ended his night with the late evening news. Black had gone to sleep on the couch, one of his paws draped over Ann’s shoulder. She was still reading. He wondered if she was going to finish the book tonight. “Ann, I’m going to turn in for the night.”

  She looked up from the book. “I’m a night owl. I should have warned you.”

  “Dave already did. Thanks for the evening.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Admit it, I’m decent company.”

  Amusement lit her face. “I’m getting used to you. Good night, Paul.”

  “Good night, Ann.”

  He closed the link. He’d asked her to be curious. Of everything he had expected, it hadn’t been a question about his adoption. She hadn’t landed on that question by chance. She’d been thinking about him, and who he was. She had asked a deep question that would tell her a lot about him. He turned in, thoughtful, mulling over that fact, and pleased with the evening.

  12

  Paul was growing used to the eye strain from reading endless reports. He pulled out a cold root beer and thought about heading to the shooting range for a couple of hours. He wondered how Ann was spending her day. Probably not at her desk, unless it was by choice.

  Rita tapped on his door and offered a blue-and-white-striped mailer. “This just came by courier for you. Security opened it since media can’t pass through the scanner.”

  He was the boss—it wouldn’t do for him to groan. “Thanks.” He accepted the package, wondering who would be sending mail by hand-delivered courier. He waved at the piles in front of him. “You could take a stack of this if you like.”

  She laughed. “Who do you think put most of it on your desk? Sam just got back. You want to talk about the Yates shooting?”

  “Ten minutes and I’ll find you both. I still think it’s the brother. I listened to the audio of the interview on the drive in, and something is definitely off with his answers.”

  Paul tipped the package she had brought and slid out two small audiotapes and a number-ten envelope. He opened the letter and pulled out a light green sheet of paper.

  “Rita!”

  She came back.

  “Get Sam. And we’ll need evidence bags.”

  He picked up the desk phone and punched the direct line to building security. “This is Paul Falcon. The package just delivered by DMD Couriers to my attention. I need the person who brought it in identified, the video of him—anything you can give me.”

  He carefully set the sheet of paper down and kept
it from folding closed with the edge of his coaster and the stapler. He took photos of the letter with his phone camera. He encrypted the images with a ten-digit code.

  Rita came back with gloves and evidence bags. “What is it?”

  Paul stepped away from his desk and waved her in so she could read it for herself. “Bag the courier package, the two tapes, the envelope, the letter. Everything gets hand-walked through for fingerprints, and none of it leaves our sight. Top guy only sees that letter; this stays highly classified. We can’t afford even a whisper of a leak on this.”

  Paul read the letter through for a second time, using his photo of it.

  Sam stepped into the office. Paul turned his phone and let Sam read the letter on the screen.

  Sam nearly dropped part of his sandwich. “This isn’t a forgery.”

  “There are two tapes in the package.”

  Agent Falcon—

  I understand you are looking for me. I offer two tapes in good faith to prove my identity.

  My offer—I want a deal in place in case you ever catch me. I will send you four more tapes if you agree to take the federal death penalty off the table for the thirty murders you now believe I have committed.

  Send two signed copies of the deal agreement to the address below. I will send the four tapes and a signed agreement back to you.

  L.S.

  She wanted the reply mailed to an address in St. Charles, Missouri.

  Rita gathered up the evidence bags. “I’m heading downstairs to rush all this through prints.”

  “I’m going with you,” Sam said, adding his sandwich to the stacks on Paul’s desk. “Soon as they’re done checking the tapes, I’ll have audio duplicate a set.”

  Paul picked up his phone. “Meet me upstairs. I’m activating the small war room and tight security. We tripped into her. She heard about an interview. Who did we talk to, and who did they then talk to?”

  “Maybe we have her prints.”