Frank’s jaw started to grind. I wanted to pass him a piece of Cheski’s bread just to give his teeth a cushion. “Bob removed the hard drives,” he reminded us. I had nearly forgotten what Charlie had discovered about the computers earlier. The consoles at the recycling center were missing their hard drives.
“Why the hell would Bob want a dead person’s hard drive?” I asked, and then turned to Lamendola. “What did these people die from?”
“I thought about that too, but I couldn’t establish anything consistent about their deaths. I also called the people from the notebook I found in Bob’s office—alive and well, with no issues to report to the police.”
Frank picked up Bob’s pocket notebook and leafed through it. He shook his head in silence.
forty-one
tuesday, april 29
Tuesday couldn’t come fast enough for me. The anticipation woke me before dawn and, like a real farmer, I headed out to the field. By nine o’clock, Charlie and Katrina had joined me. In record time, Charlie and I repaired our homemade irrigation system, which ran, during a good season, on collected rainwater. Once the water leads were cleaned, we moved on to our homemade fertilizer. We had five compost barrels that required regular churning and I begged Charlie, as I did every month, to handle this task. Oddly, for a loyal Dumpster diver, composting triggered my heave reflex. Dumpsters actually get emptied regularly, while compost bins are designed for intensified rotting over a relatively short period of time. Even spinning the lid open made my esophagus flutter, not to mention the colonies of fruit flies that seemed to materialize out of thin air. I volunteered, instead, to weed.
Katrina moaned to me from her lawn chair. “I feel bad I’m not helping.”
I rose from my squatting position and stretched. “This time next year your baby will be crawling up and down these rows with you in hot pursuit. Take a load off while you can.”
“Ce,” Katrina started, and then hesitated, “does it feel strange to possibly have a child you never carried?”
I glanced over at Charlie, who was now repairing a hole in our portable greenhouse. Men like Charlie, the type I labeled “players,” never seemed to be bothered by the existence of unclaimed children. For all Charlie knew or cared, he had more kids than a Mormon elder.
“Seeing you pregnant has actually helped,” I said. “You’re a living case study for me and based on what I’m observing”—I pointed to her water-logged feet—“I think I dodged a bullet.”
“You and your jokes,” Katrina said. “Be honest.”
I walked over to Katrina’s lounger and sat on the edge. “In a few more days, you’ll begin the process of raising your child with an emphasis on the things you hold true. I know you’ll be an amazing mom, and your child will benefit from your knowledge and compassion.” I paused and considered my non-birth baby. I’d invented the description non-birth baby since I guessed no one had established a word for people like me and my child. A person could be a donor, a birth mom, an adopted mother, one of two mommies, one of two daddies, but had anyone coined the term for moms that had involuntarily not given birth to their own child?
“I’m a little sad I’ve missed my chance to be an amazing mom,” I admitted. “If this is for real, my kid is already a teenager.” I rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately, I can’t think of a worse time to meet someone new.”
Katrina cringed. “I had bad skin and braces at that age.”
“I was one screw-up away from boarding school,” I said, and then shook my head. “Let’s hope this kid takes after Teddy and not me.”
We finished our chores at noon, and I dashed upstairs to wash up before Frank arrived. The newsletter with Dr. Corey and Lizzy James’s group picture had collected dust on my desk. I stared at the photo of the lab employees. Why did these women, from two totally different backgrounds, appear so chummy in the photo? I held the picture up to the natural light streaming through the attic window. It was hard to believe Lizzy James was only in her teens in the picture. Based on this photo, I’d have easily pegged her for her late twenties. I thought back to Jimmy’s comment that Bob could have lost weight and people would still have seen him as heavy. Perception is easily manipulated, and unless the outcome is exceedingly far from our expectations, our brains tend to go along with what we want to see.
Frank tapped on the Gremlin’s horn to alert me to his arrival. I shoved the newsletter in my backpack and headed downstairs.
“Big day,” I said as I buckled my seatbelt. “I could barely sleep. How about you?”
“Slept like a baby,” Frank said.
“Aren’t you excited?”
“The chance of this woman handing us an address for a child we’re not even sure exists is minimal. I’m planning on pushing her, but realistically, I think you’re setting yourself up to be disappointed.” Frank backed the car down the driveway.
I frowned at him. Maybe he was having a bad day.
“What do you think we’re going to get out of this woman, anyway?” Frank asked me.
“My father certainly believes he can get something out of Dr. Corey, and I’m not about to settle for less.”
“You’re a bulldog, you know that?”
“Frank, we’re talking about a human being. It’s not like I lost an earring. For God’s sake, I lost a kid, and you’ve lost a close relative.”
“Fine,” he conceded. “But you promised to stay in the car.”
“I won’t even take off my seatbelt,” I said as we pulled into the medical practice’s very crowded parking lot. “Dr. Wilson was right. Dr. Corey’s waiting room is going to be packed with a bunch of women as uncomfortable as Katrina.” I shooed Frank toward the front doors and said, “Go ahead. Work your magic.”
I watched as Frank entered the building, and then I undid my seatbelt and stepped out of the Gremlin. After counting to a hundred—enough time for Frank to find Dr. Corey’s office and approach the receptionist—I pulled out my phone and dialed the office’s main number.
A friendly receptionist answered, and as I pretended to make an appointment, I heard her falter. Someone just flashed a badge. Frank’s booming voice registered over the receptionist’s anxious panting through the phone. His presence, it seemed, had caused quite a stir. I hung up so Frank could command the receptionist’s full attention.
I circled the border of the parking lot a dozen times before Frank emerged. Unfortunately, I was at the farthest point from the car, where I was supposed to be sitting, when he reappeared.
“Sorry,” I said as I caught up to him. “I felt cooped up. What did she say?”
“All the right things.” Frank shrugged. “She’s a perfectly nice lady and was completely on board with the line I gave her about a public health issue and untracked sperm. Historically, the labs have always kept detailed files, and she’d be happy to return to the labs to piece together the coding system and the shipments to Lifely.”
“So, she basically admitted to helping my father move genetic material to Lifely.”
“And she was quick to remind me that, at the time, it didn’t seem to be such a big deal,” Frank said. “She’s right on that point. The industry was in its infancy, and the protocols hadn’t been established. In truth, the industry is just now getting up to speed with the genetic implications of a single donor’s sperm being made available to hundreds of women.”
“What about Lizzy James?”
“Just what we thought. She knew Lizzy was bright, and she was aware she’d had a rough home life. It seems she had simply reached out to a coworker in need. She said she was relieved Lizzy ultimately failed as a surrogate.”
“Did you ask her about my egg?”
Frank turned away from me. “That’s where it got weird.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mention you specifically, but she said the person to speak to about egg extraction was Dr. Grovit. She admitted to handling th
e sperm, but not the eggs. She said eggs were his domain because extraction required a licensed doctor; at the time, she hadn’t yet earned her degree.”
Dr. Grovit? I was dumbstruck by Corey’s accusation that Dr. Grovit had been involved at a higher level. From the beginning, Dr. Grovit admitted the guilt he felt knowing my father had crossed ethical lines. He hadn’t, however, mentioned that he’d had hands-on involvement in my father’s studies. He’d always presented himself as an innocent sidebar to my father’s activities. “I don’t believe Corey,” I stammered. “My mother insists she came to our house. Why the hell would Dr. Corey come to check on me if she wasn’t involved? And,” I added, “why would Dr. Grovit lie to us if he knew more? He’s been nothing but helpful this whole time.”
Frank titled his head and spoke loudly, as if English wasn’t my first language. “Has he? Or has he simply perpetuated the confusion? Dr. Grovit led you to Dr. Wilson, who knew very little. When we asked Grovit about Corey, he said he didn’t remember her, and yet she seems to be the key to this puzzle.”
My mouth twisted, and I could feel the muscles in my neck locking.
“Ce,” Frank said, “I’ve always thought it was strange Dr. Grovit didn’t know more. Think about it. He tried to steer us away from Corey, insisting she wouldn’t know much.”
Frank was right. I had expected too much, and now I had received more than I could handle. The idea that Dr. Grovit had lied about his involvement broke my heart, but as Frank had mentioned, it was likely Dr. Grovit had known more all along. Although frustrated and distracted, I spotted a decidedly unpregnant woman moving quickly from the side door of the medical building.
“Hey, there’s Corey,” I said. “She’s leaving.”
Frank slid down in his seat taking me with him.
As it turned out, my spying on Corey had worked to our advantage because I knew she drove a BMW. We waited, hidden below the dashboard, until the roof of Corey’s BMW glided by us, and then we rose from our crouched positions.
“Quick,” Frank said as he opened his car door. “Let’s switch seats. Corey won’t recognize you. You drive.” We did a record-breaking Chinese fire drill around the Gremlin and swapped spots. Frank returned to his hiding position under the dashboard.
“This is crazy,” I complained as I started the car. “I don’t know how to tail a suspect.”
“Just don’t pass her, and you’ll be fine.” That part I get, I thought. It’s the inevitable car chase that ends in a fiery crash that worries me. Given the Gremlin’s current condition, it didn’t need a collision to self-combust. It could do that all by itself.
I caught up with Dr. Corey’s BMW, leaving a buffer of at least one car between us. Although she stuck to the speed limit, I noticed her foot was heavy on the gas pedal. At intersections, she revved the engine to catch the yellow lights before they changed. Dr. Corey, it appeared, was in a hurry.
“I can’t believe she ditched a room full of highly-hormonal patients,” I said, glancing down at Frank. “You must have freaked her out.”
“You wouldn’t have guessed it by her demeanor,” he said. “Look at the road, not me. And don’t lose her.”
Dr. Corey followed local streets from Northport through Huntington, in the direction of the Sound View labs. “She must be headed to the labs,” I said. “Maybe there’s something in the files she doesn’t want us to see first.”
“Stay on her ass.”
I looked at my watch. It was 3:07 p.m., and a line of yellow school buses had inched their way into my lane. “Damn,” I cursed and yanked at Frank’s sleeve. “I need help. The buses are blocking my view.”
Frank rolled down his window and attempted to bend his neck out the window and around the traffic. “She’s making a right.” He grabbed the steering wheel and directed it toward him. “Down this street and left.” I followed Frank’s instructions and sped through a residential area, only coming to a pause at a stop sign.
“I think she’s avoiding the buses too,” I said, moving out behind the BMW. “This is a back route to the labs.”
We followed for a few more miles, and I relaxed when I realized all I had to do was make it to the labs and my cop boyfriend could handle it from there. As much as I wanted to find out what had happened to my egg, I wasn’t prepared for this level of confrontation. Frank slunk back down in his seat, and I allowed three or four cars at a time to pad the distance between the Gremlin and Dr. Corey’s BMW.
We were in the home stretch when Dr. Corey hooked a left and drove north. What the hell? Where is this woman going? “We need a backup plan,” I said as my heart rate increased. “She’s not headed to the labs.” Within minutes, we were the only cars on the road. The Gremlin backfired loudly, and I watched as Dr. Corey glanced in her rearview mirror.
“Stay with her,” Frank repeated.
We passed the railroad tracks following the route I had biked the other day.
“She must be going home,” I said, but as we approached the turn for Dr. Corey’s Laurel Hollow neighborhood, she cruised past her street. My mind raced to visualize the local roads and logical destinations, but Corey had already rejected the most obvious places.
Instead, Dr. Corey drove in the direction of the train station. Traffic picked up, allowing other cars to put some distance between us. I blew out my breath slowly.
“What?” Frank asked.
“Nothing,” I replied. In truth, I had a bad feeling about this joy ride. The BMW’s directional flashed, and I followed suit.
Frank peered over the dashboard. “Where are we?”
I made a right, slowed down, and pulled over in front of a compact Tudor-style house. My hands were shaking, and it took an extraordinary amount of effort to press the brake pedal. I silently begged the Gremlin to give out, once and for all. Frank bolted upright, and we watched as Dr. Corey’s car disappeared ahead of us. “What the hell are you doing? Now is not the time to lose it. Keep driving.”
I looked blankly at Frank. “Sure,” I said and restarted the car. It didn’t matter that I could no longer see the BMW ahead; I had already been in this neighborhood. Another school bus turned onto the street about a half of a mile ahead of us.
Frank slammed the dashboard. “Shit, we’re going to get stuck behind a damn bus again. Move,” he hollered at me.
Without the BMW to follow, I continued to drive, making two lefts and a right until finally Frank turned to me. “How do you know where we’re going?” Just as he asked the question, the BMW reappeared at the end of a cul-de-sac, parking in front of a modest white house with blue shutters and stuffed planters spilling over with hardy geraniums. I parked at the neck of the cul-de-sac’s entrance.
“Come on,” I said.
I led Frank behind a row of houses until we emerged in a patch of woods across the street from the BMW.
“This is the entrance to the trail that leads to the recycling center,” I said. The wind blew east and a faint odor confirmed our location. I stared at Frank. The only color in his face was the shadow of his stubble.
He jogged a hundred feet down the path in the direction of the recycling center and then back to me. Frank motioned toward the path. “You’re saying if I follow this trail, I’ll end up at the recycling center?”
“I biked it the day I met you and Charlie at Bob’s house.”
“And this is the path Marissa saw the skinny jeans lady run toward when she left the recycling center the day Bob died?”
I nodded. “There are a bunch of interconnected trails but only one way in and one way out. Based on Marissa’s account, this is the direction the skinny jeans woman was headed.”
“You’re sure?” he pushed.
I told Frank how I had climbed a tree for an aerial view of the trails. I then explained that the front entrance, where we had driven into the recycling center from the main road, was the only road for cars.
By foot, there were lots of paths, but they were interconnected and had only one exit—the exact spot where we were standing.
“You learned this the same day you discovered Norma at Corey’s house?”
“Yeah.”
Frank shook his head. “You’re nuts. You know that?”
“It didn’t seem crazy at the time, but now I’m not so sure.” I ticked off the facts on my fingers. “The skinny jeans lady knew Bob. She knew where he lived, and she saw him the day he died, which was the exact moment he argued with the doughy man. Then, she ran through these woods.” I told Frank my theory about the cars in the parking lot the day Bob died. “Marissa didn’t remember lots of cars in the parking lot the day she missed her bus. She said it was possible there was only one car—I’m guessing it was the doughy man’s car. If so, the skinny jeans lady was most likely on foot. I believe she was on foot again when I saw her at Bob’s house a few days later. That means she must have entered the recycling center through this path. It’s the only footpath with an exit.”
“Can you catch a bus in this neighborhood?”
“Not unless you want to ride a school bus,” I said. “But she could have been parked in this neighborhood.”
“Or she lives here,” Frank said, and turned back to the house Dr. Corey had entered. The house, although small, oozed charm. It had a fresh coat of paint and a weed-free lawn. If the skinny jeans woman lived here, she must have been a regular at Home Depot. In fact, the house was so friendly, I had a hard time imagining evil lurking behind the front door.
Frank, I realized, thought otherwise as he grabbed me by the shoulders. “Go back to the car and wait.”
I knew full well I wasn’t about to obey that order. I returned to the car, waited half a minute, and doubled back. When I returned to my spot at the head of the trail, Frank had already pressed the doorbell of the blue-shuttered house. He stepped down into the manicured bushes and peered in the living room window. When the doorbell appeared useless, he banged on the front door hard enough that I could hear it from across the cul-de-sac. The scene was absurd; we had seen Corey enter the house minutes earlier. It was as if Frank’s banging screamed, Nice try, but we know you’re in there. Frank grew increasingly frustrated and, just when I thought he’d put his fist through a window, I spotted Dr. Corey sneaking around the side of the house to avoid Frank. Car keys in hand, Corey made a dash for it while Frank, clueless to the turn of events, continued to pound on the front door.
Drawing Blood Page 19